Charlotte Faces The Firing Squad
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1944

Ever since the German's invaded France, Charlotte Poisson had been part of the Resistance movement, working as a spy. She had been sleeping with German soldiers in an attempt to get information out of them. And it had worked for quite a while. She had brought back valuable information to the Resistance for months, and was a valued member of the movement. And then one stupid mistake made it all go south. After one of her relations with a soldier, a letter she had stolen fell out of her purse without her knowledge. The soldier had been the one to pick it up and recognized the item. Charlotte had been arrested immediately and had been charged with espionage.

Her trial was a sham. Charlotte hadn't denied anything, but did not plead guilty. In her eyes, it wasn't a crime to want freedom for her country and to fight for it. But she knew what the result would be anyway. It took the jury less than fifteen minutes to come to the conclusion that she was guilty, and she was promptly sentenced to death by firing squad. It was exactly what Charlotte had expected would happen and she would accept her fate with dignity, despite her fear. As she was taken away, her hand cuffed behind her, she could still hear the words of the judge. He was German and he spoke French with an accent. In her mind, the image of his cold stare as he looked at her when he read out her sentence, was something that would be ingrained in her mind for the last week of her life.

"Charlotte Poisson, you have been convicted of espionage, of which the only punishment is death. You will be taken from here to a place of lawful execution, where you will face the firing squad, in one week's time. May God have mercy on your soul."

Charlotte was put into the back of a van. It had a few other seats, that were empty. Charlotte supposed that it was for transporting multiple criminals, but her trial was the only one today, and she was the only one who would be going to prison today. As she sat in the back of the van, she contemplated her fate. She only had a week to live. The reality was only just beginning to hit her. There was nothing that she could do to stop that. She was scared, of course she was, but she knew what she was getting into when she joined the resistance. She knew that this would be her fate if she was caught, and she had accepted that. But she hadn't really thought that she would get caught. Charlotte didn't know how long the ride took. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes. Charlotte had been lost in a daze when the van pulled to a halt and the back opened. One soldier grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the van, into the prison. She was led to a small cell with only a bed, a table and a chair. Once inside, the soldier removed her handcuffed and Charlotte sat down on the bed, realizing that this is wear she would spend her final days.

Throughout the week, Charlotte was allowed out of her cell once a day, only to shower. She had only fifteen minutes, and it was always at eight o'clock at night. She was fed twice a day. All she got was a small bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water. One at seven in the morning, one at seven at night. She was given a uniform, a plain grey prison dress, that fell to her knees and buttoned. However, she was told she might wear whatever she liked for her execution. She decided that she would wear the dress that she wore when she was arrested, the same that she wore for her trial. A white blouse and a black skirt.

The night before her execution, she showered as she usually did. But instead of putting on her prison uniform on as she had the previous nights, she put on the blouse and skirt that she would wear in the morning. That night, she hardly slept. She simply laid on the uncomfortable cot and stared at the ceiling. Her execution was scheduled for 6:30 in the morning. There was a clock just outside her cell. She could her it tick, tock, tick, tock, throughout the night. She thought it would drive her mad. It was the only sound that she could hear until two sets of shoes began walking towards her cell. It couldn't be time already, could it? She turned to look at the clock. There was little lighting in the hall, but she could make out 5:30. Just then, two women appeared in front of her cell. Both were matrons, of middle age. One, she recognized as Helga, who had tended to her and escorted her to the shower. But the other, she hadn't seen before.

"It's not time already, is it?" Charlotte asked, sitting up on the cot. "I was told 6:30."

"Don't worry, dear," said Helga. She was German, but she spoke French fluently, something that was a comfort to Charlotte. "You still have an hour, but Gertrude and I have come to see if you wanted anything to eat, or if you have any requests for anything to be brought."

"May I get a hairbrush and some red lipstick?" Charlotte asked. "But no meal, thank you. I doubt I'd be able to hold it down, anyway."

"Very well, those can be easily supplied," said Helga. She turned to the other woman, who looked far less nice than Helga did. Helga spoke to her, but Charlotte could not understand what she said. It was spoken in German.

