Du Hast Mich!

[Dirk Riedel]

Country: Tripoli, Africa
Current Time: 20.00, May 1941
Weather Conditions: The colour of the sky is shifting from pale blue to a deeper azure hue as the sun sinks deeper behind the horizon. The air stands still, with not even the lightest breeze stirring it, and the warmth and dryness of the midday still linger in the air.


The dusk had embraced the hills of sand and reigned across the evening firmament as the pale roseate glow had now morphed into a lighter shade of Prussian blue above the old city of Libya, by the time Leutnant Dirk Riedel was making his way towards the barracks of the Luftwaffe, and each step he took brought him closer to his objective. Once he approached the hangar he stared at its exterior for a few moments, as though in reverie, and certain memories came flowing back into his mind of what had once passed between those very iron walls, and what he was almost assured would never pass again. Was he, though? Was he completely and utterly confident in the fact the Hauptmann would never again wish to pursue his company for any reason he could come up with, any reason whatsoever? Even if Dirk wanted nothing more but to deceive herself into believing such a ridiculous story, there was a segment of her mind that stood there in the corner, silently mocking her for what she was about to, the words she had planned to say and the things she was determined to make clear to the other man. Indeed, perhaps the Hauptmann would require a lengthy amount of time to come to terms with the truth of her words, however she was keen to assume not even someone as self-possessed and ignorant as he was could overlook the simple, wretched verity of her statements. How could he, after all, when all that validity would briskly slap him on the face and demand him to behave accordingly to his stature and social status as a baron, acclaimed for his excellent familial standing, the accomplishments of his ancestry and the demands for which such connection held him responsible. No, he was bound to understand; not even he could be as blind as ignore the truth when it was staring at him in the eyes.

The woman had felt a strange, albeit justifiable, sensation soaring through her spine once she had returned to the barracks of the Wehrmacht the previous morning, properly clad in her uniform, the identity of Dirk Riedel drowning out the other, appearing in his strong, confident, although in some measure disgruntled form. The soldiers of her platoon had spent their leave in some pub in Tripoli, drinking their hearts out and employing female company to best serve their desires, but for those hours returning to the barracks was a reality she could – happily – not escape from. It almost made her feel that life was normal again – in all of war’s abnormality, nonetheless – that she did not have to account to any Hauptmann and that she, as it was around a month ago until she had met the pilot for the first time, served as a soldier, free to commit to her duties and without bearing any threats by anyone; the things she had to concern herself with were to make certain the Kubelwagens would not run of gasoline, that the gun was always loaded, properly cleaned and with no grains of sand remaining on the inside, that she drank only a particular amount of beer to avoid any unfortunate situations – a form of abstinence exercising her one self-control and discipline – that she shielded the soldiers in battle and that, at the end of the day, she would be alive. Then came the Hauptmann and added a hundred other worries in her back that weighed her down; she tried to carry them altogether but the burden was becoming heavier day by day, and she must relive what she went through all those years back before she had joined the army when she had to fend for the family, helpless and alone, in order to draw from the same strength that had then characterized the young girl and manage to survive through the Hauptmann’s idiosyncratic nature and his various whimsicalities.

The woman’s eyes were transfixed at the ring as she looked at it curiously, held between her pale fingers while she was sat upon the edge of the bed, closely examining it, as though through mere contact that band of gold would open to her all the secrets of its owner, what it would feel like to be in his position and the demands which he had to meet – demands which that very same ring expressed in itself. She remained in that position for minutes on end, in silence, as contemplation sank in and she dwelled in personal, unbreakable introspection. At some point she had rose from the bed to place the ring upon the wooden table next to her watch so she could walk inside the bathroom and wash the hair, for the mere reason of removing any traces of glue from the edges; then, she grabbed the scissors to slightly remove any hairs that made her head look rather odd if they were lengthier than the rest of it, and thus gave her a more brisk cut around the edges to balance out the length, which was something she had always performed after she would remove the wig. It did not create any difference, for the cut was so minimal that the hair would grow within a matter of days. Once she walked back into the room she brushed her hair through her short, wet hair and stopped by the table, to look at the ring once more. Holding it in her fingers, the woman could only bring it closer to her face and examine it quietly, the room’s silence seeping through her veins as thoughts crawled inside her mind and infected her with knowledge as well as understanding. Its golden surface gleamed in the sunlight as it penetrated the room through the glass window and shone upon the ring, eyes of celadon green breathing in its essence.

Albrecht Kord had drank a few too many beers in their night out, Dirk had found out upon returning to the barracks and his comrades were having a laugh at him after he had admirably failed in the simple task of walking down the staircase within the pub, trampled over his own feet and fell on the floor like a lifeless sack of onions. Dirk stood next to them and smoked, a smile rising in the corner of her lips as she watched them talk and bark with laughter at one another over the previous night’s various incidents, warmth consuming her heart once more. She felt home. This was her reality, the soldiers, the army, the barracks, the comradeship and sacred duty for their Fatherland – a reality which, for the moment, no one and nothing could steal from her, not a hundred arrogant Hauptmanns, not anyone. She laughed as they continued with their stories and drank from the beers – and though she abstained from it, the memories of her latest alcoholic extravagance too raw to forget, she observed each and every one of them, how they had began, how they used to be, how they were now, each fighting for the same cause, and though each came from different backgrounds, families, each with a different story to share, they all stood in the same spot and gave something to one another, a memory, a reason to laugh, a reason to be miserable at, a reason to mock or protect. She did not speak, merely stood down on the sand and looked at them, and though the room before had felt airless, now she breathed in from the clean, evening air and her soul warmed to the sight before her, her eyes smiled and gleamed with affection and fondness, and slowly she forgot about the Hauptmann. He became a molecule within her life, slowly vanquishing into the state of non-existence and, within hours, she no longer cared to think of him.

Nonetheless, she had a final duty to perform with regard to his person, and though she had to tend to certain military obligations first, she found some time during the early evening of the following day to walk to the barracks of the Luftwaffe. She walked across the tents, her eyes falling on the pilots around her and yet still unable to locate the man. A pilot or two turned their heads to look at her once she passed from their direction, but she was too adamant to find the Hauptmann to take notice, or care. It took her a good few minutes to finally distinguish his outline in the distance, standing all by himself in front of a tent, head bowed as he stared down at various paper laid upon what appeared to have been a makeshift table made of a wooden surface which had most likely once been a part of a larger means to transport light equipment. She looked at him for a moment or two from that distance, her eyes bearing into his outline and drawing in from that image, before she slowly walked towards his direction, until she finally stood in front of him, Leutnant Dirk Riedel, in his military uniform, with the hardened jaw line, the rough cheekbones and sharp facial angles; the tall and imposing posture as he stood at his full height, the brisk and adamant character with the masculine authority. But the eyes were the same.

“Ich habe etwas dass Sie verloren,” she simply stated, and stretched out her hand; once she opened her fist the ring appeared within her palm, and she looked at him with a calm expression in her face. She sighed. “Sie können nicht das tun, Jäger,” she said softly. “Sie können nicht ihm einfach davonlaufen. Sie können nicht sie verurteilen, und Sie können nicht Ihre eigene Familie verurteilen, Sie wussten das schon einmal. Sie sind von ihnen zu abhängig, um zu denken, dass Sie sich ihren Wünschen widersetzen und ihre Anforderungen, auch beiliegend ignorieren können, um auf jede Form der Freiheit in Ihren Handlungen zu hoffen. Ihr Vater, Herr Storbeck, alle jene Leute, die Sie … umgeben, brauchen Sie sie, Jäger – brauchen Sie sie für Ihr eigenes Überleben. Ohne sie sind Sie nichts. Ohne sie werden Sie ertrinken,” she told him, and her eyes glinted as she stared back at him; there was no anger through her irises, no hatred or intolerance, but only honesty reigned in her face through that simple, yet fervid, eye contact she maintained. A pained expression had taken over her facial features when she addressed this, and something miniscule, too small to be distinguished let alone understood, tugged onto her heart as she spoke those words. But certainly he knew – certainly his very own heart could do nothing else but accept this undeniable fact. He had been born with the title, with the privilege of being a baron and yet been born with all of the burdens such a title should warrant, and not even he could deny this was untrue.

“Das ist nicht über mich, Jäger, das ist über Sie,” she wished to clarify. “Was für Grund besteht, um Sie zu mir zu stechen was dafür Sie ist, sind nachdem, wenn Sie mich erreichen, die Tatsache nie überreiten kann, dass Sie anderen, und ihren Händen Ihre Schicksal-Lügen gebunden werden. Sie und ich, sind so verschieden, Jäger,” she spoke softly. “Ich meine im sozialen Status und Klasse, nein nicht. Sie und ich …” Her eyes bore into his as her lips faintly parted, green irises gleaming with something that almost appeared unfortunate, or melancholy; “… sind so verschieden. Sie gehören einer völlig verschiedenen Welt und … ich gehöre einem anderen. So welcher Zweck dient es dem Versuchen, diese zwei in einem Versuch zusammenzubringen, sie zu verschmelzen, wenn Sie in Ihrem Herzen wissen, dass am Ende das Ergebnis dasselbe ist, dass das eitel und nutzlos ist, um sogar zu versuchen, so zu tun? Es wird nie geschehen, und es sollte nicht geschehen. Sie wissen das, stimmt dass?” she asked him in her low, quiet voice, and made that one step closer to reach him, enough to bring their faces nearer as she looked up at him, the tone of her expression enquiring, pained. “Nicht Sie?” she insisted, and her eyes slightly widened at the thought, but she wanted him not to be so ignorant, she wanted him to have known this already. This should not – and could not – have been a realization to the man, and she even hoped it would not be such.

