Sacrifice

Please enjoy the conclusion of this fictional story, in fair Quebec, where we lay our scene. 

Told by Jeanie "Andrea" Valjean 

Continued from: 24601

********************

I was never afraid of combat, not now, not two decades ago when I was directly engaged in the war. I'm not afraid to die, not even by Summer's hand. But right now, all I was dying from was a broken heart, the pain of which, was more than I could bear.

As I boarded the helicopter I took one last look at my home, where Summer and I shared countless nights of laughter, passion, tears and love. Now, with the veil of her deception revealed, I knew her as Nicolette Javert, the Hunter. Why did she have to go by such a name? By only her name did it make her my enemy.

What's in a name? 

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...

*********************

If Nicolette knew where my old unit was, then I didn't have much time. It was clear our forces were destined to face each other. I was helio-dropped into northern Quebec, with orders to link up with what was left of my old insurgency team. Backed by an entire infantry division, I was to lead an offensive into the heart of Quebec City, and re-take the town from the clutches of French occupation. 

Once on-ground, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as an old friend appeared from an army tent. It was Doc Edwards, Captain now. My combat medic from the old war and a trusted companion. I threw my arms around him like a little girl embracing the comfort of her Daddy's protection. 

Jeanie: "DOC!!" I excitedly shrieked. "Still alive you old bastard?!" 

Doc: "Ohhh hey, kiddo!" He chuckled as he accepted my warm embrace.

Jeanie: "What's the situation?" 

Doc: "Not good. The Hunter is close and we have taken so many casualties. We could hear her drones all through the night and her attacks have been relentless. This woman was born to end lives!" 

My eyes narrowed into daggers as he spoke of Summer in such primal terms. If only they knew her as I did...

We settled into the tent with our intelligence division who were buzzing like bees, combing through maps and infrared images of enemy positions. I looked at Doc with a mix of concern and despair in my face. 

He pulled me aside and rested his hand on my shoulder. 

Doc: "What's wrong, kiddo? 

Jeanie: "I...I'm not sure I can do this again, Doc. That was the old me...and it's been so long." 

Doc: "Nonsense! You need to lead these people, as you did before. They were all scared shitless until you showed up. They need you, Valjean!"

His words were inspiring, trigging a moment of introspection in the quiet stillness of the snow-covered trees. Whether I was here or not, these young men and woman of Canada and France will never stop shedding each other's blood. This ancient grudge, has left our civil hands unclean. 

I knew what I had to do. I just didn't know if I had the strength to do it. Doc snapped me from my inner monologue.  

Doc: "Jean...I found some of your old things. They're in your tent."

In the privacy of my tent, the realization of what I had to do finally hit me. I swallowed back my tears as I ran my hands over the wool tunic of my old uniform. It dripped with medals of valour, bravery and ribbons to sensationalize the ferocious combat I once experienced. Yet, there was nothing sensational about any of this. 

With a full heart and a steely look of confidence in my face, I straightened my beret and flung the tent flap aside, the snow crunched under my feet.

I could see the renewed patriotism in Doc's face, as he got down on one knee in front of me. Then, like dominos, row after row of hundreds of my fellow Canadian rebels, knelt and lowered their heads. 

Doc: "It's good to have you back...General."

Jeanie: "Thank you, Captain."

I motioned for Doc to stand, then immediately started to issue battle orders. As the troops were beginning to scramble into position, a whistle blast screeched out, halting our actions. A sniper's scope had spotted a silhouette, cautiously creeping through the tree line. It was a French soldier holding a white flag. 

Sniper: "General, I have a 100% solution, Ma'am." 

Jeanie: "No, hold your fire."

Doc approached the enemy who was holding the white flag. The French kid couldn't have been any older than eighteen. They conversed briefly, before they both separated and walked in opposite directions from one another. I could see concern etched onto Doc's face as he approached. 

Jeanie: "What's wrong?" 

Doc: "She wants to face you alone. She has given you her word it will only be the two of you."

As Doc spoke, he held out his hand and my eyes caught the glint of a shimmering gold, fleur de lis. I bit my tongue to hold back the tears. It was Summer's necklace! The one I bought for her in New Orleans when we fell in love. 

Angerly, I snatched it from his hand and thrust it into my pocket. 

Jeanie: "When?!" I shouted at him in pure rage. 

Doc: "Sunset..."

I spent the next few hours alone, in my tent, as the fire inside me continue to burn. When the sun began to dip low on the horizon, Doc entered and sat beside me like a father consoling his little girl. 

Jeanie: "Back in the war it was survival, right, Doc? We didn't think we just fought, for our homeland." 

Jeanie: "But I've had plenty of time to think about this..."

Doc nodded solemnly, almost anticipating what was coming next. 

Jeanie: "I can't beat her, can I?" 

Doc: "No, kiddo."

*******************

The snow creaked underfoot, as I approached my stunning wife who was waiting in the empty woods. I dropped my rifle to the ground when I saw she was armed with only a knife. This was going to be a fair fight.  

