A Meeting (Strumfelder)

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Country: Germany, Central Aachen
Area/Setting: Hotel, along a street.
Current Time: 19:00
Weather Conditions: evening, cloudy sky, rain clouds hang in the sky.

It was early evening, the light was fading from the sky, and the sun was going down quicker than it normally did, or maybe that was just Joe. He walked along the road, in civilian clothing. Why was he here? Because he had received a note a few days back from “a friend.” Joe had been petrified by hadn’t shown his CO, when he had read it through a number of times, he finally realized who it was from and his blood had run cold. Erhard Strumfelder, the man who had left marks on his face and who had tortured him knew where he was, he was holding captive a girl that went by the name of Adelheid, a young German girl who Joe had met when he was in hospital, the hospital had been blown up and Joe and his friend Daniel Brennan had nearly been killed, alongside the girl who had escaped as well.

Joe had thought that he knew who was behind the bombing but he didn’t tell anyone, maybe he was paying the price now, how had Erhard got his address and where he lived? He had threatened to kill the Jewish American paratrooper, he hadn’t only threatened; he had said that he “would” kill him one day. The letter had then gone on to say about the captive little girl and if Joe didn’t met Strumfelder at the Hotel Quellenhof in central Aachen, and here Joe was going. He wore black trousers and a shirt with a jumper and scarf and jacket over, he looked like any other person, the road was quite for some reason, there was only a few people around, a couple walked towards him and he sidestepped to let them pass, they nodded their thanks at him and he walked on, not replying.

Finally he reached the hotel; it was a nice one, an old building, looked like it had been built around the tern of the century. It was an odd feeling, Joe being back in his homeland, he had lived just South of the city of Aachen, in a little town. Now the town that he had lived in all those years ago had been demolished, an army base apparently for the Nazis was now built there. The city had really been hit, it seemed like the hotel was the only thing standing, the other buildings seemed to have been bombed by Allied fire.

Joe clenched his fists as he walked up the path towards the door, Strumfelder had told him to meet him here, or that he would contact him here. Joe took the note out of his pocket, he had ripped most of it but he had kept where Strumfelder wanted to meet him. He would just speak to Strumfelder and then leave, but Joe knew deep down that this was a bad idea; he knew that he shouldn’t be here; this may be his last few days on Earth for all he knew but to be quite honest what was the point of living a life with a scared face? He stuffed the piece of paper back into his pocket and stood at the door, not really sure he should go in, he wrapped his coat around him more, suddenly wanting to run, his eyes searched the little hotel front garden, staring into the semi-darkness.

Finally he entered the hotel, a bell rung somewhere and a man came towards him briskly, Joe smiled at him and the man took his coat, the American made his way towards the desk. "Kann bitte i-Buch ein Raum, im Namen des Egbert Strum." he spoke in German, trying to sound as un American as possible. The man at the desk eyed him and then nodded once, Joe took the key and made his way up the stairs towards Room 18, he opened it and sat down on the bed, not knowing what to do now...

Translations:

Kann bitte i-Buch ein Raum, im Namen des Egbert Strum. - Please may I book a room, in the name of Egbert Strum.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The phone on the desk rang once, then twice. Strumfelder picked up the receiver in his cold leather covered hand and answered. “Er ist hier.” The line went dead, as Strumfelder smiled. So the American had taken the bait after all. That girl’s diary was such a wonderful thing. Strumfelder had read the whole thing cover to cover, and picked it up off his desk. He made sure he never kept his too far away from a source of fire. His would burn before another’s eyes came close to it. It was that constant vigilance which kept Strumfelder at the top.

He was in an office, on the third floor of the local Kripo station. His Sergeant, Karl Jonsen stood in the corner, a stained bandage wrapped around his skull after an encounter with a certain Captain. He saw Strumfelder expression and broke into a childlike grin himself. Claude might have evaded them once, but this time he would have no such luck as traitorous doctor. And if he tried to escape, that brat of a girl would suffer, permanently. Strumfelder had the man by the balls and would squeeze as hard as he was forced to, or wanted to.

“Gekommen, haben wir ein zu ruinieren Leben, wenn Sie es nennen können solch eine Sache.” Strumfelder stood up and moved towards the oak door. He picked up the girl’s diary on the way. Jonsen followed him out into the corridor, down several flights of stairs, and out into a courtyard where three trucks, two jeeps and a Mercedes were parked. At the sight of Strumfelder, all in the courtyard halted their conversations and formed up into three ranks smartly. Eight men stood to the side, wearing dark Gestapo uniforms, with the striking band of red across their left arms. Strumfelder wore much the same uniform. The Kripo men wore caps and blue-grey uniforms, and each was armed with a bolt action rifle.