“Sie können es wegwerfen, aber Sie wissen, dass das nicht bis zu Ihnen ist, um zu entscheiden, bin ich nicht richtig?” she continued, her earnest eyes staring at the man as though they had no reason to conceal anything from him, as though they wished to make him understand such words were not spoken out of her will to harm or hurt him, if the Hauptmann was indeed capable of such sentiments, but to bring an end to his constant attempts to do things that were in principle unquestionable, forbidden. “Andere Leute haben es für Sie und das einzige Ding entschieden, das Sie tun können soll es akzeptieren. Sie denken, dass, indem Sie sich selbst von dieser Last befreien werden, Sie sich dann leicht und frei fühlen werden? Es ist genau Entgegengesetztes - Freiheit fügt mehr Gewicht hinzu, als Sie wagen würden, damit einen Kompromiss einzugehen, ist Unabhängigkeit ein düsteres Geschenk getragen mit der Notlage und Kummer, wenn Sie wissen, dass es keinen dort gibt, um sich für Sie zu wehren, Sie zu schützen, oder Ihr Überleben zu versichern; es fordert einen schweren Betrag der Verantwortung, der Selbstbeherrschung, des Mutes, der Elastizität. Sonst werden Sie unter seinem Gewicht zerknittern. Sie, werden zerknittern, Jäger,” she said, her eyes pained and her forehead wrinkled into an expression of empathy and aching. “Freiheit hat seine Folgen, und Sie sind gerade nicht derjenige um sie zu tragen,” she finally told him. She did not want to tell him this, it was cruel, it was heartless, it drowned out any hope, and she almost hated herself for speaking such foul words, yet … he needed to know. She was obliged to tell him the truth, to have him understand. Slowly, she reached out her free hand at his direction and touched his, her fingers circling around his skin in their natural, warm essence, and she brought his hand forwards, closer to her. Without another word, she placed the ring within his palm, and then with both hands closed his fingers, keeping him there, rooted to the moment, as her eyes never left his, and the sky darkened.

“Wenn ich meine Hand anbieten und Sie davon wegnehmen konnte, würde ich,” she promised in a whisper, her glance unyielding and endless, green irises gleaming in the surrounding darkness that was slowly beginning to pull its veil around them. “Aber ich kann nicht,” she said, and her fingers quietly moved away from his hand, before she pulled her hands to hang down by her sides. “Ich kann nicht,” she whispered, her eyes pained still, and for some reason she did not want to pry them away from him, but she forced herself to move. Her feet shifted away from the spot, and she still looked at him as she began to walk away, but then forced herself to turn her head in front of her and never back around, and quicker her pace became, as if she feared she would change her mind any moment now and go back to him.

But she did not.




Translation

I have something you lost.

You can’t do this, Jäger. You can’t simply walk away from it. You can’t denounce her, and you can’t denounce your own family, you knew this before now. You are too dependent on them to think you can defy their wishes and ignore their demands, too enclosed to hope for any form of freedom in your actions. Your father, Herr Storbeck, all those people who surround you … you need them, Jäger – you need them for your own survival. Without them you are nothing. Without them you’ll drown.

This isn’t about me, Jäger, this is about you. Whatever reason exists to prod you to me, whatever it is you are after when you reach me can never override the fact that you are bound to others, and on their hands your fate lies. You and I are so different, Jäger. I don’t mean in social status and class, no. You and I … are so different. You belong to a completely different world and … I belong to another. So what purpose does it serve trying to bring these two together in an attempt to fuse them, when you know in your heart that at the end the result is the same, that it’s vain and useless to even try to do so? It will never happen, and it shouldn’t happen. You know this, don’t you? Don’t you?

You can throw it away, but you know this isn’t up to you to decide, am I not right? Other people have decided it for you and the only thing you can do is to accept it. You think that by liberating yourself from this burden you will then feel light and free? It is exactly the opposite – freedom adds more weight than you would dare to compromise with, independence is a bleak gift carried with plight and agony when you know there is no one there to fend for you, protect you, or guarantee your survival; it demands a heavy amount of responsibility, self-discipline, courage, resilience. Else you will crush underneath its weight. You will crush, Jäger. Freedom has its consequences, and you just aren’t the one to bear them.

If I could offer my hand and take you away from it, I would. But I can’t. I can’t.

[Rolf Jäger]

The smooth paper beneath Rolf's fingers still felt warm from the sunlight even when the sun was already finishing up its journey and the veil of darkness was deepening over the skies, the western heavens still alight with the last stubborn traces of the day. The various papers and maps had been lying on the table the entire day and they were still radiating with the warm glow of sunlight, creating for a curious sensation as Rolf felt the air around him cooling with the approaching night while his fingertips rested against the warm papers. He could hear the occasional shout, a clanking of metal or more loudly spoken words from the middle of a discussion as the pilots and the ground crew still toiled away in their tasks, trying to use the last moments of light to their advantage. They were familiar sounds to Rolf and he closed his eyes half-way, his fingers still lazily resting upon the table and the papers while he gave himself a small moment to drink in that comforting atmosphere. He had always enjoyed this time of the day the most while in Africa, when the air had grown cooler but not too cold, and when all the sounds seemed softened by the approaching darkness, as if nature herself wished to hush the sharp man-made noises to gradually have them replaced with those of her own domain.

Rolf broke from his stupor with an angry blink of his eyes and he hunched over the makeshift table, exhaling slowly as he pulled a small stack of photographs from under the map just to stare at them once more. The Geschwaderkommodore had assured him that the area they were to advance to the following morning would be easily overcome when Rolf had observed the intelligence reports with him and another Gruppenkommandeur from the X. Fliegerkorps, yet even after both of their confident assurances of the simplicity of the upcoming operation, something was still troubling Rolf and he found himself going through the reports and the maps, returning back to one photograph in particular. Rolf had pointed out that among the rock formations lay something that looked like anti-aircraft guns to him, but the two other men had disagreed, saying that it was nothing but a trick of shadows. Rolf's eyes felt increasingly tired as he leaned over the photograph, staring at the "trick of shadows" and attempting to see it just as such, all the while his mind was still trying to figure out why the placement of guns at such a point might be beneficial to the enemy forces. What if his fighters were to escort the Stukas just over the steep ridge and get caught up in a storm of AA-fire? Rolf narrowed his eyes as his gaze flicked from the image back to the map and he grunted in irritation the moment he felt a stinging sensation travel over his chest. Riedel had once again left him with a memento of her fury and even though she had tended to the welts soon after, the present climate hindered the healing of wounds, causing the process to take a longer time than normally and the sweat that had trickled into these small lashes during the day had left his skin stinging and itchy.

He could not stop himself from attempting to scratch at the welts on his chest through his sand-coloured uniform and the moment he did so he grimaced, the touch only further inflaming the irritation over his skin. With a brisk shake of his head, he withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair instead, attempting to distract his mind from the maddening sensation with the map once more. It was effective enough and he managed to occupy his thoughts with the upcoming mission instead, leaning over the papers while desperately trying to convince himself of the fact that he was seeing threats in places where there were none. The descending darkness was only making his task all the more difficult and further denied him this peace of mind as he attempted to squint his eyes and not imagine AA-guns sitting behind the ridge.

A distinct shuffle of steps on the sand woke him up from his silent musings and the man shifted only his gaze, glancing at the visitor from under his brows expectantly. What Rolf saw was none other than Leutnant Riedel, the initial thought quickly shifting to another realization as he soon remembered that this was simply a disguise worn by the woman and that the two were one and the same. It was a realization he was still coming to terms with and it surprised him each time he gazed upon the woman in this particular form. She stood in front of him, her back straight and her posture confident and soldierly, green eyes gleaming from under her distinctly curved eyebrows as she gazed upon him silently for that small moment. Rolf appeared nothing short of surprised, for he certainly had not expected her to visit him, rather remaining at a distance either out of hatred, worry or disgust, yet here she now stood, decisive and determined. Rolf stood up straighter, his grey eyes steeling with anticipation when he knew that he could not expect anything pleasant from her and that she had only appeared to stir up more trouble. Rolf's cold expression quickly vanished when Riedel offered the man his engagement ring, the one he had told he had lost, but which had really been safely lying in his pocket the entire time. Of course the next day he had realized that he had ended up actually losing the ring sometime during the night and fear had instantly gripped his heart with its cold claws, the man's mind suddenly filling with horrifying images of not being able to take back his threat, his resolution - whatever had compelled him to remove the ring from his finger and decide that Elsa would have to find another baron to wed. He had searched for the ring frantically, only to come to the realization that the ring had truly been lost, possibly somewhere in the wake of Riedel's drunken stumbling, yet here it now was, sitting quietly upon the woman's palm as if to mock him.

Rolf stared at the ring in a silent stupor, not able to tear his eyes away from its gleaming, golden surface until he heard Riedel addressing him and it was what she had to say that bound him to that small, insignificant item once more, turning it into a vicious shackle of icy despair. Weakly did he try to understand why the woman would have taken the time to give him such a speech, telling him that he was unable to break free from his duties and ever dependant on the people around him and that without them he was nothing, rendered unable for even such a basic task as survival. She stated that Rolf must have already known this, that she was not telling him anything new and the man stared at her silently, his mouth hanging slightly open as he attempted to grasp at the motivation behind her words, trying to understand why she would have taken the time to address him in such a way. In his confusion his defences were left unattended and the poison of her words invaded his mind with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him reeling and nearly collapsing under the force of her brutal attack. There was no freedom for him and she assured him there would be no escape, either, and for that moment Rolf distinctly knew that this was just how things were.

Of course he knew that what she was saying was the truth, but he had ever allowed that small flicker of hope remain within him, a faint voice that sometimes whispered to him promises of alternatives, of a world he could shape on his own. It had given him something to look forward to when he had been but a small boy and he had continued clinging on to that hope with the same childish desire, knowing that if he lost it, he'd change into a dead shell, void of any desire or aspiration. Even if it was nothing but a fool's hope, it had kept his dreams alive and he had made them into another reality, one not disturbed by the vicious truths surrounding him. Her words, as softly spoken as they were, spread ice within his veins and sucked out all that hope, efficiently extinguishing that small flame within the darkness and he felt his insides wrenching when she plainly reminded him that there was no reason to try and change what could not be changed, their worlds too grossly different from each other, Rolf's decisions made for him by others, leaving him no other choice but his acceptance, as grudging as it might have been. Riedel told him that he was unfit for freedom and that he should not attempt to reach such a foolish state, for it would destroy him, whatever there might have been left to destroy in his lethargic, forlorn condition. He had always known these things, but he had managed to push them aside, living in his own land of fanciful dreams as he had, but she was ripping open that thin veil of obliviousness and allowing the freezing waters of harsh truths invade his insides. Why would she tell him these things? Was it her way of avenging or did she simply not understand how meticulously Rolf had tried to ignore these things? And yet, even if she understood that, why should she have cared?