Jeanie: "Summer? Or is it Lieutenant Javert...?" I hissed, with distain dripping from my voice. 

Nicolette: "It's actually Colonel now, Valjean."

Jeanie: "How many of my countrymen did you kill to earn that title?” 

I tossed my jacket to the ground and removed my vest, while drawing a large blade from it's sheath and advanced on Summer.  

Nicolette's eyes glossed over with tears and she looked at me like she used to when she would call me "Mommy", and snuggle into my arms.

Nicolette: "Andrea," she whispered out through a crackling voice. "What happened to us?" 

I paused my advance and in that moment, I could see Summer...not the soldier who stood before me. 

The woman I fell in love with, over and over again. 

Nicolette: "They're never going to stop, are they, Valjean?" 

Jeanie: "I don't think so...not unless..."

Jeanie: "Unless..."

Nicolette: "I know what we have to do, Andrea. I know how we can stop all of this." 

Summer cast her knife onto the cold ground, I did the same. She approached and we wrapped ourselves in each other's arms. Her lips brushed against mine as we shared a final kiss. 

Nicolette: "Did you ever stop loving me, Andrea?" 

Jeanie: "Never, sweetheart." 

I could feel her breathing accelerate as her chest began to rise and fall rapidly against mine. Amidst the silence and the sounds of our beating hearts, came the unmistakable sound of Summer's pistol being drawn from her holster. I tore at the Velcro of my holster, as I drew my own. 

We held hands and turned to face the beautiful horizon over the Quebec landscape. The sun treated us to a warm burst of colour, as it began to set below the foothills. 

Goosebumps consumed my body as the cold barrel of my pistol came to rest on the underside of my chin. 

I glanced to Summer and gave her hand a squeeze, as she aimed her gun under her own chin. She gave me a heart-warming smile, then turned to face the sunset and stood at attention. 

A flock of birds frenzied into flight, startled by the two loud BANGS that ripped through the quiet woods. 

Both sides came rushing, to see the fate of their leaders and crown the victor. No one, on either side, was prepared for the scene that marred the crisp, white snow. Summer and Andrea's lifeless bodies were found by Canadian and French soldiers. They were laying face-up in the snow, still holding each other's hands.

A pair of star-crossed lovers, took their life.  

Paralyzed with grief over the deaths of their heroic leaders, the nations of Canada and that of France, immediately signed a ceasefire to end the war.

**********************

In a courtyard in Ottawa, overlooking the Ottawa River, a beautiful statue stands stoic.

Major General Jeanie "Andrea" Valjean

1981 - 2024

 

Synonymously, across the Atlantic in a beautiful park in Paris, a similar statue of a nation's martyr stands in honour of a female soldier, who's mutual sacrifice brought about the end of the war.

Lieutenant Colonel Nicolette "Summer" Javert

1982 - 2024

FIN

Mistress Andrea 😢 

Continued in: Ethical Dilemma

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

A Fictional Endeavour - Y2K

Dear readers, 

It doesn't seem like all that long ago, when I started this blog. I have enjoyed a platform where I can write erotica, animate and illustrate with the Sims and now, have been using A.I. to bring the richness of these stories even more to life. 

Whether you're a long-time reader or the lucky person who gets to create this content, you can't help but feel an emotional connection to some of the main characters. Perhaps you even have a favourite character, someone you can relate to or picture yourself emulating? 

Some of the characters in my blog are real people, or based upon real people and real moments from my own life, so I get to enjoy a slightly deeper connection with some of them. 

This could end up being a total flop but I wanted to try a true work of fiction. A couple of posts to make up a little dramatic and cinematic story. Something that celebrates my love for film, literature and art, theatre and history. A spoof on several favourties of mine, all rolled into one and set in modern times. 

I've been wanting to do this for awhile now but kept chickening out...so here goes. I promise I'll make sure Summer and I still look sassy when our characters appear. 💋 

Mistress Andrea xoxo

**********************

Y2K - Blue, White and Red Dawn

Summer and I seldom revisited the horrors of the war, those days when our nation's fate hung by a thread, and our very existence teetered on the edge. It wasn't just a distant conflict on foreign shores; it was a brutal reality that unfolded in the heart of our homeland.

Occasionally, amidst the mundane routines of our daily life, Summer's demeanour would shift. Her gaze would harden, her features contorting with the memories that haunted her, memories of the bloodshed and chaos we endured together, without even knowing it. 

"Andrea...?" She'll whisper out to me. "Can you believe it's been 24 years..?" 

Twenty-four years since that fateful New Year's Eve in 1999, when the world held its breath in anticipation of the millennium's turn. Not too many people know this, as they only know me as Mistress Andrea. Andrea is actually my middle name. When I was born in Quebec I went by my birthname which is Jeanie. Jeanie Andrea Valjean, but most people just called me 'Jean'. (prou: geene)

Back then, I was just a teenager, living on the outskirts of Quebec City, blissfully unaware of the cataclysm that awaited. Summer, too, was in her late teens and immigrated with her parents from Paris to Montreal in 1995. The two of us, in this period of time, were unknown to each other.

