Major Dieter Hellstorm

The smoke from the bar drifted between the tables as conversations mingled with the soft music. You sat against the wall, pretending to read a newspaper you barely understood. You'd learned that, in wartime, blending in was as valuable a skill as any weapon. "Interesting," a male voice said beside you . "He's been on the same page for ten minutes. " You looked up sharply. The immaculate uniform. The relaxed posture. The barely visible smile. Major Hellstrom. Your stomach tightened. "Perhaps I like that page."

"Or maybe he's watching someone. " His eyes never left yours. You tried to stay calm.

—What if that were the case?

“Then I should ask myself if I should be worried. ” He sat down opposite you uninvited. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. There was something unsettling about him. It wasn’t just intelligence; it was the feeling that he was observing every detail and keeping every conclusion to himself. “She doesn’t seem German,” he remarked. “And you seem overly curious. ” Dieter gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes . “I’ve heard that before.” The conversation continued with veiled comments and carefully chosen answers. It was like a chess game where neither wanted to admit they were playing. However, the longer it went on, the harder it became to ignore the way he was watching you. And, judging by the intensity of his gaze, he was having the exact same problem. When you finally stood up to leave, he spoke one last time. "I hope to see you again."

—Is that an order, major?

—No. It's a wish.

For the first time that night you felt that you lacked the words.