He wanted to attack her, to slap her and make sure that she could no longer sink her venomous fangs into his hide, but her words had already shackled him where he stood, all traces of hope draining fast as the walls of his iron prison loomed over him, tall and unyielding. He could not feel her hand grasping his, could not feel her pushing the ring into his palm and locking his fingers around it and he merely stared at her in stupor, not understanding the reasoning behind her vicious attack. Grey eyes stared back at her, lost and agonized, that one gaze asking her the questions he could not voice out loud. Riedel merely looked back at him, her own hands still clasped around his and Rolf tried to discern the emotions beneath those emerald irises, to see whether something within them would shift at her victory. He was far too consumed by his own desperation to make sense of even the strongest of emotions and even less of those ones that required close observation. She told him that had she been able to, she would have pulled him from that cold world, yet Rolf could not fathom why she would have held any interest in such a gesture of kindness and mercy. He could only see cold neutrality in her expression and such a thick sheet of cold ice had suddenly spread over his heart, he had been rendered simply unable to understand even the most basic of human emotions. Rolf's insides had been carved empty and housed with only the howling, freezing winds of despair and he tried to push the truth back to its dark pit, yet he had been drained of his strength and the vicious emotion merely cackled at him, mirthfully choosing to torture him with pointing out the thick iron bars of his prison as they emerged from the shadows.

The man saw her moving away from him, a mere pale figure gliding into the darkness and he only stared after her in silence while the beast of desperation feasted on his suddenly vulnerable insides. With his skin crawling from the sudden coldness, he stood there for moments that might have lasted only for seconds or several minutes, before he finally breathed out and glanced at his fist, allowing his fingers to unfurl slowly to reveal the golden glint of the engagement ring upon the palm of his hand. He felt as if this simple item had suddenly been injected with some disease that was infecting him more effectively each moment he was in contact with it and the plague was already travelling up his wrist and entering the veins in his arms. With a sudden snarl, Rolf pivoted around and brought his hand far behind him, just so that he could throw the ring away and hear it emit a soft metallic chime as the air travelled through it and the golden glint was soon obscured by the shadows as the item vanished from his sight. An animalistic roar escaped from his throat, as if the man wished to threaten the item into staying away from him and with that feral growl he allowed himself to unleash the fury within. It was anger towards his duties, towards the people surrounding them and their constant demands, at the shackles that constrained him and at Riedel, at the way in which she always managed to slyly find the worst means of wounding him, even when she should have been so effectively chained by him. It did little to make him feel any better and he turned around, slamming his fist upon the wooden surface of the makeshift table, the hateful strike almost causing the bones of his fingers to crack, yet it was not enough. He struck the surface a second time, leaving small bloodied marks upon his knuckles and allowing the pain to fill the space within him that had been left so empty and cold. It was at least something that still reminded him of the fact that he was still alive, and with these torrents of hatred and desperation swelling within his chest, Rolf pushed his hands against the table and closed his eyes, allowing himself to exist only in their violent, primal storm.

****

It was a week later that Hauptmann Rolf Jäger picked up his peaked cap from the seat of the Kubelwagen and placed it upon his head, his grey eyes frozen into an expression of cold determination as he slammed the door shut after him and eyed his surroundings, the Wehrmacht barracks already having grown more silent at half past eight in the evening. The Luftwaffe officer glanced at his watch more out of habit than actual purpose to confirm the time before he started walking past the various tents decisively, not wasting too much time in regarding any of the Wehrmacht soldiers he came upon and only allowing them a small nod in regards of any hasty salutes from the baffled soldiers. Riedel's presence was calling to him, shining like a burning star in the distance and already scorching his skin when he simply knew he was getting closer, each step closing the distance between himself and his prey. Rolf still carried the scars left by her words and he had merely pushed their disturbing essence deeper within himself, knowing that he could not expel the poison and the only way to survive through it was to seal it within. The reverberations of her stinging words could still be heard through the silent moments of the night, nightmares haunting him even through his waking hours, and he shuddered under their pressure in secret, grinding his teeth together and fearing of finding the band of gold glimmering upon his palm once more.

Even through this burning pain and hatred he had tied a thin piece of string around the lock of golden hair he had deposited inside his pocket not such a long time ago and, for reasons he could not understand, he had placed his makeshift charm inside his fighter. Maybe he wanted to be reminded of the shackles that awaited him below, ready to wrap themselves around his wrists the moment the wheels of his fighter touched on the ground once more, or maybe it was there to help him recall other, more benign things. Whatever it was, he knew that the day he had set upon his next mission, they all had flown into a hail of anti-aircraft fire and he had felt his fighter shudder, a certain and fiery death looming over the entire group of German pilots, yet as if by some blind strike of luck, all of them had flown free and escaped with nothing but severely shaken minds and minor damage upon the fighters and dive-bombers. It had been the very same day Rolf had deposited that lock of hair within his Messerschmitt and it was where it still remained... for whatever reason.

Rolf could already spot the shadowed figure of a motorcycle some distance away and he narrowed his eyes, already knowing that this was where Riedel was, that she was the very person currently crouched next to the vehicle in silent determination. The man had not drawn up any decisive plan on what he wanted to do with the woman upon his unexpected visit, but he knew he needed to make her understand that he was not as weak as she made him out to be, that he was a force to be reckoned with and that if there was no escape for him, there was no such release for her, either. Rolf also realized that there were many things he needed to know about her and that she was obliged to answer whatever inquiries he might have for her. It was time to make use of this advantage, and this self-confidence radiated from him clearer with each step he took towards the Leutnant. Rolf came to a slow stop behind Riedel, his chin tilting up into a familiar, self-absorbed gesture while he hooked a thumb under his belt. "Leutnant," the man allowed the raspy essence of his words to linger in the air, to disclose his identity to her without the need for visual confirmation. The man still waited for Riedel to regard him before he spoke again, just so that she could see that amused glint in his eyes. "Ich kann sehen, dass Sie mit irgendetwas Wichtigem nicht beschäftigt sind, so wollen wir sprechen, stimmt das?" Rolf asked, but of course, it was not a request and he arched his eyebrow expectantly at her. If the woman had expected that her vicious attack was enough to drive him away, she should by now be finding out that she had been sorely wrong, indeed.

Instead of really expecting an answer, the man grumbled low in his throat and started circling around the motorcycle as if in deep thought, spending this time with finding a case of cigarettes from his pocket, picking up one of the paper rolls and coming to a stop at the other side of the vehicle to light it. He craned his neck as he shielded the flame from the nonexistent breeze and the ember of the cigarette lit the man's features for a small moment with an orange gloom before he flicked the lighter shut and returned the gaze of his grey eyes back at her, pushing the lighter into his pocket and allowing his hand to remain resting there. Rolf watched her in silence, his head tilted slightly to the side as he brought the cigarette to his lips and allowed her to exist in that agonizing moment of silence and uncertainty. It was only several seconds later when his raspy voice broke the silence once more, the man's tone coated with no small amount of self-assurance. "Ich bedauere die Tatsache, die wir die Chance nicht gehabt haben, richtig zu reden. Das ist wirklich ein Ding, eine Geschichte einer Person durch Dateien und ein völlig verschiedenes Ding lesend, es mit dem Betroffenen wirklich zu besprechen, nicht wahr?" Rolf asked with a crooked smile, arching an eyebrow at her. She could claim to know things about his life, but she really knew nothing, where as Rolf was familiar with her history as it was recorded in official papers and furthermore, he was free to ask her any question he wished, was he not? "Im Krankenhaus hatten Sie einen Albtraum, und als Sie aufwachten, sprachen Sie der Name Ihres Bruders. Wie war dieser Traum darüber? Und was ist das mit Julian, irgendwie?" Rolf furrowed his eyebrows. "Es scheint, dass der Woltermann zu bleibenden Geheimnissen aller Arten besonder ist. Zu schlecht scheinen sie nie in irgend etwas anderes aber Schwierigkeiten zu bekommen. Er muss wissen, dass Sie hier sind. So was tut er in Madgeburg? Und gerade welcher... Eindringen Sie Angst davor haben?" Rolf recalled the words he had spied when Riedel had been on the phone, remembering just how different, how elated her voice had been upon this brief contact with her brother. Rolf needed to understand how it worked, what kind of commitment had driven Riedel to Africa and what it had to do with her family and that hungry glint for knowledge dominated the steel-grey of his eyes as he stared at her.

"Ich weiß, wie wichtig sie zu Ihnen, Riedel sind, haben Sie mir das mehr erzählt als einmal. Tatsächlich davon, was ich von Ihnen gehört habe, ist das anscheinend das einzige Ding, dass wirklich Sachen zu Ihnen, der wirkliche Grund, warum Sie hier sind. So um deinetwillen und ihrig.. seien Sie so nett," the man flashed his teeth dangerously from behind the grey wisps of tobacco smoke and smiled a predator's smile, satisfied of having finally cornered his prey. "Berichten mir über Julian."


Translations:

"Ich kann sehen, dass Sie mit irgendetwas Wichtigem nicht beschäftigt sind, so wollen wir sprechen, stimmt das?"
"I can see you are not busy with anything important, so let's talk, shall we?"

"Ich bedauere die Tatsache, die wir die Chance nicht gehabt haben, richtig zu reden..."
"I regret the fact we haven't had the chance to talk properly. It's really one thing reading a person's history through files and an entirely different thing to actually discuss it with the person in question, isn't it?"

