Apres la Guerre

Disclaimer: I own nothing (except Daphne).

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"Daphne, your papa's calling you!"

"Okay, Mama!"

4-year-old Daphne LeBeau was, as far as she was concerned, the luckiest little girl in the world. Both of her parents were skilled cooks, so the house was always filled with good food and great smells. Marie and Louis were also war heroes, so Daphne's imagination was full of adventures based on the stories her parents would tell her. Most of the stories were about Marie, as Louis would brag about his girls to whomever would listen. Most of the time Daphne was the one listening, so Marie was the one being bragged about.

Daphne ran into the kitchen, where her father presented her with an oversized apron and a toque that had been specially made for her. "Today, you learn how to cook," Louis announced.

Daphne clapped her hands and squealed with delight. It wasn't often that she was even allowed to touch the cooking equipment in the kitchen of her parents' Paris apartment. Today was something of a rite of passage for Daphne, and she knew it. She excitedly accepted the gifts. Marie tied the apron around the little girl's waist, while Louis showed Daphne how to situate the chef's hat on her head.

"Someday, I'm going to work in the restaurant!" Daphne announced proudly.

"Oui, and you will be the greatest chef in Paris," Louis affirmed with a broad smile. He lifted his daughter up onto a chair that stood beside the counter.

"Better than Monsieur Cordeau?" Daphne asked, excitement building in her dark gray eyes. She was referring to Louis' sous chef, who had been put in charge of the family's bistro below the apartment for the day so that Louis could enjoy some time with his family.

"Better than Monsieur Cordeau," said Louis.

"Even better than Mama? Or you?"

Louis laughed. "I hope you will be ten times better than us. In fact, I think your mama is better than me now."

"I had a wonderful teacher," Marie said.

"You weren't a bad cook during the war," Louis pointed out. "I could have starved in that barn, but you prepared food that was actually edible."

Marie laughed. "You were awfully picky for a prisoner of war."

"That was no great challenge for a Bizet, was it?"

Marie rolled her eyes.

"Papa, what's a Bizet?" Daphne asked as Louis showed her how to wash her hands and the counter before preparing food.

"That was your mother's last name before we were married," Louis responded.

"Why did she change it?"

"It's tradition for a woman to change her last name to that of her husband when she gets married. Someday you'll get married and change your name."

Daphne glanced up from wiping the countertop. "To Tatou?"

Louis paused. "And just who has the last name Tatou?"

The little girl blushed. "That boy across the street who eats at our restaurant sometimes. His name is Luc. He's a lot older than me. He's almost six! But he's my best friend. He's very nice. He always tells me that I look pretty."

Louis grimaced. His daughter was way too young to be thinking about boys. "You be careful," he warned. "You can't always trust boys. Especially the ones who go around charming all the girls."

"Is that what Grandpa told Mama when she met you?"

Marie clapped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to choke back her laughter. Louis shot her a look.

"Thanks a lot," he said, more to Marie than Daphne.

Louis showed Daphne the recipe card for the dish he intended to teach her how to make. He gave the little girl the task of washing the potatoes before he sliced them up. The task kept Daphne quiet for a while, but Louis suspected she was contemplating something.

"Papa," Daphne said after a while. "I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Well, you have a lot of stories about Mama and the underground from the war. What did you do during the war, Papa?"

Louis paused as a host of memories came flooding back to him. First and foremost was his conversation with his American friend Richard Baker, during which he had predicted that his child would one day ask him that very question. He smiled to himself. What all had he done during the war?

He remembered quite vividly being captured near Chalon and almost immediately handed over to the Gestapo. Because his capture had come several weeks after France fell to Germany, Louis LeBeau had been a part of an army that technically no longer existed. Thus he was questioned extensively about his activities with the French Resistance. There were times he was screamed at and slapped. He'd come out of one interrogation with a black eye. Convinced the little Frenchman was hiding something (which he was, but that particular secret was, as far as LeBeau was concerned, none of his own army's business, let alone the "Boche's"), the Gestapo agents had strung him up by his thumbs, threatening him with all kinds of torture. They left him there overnight, his feet barely touching the floor.

That's when he had met Colonel Hogan.