“Bringen Sie oben an!” Jonsen bellowed at the top of his voice. It echoed off the walls, as the thirty men Kripo men scrambled into the back of their vehicles. The Gestapo men, moved with more elegance, and entered their jeeps. Strumfelder was not sure if the American would have back up, and decided on bringing more men than he probably needed. If the American did have pals about, at least Strumfelder could out number them. He still had another twenty men ready to go at a moments notice if things became slightly interesting.

Strumfelder stepped into his Mercedes, as Jonsen took the wheel. They lead the convoy through the city, weaving in and out of traffic. After five minutes of travel the trucks pulled up in two side streets close to the Hotel, but out of sight. The men stayed inside, sheltered if the weather made a turn for the worse. Strumfelder and the two jeeps carried on and parked outside the Hotel’s expensive restaurant. One reason he had chosen the place was purely for the food. The crabs were lovely here, massive beasts which roamed around in a central fish tank. If you had the money, they were worth it.

“Erhalten Sie einen jener Gestapo Männer, den Amerikaner zum restuarnt zu holen. Ich speise mit ihm. Halten Sie in der Reichweite, aber am besten nicht im Anblick.” He smiled and exited the car, before moving into the large expensive restaurant. He eyed the shellfish, wondering which he would be cracking open and savouring within an hour. A waiter showed him to a small table for two, with a pleasurable view out into the street. Strumfelder could see darker clouds closing in, and he wondered if rain would soon be falling.

Translations:
“Er ist hier.”
~ He is here.

“Gekommen, haben wir ein zu ruinieren Leben, wenn Sie es nennen können solch eine Sache.”
~ Come, we have a life to ruin, if you can call it such a thing.

“Bringen Sie oben an!”
~ Mount up!

“Erhalten Sie einen jener Gestapo Männer, den Amerikaner zum restuarnt zu holen. Ich speise mit ihm. Halten Sie in der Reichweite, aber am besten nicht im Anblick.”
~ Get one of those Gestapo men to bring the American to the restaurant. I will dine with him. Keep in reach, but best not in sight.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe had been sitting on the bed for around five or ten minutes it seemed though it could have been longer, he didn’t have a watch. His hands grasped each other, sweat appeared on them, and he was obviously scared, very scared.
The crunch of gravel alerted Joe’s senses and he stood up, quickly making his way to the only window, it looked out onto the street below and he saw two jeeps pull up outside, a figure got out, by the walk, Joe could tell that it was the evilest man on earth…Strumfelder, the man walked with a limp as he entered the hotel restaurant.

Another figure, walked into the hotel, the place was now silent, Joe glanced at the cars and then turned to look at the door, wondering who would come in. A moment letter, the American could hear footsteps on the stairs and the door opened, revealing a man who wore a uniform, Joe quickly looked him over, seeing that he was some sort of unit of the Germans…Joe opened his mouth to speak and say something kind to the Nazi but that didn’t get very far. The man walked over and grabbed Joe’s arm, leading him towards the door.

”Wohin gehen wir?” Joe asked as soon as they were out of the room and heading for the stairs, the man didn’t answer, Joe began to ask again but thought better of it and followed, nearly stumbling on the stairs as he was pulled down them. The man seemed in a hurry.

They finally reached the door to the restaurant, the small murmur of voices was heard inside, Joe could catch familiar phrases of people discussing their day or life or work, ordinary things, the man opened the door and gave a little push in the small of Joe’s back, ”Yeah, you don’t have to be that forceful.” Joe muttered under his breath so the man couldn’t hear, the door closed behind him and he looked around.
The first thing that struck Joe was the smell of fish, he glanced over and saw where the source of the fish smell was coming from, there was a tank of shellfish on view, his stared at them for a few seconds and then looked up, his eyes rested on the German doctor who was sitting at a table for two by the window, looking on to the street.

A waiter approached Joe as he stood, asking him where he was sitting. he said to the waiter, pointing over at the Doctor and began to make his way over, his face held no expression of hatred and anger, he was trying to stay as calm as possible.

”Evening.” he now spoke in English as the majority of people in the restaurant, and baring in mind there weren’t many people in there, wouldn’t understand or at least that was what he thought.
His voice was cold, very cold; he sat down opposite the man carefully and kept his eyes on him, only once glancing out at the window.

Now what? Joe had been thinking over and over in his head what this meeting was to be about, yes he gathered that it would be about Adelheid but he wasn’t sure what else, he had risked losing his rank to be here even though he thought it was a bad idea now that he was sitting down and had no chance of escape.