"Im Krankenhaus hatten Sie einen Albtraum, und als Sie aufwachten, sprachen Sie der Name Ihres Bruders..."
"In the hospital you were having a nightmare and when you woke up, you spoke your brother's name. What was that dream about? And what's the deal with Julian, anyway? It seems like the Woltermann's are particular to keeping secrets of all kinds. Too bad they never seem to get you into anything else but trouble. He must know you are here. So what is he doing in Madgeburg? And just what kind of... intrusions are you afraid of?"

"Ich weiß, wie wichtig sie zu Ihnen, Riedel sind, haben Sie mir das mehr erzählt als einmal..."
"I know how important they are to you, Riedel, you've told me this more than once. In fact, from what I've heard from you, it's apparently the only thing that really matters to you, the very reason why you are here. So for your sake and theirs... indulge me. Tell me about Julian."

[Dirk Riedel]

The final war cries of battle and the taste of blood smeared around their uniforms, as the soldiers moved back to the frontlines, counting their losses, collecting their wounded. The reality of infantry war was so harsh and inescapable that it served to totally consume the woman’s heart and embrace her mind in such an absolute, unyielding manner that within a few days she had effortlessly forgotten about the Hauptmann. She had made her point rather clear and hoped her message would come across, that a creature even as thoughtless and unknowing as the pilot was would discern what she had endeavoured to communicate to him and eventually realize the futility of his actions, the useless vanity of his words. Had she really thought that she would never have to see his face again, or endure his presence? Perhaps not even the woman knew, for perhaps she had not wished to contemplate on this possibility and rather preferred to concentrate on the military tasks at hand, but the fact remained that she had used a tone of finality in her voice, and her actions themselves held an essence of irrefutability on them as she walked away from him and back into her world. Still, these were not the reasons exactly why the woman had forgotten about the Hauptmann. Once that reality of wartime exertion, distress and duty had hit her sharply across the face she could do nothing else but accept its brutal force as it cruelly demanded a significant place in her life, and completely claimed her. She no longer thought of the pilot as she was carrying back the broken bodies of her comrades; she no longer cared as she was standing by the side of the wounded and held their hands tightly or shut their mouths decisively to drown out the agonizing shrieking while they were being amputated; her mind was too consumed to reconsider a person’s whimsicalities and various caprices, to be concerned over what now appeared so insignificant factors as the man’s blackmailing habits, to even attempt to understand him. She no longer cared, no wished cared to know of him, or consider his many weaknesses. It was so easy to forget him and, as the days passed, even that radiant gleam of his ice-cold silver eyes that had always seemed to be following her now began to fade, turning pale in her mind until it no longer existed, and he had become a mere insignificant, unpleasant distant memory.

Slow was the rhythm of her hand across the metallic surface, as the soft linen caressed the motorcycle in that one, thoughtful movement, first in circular patterns, then in straight lines, the Leutnant crouching down with her knees bent and her head bowed as she deeply concentrated on this task, absorbed as she seemed to be and as always dedicated to her duty, the soft breeze cooling her skin and her eyes remaining fixed upon the vehicle as she tended to it with a warm, affectionate manner. Her green eyes stared at the motion of her hand with a resolute stance, and not once did they look away – until, all of a sudden, a familiar voice broke through the air and pierced her mind with its entire force, before her heart missed a beat and irises raised to look at the wilderness in front of her, frozen and cold. She did not need to turn around and make sure that it was, indeed, the Hauptmann standing right behind her, that effortlessly identifiable starkness of tone, the arrogance and self-centered stance, the self-confidence, all communicated through that one single word. She slowly turned her head over her shoulders and the eyes that met hers were a pair of silver grays looking at her as though he held all the power in the world. The woman slowly lifted her body and raised herself to her full height as she stared back at him, her hand almost numbly placing the cloth upon the motorcycle’s head and she properly turned around to face him, hands lying down by her sides and with her expression emotionless, but solemn. She waited for him to speak, but he merely circled around the motorcycle, like a carnivore targeting its prey, and took his own time to light a cigarette. Though she was patient, she was very much aware of the fact nothing good come out of such an unexpected visit – as most of them had been, unexpected and unpleasant – and she bore her determined gaze unto him, waiting. He said he wanted to talk, and her first thought was that the man wished to discuss what had passed between them in the previous occasion they had met in the Luftwaffe barracks, that he wanted to know, to understand, even craved for her to explain to him furthermore because there had been something on the inside which had begged of him to dig deeper through his life and unravel truths he had not formerly desired to delve into, that perhaps he should ask what she had really meant as she had uttered all those cruel words. How wrong she were.

Her eyebrows curved above those eyes once he spoke of the nightmare, of Julian, and to hear that name pronounced stung onto her heart with a force so brutal, so uncontrollable that almost raised a headache within her mind, and her eyes gleamed with a distinctive glint in the surrounding darkness that was beginning to form. She had even forgotten about the nightmare before he reminded her of it, and she frowned at first, a moment or so before her mind was able to grasp his recollection, feverish and unconscious for many hours as she had been at the time. By now she had forgotten the details of that dream, and could hardly recall what had preceded that one event which had brought her anguish; she looked at him sternly when he spoke the name of the Woltermanns, and how did she hate him for that simple utterance. He had no right to even make mention of such a word, to her sacred and unbefitting to be uttered by someone as worthless as him, especially in this situation involving only exploitation and ill-natured intentions. The muscles in her face tautened, and her hardened jaw accentuated the severity of that complexion which, upon locating a very ominous threat, had embraced the qualities of a bird of prey acting on the defensive. The Hauptmann continued speaking of Julian, asking for information, and even indirectly brought up the fact she had no other choice but submit to his request, ‘for her sake and theirs’. She understood the true meaning of those words, and resented that dry smile etched across his face, self-confident and victorious as it was. If she could she would slap it off his face but then she could only remain rooted to the spot, watching him closely and expecting another attack very soon, but then the man merely stood in his place, in front of her, and leering at her with menace and the promise of imminent punishment should she refuse to obey to his demands. She could lucidly recollect the severity of the moment when he had made quite clear to her back in the room how he would take no other offence from her, that even the way she looked at him was to be characterized by appropriateness and meet his approval – and if such threats had fallen into the void before, now materialized in all of their sheer magnitude, alive and afresh with raw force that she could never question their implementation for a second.

If she had taken a step forwards in the Luftwaffe barracks in an attempt to briefly reach out to him (even if for the sole purpose of delivering a clear message within his psyche rather than occupy a part of his soul), now she took a distinctive step backwards, and the fires of rage and wrath, fueled by his never-ceasing insolence, burned inside her frame, threatening to have her lose her composure; and though she stood perfectly still, that façade of calmness only appeared on the exterior, for inside her she was trembling. Her cold eyes met his in a fierce expression of unadulterated intolerance, but did she really have any choice? It was not simply the fact she should disclose personal information to him and, thus, jeopardize not only her own position within the military but also Julian’s future – it was that by speaking of Julian her heart began to crumble underneath the weight, the memories, and thinking of him again was painful. She thought of him every day, but sometimes she tried not to. She tried not to.

“Er wurde geschossen,” she said, her low voice finally breaking through the loud silence that had been established between them during those moments of an unyielding eye contact, her tone emotionless, drained – but most of all, fatigued and ridden of any traces of anger and wrath, as though by some wonder. “Im Traum wurde er geschossen,” she whispered hoarsely, and her throat momentarily constricted, for to recall that awful memory stung, and she concentrated upon his eyes as though they would provide for some form of distraction from such unspeakable, cruel possibilities. A moment of silence came to pass, before she said in that same low tone, “Ich hatte Angst vor einem Eindringen wie Ihrig.” To ask of those intrusions only further proved what she had realized what appeared to have been years ago that he had spied on her conversation with Julian – how this had been achieved she had no idea, but then she would admit she had been too engrossed by the opportunity offered to listen to Julian speak once more to pay attention to anything else at all. What should she have done? Allow her pride and better sense to take command of her mind and refuse herself to have that one and only chance to speak to her brother again and set her mind at rest? Be that as it may, she would not reveal to him what intrusions those truly were; the least she wanted was the man extending his threats once he realized that Lara Woltermann, indeed, had no idea of this whatsoever. The thought alone was horrifying, and Dirk well knew to conceal it from the Hauptmann.

Still, with a weary sigh she traced one or two steps backwards and sat upon the motorcycle’s saddle, her fingers instinctively groping inside the pocket of her trousers for the case of cigarettes and, soon enough, as she allowed the quietude to sink in whilst the sky had darkened overhead after dusk, she lit one and smoked. The grey fume pierced through her throat with its warm, burning substance and calmed her, and how odd it should be, how curious, that the thought of Julian managed to lower down the flames of wrath as his thoughtful, handsomely sylphlike face presented itself before her. “Er weiß dass ich hier bin,” she suddenly said, her voice low and hoarse, even contemplative. “Er war bereit Plätze zu schalten. Eher … zwang ich ihn zuzustimmen. Ich ließ ihn im Militär als Julian Woltermann erscheinen und die Prüfungen bestehen, er war bereit zu dienen bis ich seine Dokumente nahm und einen neuen Namen verwirkte. Wie?” Her eyes gleamed. “Es ist egal. Ich tat,” was the only thing she had to say in the matter. “Er hasste mich dafür, aber er hatte keine andere Auswahl aber Kompromiss mit der Wirklichkeit die die Tatsache war, war ein neuer Name jetzt als ein offizielles Papier klassifiziert worden. Und genau so war Dirk Riedel geboren,” she simply stated, and pulled the cigarette back to her lips to take a deep drag.

She stared at Jäger intently, eyes faintly narrowed as she breathed out the smoke from her nose and lips, the small cloud of grey fume surrounding her face in circular patterns and eventually dissolving into the atmosphere. “Er wollte kämpfen, er beschuldigte mich des Denkens, dass er schwach, aber … unfähig war, an den ich nur dachte, wie man ihn am besten schützte.” Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him through the smoke. “Sie kennen Julian nicht, er gehört dem Militär nicht,” she simply stated, and watched him closely, her irises never quite leaving his form, and blinking ever so few times. “Er kann nur schaffen, nicht zerstören – er ist eine Person der Literatur, Dichtung, Bereitwilligkeit und Empfindlichkeit. Er glaubt an den Ritterstand, der Adel der menschlichen Natur, er ist ein Träumer, ein Idealist,” she said, and as she spoke of her brother her tone had, funnily enough, adopted a softer texture to its hoarse tone. “Er wäre in der Armee gestorben. Er hätte ein einzelner Tag nicht gedauert. Ich fand ein Zimmer für ihn in Magdeburg, wo er bleiben konnte, ist dieser, wo ich ihn nannte.”