The American colonel and British Corporal Newkirk had come—disguised, of course—to the Gestapo headquarters where LeBeau was being held, offering to free him, and asking that he would allow himself to be turned over to the commandant of a certain prison camp, and join the prisoners' strange organization. After reluctantly accepting, LeBeau became one of the prisoners of LuftStalag 13. His main duties included cooking and sewing, the latter of which he became fairly competent at. He also had the opportunity to learn German. He was an extreme advantage to the team because of his size and stealth; his ease with animals (particularly the guard dogs); his tendency to learn languages phonetically, thus helping him appear to speak German naturally (though not necessarily fluently); and, most importantly, his ability to befriend and "train" Schultz, the rotund sergeant of the guard.

The other men in the barracks, and eventually even Commandant Klink, had begun to take advantage of LeBeau's cooking skills, making LeBeau feel a bit like a one-trick pony. He was always expected to cook for visiting brass, and by the end of the war he could make Crepe Suzette with his eyes closed. It had stretched his short temper, preparing him in one sense, he supposed, for parenthood. It had taken him a while to see that his other skills and accomplishments did not go unnoticed. But the men, Colonel Hogan in particular, enjoyed it most when LeBeau operated in his strength. The same could be said of Newkirk, who was known for his sleight of hand, or Carter, the munitions king. Not that LeBeau had any right to complain. He got to do more than the radiomen. Kinch and Baker's skin color had prevented them from participating in many activities outside the camp.

His ability to slip by the enemy practically undetected had made LeBeau the usual choice when a diversionary escape was needed, or if someone needed to contact a member of the underground. The only other member of the team normally allowed to go on a reconnaissance mission alone was Newkirk, whose various disguises helped keep him low profile. LeBeau scarcely needed the disguise, as it was rare that anyone should notice him, so long as he didn't speak French. For him, ordinary civvies would do the trick just as well as Newkirk's "old lady" dresses.

Then there were all of the missions the team went on together or in smaller groups of two or three. LeBeau remembered sneaking off to Paris on three occasions since his capture, two of which were with Hogan. He had helped rescue French underground agent Tiger, met Russian spy Marya, saved a painting that had been stolen from the Louvre, and retrieved an actress engaged to be married to a French airman who had been shot down.

On one occasion, LeBeau had used both his culinary skills and his size to rig—and then un-rig—a trap for several members of the German brass. Then there was the time he and the other prisoners used every ounce of their acting ability to keep Klink and a hard-to-please general preoccupied while Hogan and a few others sabotaged a war games event planned for the next day. One mission required LeBeau to teach Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo how to dance, and another time, the Frenchman was asked to design a dress for one of General Burkhalter's nieces. One particular job involved being smuggled into a plant via shipping crates, in order to break into a safe and steal important documents on some German research. Once LeBeau had made the mistake of revealing too much about himself and his family to three girls who were agents for the Gestapo. Very little had come of it, though Louis' friend Claude had let him have it when he learned, years after the fact, why the French underground had pushed him so abruptly out of his hometown.

And of course LeBeau couldn't forget all the munitions trains and factories the team destroyed, or the downed fliers and escaped prisoners they had smuggled to England.

And it was because of Papa Bear's operation that LeBeau had met Marie.

Then there was the bittersweet day when Stalag 13 was "liberated," and the operation was shut down. The mixed feelings that accompanied that day had surprised LeBeau, as he had realized just how attached to Schultz and even some of the dogs he had become. LeBeau had tried to convince himself he would never return to Germany for any reason whatsoever, especially considering what memories that scarred land held for so many people like him and his family. But now he found himself missing the tenderhearted guard, and made a mental note to visit Heidelberg someday to see how Schultz was doing with rebuilding his toy making business (as well as parts of his factory). When he did so, LeBeau would be sure to bring along some apple strudel.

"Papa!"

Daphne's sharp whine snapped Louis out of his reverie. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, baby. What did you ask?"

"I said, what did you do in the war?" Daphne had planted her hands on her hips and was impatiently awaiting his answer.

"Well, I..." Louis glanced over at his wife, who regarded him with a look of expectation. Louis turned back to Daphne, grinned at her, and said, "I made Crepe Suzette."

The End.

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AN: I made a few corrections and added page breaks when time permitted (okay, so I admit, I'm actually procrastinating on my homework right now :D). But a couple people pointed out a couple things that needed fixing. It's good to have reviewers who aren't afraid to point out areas that need improvement. That's one of the reasons this site exists after all.

Now, I don't speak French, so I'm not familiar with the pet names parents might give their kids. But I'm sure one of them must translate at least loosely to 'baby.'

Before I checked out French names at behindthename dot com, I never would have guessed that Daphne is French. You learn something new every day. Luc is pronounced 'Luke,' btw, as in Jean-Luc Picard. And Cordeau is totally made up.

Hope you enjoyed! :D