The Enemy

Photo Credit Susan Spaulding

He watched them in bed together, his wife and the German soldier. Hatred rose in his throat like bile. He’d suspected that something was going on between them but didn’t want to believe it. He noticed that she slipped out of bed when she thought he was sleeping and returned hours later.

One night, after she sneaked out of the room, he went to the window. He saw her go into the lighthouse where the German was. They’d found him hurt on the beach and she, a nurse, insisted that they hide him in the lighthouse where she could nurse him. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed. He would have agreed to anything she wanted because he was besotted with her.

What a blind, trusting fool he’d been. All this time, she’d been sleeping with the enemy. His hands tightened on the door knob.  He could have shot them right then.

Hours later, alone, Dietrich radioed the message, “Komm um 21:00 Uhr. Wird am Strand warten.”

“Kopieren Sie das.”

Dietrich rose to his feet and turning, he froze. “Herr Camfield, what–?” The bullet hit him and he fell to the ground.

“That’s for sleeping with my wife.”

 

198 Words

 

This was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.