yevkassem72
Resident Jacobin
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2006
- Posts
- 3,057
Marseilles, France, 1941:
Martin de St. Jean finished his Cognac and read his daily, while secretly contemplating his next mission: the assassination of a local Vichy collaborator who had been particularly vicious. The man had to go, whatever the cost. Even though it would probably mean dealing with his daughter, a very devout young widow, very soon....the bitch would probably want revenge for her Fascist father and all, he smirked. Well, he would see about that. Milice were scum, plain and simple. Traitors to France in every way, shape, and form.
Martin de St. Jean finished his Cognac and read his daily, while secretly contemplating his next mission: the assassination of a local Vichy collaborator who had been particularly vicious. The man had to go, whatever the cost. Even though it would probably mean dealing with his daughter, a very devout young widow, very soon....the bitch would probably want revenge for her Fascist father and all, he smirked. Well, he would see about that. Milice were scum, plain and simple. Traitors to France in every way, shape, and form.
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