1946

In a musty, bright court room in New York City sits fully packed with citizens, lawyers, police officers, and a single judge. A tall, pale lawyer stands, addressing a woman at the witness stand.

"Please state your name for the record."

A young woman, hardly older than twenty-five sat at the witness stand. Her skin is tan, her hair dark, pulled to the side in a messy braid. She paused. "Alma Rosamond Antony."

"Please state the date and place of your birth."

"June 16th 1920...London, England."

"And you are a citizen of England, correct?"

"I have dual citizenship between England and France. It was quite common before the war to do so." The lawyer nodded, looking down at his notes. Alma looked at her hands, a small scar on her palm still sensitive to the touch.

"Where were you living in 1940?"

"I was living in Paris, France."

"And this was when and where you became part of the resistance?" Alma nodded.

"Yes."

"Two years later what happened?" Alma sucked in a breath.

"I was traveling back and forth between Berlin and Paris between that time. In January of 1942, I was captured in Paris by two Nazi soldiers who suspected me of treason and spying within the Third Reich."

"And were you? Spying that is?"

"Yes I was." She smiled gently, eying a certain member of the audience. That certain member, Aldo Raine, winked back at her.

"How long were you kept within the Third Reich for interrogation?"

"One night."

"And this was where you met Major Dieter Hellstrom of the Gestapo, correct?"

"Correct."

"Please describe your relationship with Major Hellstrom-in full, please."

Alma looked down at her hands, she sucked in a breath. "We were lovers."

A few quiet gasps escaped throughout the audience.

"At that time Dieter was still a captain within the SS. He was the third or forth officer to interrogate me. When he came in though, words cannot quite describe how I felt. But it was thick, heavy tension in the room from the moment I saw him. I am not ashamed to admit that I loved him. For several years."

"And what happened on the night of August 13th, 1945?"

"On the night of August 13th, 1945, I killed Dieter Hellstrom under the command of Lieutenant Aldo Raine."

1942

Alma sat in a rickety wooden chair in a dark room, the only light luminated above the table she sat behind. Her hair in knots, a bruise coating her right eye. Another bruise was forming around her wrist that was handcuffed to the table. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Alma had been in this room for hours, the officers that threw her in here were most likely trying to wait her out, so she'd confess out of desperation and hunger. What they didn't know was that she could go for days without food or water. She could wait them out longer than they could wait her out.

The door clicked open and a scrawny soldier walked in. He sat in front of her, a smug expression on his face.

"Sind Sie ein Spion aus England?"

He repeated that same question for thirty minutes. Alma just chuckled every time he asked. She spoke German but it was easy to act as though she did not.

She stared at the dust specs floating in the light. The man grew frustrated and left in a huff, slamming the door behind him.

Another man came in several moments later, he was larger than the previous officer, much larger. He stomped in and repeated the same question.

"Sind Sie ein Spion aus England?" Alma rolled her eyes and chuckled. The man growled, a deep guttural growl akin to that of an animal's. He stood and barged over to her, he grasped her throat and lifted her up out of her chair. Alma's feet shuffled an inch above the ground. She choked and struggled to escape his grip. He repeated his question. She struggled for a moment more before he dropped her on the ground, she coughed out and yelled.

"You mother fucker!" She stood and bolted toward him but her cuffed hand pulled her back and she fell to the ground, a deep groan escaped her throat. The man laughed heartily and stepped out of the room. Alma struggled on the floor, one hand grasping her throat, the other still handcuffed to the tabletop, dangling above her head. It took her several minutes to work her way back into the chair, but she did so. When she situated herself she swallowed the blood that was pooling at the base of her throat, she assumed there were thick bruises forming around her neck.

It was an hour before another officer entered. And again, like a broken record, repeated the same question. Alma rolled her eyes and coughed.

The man suddenly punched her in the face. Alma groaned loudly and clutched her nose, blood gushing out.

