A/N: Hi everyone...I decided to post a short introduction to what will eventually become a very complicated story...this first chapter serves to test the waters, see what you all think, and make improvements from there. So, as always, please review...I'm basing when I post the next chapter on how much feedback I get for this one.
Enjoy, and thank you for reading!
(I don't own Band of Brothers or any of its characters. My stories are always based solely on the miniseries and the actors on the show; I hold the utmost respect for the real men of Easy Company and these stories in no way are meant to reflect them or their families.)
Amsterdam, August 1944
A man purses his lips around a cigarette, eyes locked on the fair-skinned beauty up on stage. Her strawberry blonde hair swings in rhythm with her hips, her body swaying sensually to a smooth American jazz song she's never heard before. Her emerald eyes tease him behind thick lashes as she trails her hands slowly over the red silk of her dress. She pouts her painted lips seductively, stepping closer to the edge of the stage towards him. The black beads attached to the hem of her dress tickle her thighs with every move she makes. His body shakes with an unsettling cackle as he takes her in, causing the metals pinned to his breast pocket to clang against each other.
He turns to the uniformed men around him, shouting crude obscenities in German and eliciting a roar of laughter and hollering. He throws back what is left of his whiskey and eyes the young girl hungrily, licking his lips and making her stomach churn. He's had enough of her teasing.
Everything is going according to plan, yet her body trembles and she clutches her fur coat tighter against her body. He wraps his arm around her shoulders but it is not meant to be tender; for the night, he owns her. He guides her into the back seat of a waiting car, his hand resting on her thigh as he motions towards the driver. "Back to my quarters," he commands, taking a drag of his cigarette. "I won't be in need of you until morning, Hans," he adds, looking down on her with a smirk. He isn't aware that she understands his language, or that she knows exactly who he is. Hans nods without turning around; he never sees who his boss's toy for the night is.
The girl's eyes move to the swastika on the man's left arm, and she bites the inside of her cheek to contain her rage. She turns to look back at the club one last time as the car pulls away. She no longer trembles; his fate is sealed.
She stands at the foot of the bed with her dress in a pool around her ankles and black lingerie covering her petite frame. He motions from the bed for her to join him, his uniform hung over a chair in the corner, and his tie hanging loosely around his neck over a white button-down. He wets his lips in anticipation. His dark hair, that had once been slicked back neatly, now falls in greasy strands across his forehead.
She lies back on the bed as he removes her lace garter and stockings. He holds her leg in the air and plants rough kisses down her calf, pausing when she sits upright. She turns him around so that he is bent on his knees and facing away from her. He chuckles in delight at her sudden aggressiveness, and her lips move to his neck.
Her hands travel to her back while her tongue draws circles on his flesh. She reaches under the unusually thick strap of her lingerie, finding the compartment she had sewn into it earlier. There she claims a small Swiss knife.
Her lips leave his skin, but his eyes remain closed and his mouth in a smug grin. Her free hand teases him as she trails her fingers down his shirt.
"If only you had paid attention, Love…you would've seen what was coming to you…" she whispers into his ear in perfect German, his eyes flying open just as she glides the knife across his neck.
She cleans her knife with the jacket of his uniform and tears the swastika from the sleeve. One of his cigarettes dangles from her lips as she turns the patch over in her hands. She crosses the room, her heels clicking along the wooden floor, to where the man lies dead. She looks him over as she puts the cigarette out in the ash tray next to the bed.
The next morning, his driver finds him, his white shirt drenched with blood and a swastika placed over his heart. On the nightstand he finds a cigarette, its white shaft stained with red lipstick.