”What’s this meeting about then?” Joe asked suddenly, his eyes boring into Strumfelder’s one.

Translations:

Wohin gehen wir? – Where are we going?

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder smiled as the American sat down, and addressed him in English. It did make sense; although were away from anybody else, nobody would be able to overhear. “Oh, I think you know what this meeting is about Josef. Your scars have healed well, by the way. I am very pleased with my handiwork.” He enjoyed antagonising the American. It was good fun. But the requirement for food overcame him, and he wanted to taste the flesh of the sea.

“How about we order some food first, before we get down to business? I am rather hungry, and your trip this far behind our lines must surely have emptied your stomach.” Strumfelder was toying with the American, reminding him of just how alone he truly was. Lost hundreds or miles from his friends, and sitting just a metre away from the person he hated most.

The American would want to learn about the girl and how she was. She was fine, accept for the odd scab and bullet wound. He would certainly enjoy telling him that juicy piece of information. Maybe it would provide an excuse for a Gestapo man to cut him down? Although Strumfelder would probably enjoy killing the American himself, slowly. Maybe skinning him alive; that sounded quite nice from what Strumfelder had read on the topic.

Strumfelder lifted the leather-backed menu off the table, and flicked it open. He wasn’t too sure what to drink, maybe just a jug of water would do him well. The soup the day looked nice, but the Caesar Salad with warm Focaccia bread and olive oil had the edge. “What do you want Josef? Choose what you want; this food will be paid for by the SS. It will therefore be lovely. Kelner!” A waiter across the room looked up and hurriedly rushed over, but still with elegance. He was probably looking for a large tip.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Could Strumfelder say anything nice? No, he had to just go and humiliate him right there and then. Joe bit the inside of his mouth to not say something stupid, he would not let the German get to him, he would keep calm…yes, he would keep calm and sit here, his hands clasped themselves under the table, his nails digging into his hands, trying to keep calm. Oh how Joe wished he could do the same to the Nazi, that would be fun…”I can do better handiwork on your face but having said that, your face doesn’t need to be scarred cause it already is.” he muttered quietly, his voice full of bitter hatred.

Food…would Joe eat? He was hungry but he wasn’t too sure if the food here would be alright, Joe could tell that the man was toying with him, making him feel all alone but he kept his calm. Luckily for him, Joe could speak German and he was sure he knew a few people around here who could help…surely…if not then…Joe hadn’t thought that far just yet.

Joe followed the Nazi’s lead in picking something to eat, he looked down the menu, he didn’t know what to have…maybe just a salad, but the pasta looked nice. He glanced up as the Nazi spoke to him, asking him what he wanted and that the SS would pay. Joe had brought money so he didn’t mind paying for himself but he would rather keep the money then spend it on food that he didn’t really want but he wanted to know about the German girl, knowing what Strumfelder could do, Joe wasn’t looking forward to the grisly details.
”Kelner!” Joe also called the man who was now hurrying over, looking eager. ”Mag ich das Huhn mit Salat haben Auch gerade ein Glas Wasser”

He looked over at Strumfelder, waiting for him to give his order on what he was going to have.

Translations:

Kelner! – Waiter

Mag ich das Huhn mit Salat haben Auch gerade ein Glas Wasser. - May I have the chicken with salad, also just a glass of water

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The American’s smart comment was fine for the moment, but it was such comments which had landed him with the scars on his face today. But this time they would not be on his face, but a sweet little girl’s. He just hope Mr Claude kept that well and truly in his mind. “Wasser für mich auch. Ich esse den Caesar-Salat mit warmem Focaccia Brot. Bilden Sie es schnell und Sie können eine Spitze gerade empfangen.” Strumfelder said sharply. The waiter narrowed his eyes and moved off. “Josef, I am an armed man. If you want to remain a living man, assure me that you are unarmed, and have no friends around.”

Strumfelder stroked the handle of his pistol, through his leather gloves. “Down to business. You know I have tried to have you killed, but it appears you have cheated a rather gruesome death. So this is why you are back here. You escaped me, and humiliated me. I am not a man to be humiliated, without returning the favour.” Strumfelder lifted one of the silver knives on his right an examined the blade. It would make quite a nasty wound, thrust into the American’s chest.

“I suppose you want to know about the girl? She is safe, but not well. She has three bullets in her, all from my own weapon. Yes, she is alive, barely. The last thing she needs is someone carving into her face and removing her finger, because somebody who she believed was a friend talked back to the wrong person.” Strumfelder placed the knife down and stared into the American’s eyes.

