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"Looking good, pixie."
Antoinette glanced up at the speaker, and found herself looking up at a lupine face split by a feral smile. Braudel was wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Gendarmerie, and she had to admit that he looked quite magnificent in it. He had stopped being an active Gendarme not long after Munich, but he didn't look a day over 40. Well, there were benefits to be being part of the Project. Even assassins had to have some luck, after all.
She feigned disinterest, shrugging and shoving her white gloved hands in her pockets. "I thought I'd dress up, that's all."
Her companion wasn't fooled. He moved closer to her, brushing a long arm against hers. It was a touch shared between killers. His brown eyes were flitting around at the others. For so many of the Project to be gathered was almost unheard of, but there were occasions when it was necessary. This was one of them.
"Seems everyone else had the same thought," he sighed. "Why, I have no idea - it's not as though the public will ever know this even happened. Even the brass barely know who we really are."
The diminutive mastiff turned to glance up at her colleague. "It's the Legion. You know why."
Braudel's smile faded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right.
Antoinette paused, feeling an odd twinge of melancholy. Neither she nor Braudel were under any illusions as to their purpose in life. They were living weapons, forged in the darkest days of the Cold War to defend an ailing Republic. Somehow, even after all the blood and the filth, the symbols still meant something.
She patted him on the arm.
"C'mon. Let's get it over with. We can go to the hotel later."
He shook his head. "All these years, pixie, and you haven't changed a bit."
~
While the nature of her service is a state secret, Antoinette does in fact exist on the roster of the French Navy, having enlisted as a matelot (ordinary sailor) in 1973 before becoming a marsouin of the Fusiliers Marins. After decades of service, she was officially transferred to the reserves with the rank of Major. While she has not served on board a warship for many years, Antoinette still, deep down, considers herself a sailor.
Fun fact 1: Female French officers still wear the "bucket-cover" style hat, and until very recently had to wear skirts and heels. Antoinette objected to this strenuously enough that she was quickly granted an exemption.
Fun fact 2: In the French military, Major is an OR-9 rank, equivalent to Master Chief Petty Officer or Command Sergeant Major.
Fun fact 3: France has no direct equivalent of a Marine corps. The Troupes de Marins are part of the Army and were originally simply infantrymen who volunteered for overseas, while the Fusiliers Marins are sailors with advanced infantry training.
The French copy no one.
Antoinette glanced up at the speaker, and found herself looking up at a lupine face split by a feral smile. Braudel was wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Gendarmerie, and she had to admit that he looked quite magnificent in it. He had stopped being an active Gendarme not long after Munich, but he didn't look a day over 40. Well, there were benefits to be being part of the Project. Even assassins had to have some luck, after all.
She feigned disinterest, shrugging and shoving her white gloved hands in her pockets. "I thought I'd dress up, that's all."
Her companion wasn't fooled. He moved closer to her, brushing a long arm against hers. It was a touch shared between killers. His brown eyes were flitting around at the others. For so many of the Project to be gathered was almost unheard of, but there were occasions when it was necessary. This was one of them.
"Seems everyone else had the same thought," he sighed. "Why, I have no idea - it's not as though the public will ever know this even happened. Even the brass barely know who we really are."
The diminutive mastiff turned to glance up at her colleague. "It's the Legion. You know why."
Braudel's smile faded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right.
Antoinette paused, feeling an odd twinge of melancholy. Neither she nor Braudel were under any illusions as to their purpose in life. They were living weapons, forged in the darkest days of the Cold War to defend an ailing Republic. Somehow, even after all the blood and the filth, the symbols still meant something.
She patted him on the arm.
"C'mon. Let's get it over with. We can go to the hotel later."
He shook his head. "All these years, pixie, and you haven't changed a bit."
~
While the nature of her service is a state secret, Antoinette does in fact exist on the roster of the French Navy, having enlisted as a matelot (ordinary sailor) in 1973 before becoming a marsouin of the Fusiliers Marins. After decades of service, she was officially transferred to the reserves with the rank of Major. While she has not served on board a warship for many years, Antoinette still, deep down, considers herself a sailor.
Fun fact 1: Female French officers still wear the "bucket-cover" style hat, and until very recently had to wear skirts and heels. Antoinette objected to this strenuously enough that she was quickly granted an exemption.
Fun fact 2: In the French military, Major is an OR-9 rank, equivalent to Master Chief Petty Officer or Command Sergeant Major.
Fun fact 3: France has no direct equivalent of a Marine corps. The Troupes de Marins are part of the Army and were originally simply infantrymen who volunteered for overseas, while the Fusiliers Marins are sailors with advanced infantry training.
The French copy no one.
Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1830 x 2013px
File Size 1.67 MB
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