Three Glasses


"Three glasses."

Of all the things that could have blown her cover, Bridget never suspected it would be two harmless words and a hand gesture.

They were so close to pulling it off. A brilliant plan no one believed her capable of and it was all shot to hell.

She could see on Hellstrom's face that he knew.

She could see on Stiglitz's face that he knew.

She didn't want to look at Wicki because she still trying to hold on to some shred of hope that Hellstrom didn't know and looking at Wicki would be a big gave away that she knew.

Unfortunately, the only person she could see that didn't seem to notice the slip up was the Englishman who made it.

As Erik brought over the glasses, she couldn't help but curse herself for not drinking the damn scotch. The glasses were served, the drinks were poured, and she received more of her unlucky drink.

Hellstrom toasted to a thousand year German Reich. She mumbled. The Englishman (finally noticing something was amiss) tried to rectify the situation by being enthusiastic. He was just loud.

Hellstrom got to the point and cocked his gun. He and the Englishman traded some words back and forth. She wanted to smooth things over but she got called a slut. Hellstrom and the Englishman continued talking.

She didn't know where to look. Her eyes met Stiglitz's.

His eyes were angry. And in that moment it seemed they were they were trying to tell her a hundred different things: she chose a bad rendezvous point, they should have left when they had the chance, she was just a stupid actress, her plan actually had been a good one, and something else she could barely comprehend.

Stiglitz looked away and put his the barrel of his gun on Hellstrom's balls.

Hellstrom and the Englishman kept talking. The Englishman said there was only one thing left to do.

With that statement Bridget knew people were going to die. A lot of people. And then she realized what she had seen in Stiglitz's eyes.

He didn't care who died. He wanted Nazi's dead and everyone else would be collateral damage.

She should have been afraid of him. He was a rogue German soldier who had killed a shit load of German officers. But she wasn't afraid. She was jealous.

She was weak and he was strong. She wanted to be strong.

The Englishman called Stiglitz's name and the guns went off.

She wondered if she would live through this. If she did she would be strong like Stiglitz –because his eyes seemed to know he wouldn't.