Translations:
“Wasser für mich auch. Ich esse den Caesar-Salat mit warmem Focaccia Brot. Bilden Sie es schnell und Sie können eine Spitze gerade empfangen.”
~ Water for me too. I will have the Caesar Salad with warm Focaccia bread. Make it quick and you may just receive a tip.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe knew that he shouldn’t talk back to the man who was sitting opposite him, he would try and keep his mouth shut as long as possible. After ordering his Caesar Salad and bread, Strumfelder spoke now in English to Joe, Joe frowned. ”It’s not very far is it, that you are armed and I am not, surely, you should not be armed as well…but anyway, no I am not armed and no I have no friends around, I’m alone…what about you? Do you have any friends lurking in…oh I dunno…lurking in the fish tank?” he looked over at the tank on the other side of the room, trying not to smirk at what he had said, he had found that quiet funny, Strumfelder might not however.

”Me? Humiliate you!? You were the one who caused me to be humiliated!” Joe lent his forearms on the table and stared at the man, he bit his lip and looked down at the place mate on the table, looking at the pattern, it was a picture of Hitler, holding his hand up and his mouth open as if to say “HAIL” or whatever he said in speeches, god, these Nazis really did love their leader.
He looked up as his eyes caught the flash of a knife in the light and saw that Strumfelder had lifted up one of the knives. Joe frowned and looked back down at the mat, his eyes now flew up when the man spoke about the little German girl.

How could this man do such a thing to…to a child!! It was unheard of back in the States and Britain; it was unheard of in the Jewish society. ”How could you do such a thing to a child?” Joe spat, his voice held such loathing. ”A girl who can’t do anything to you?” Joe just stared at Strum, looking back into the one eye of the man in front of him. ”Also, it leads me on to the question, what have the Jewish people done to you Nazis so that you think, that you have the right to hurt people, to kill people…” he trailed off and looked away, a few seconds of silence pasted between them. ”So.” Joe said finally, ”You going to let the girl go?”

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The American mentioned the Jewish problem. Strumfelder shook with rage. Why did people think that the Germans were being unkind to the Jews?! The Jews who had sold them out, and had forced them to admit defeat to the Allies in the Great War. And from then on, Germany’s economy collapsed, so children starved, while the Jews sat back and watched. The French invaded and seized industry, so Germany remained weak, while the Jews sat back and watched. Germany lost hundreds of miles of lands, which had taken decades of war and blood to conquer, while the Jews sat back and watched! The Jews had put the German people through more than hell, purely to make money. So the Germans were again, returning the favour.

Strumfelder made it obvious he was in no mood for his faith to be picked apart, especially by a man inside his own homeland. If it had been anyone else, he would have shot them dead. “I will not discuss the Jewish issue with you!” he shouted. Many people turned their heads to see the foreign disturbance. He forced himself to calm down. “The girl will not be released until you start giving me the answers I desire. The longer you refuse, the longer and more painful her suffering will be.”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe waited for his question to be answered, instead of a simple explanation and the answer that had been praying on Joe’s mind for some time, the Nazi just shouted at him, saying he wouldn’t discuss the Jewish issue with Joe. ”Why not?” Joe said quietly, seeing the heads turning to see what all the shouting was about. Why was this man so angry all of sudden? ”I’m a Jew, I have the right to know what is happening to my people! To my friends!” yes, it was true, when the Claudes had lived in Germany they had known a lot of Jewish people because of them being Jewish themselves and had to leave most behind, now…though Joe did not know this yet…most of the friends were now being gassed in the gas chambers or made to work hard and long hours at camps like Bergen-Belsen and Auschwitz, and Landsburg.

”What answers do you want?” Joe asked quickly, looking back down at the mat and picking it up, examining it and looking at the writing in the corner of who had taken this photograph.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The words Jew and Juden were very alike, and many heads turned to the man who had mentioned the unmentionable. The more shocked faces belonged to the people who had even a basic grasp of English. It was attention Strumfelder really could have done without in the current situation. The fact that two very distinct men were having a conversation over dinner, one a Jew, on the hater of Jews did not appear socially sound. “ I recommend that you shut that arsehole which has been implanted in your face if you if you wish to extend your pitiful little life.”

Strumfelder lost his charm, trying to impose the sense of urgency upon this American bastard. The fact that shooting the man in the head now would do less to damage his reputation was quite telling. “First off, you must understand that you shall never leave Germany again. If you attempt to, you will be shot. I want several questions answering, and we can do it the same why as last time. You can give me the answers, with or without persuasion.”