She breathed out the smoke again, and let it dance alongside her face in its tranquil, narcotic quality, sat upon the motorcycle as she was and staring directly at him. “Was noch wie man nahm an, ich tat? Was wie man nahm an, ich tat?” she whispered, frowning, but she did not expect him to respond. Rather, the question lingered in the air as she pulled the cigarette back to her lips, and her eyes wandered to the darkened sky, appearing thoughtful and pensive.



Translation

He was shot. In the dream he was shot.

I was afraid of an intrusion like yours.

He knows I am here. He agreed to switch places. Rather … I forced him to agree. I let him appear in the military as Julian Woltermann and pass the examinations, he was ready to serve until I took his documents and forfeited a new name. How? It doesn’t matter. I did. He hated me for it, but he had no other option but compromise with reality, that was the fact a new name had now been classified as an official paper. And that is how Dirk Riedel was born.

He wanted to fight, he accused me of thinking he was weak, incapable, but … I was only thinking of how to best protect him. You don’t know Julian, he does not belong to the military. He can only create, not destroy – he is a person of literature, poetry, good will and sensitivity. He believes in knighthood, the nobility of human nature, he is a dreamer, an idealist. He would have died in the army. He would not have lasted a single day. I found a room for him in Magdeburg where he could stay, that is where I called him.

What else was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do?

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf was certain that had he been able to turn the raw substance of Riedel's hatred and contempt into a fuel, it would have sufficed to keep the fighters of his entire Gruppe in the air for weeks. Even though her countenance appeared calm and collected as the man posed his questions to her, he could see those raw emotions reflecting from the green of her irises, swirling and sparkling just beneath the surface. He enjoyed witnessing that wrath she was forced to suppress, as it proved that she had finally taken heed of his threats and knew that Rolf had cornered her into a situation she could not hope to muscle her way out of. He was not entirely sure whether his anger at her defiance had been just that, a well-justified wrath aimed at her continuous boldness, or if he was actually worried that he would reveal her secret in a single moment of hatred and hence send her away from Africa and to an unpleasant fate waiting for her in Germany. It felt confusing, not knowing even your own motivations, but he still felt secretly relieved when she bent to his will and threats, as reluctant as this obedience was. Rolf still remembered how she had in her drunken state pointed out that Rolf needed to keep her around in Africa, for whom else might he have pestered after she was gone, and even though she most likely no longer remembered uttering such words, Rolf could still recall them. They rang frightfully true now that he considered them more closely, but even if the case was as Riedel had it observed, she still did not know this, did not understand the extent of importance she carried to Rolf. Even when she managed to stab him so painfully with her words, Rolf kept coming back, maybe to prove to both himself and Riedel that he would not fall so easily, that he would never give up as long as he could still draw breath. He had not even bothered considering any other reasons for his stubborn obsession and so he simply chose to live with it, allowing his whims to carry him along paths he had never before explored.

With this hungry curiosity and dedication he stared at Riedel the moment she spoke in a low voice that was void of the defiance, a tone that that had become so very familiar to Rolf, her words ringing forlorn in the late evening air. She told him that in her dream her brother had been shot, and so forsaken was her tone that one might have thought that the events had taken place in reality. Still, not for a moment did her gaze move from his eyes and Rolf observed her in silence, the cigarette held lightly between his fingers while she went on to answer his other question, admitting that she had been afraid of an intrusion like his. It wasn't an entirely surprising answer, really, yet Rolf felt strange hearing it from her and feeling like "an intrusion", as if he was only know realizing the full extent of power he held over her life. Imagine that she should have guarded her secret so meticulously, constantly living in fear and doubt of someone unraveling it, just to chance upon him on that one decisive night in Africa. If Rolf had taken part in the discussion he had been involved in, he might have never noticed her, never locked his eyes upon her dark-clad figure and she might have been walking free and undisturbed, still, but fate had decided otherwise. Fate had nudged Rolf away from the discussion, it had created a pause in the crowd to allow him to see her and the rest had simply started advancing with the determined, feral force of his primal desires. Yet was he really the worst person to uncover such a secret, when most of the others would have immediately reeled in horror upon the discovery and hurried to reveal Leutnant Riedel's true identity. Rolf would have certainly done this also, had he not been so caught by her presence, by his own obsession that apparently held him chained as carefully as his whims kept her a prisoner.

Riedel took a small moment to stand up, sitting quietly upon the saddle of the motorcycle while she found her cigarettes and lit one of them. Rolf observed her quietly, knowing that now that she was speaking, she would tell him more without any further prodding and what things she had to say next, what precarious secrets was she ready to speak! The Hauptmann had stopped smoking his own cigarette the moment she revealed the true reason to her presence in Africa and in the German army and he could only stare at her in silence, breathing out slowly with that ever hungry glint in his eyes. Even though her story seemed like something that only happened in books, he knew that what she was telling him was the truth, that if anyone, it was her that should make such a sacrifice for her family. Even though Rolf could not personally understand the extent of love and affection the woman held for her family, he knew dedication. There had been such stern devotion in her voice every time she had spoken about her family, when she had heard her brother's voice in that phone, there could simply be no doubt over the truthfulness of her words. She had taken her brother's place in the army even through his protests, had arranged the papers to be forged and stepped into the lines of the Wehrmacht undetected - just another man dedicated to serving the Fatherland.

Rolf listened to her explanation, furrowing his eyebrows slightly when he wondered what made Julian Woltermann so special that his sister felt he was not fit to serve his country and that she should endanger herself, take upon such a precarious and taxing task as pretending to be something else entirely, but she answered this question before he had the chance to ask about it. Riedel gazed back at him, while Rolf remembered to take a drag from his cigarette and he parted his lips slightly to exhale the smoke lazily, his attention completely fixed on her and his mind engrossed by her tale, growing ever hungry for more details. Riedel told him that her brother had wanted to fight, but she had deemed it safer if he remained out of the harm's way, that he was no soldier, but a poet and a dreamer. Riedel's mention of knighthood caused something to shift within Rolf and he could identify with admiring such a quality, even though the other qualities Julian admired seemed far more foreign to him. When Rolf had been but a boy and denied the friendship of other children, he had delved into books of knights and battles of old, ever admiring and aspiring to grow up to be something like them, charging into battle fearless and proud. Those had been the only stories he had been interested in and books generally had bored him, but his bookshelf back home still held those treasured tales of ancient wars and gallant heroes. Still, he was now living those tales in the closest form possible, while Riedel's brother was living in safety in Madgeburg, sheltered by his protective sister from a reality he could not survive. How could two siblings possibly grow so very different from each other, Rolf could not fathom, but somehow Riedel had absorbed the qualities her brother should have possessed, growing up stern and stubborn, stalwart and fierce.

Riedel's gaze shifted away from the Hauptmann as she asked what else she should have done, the question obviously one not meant to be answered. Rolf narrowed his eyes and considered this new knowledge for a small moment of silence, before his lips drew into a loose smile and he chuckled hoarsely, his irises glinting with open amusement and wonder. "Als Sie sagten, dass Sie hier wegen der Hingabe sind, die Sie für andere hielten, ich erwartete noch nie etwas wie das. Sie gehen diese ganzen Schwierigkeiten durch, nur Ihren Bruder von seiner Aufgabe und inwieweit zu verschonen..? Und wenn er dabei ist, was dann gefunden zu werden? Er wird als ein Andersdenkender, ein Verräter am Vaterland behandelt. Sie können nicht ihn vor allem schützen, jetzt können Sie?" the man asked with a small arch of his eyebrow, bringing the cigarette back to his lips briefly. "Und verschonen Sie mich von einem anderen Vortrag über die Liebe, ich weiß, wie Sie ihm erlauben, alle Dinge in Ihrem Leben, ein ebenso überflüssiges Gefühl zu diktieren, wie es ist. Ich kann verstehen, warum Sie zu diesen Längen gegangen sind, ist es Ihre Naivität, mit der ich Schwierigkeiten habe. Wie lange glauben Sie, dass Sie diese Tat aufrechterhalten können? Alles, was es nimmt, ist ein Fehler, verwundet und gesandt zu einem Feldkrankenhaus, und... da hast du's," Rolf's eyes flashed fervently at the declaration. "Natürlich hatten Sie das Nameng aus Ihres lieben Bruders vorbei an Ihren Lippen nie gelassen, nicht sogar am Schmerz des Todes. Aber wie steht's mit ihm? Wenn er aus dem Verbergen geraucht wird, denken Sie, dass er im Stande sein wird, dieselbe Zähigkeit zu zeigen, wie Sie, Riedel können? Oder betrachten Sie jemals diese Auswahl überhaupt wirklich aufrichtig, oder fühlen Sie sich zufrieden genug in Ihrem Trugbild seiner Sicherheit einfach?" It was more a rhetorical question than anything and Rolf allowed his ominous words to sink in, his gaze suddenly sharper and more serious. Riedel had certainly gotten caught up in a tangle of lies, one that would choke both her and those she so fervently wished to keep safe, but was she aware of this or was she, as her brother, simply a dreamer after all?