As the clock struck midnight, humanity braced for the unknown, gripped by fears of Y2K catastrophes and apocalyptic prophecies. But what transpired was far more insidious - an invasion so cunning, so unexpected, it caught us all off guard. 

Disguised as routine commercial flights bound for Toronto, enemy planes soared over Canadian airspace, each one a Trojan horse concealing a deadly payload. They feigned Y2K-related malfunctions, drawing air traffic control in their web of deceit who allowed for emergency landings into Quebec City, Montreal and Ottawa. No planes landed that night. Rather, with precision and malice, they unleashed their true arsenal upon us - the skies were black with paratroopers, raining from the heavens like dark angels of war.  

Quebec, already a land divided by separatist movements, erupted into chaos as flames engulfed the old city. Atop the Citadel, the Parliament buildings in Ottawa and the tallest structures in Montreal, the flag of France flapped in the plumes of smoke, while the crimson maple leaf of Canada, burned throughout the night. It was truly a blue, white and red dawn. The lines between loyalty and rebellion blurred as ordinary citizens like Summer and I, became soldiers in a fight for survival.     

Summer, with her own harrowing tale, recounted the invasion from her perspective in Montreal. Her memories echoed mine - of rivers that once marked borders now united in defiance, of cities besieged and homes reduced to rubble. 

How did we let this happen? How did we allow our Province to fall into the hands of the French? 

That night, my parents perished near the Citadel, and in the aftermath, a number of my neighbours and I fled into the wilderness, refugees turned guerrilla fighters. Summer, too, found herself thrust into the crucible of battle, her courage tested on the front lines of the battle of Byward Market, one of the bloodiest of the entire conflict. 

But as the war dragged on, our struggle became increasingly desperate. Cut off from the outside world, we formed a band of insurgents, hunted relentlessly by French Special Forces under the command of a shadowy figure known only to us as Lieutenant Javert (prou: jaa-vere).   

For some odd reason, it seemed to come easy to me, to allow the fire of my hatred to turn into pure aggression. No matter how many of the enemy I killed, the fire within me wouldn't extinguish or diminish in the least. 

As the months blurred into a tapestry of guerilla warfare and elusive victories, our exploits whispered across the battlefields, stitching fear in to the hearts of our adversaries. With each strike, we chipped away at the façade of invincibility cloaking the enemy, our actions a symphony of defiance conducted in the shadows. 

News filtered through the cracks of our isolation, fragments of hope amidst the chaos. From Ottawa's lips came tales of triumph, of the French forces pushed back at the battle of Arnprior, our borders realigned as they were in history. For now, the frontlines had stabilized. 

Yet, in the rugged wilderness of northern Quebec, our struggle endured, an unyielding testament to the resilience of the human spirit. 

Spring heralded revelations that pierced the veil of mystery shrouding the invasion. It was the Newfies all along! Loyal to France and separatist Quebec. Once sons and daughters of Canada, turned traitors. If you weren't aware, the islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, off the immediate coast of Newfoundland are actually considered France, not Canada. These had become the staging grounds for logistical and ground-support, assisted in secret, by the mainland Newfies. In the days leading up to the invasion, the French had already assembled and staged months of logistical support, tanks and personnel light-armour within the Province of Newfoundland.  

From what we understand, thanks to our friends in the United States, those two islands and the rest of Newfoundland were vengefully wiped off the face of the earth. Flattened into a likeness that would resemble the terrain of the lunar surface, all thanks to a U.S. Carrier Battlegroup in the North Atlantic.  

Good riddance, after what they pulled! 

But amid the tumult of our private war in the Canadian wilderness, one specter loomed larger than all the others - the enigmatic figure of Lieutenant Javert, a relentless hound on our tail. A German-Canadian farmer on my team called this lieutenant, Jäger - which translates to 'hunter'. 

We had a loose network of other rebels in the area, and rather than using squad names, unit titles or even our own names, we numbered ourselves to tell us apart and create confusion amongst the enemy. When my second in command asked me who I was and what number I wanted, I drew a blank, I was standing in the middle of fucking nowhere!

In parts of Ontario and Quebec they use what's called 911-numbers. Or an address sign always visible to first responders for easy identification.

Since I didn't know where I was at the moment, somewhere at least 250km north of Quebec City, my eye happened to catch a single 911-address sign, at the end of a lonely, old laneway. "Two, four, six, zero, one," I whispered under my breath... 

My second-in-command prompted me again.

"Jean...I need to radio this in to the other insurgent leaders, did you pick a number?"

"Who am I?" I repeated back to him... 

"I'm 2-4-6-0-1." 

I declared, the final number a crescendo of defiance, echoing through the wilderness like a call to arms. 

Let this hunter come...I'll be ready.  

Jeanie Andrea Valjean

aka: Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: 24601