Feminine Fragrance — Martin Brant

What captures a man's imagination when his gaze is set on a woman? Is it the color of her eyes, the shape of her hips, the sway of her breasts revealed by a thin cotton dress? Is it the haunting mystery about her, the prospect of what may come to pass? For Hodge it was all of this and the captivating fragrance of her skin.



He had parachuted behind German lines with some three dozen men along the coast of Normandy on the night of the invasion, into the throes of unexpected machine gun fire. Lost, frightened beyond belief, he ran for three days wondering if he would ever meet up with his unit again, wondering if he would survive.



Hungry, in need of rest, he came upon a remote farm house. Inside, the woman heard him crawl through the window in the next room, stood waiting in the kitchen, clutching a knife. When he entered the kitchen, her short lived attack ended with her lying on the floor, cowering before him as he struggled to figure out what to do next.



What was to become of him now? Would she give him food, allow him a few hours sleep, or would she wait for the first opportunity to try to kill him again?