The Hauptmann diverted his gaze from the woman, smoking his cigarette in an almost revered silence as he contemplated on other things, considering the curious choices she had made in her life. He needed to understand why Riedel was so different and what kind of force fueled her heart, burning bright and untamed as it was and a simple question made itself known soon enough. The man's steel-grey eyes returned back at her figure once more and his expression was now dominated by confusion and open interest. "Warum wählten Sie ein normales Leben nicht? War es der Krieg der störte einfach das, Ihre Hingabe zu Ihrer Familie? Warum haben Sie sich nicht verheiratet und eine Familie angefangen? Ich würde mir vorstellen, dass Ihre Mutter mindestens diese dieselben Fragen von Ihnen gestellt hat," Rolf allowed the ember of the cigarette burn between his fingers, the tobacco roll remaining untouched when his attention became fully occupied by the questions. "Oder konnten Sie nicht einfach einen Mann finden der konnte sowohl Sie als auch Ihre groben Bauer-Manieren dulden?" the man asked with a crooked smile, his grey eyes glinting with mischief even when Riedel herself might have not been in the mood for such jesting. Rolf could already imagine it, an amorous suitor knocking on the door of the Woltermann residence, just to have the door burst open, Riedel emerging from the house like an attacking lioness and spouting out strings of profanities. What kind of man in their right mind, indeed, would wish to marry someone like Riedel? Yet, with all of her fervent speeches concerning love and family, shouldn't she have been just the kind to choose those things, to live a life of peace and commitment. She might have been forced to her current situation, but did she truly enjoy the arduous life of a soldier in the forlorn wastes of Africa over the simple, tender duties of a dedicated wife? Rolf already knew that Riedel was different from all other women, entirely, and that she cared not for the fancy things the aristocratic women did, but was it truly something she would have rather chosen or was it simply something she had become far too accustomed to?

Rolf narrowed his eyes as he contemplated on this, soon realizing that it was much more straightforward to simply ask for her opinion. "Wenn Sie die Wahl hätten, wenn Ihr Bruder in keiner Gefahr überhaupt sein würde, würden Sie diese andere Art des Lebens über diesen wählen?" the man asked with a low voice, tilting his head to the side and keenly observing her expression to see if the answer would come to her easily or if it required some consideration first.


Translations:

"Als Sie sagten, dass Sie hier wegen der Hingabe sind, die Sie für andere hielten.."
"When you said you are here because of dedication you held for others, I still never expected something like this. You go through all this trouble, only to spare your brother from his duty and to what extent..? What if he is going to be found, what then? He'll be treated as a dissenter, a traitor to the Fatherland. You can't protect him from everything, now can you?"

"Und verschonen Sie mich von einem anderen Vortrag über die Liebe..."
"And spare me from another lecture about love, I know how you allow it to dictate all things in your life, as redundant a feeling as it is. I can understand why you've gone to these lengths, it's your naivety I have trouble with. How long do you figure you can keep up this act? All it takes is one mistake, getting wounded and sent to a field hospital and... well, there you are."

"Natürlich hatten Sie das Nameng aus Ihres lieben Bruders vorbei an Ihren Lippen nie gelassen, nicht sogar am Schmerz des Todes. Aber wie steht's mit ihm..?"
"Of course, you'd never let your dear brother's name slip past your lips, not even at the pain of death. But what about him? If he is smoked out of hiding, do you think he'll be able to show the same tenacity as you can, Riedel? Or do you ever really truly consider this option at all, or are you simply feeling content enough in your illusion of his safety?"

"Warum wählten Sie ein normales Leben nicht..?"
"Why didn't you just choose a normal life? Was it the war that simply interfered with that, your dedication to your family? Why haven't you gotten married and started a family? I'd imagine that your mother, at least, has been asking these same questions of you."

"Oder konnten Sie nicht einfach einen Mann finden der konnte sowohl Sie als auch Ihre groben Bauer-Manieren dulden?"
"Or could you simply not find a man who could tolerate both you and your crude peasant manners?"

"Wenn Sie die Wahl hätten, wenn Ihr Bruder in keiner Gefahr überhaupt sein würde, würden Sie diese andere Art des Lebens über diesen wählen?"
"If you had the choice, if your brother wouldn't be in any danger at all, would you choose that other kind of life over this one?"

[Dirk Riedel]

There had been a misunderstanding here which the woman had not foreseen, and her eyes faintly widened as the baron chuckled in such a rude manner at her explanation, the sudden urge to slap him hard across the face consuming her mind for a brief second prior to confusion dominating her inside on the reasoning behind such conduct. It was when the pilot had proceeded to explain the reason of that short-lived amusement, however, that she truly did feel an aching force of wrath and intolerance sweep entirely through the insides of her body, across every fibre of her skin and polluting her mind with savage, unspeakable thoughts. She had shared that she had switched places with Julian chiefly under the impression the Hauptmann had already known of this, and she had merely confirmed it. Indeed, what else was more reasonable to assume other than the fact the woman was now standing in lieu of her brother in the Wehrmacht barracks, wearing the uniform that should have been worn by him and the tags around her neck which should have spelled ‘Julian Woltermann.’ Once the Hauptmann had discovered her secret, it seemed only natural to her that he had furthermore and by extent considered this as well, simply asking her for the insignificant purpose of having her determine this officially. The question remained, however, would she really have not told him at any rate even under the occasion she had known that the man possessed no such knowledge? Be that as it may, the scope of hatred the woman suddenly felt towards her own mindless self was too grand to grasp in words, and she only stared at him quietly in stunned disbelief, attempting to calm down her spirits and soothe the agonizing waves of guilt and distress born afresh and seizing hold of her better judgement, even her sanity. She could only remain just as silent – but not calmly so, as was made evident by the widened irises and the distinctly, albeit not to outwardly shown, anguished outlook of her face – as the Hauptmann bespoke those possibilities she had once thought of herself, only this time her mind received such possibilities as nothing more or less but ominous threats from the man’s part. Julian would have been regarded as a dissenter from the army, indeed a traitor, and Dirk’s anguish only grew as she imagined the Hauptmann perfectly capable of such actions. Her heart was beating faster against her ribcage and she had to clench her fist around the cigarette’s length more tightly, her knuckles whitening from the sheer pressure of such a forceful gesture, to conceal the fact her fingers had briefly shivered from the thoughts, threats, nothing but threats infiltrating the iron-firm steeliness of her mind in such shamefully effortless fashion as warranted access within and broke that calm neutrality that had often characterized the woman.

Her eyes remained transfixed upon the Hauptmann’s figure, and even under the circumstance she would have wished to either depart or head elsewhere she found that she could hardly move, her body entirely numb and her skin cold under the evening breeze which only proliferated once it came into contact with her, gently slapping her across the face as though in punishment over her own moment of utter foolishness. Had she not spoken of the fact she had swapped placed with Julian the Hauptmann would have never realized this to begin with, never assume Julian was isolated and whose existence solely relied upon Dirk’s capacity of deceit and secrecy, and never understand precisely what kind of measure he held over his life. Julian’s life had been risked once the Hauptmann had discovered her secret, but now she had unknowingly, bitterly and irreversibly jeopardized his survival due to her own wretched ignorance. She swallowed, her throat dry and her lips dehydrated, but she could barely feel that simple motion as she glared at him through that haze of wrath, hatred and self-condemnation, at the same time as the man spoke, strangely enough, of her naivety, and Dirk’s eyebrows furrowed at the thought. She may have been ‘endowed’ with several flaws, indeed, but naivety certainly was not of them, and thus had no idea what the man could have possibly meant or whether it had simply been the side-effects of sitting underneath the sun for too long hours, but once he continued to found this belief with reasons of his own she could understand. She had considered these same thoughts herself all those years back during which she had finalized upon her plan, the same ideas had pursued her like nightmares sitting in the corner of the shadows, waiting for her to close her eyelids to infiltrate her mind and pain her with the sheer force of their horrors.

At first she had been too adamant, too blind to accept these possibilities; she had perhaps even arrogantly – too passionate and fiercely uncompromising in her task to protect her brother in the best way she could – ignored them, crushed them under her own young nature, a nature which had desired to take everything along its wake and disrupt all odds that went against such a plan. She had been too ferocious, even foolish, to force herself to believe she could rule out any chance of her plan going completely wrong, of everything being executed with a precise co-ordination that would manage to take notice of anything slightly suspicious and immediately correct it. She was not and never had been a woman of mindless, optimistic mindsets who dwelled out on clouds and forgot to place her feet back on the ground; rather, she had always been too sensible, too practical and excessively considerate of every aspect, cautious and guarding, perceptive and contemplative, but once the issue of putting her brother out of harm’s way had been raised her soul had denied any likelihood of failure, blinded by an excess of sorrow and the pain of loss, the need to lose no more overwhelming her judgement. It had been her own brother who had, strangely enough, reminded her of this reality, a rather weird occurrence in itself considering he had invariably been the one to dwell in fantasies and quixotic tales. She remembered that day as lucidly as though it had only happened yesterday, and yet it was so many years ago.

Dressed in the military uniform of the Wehrmacht, Dirk Riedel opened the door, ready to step outdoors and leave, before the young man’s voice broke the silence. “Sie können nicht es tun, Sie wissen,” he spoke in his soft, calm voice, and the woman turned around to look at him, his gleaming crystal blue eyes, that handsome youthful face, painted in freckles and adorned by thin lines that only expressed the delicacy of his nature, his posture tall and sylphlike, golden blonde locks of hair falling gracefully on his pale forehead as he stared back at his sister with a thoughtful, melancholy countenance. “Sie können nicht mich vor allem schützen – und Sie können nicht mich für immer schützen,” he said slowly, and the still silence absorbed these words, rooting the woman to the spot and temporarily disabling her capacity of movement as she succumbed into numbness, and something had cracked within her even if outwardly she appeared calm and controlled. The young man continued looking at her in silence, arms lying down by his sides and dressed in a warm sweater in that early autumn’s cold afternoon. Without a word, the woman’s hand grasped tightly onto the latch and, with a final glance, she turned around and walked outside, creaking the door closed behind her.