Strumfelder allowed himself to relax slightly and checked his watch. He really wanted to dig into some seafood. “What does the name Rhys Bevan mean to you?”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Indeed, the German word for Jew was Juden and they did sound near enough the same for the people who did not speak English or only spoke a bit to understand that the subject had turned to the Jewish people. Heads turned and Joe saw out of the corner of his eye, shocked faces. He didn’t mind the attention; he had the feeling that Strumfelder however did mind it.

The next sentence that the Jewish hater said was rather mean, Joe narrowed his eyes at the man, ”What? Scared of mentioning the “J” word?” he didn’t understand why this man did not want to talk about the Jewish communities…they were exactly the same as any other community in the world apart from that their beliefs were different.

Strumfelder’s charm had disappeared; Joe liked that, seeing the man now become less calm than he wanted to be. Joe knew that by coming this far into the homeland of Hitler that he would not be coming out anytime soon. ”What makes you so sure?” Joe asked slowly, ”You never know, the Allies might win this war.” he shrugged but listened on.

Why did this man want to know about Rhys Bevan? Bevan had been killed in action a while back, ”I’ve met him once, apart from that I only know that he was killed a few months ago.” Joe said, shrugging once more, ”Why do you want to know? What’s a dead man got to do with all these questions?” he asked.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder had had enough. He was talking to a Jew! A dog, a filthy sewer rat which did not deserve to live, let alone speak to an SS man. A Jew who had sold Germany out to the west and force children to starve to death, so they could make money. This man was a member of a truly evil race, and yet Strumfelder was receiving more questions than he was giving. It was ridiculous! He let out a roar of anger, and swept all the items away which decorated the table top. Cutlery went flying, as did the table mats, a crystal vase shattered as it struck the floor, and finally the table cloth.

The SS man sprung up from his seat and drew his pistol, before pointing it at the Jew’s chest. The whole restaurant had gone quiet, watching the commotion in amazement. Strumfelder cared little. He pulled the trigger of the C96 three times in quick succession, the loud cracks of the weapon bouncing off the lavishly decorated walls of the room. The Jew and the chair fell backwards, a mist of blood filling the air.

That moment SS men poured into the lobby, and then stormed the restaurant. A Sergeant fired into the ceiling with his MP40, sending down a shower of plaster. The people inside dived for cover under their tables, just as a truck full of Kripo men screeched to a halt outside the hotel on the street. The men inside disembarked and moved into the hotel, before storming upstairs to throw people out of their rooms. A Kripo officer rushed up to Strumfelder’s side. “Sind Sie, Herr Unterärtzlichführer okay? Was geschah?” Strumfelder slowly lowered his pistol and slotted it back into his holster. “Der Jude entschied sich, mit mir klug zu sein. Ausgefallen war er für seine Aufladungen zu groß. Werfen Sie ihn in der Rückseite eines LKW, also können Ihre Männer seinen Kopf als Fußkugel genießen. Bessern Sie ihn oben aus und verriegeln Sie ihn dann in einer Zelle. Don' t geben ihm Nahrung oder Wasser für zwei und eine Hälfte Tag. Oh und schießen Sie den Manager bitte.”

The officer nodded and then shouted to a group of his men in the lobby. Two grabbed the Jew under the arms and dragged him outside, out of site. A moment later Strumfelder watched out of the large window as man in a crisp white suit and handcuffs was pushed out into the street by six young Kripo men. He was forced to his knees before the six men shot him through the back. He was dragged to the gutter and dropped.

“Warum wünschten Sie ihn Tote?” the officer asked. Strumfelder would usually have barked at him, but this time he just smiled. “Weil er einen Juden in sein Hotel ließ.”

Translations:
“Sind Sie, Herr Unterärtzlichführer okay? Was geschah?”
~ Are you okay, Herr Unterärtzlichführer? What happened?

“Der Jude entschied sich, mit mir klug zu sein. Ausgefallen war er für seine Aufladungen zu groß. Werfen Sie ihn in der Rückseite eines LKW, also können Ihre Männer seinen Kopf als Fußkugel genießen. Bessern Sie ihn oben aus und verriegeln Sie ihn dann in einer Zelle. Don' t geben ihm Nahrung oder Wasser für zwei und eine Hälfte Tag. Oh und schießen Sie den Manager bitte.”
~ The Jew decided to be clever with me. Turned out he was too big for his boots. Throw him in the back of a truck so your men can enjoy his head as a foot ball. Patch him up and then lock him in a cell. Don't give him food or water for two and a half days. Oh, and shoot the manager please.

“Warum wünschten Sie ihn Tote?”
~ Why did you want him dead?

“Weil er einen Juden in sein Hotel ließ.”
~ Because he let a Jew into his hotel.