The Traitor

The tall, unkempt girl stood at the bottom of the steps, looking at the Leutnant (Second Lieutenant) guarding the command headquarters of Brussels. The soldier looked down at the girl in the long black coat with a dirty scarf tied around her head. She wore long grey socks and black lace-up shoes, all of which were filthy. She looked like she hadn’t had a bath in days or her clothes washed in a month. “Move along there. You can’t loiter here, and we don’t give food to the likes of you.” He had a very rough voice, but the girl didn’t falter. Speaking in German, she said, “I want to speak to the Kommadant in charge, and if you don’t let me see him, it could be big trouble for you.” “You don’t say? Well, I say, move along, before you get yourself into trouble.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Guards!” Two guards walked out. “Yes?” The Leutnant, nodding toward the girl, ordered, “Take this girl to the prison holding area. She won’t leave and is bothersome.” Just then, the Oberstleutnant (Lieutenant Colonel) came out, looked at the girl, and asked, “What’s going on here?” The Leutnant answered, “This girl is making a nuisance of herself. She thinks she has important information for you, Sir.” The Oberstleutnant looked at her and asked, “What do you want?” I need to speak to you, Sir. It is very important.” “You speak German?” “Yes, Sir.” The tall, handsome, well-dressed Oberstleutnant stared at the girl. He saw determination in her face. He had always been impressed by determination, which is how he rose in rank in the Wehrmacht. He turned toward the entrance and said over his shoulder, “Show her to my office,” and walked into the building. When the girl entered the office, he was sitting behind his desk. He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down and pulled off her dirty woolen scarf, letting her long dirty blond hair fall to her shoulders, and she laid the scarf on the floor. Then she unbuttoned her coat, revealing a flowered dress, equally as dirty as the rest of her and her clothes. The Oberstleutnant looked up at his aide-de-camp standing behind the girl. “Order two meals for lunch to be delivered here. Go to the bistro I always go to. You know the one.” “Yes, Sir.” He raised his arm, and the Oberstleutnant returned the salute half-heartedly, as the aide left. The Oberstleutnant sat there, looking at the bag of dirt sitting in front of him and wondering what was so important that almost got her put into a compound. She stared straight at him, unblinking. “I’m Oberstleutnant von Ritter. What is your name?” That was all that the girl needed to get her to start talking. She wanted him to speak first. She thought it showed a sign of strength to let him do so. Otherwise, it might seem she was begging. But, she must be polite. “Megan. Megan Klause. My friends call me Meg. It’s a Welsh name. My mother read it in a magazine. I come from Rheden, Holland. That’s east of Arnhem. I have a small farm there.” Sorry about the format, but this is how it came out when copied.