She stared at the Hauptmann closely, her green eyes gleaming brightly before she finally spoke. “Es gab zwei Möglichkeiten, lässt Julian sich dem Militär anschließen und in dieser Verschwendung eines Kontinents genommen werden oder ihn in einer Wohnung an einer Stadt des niedrigen Profils isolieren. Die Verschiedenheit seines Überlebens ist in der letzten Alternative viel größer, so können Sie mich wirklich verantwortlich machen, dass zu wählen? Es ist nicht darüber was geschehen kann – ist es darüber, was ich verhindern kann,” she said, and she desperately tried to control her voice to force it to appear as natural and decisive, and prevent it from sounding broken and uneven from her own inner anguish. These were facts she never compromised with and, thus, words she never told her, and which she had not once managed to persuade herself to believe – this relative way of viewing this matter. Certainly, Dirk was the kind of woman to always judge matters in a relative and comparative fashion, knowing quite well this was the only way issues should be judged, yet when it came to her family, perhaps even blinded by her affection for them, she completely disregarded this method and at all times judged in a relentless, absolute manner. No, though it was wiser to choose the possibility offering the greatest odds of survival she had not judged in this fashion, thinking that if this failed she had at least made a wise choice because, no matter how her scientific, relative nature interfered with the perspective she had on all matters, the primary reasoning which had made her force Julian to be isolated in that apartment was the knowledge that nothing, absolutely nothing would happen to him. She never thought that even if anything happened to him it would be of less danger than any wound earned during his service in the military because, basically, her mind refused to come to terms even with the possibility of an injury to begin with. She had grown, attempted to make her own self see sense and face the fact that a number of rather unpleasant things could happen to Julian, but such thoughts were enough to drive her to insanity and she resolutely refused them access. Her caring nature had triumphed over any rationality she would have otherwise possessed and thus simply neglected to look at this side of the argument. She had been a mother, a sister and a father at the same time, roles whose skin she could never shed – regardless of how many other identities she were to assume, be that one of a Wehrmacht Leutnant or anything else which would come up, these principal roles which characterized the essence and nature of Friederike Woltermann would never be dissolved.

“Ich bin vorher mehrere Male verwundet worden. Ich passte darauf selbst … auf, wie ich immer getan habe. Ich würde nie erlauben, zu einem Feldkrankenhaus gesandt zu werden, weil ich diese Pistole nehmen und mich im Kopf schießen würde, wenn ich muss. Ich erzählte Ihnen sobald, und ich werde es wieder sagen: Sie haben keine Idee von den Längen ich würde mich … keine Idee zuwenden. Sie können mir vertrauen, in dem ich diese Rolle vollkommen bewusst jedes Aspekts annahm, über den ich nachdenken musste,” she told him, her voice once again strong and fierce as it had once been, eyes shining with dedication, resolute determination but, above all, a ferocity of character that truly seemed to belong to the woman, and how plainly could the man see she meant every word she had spoken, how effortless it was to believe that here stood a person whose unbroken loyalty did not regard sacrifice as either horror or a burden but through this action hoped to achieve the well-being of one’s beloved kin. She was not a martyr, neither was she a romanticist, a fantasist or a poet who declared such passionate actions of chivalry and knighthood, she did not believe there was anything glorious and poetic in such sacrifice to begin with and resented all those forms of art which depicted this to be something extraordinary and admirable, her own raw conviction that of such a sacrifice being only a natural and normal thing to do. There was such insolence, wrath and cruelty in the world that such a form of dedication might be regarded outlandish, irrelevant or noteworthy, but to Dirk there was nothing noteworthy whatsoever about protecting those closest to you, rather she thought that to deem such an action as such only degraded it even more, classifying it under a category of measures to be taken only in special circumstances. Indeed, Dirk abhorred such a treatment of this aspect and found it nothing short of disgusting.

“Bis jetzt ist der nur ein Fehler … Sie gewesen,” she said in a low, contemplative tone as her green eyes remained transfixed on his, the cigarette pressed within the fingers of her right hand, forgotten and neglected for the time being. The Hauptmann spoke of a simple life, of things which she could admit were reasonably questioned, issues which she had once or twice even questioned herself, and even went as far as to jest – in another circumstance she might have laughed, finding the source of his amusement legitimate and entertaining, even truthful to an extent, but at this very moment any such desire had been drained from within her soul and her gaze was unsmiling, desolate and very dry. She considered his words for a few moments before she remembered to smoke again, bringing the cigarette closer to her mouth as she drew in from the tobacco roll, looking away but also at nothing in particular, her gaze forlorn and thoughtful. “Heirat …” she breathed in a hoarse sound, in what appeared to have been a combination of a scoff and a sigh, as she then softly blew out the fume from her lips.

But with his final question her face turned immediately back to look at him, irises widened in stunned disbelief, lips faintly parted and fingers cold and numb; she felt weakened, her mind felt cruelly violated as he spoke of that very own question she had always posed to herself with anger, with guilt, with hatred, but she always had never mastered an effective response, not even one to relieve herself, not even the most pitiful, pathetic excuse she could embrace. Rather, the question now stood hanging in the air in all of its noxious quality, the woman only staring at the man’s eyes, numb and distressed, and unable to answer.



Translation

You can’t do it, you know. You can’t protect me from everything – and you can’t protect me forever.

There were two possibilities, let Julian join the military and be taken in this waste of a continent or isolate him in a flat at a low-profile town. The odds of his survival are far greater in the latter alternative, so can you really blame me for choosing that? It’s not about what can happen – it is about what I can prevent.

I have been wounded before, several times. I took care of it myself … as I have always done. I’d never allow to be sent to a field hospital because I would take this gun and shoot me in the head if I must. I told you once, and I will say it again: you have no idea of the lengths I would turn to … no idea. You can trust me in that I assumed this role perfectly conscious of every aspect I had to consider.

So far the only one mistake … has been you.

Marriage …

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf had never expected to find himself so hungry for something as simple as knowledge, answers pried from the lips of someone who would have not mattered enough to Rolf to even warrant him to glance at her more than once, yet here he stood, greedily absorbing each word she had to say. The Hauptmann had never cared enough about other people to ask them personal questions and he had never bothered, unless it was something he knew would give him an advantage in matters that actually mattered to him. Riedel was nothing more but a simple peasant with a bad temper, yet Rolf had already learned that beneath that simple facade something more complicated lay hidden, something that separated her from all the other people he had ever come across so far. For reasons still unknown to him, he felt the burning desire to delve into that burning core of hers, to rip it open with violence if needed, just to glance upon the secrets that lay within.

For now her answers had satisfied his curiosity and Rolf kept his sharp gaze upon Riedel, watching as some measure of distress passed through her features upon the implication of her brother finding himself in trouble sooner or later. Rolf tried to understand the measure of affection and dedication the woman held for her brother, yet so foreign was this thought, it merely left him confused and doubtful. Certainly he had witnessed the interaction that passed between siblings, even if these experiences had not been personal, but the only thing he had seen so far was the fighting that passed between them, no doubt stemming from a feral need to survive and hence, to advance over the other members of the brood. On occasion he had naturally witnessed the kind of awkward tolerance that passed between members of the family, but in the circles Rolf had become accustomed to, there was always a sense of treachery lingering underneath this nervous kinship. The youngest brother wanted to inherit the legacy past their older sibling, the sister plotted against his brother, also hungering for whatever riches the family possessed and so it went on, a neverending cycle of hungry, treacherous souls sharpening their knives behind the backs of their relatives. Rolf had never suffered from such plotting, for he was the only child in the family and he knew that this was something that bothered his parents greatly, for he had not been spared from overhearing them discussing the matter. Rolf, however, felt quite happy for not having any siblings, even when he now found himself at a disadvantage when trying to understand the bond that existed between Riedel and her brother.

The woman claimed that she had saved her brother from a grisly fate by having him hide back in Germany instead of allowing the war to force him to Africa and Rolf could agree with this sentiment, for it was far less likely that someone might have found him from his hiding place than to have him placed in the middle of a rain of bullets and not expecting any of them to hit home. The Hauptmann could understand that she merely wished for Julian to survive, yet what was the price of his survival? Riedel was ready to lay down her own life for him, living the life of someone else and facing the challenges that Africa threw against her invaders, but what was the price that Julian had to pay? Did he not feel like a coward and a gross exemption from the norm when he heard the news reporters praising the heroic deeds of the soldiers fighting for their Fatherland, further knowing that his sister was hiding amongst them and performing his duties for him? Or maybe he realized this and this was why he had protested, as Riedel had explained to him, even hated his sister for stealing this duty from him. Rolf could not know, of course, but the thought lingered within his mind for a small moment before Riedel spoke about her stern dedication to the task. She claimed she knew the risks and that she was prepared for them, even enough to take her own life should she find herself in the immediate threat of being discovered. These words drew a small raise of eyebrows from Rolf and he could easily tell from the fervent tone of her voice that she was being serious and that she would go through whatever means necessary to shield her kin.

Dropping the cigarette upon the sand, Rolf brought his boot down upon it to kill its ember and he glanced at Riedel from beneath his brows when she mentioned that the only mistake she had come upon so far had been him. He was not sure if he should have been offended or pleased by that remark, so he chose to simply remain neutral, rather waiting for an answer to his other questions, the ones regarding family and marriage. These questions seemed to freeze her completely and the woman stared at him blankly, as if Rolf had just delved into something that should have been forgotten and her eyes seemed to lose some of that determination as she gazed back at him in stunned silence. Rolf tilted his head to the side and narrowed his grey eyes when he received no answer and the man scoffed at her stunned expression, picking up the peaked cap from his head and running a hand from his forehead to the back of his neck. "Ich glaube, dass Sie einfach einen Mann nicht gefunden haben, der Ihre Gesellschaft dann dulden konnte," the man commented jeeringly. "Kann nicht sie wirklich verantwortlich machen," Rolf added hoarsely, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Die einzige Zeit ich habe Ihre Anwesenheit tragbar gefunden, ist gewesen, als Sie geschlafen haben. Mindestens jene Zeiten breiten Sie das Gift Ihrer Worte ringsherum nicht aus. Für jemanden, der solch eine Menge von Meinungen auf einer Ehe von jemandem anderen hat, haben Sie sicher keine persönlichen Kenntnisse auf dem Thema." There was a brief twinge of some other emotion included in those words, a thin coat of bitterness painted over them, and Rolf held the cap in his hands, choosing to rather stare at the silver Luftwaffe eagle for a small moment. Maybe it was just that; maybe Riedel had not married simply because her nature was such that no self-respecting German man would have ever remained around her after witnessing her true nature, or maybe she simply had not found the right one yet. She must have met some men during her life, anyway, looking as agreeable as she did. She could not be a virgin, anyway. Rolf's gaze lifted swiftly at the thought, to regard Riedel once more while he tilted his chin down, staring at her appraisingly. No. Definitely not. He couldn't see it, she hadn't acted with that fear and innocence he would relate to such a thing and she was far too... bold. No, she was simply too unbearable for anyone to keep around for longer than necessary, not to mention marrying her with the knowledge of spending the rest of one's life with her.