The woman, who Charlotte assumed was called Gertrude nodded and left and Helga entered the cell and sat beside Charlotte. Even though Helga was whispering comforting words, Charlotte couldn't register them. A few minutes later Gertrude came back with a brush and a lipstick tube. She entered the cell and set them on the table. Helga offered to brush Charlotte's hair for her, which Charlotte graciously accepted. Helga helped Charlotte stand and sit at the desk. Helga brushed Charlotte's dark brown locks. Charlotte sat still as Helga brushed her hair. It reminded Charlotte of being a little girl again, when her mother used to brush her hair. But that was a long time ago. Charlotte's mother was long dead, and soon, Charlotte would be, too. It seemed surreal. This was never how she imagined her life would turn out. She wanted to get married and have children. But she wouldn't have changed anything that she had done. She was proud of the Resistance and the work she did. Once Helga had finished brushing Charlotte's hair, her soft curls fell down, to just past her shoulder. Charlotte then reached for the lipstick tube and applied it. She was glad to have it. Before her arrest, she was never caught without red lipstick. She was glad she would die wearing it.

"Would you like to speak to a preacher?" Helga asked.

"No," said Charlotte, quietly. She had never been a religious person. She wasn't an atheist, but she didn't believe in any sort of religion.

"Alright, then," said Helga as she took out a pair of handcuffs. Charlotte always had to cuffed when she left her cell. To and from the showers. "We need to leave soon. Please put your hands out."

Charlotte obeyed and put her hands out in front of her and Helga tightened the cuffs around Charlotte's small wrists. Once she had done that, she grabbed Charlotte's elbow and Gertrude grabbed the other, and they led her out of the cell. Charlotte let herself walk with Helga and Gertrude, in too much of a daze to really resist. She wasn't going to. She promised herself. She was going to face the rifles with dignity. She could feel a few tears coming to her eyes, and she tried to blink them back, but not before one fell down, staining her cheek. Before Charlotte knew it, they came to a stop in front of a heavy door. Helga let go of Charlotte's elbow for a second, to unlock the door and open it.

Helga grabbed Charlotte's elbow once more, and began leading her outside. The cold morning air hit Charlotte. She never liked the could, but she savored it, knowing that she would never feel it again. The cold pricked at Charlotte's pale skin. She could feel goosebumps and her nipples hardened under her blouse and the cream colored shift that was beneath it. She could see the steak she would be tied to and straps of varying lengths sitting on the ground next to it. Charlotte shivered at the sight. She could also see seven men. Five had rifles, those would be the men who executed her. Another man looked like he was a doctor. Charlotte presumed he would pronounce her dead. The other was a soldier, much like the men with rifles, but he looked like he was of a higher rank. Charlotte assumed he would be the one to read the sentence and give the order to fire. Charlotte continued walking with Helga and Gertrude, the stake seemingly looming over her the close she got. It was taller than her more petite form. When they got close to the stake, Charlotte stood against it, straight and proud. As scared as she was, she would not let them see her fear. Helga unlocked the handcuffs around Charlotte's wrists as the commander and another soldier came up and began strapping her to the stake. The commander forced her arms behind the stake and strapped them together and to stake. He then put more straps around her stomach, securing her elbows to the stake, as well one above and one below her breasts. The soldier who was strapping her legs to the stake put one at her ankles and one above and one below her knees, securing her firmly to the pole. Gertrude had already left, standing off to the sidelines, but Charlotte was met with the kind face of Helga.

"Be brave, dear," said Helga, with a small, kind smile. Charlotte gave Helga a small, forced smile in return as Helga went to stand beside Gertrude.

The doctor came up to Charlotte. He didn't say anything. He just pinned a bit of red fabric over her heart and walked away. The soldiers lined up in front of her with their rifles, though they didn't aim them yet.

"Charlotte Poisson," the commander began. He had a large powerful voice that would have frightened Charlotte had he been someone she met on the street, let alone the man announcing her execution. "You have been convicted of espionage and sentenced to death by gunfire. Do you have any last words before sentence is carried out?"

Charlotte thought for a moment, thinking of what was best to say. She wasn't going to give them any sort of satisfaction. She drew in a shaky breath and spoke loud and clearly, though a bit of fear:

"You will not win this war. My only regret is that I will not be able to see it."

The commander's face remained passive as he walked up to her and pulled out a strip of black cloth. Charlotte lowered her head just a little so he could tie it around her eyes. She could hear the sound of him walking away, and heard his voice once again:

"READY!... AIM!...FIRE!"

Charlotte didn't have time to process what was happening. As soon as she heard the command, she heard a volley of gunfire. She felt herself pressed up to the pole for a millisecond and slump over, before she felt nothing again.
 
 
Great story!


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