"I'm not telling you mother fucking fascists anything!" She yelled, hitting the table with both hands. The man smirked and lunged to punch her again but she leaned back and he missed. This angered the man but there was a knock at the door that made him stop. The man stepped back and exited the room. Alma chuckled, snorting the blood back into her nose. She could wait these men out for days, she didn't care. Alma was not weak. She was intrigued at first, wondering what exactly they would ask her. But now she was just angry. Physical interrogation may work on the men they bring in, but not her.

It was another hour before she heard the door click open again. The blood had dried on her face and the previous bruise she acquired earlier had a new friend on her jaw. The man that walked in wore a grey suit, fitted well across his broad shoulders; a higher ranked officer. He slowly sat in front of her and gently smiled.

Alma sucked in a breath, for some reason she didn't feel threatened by this man. He was poised, and handsome. If her face wasn't already covered in blood the blush on her cheek would've been noticed by the man in front of her.

"How are you this morning?" He spoke to her in English, Alma's eyes widened at this words.

"It's already morning? Jesus..." She sighed. The man pulled a silver case out of his jacket pocket. It opened to reveal six perfectly lined cigarettes on each side within. He pulled one out for himself, stuck it between his lips. Slowly he offered the case to her. With hesitation Alma pulled one out with her uncuffed hand, her fingers shook slightly. She tapped the end of it on the table and slipped it between her own lips. He flicked open a lighter and lit his own. After a moment he reached over and lit hers. Their eyes connected, the smoke and the flame lingered between them.

The man leaned back and smoked quietly. Alma knew who he was; Captain Dieter Hellstrom. She's heard about him, and although she wasn't positive, this man was commanding, he looked like he could murder her in a second, but he wouldn't; and that was the type of demeanor of a Nazi captain. This man would go far within the regime.

Alma felt a trickle of blood fall from her nostril. She groaned, holding the back of her hand against it. The man pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket and tossed it across the table. Alma grabbed it without hesitation.

"Which one of my officers did that to you?" He asked, watching her.

She scoffed. "Easier question would be which one didn't." Dieter's jaw clinched, which confused her.

"I would like to apologize on their behalf. Had I known you were brought in last night I would have been the first to talk to you. They shouldn't have taken that initiative."

She scoffed, glancing at the dried blood on the handkerchief and tossed it on the table. "It's all superficial, it'll heal."

"You are tough." He spoke, a small smile on his face. "I know my men cannot get anything out of you...nor I."

"Your English is very good." He smiled.

"You will be let out of our custody soon." Alma nodded, Dieter watched her. "I just need some information from you for our report."

Alma flicked her cigarette on the ground and sighed. "Okay." She said quietly. She situated herself in the chair as he brought up a piece of paper and a pen from his gold embellished briefcase.

"Name?" Alma paused for a moment, she didn't really have anything to hide and when they release her Alma was going to take extra precaution not to get captured again.

"...Alma."

"Full name, please."

"Alma Rosamond Antony." He stared at her for a moment before writing it.

"What a beautiful name."

"Thank you." She stared at him, a small smirk on her face. He shared the smirk back.

"Age?"

"23." He wrote it down slowly, intricately.

"Current place of residence."

"Paris."

"Address?" She paused.

"Paris." The man smiled and wrote down Paris. He slipped the cap on the pen and leaned back. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it for himself.

Dieter stood slowly, walked around the table and knelt down next to Alma. When his eyes peered over her legs and waist, she swallowed. He slowly lifted a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock, his cigarette hung lazily between his lips. Alma watched him, so close to her, as he took her hand in his to help her out of her chair.

"You're being awfully respectful toward a woman you believe to be a spy." He chuckled, still holding her hand.

"I do not think you are a spy. You are harmless. Like a small bird." Alma smirked at his analogy. She was anything but a bird, and this man knew it. He had some other motive, his eyes bore into her tirelessly. "One of my men will let you out." He bent down slowly and rested his lips on her bruised knuckles in a quiet kiss. "Be careful out there, Fräulein."

Alma stared at him, squeezing his hand, her jaw clinched. Dieter stared at her as he raised back up. They stood eye to eye. Alma was the first to avert her eye-line.

"I shall be just fine...but thank you-for your concern." Alma walked past him, and out the door. Dieter watched her as she turned the corner with one of his officers, his handkerchief still clutched in her palm.