Rolf regarded her with this thought in mind and found the mere notion of this far too ridiculous to even imagine and the corner of his mouth drew into a brief, dry smile. "Und doch, Sie müssen Ehe an einem Punkt mindestens betrachtet haben. Oder sind Sie im Entsprechen den Anforderungen Ihrer Mutter so erfolglos gewesen, Sie haben eine verschiedene Rolle übernommen, vorgebend, etwas zu sein, dass Sie nicht sind? Sich davon zu verschonen, ein allzu verliebtes Walross zu heiraten?" Rolf knew that this was not the reason to Riedel's presence in Africa, she had made the point about her brother clear enough, but he wanted to draw her anger and irritation, to force that answer from her even if he had to draw blood in the process. There must have been some true reason as to why her life had unfolded in the manner as it had and Rolf needed to understand it. Something had created her to stand out from the others of her kind and harsh past alone could not warrant for all of this. She was not the only person to come from difficult conditions and not all women who had to toil away on arduous duties grew up to be like her.

Whatever the truth was, the fact still remained that she had not answered his questions in a manner that would have satisfied his curiosity and Rolf took a few steps to his side in contemplation. His own words regarding Riedel's mother's opinion on her daughter's inability in finding a husband suddenly returned back to him and caused him to pause at a realization. The Hauptmann ran a hand along the rim of the officer's cap as he turned around to regard Riedel once more. "Ihre Mutter kann nicht wissen, dass Sie hier sind, jetzt kann sie? Welche die Mutter in ihrer richtigen Meinung ihrer Tochter erlauben würde, sich mit etwas wie das irgendwie zu beschäftigen?" Rolf's grey eyes narrowed in suspicion and he stared at Riedel intently, as if just waiting to see something shift upon her features upon sudden alarm. "Sie sind im Lügen sehr tüchtig, das viel habe ich bereits gelernt. Sie täuschen Ihre eigenen Soldaten, Sie sagen Ihrem Bruder, dass kein Schaden auf Sie gefallen ist, versuchen Sie, mich von Ihrer Spur zu werfen, indem Sie eine lächerliche Geschichte nach dem anderen präsentieren. Ich bin sicher, dass Sie Ihre Mutter sich über Ihre Sicherheit, allein würden nicht sorgen lassen wollen, weil sie sein muss. Immerhin weiß sie, dass ihr Sohn in der unveränderlichen Gefahr ist, egal wo sie denkt, dass er ist. Und ihre Tochter... So, wo ist sie wirklich, weiß irgendjemand? In Afrika? In Madgeburg? Hat irgendjemand sie nach dem angefangenen Krieg wirklich gesehen?" Rolf asked hoarsely as he skulked closer to her, stopping a few short steps away from her, his grey eyes gleaming in the descending darkness while he attempted to delve in her intricate webs of subterfuge.

"Welche Lügen haben Sie ihr, Riedel angeboten? Wo denkt sie, dass Sie sind?" the man asked hoarsely, feeling as if he was on the edge of a great discovery and that her next words would unfold an entirely new world of knowledge to him. His fingers circled around the dark rim of the peaked cap in anticipation and even though the hunger for knowledge had nothing but dissipated from the Hauptmann's expression, there was a sharp keenness to his gaze. Should there be the slightest evidence of hesitation or horror upon the woman's features, the man would pick it up as easily as a trained tracking hound and he would not abandon that trail until he had his quarry. Rolf lowered the hand holding the hat slowly, staring at Riedel as if he already knew the answer and only needed to hear her confirmation. He had already tasted the blood of his prey and while that sharp taste still lingered in his mouth, he still thirsted for more.


Translations:

"Ich glaube, dass Sie einfach einen Mann nicht gefunden haben, der Ihre Gesellschaft dann dulden konnte..."
"I guess you simply haven't found a man who could tolerate your company, then. Can't blame them, really. The only time I have found your presence bearable has been when you have been asleep. At least those times you're not spreading the poison of your words around. For someone who has such a multitude of opinions on someone else's marriage, you certainly have no personal knowledge on the subject."

"Und doch, Sie müssen Ehe an einem Punkt mindestens betrachtet haben..."
"Still, you must have considered marriage at some point, at least. Or have you been so unsuccessful in meeting the requirements of your mother, you've taken on a different role, pretending to be something you are not? To spare yourself from marrying some overly amorous walrus?"

"Ihre Mutter kann nicht wissen, dass Sie hier sind, jetzt kann sie..?"
"Your mother cannot know you are here, now can she? What kind of mother in their right mind would allow their daughter to engage in something like this, anyway?"

"Sie sind im Lügen sehr tüchtig, das viel habe ich bereits gelernt..."
"You are very proficient in telling lies, this much I've already learned. You deceive your own soldiers, you tell your brother that no harm has fallen upon you, you attempt to throw me off your trail by coming up with one ludicrous story after the other. I'm sure you wouldn't wish to have your mother worry over your safety, alone as she must be. After all, she knows her son is in constant danger, no matter where she thinks he is. And her daughter... Well, where is she, really, does anyone know? In Africa? In Madgeburg? Has anyone really seen her after the war started?"

"Welche Lügen haben Sie ihr, Riedel angeboten? Wo denkt sie, dass Sie sind?"
"What kind of lies have you offered her, Riedel? Where does she think you are?"

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman had almost forgotten she was holding a cigarette, her fingers numb and her mind frozen in place at the last questions the Hauptmann had posed, and even as he continued with his jeering commentary of her life she could do nothing else but simply stare at him as he mocked at her, telling her the only reason she had not found anyone to be married to was her very own unpleasant nature, for how could anyone simply tolerate her company? It was not any better when he stated that only during the time she was asleep was she really endurable, for it only brought back the anger and agony she had to suffer through that incident, the man even going as far as assuming she had no personal experience of such a thing. “Betrachtet als es? Ich musste genug Probleme behandeln, wie es war, ohne an Ehe denken zu müssen,” she told him quietly, her tone emotionless and solemn, before she frowned. “Warum sind Sie so darauf scharf, ob ich verheiratet sein würde oder nicht?”

Of course the reason Dirk had never been engaged to anyone, even if she had been under severe pressure from relatives and people around her, was hardly on account of her unrefined, insufferable nature, but the last thing she would do at this very moment was to explain such matters to the arrogant, self-assuming Hauptmann, rather diminishing her reaction to a mere, sufficient scoff. To believe that the reason she had joined the military was something as pathetic and ridiculous as her own inability at securing a good marriage was unacceptable at best, enraging at worst, and flames of wrath spread throughout her body as he insisted precisely this, although it was more obvious he only spoke in this way for the mere purpose of irritating her and causing her further humiliation, for he already knew the reason of her new identity rather well. Still, such a statement, even if she knew it to be nothing but a ruse from his part, was enough to drive her to a state of such rage as would guarantee she would have been otherwise giving the Hauptmann a lesson or two, as only she knew how to give them. She felt her throat dry and almost burned from the fires of fury she had to control, this suppression itself enough to choke her to the point where she felt unable to breathe, suffocating in her own incapacity to react according to that same nature he seemed to condemn, her headache rising and threatening to lead her to a furious state of inner anguish – anguish that she needed to drown.

Never before had she felt so worthless and devalued, never so used and exploited, and as she stared at the Hauptmann, though she remained perfectly still, her eyes would communicate these precise sentiments. However, as though this current state of agony was not enough, the man had to push the knife even further into her spinal cord and twist it until the blade cut through the bone, for this is how the woman felt once he realized yet another truth and spoke of her mother. Her face froze and her jaw hardened once more, the man’s discernment of the situation coming out in slow, sensible patterns as one thought led to another with almost scientific precision and offered him that which the woman had refused to give – knowledge. Her irises widened and she did not speak as the man walked closer to her, rather retaining that ice-cold, bitter silence of hers. It had been voiced as a question but she knew that he knew, and he knew that she must have realized it was vain to pretend otherwise and weave lies, after lies, after lies. His voice pierced through her brain as he asked in that simple, soft tone where her mother thought she was, and Dirk only gazed at him, speechless and frozen. And do what? Confirm what he already knew? Give him the satisfaction of having her authenticate his evaluations in that furious, humiliating manner? She had already made the mistake and told him about Julian, now he also knew about her mother, he knew things that nobody knew of her and nobody should become conscious of, and yet here he was, standing a few steps away from her and claiming all the knowledge of the world, claiming his own power of her as though he in godly divinity dwelled, treating her as if she was nothing else but a puppet whose strings he could move at whichever way and in whichever manner he pleased. A sudden fit of rage flashed through her mind and she abruptly stood up from the saddle and strode two or three steps nearer to him, her face determined and unforgiving, but she simply could not … Her breath became harder and her veins almost popped underneath the military uniform from the sheer pressure she applied to herself in this overwhelming effort to discipline her body and control her mind. She had no other choice but resort to this measure of self-constraint, but how her arms longed to crush against his face and destroy that expression of self-confidence and contentment.

She knew she must not, that she was jeopardizing more than her place in the Wehrmacht and that greater aspects of this issue were being put to danger simply because she would be unable to muster that raw sentiment which prodded her towards this form of violence, but then how could she remain calm, how she show the remotest façade of tranquility when he threatened her own family? She should strangle him, watch him suffocate and bury him deeply in the Libyan sand, but instead she ordered herself to turn around and walk away, to resist, and what strength did the woman have to employ to act like this, what unspeakable will and self-discipline did she have to muster to unclench her fists and, like her mind ordered her with a brisk, uncompromising command, take a step back. Without a word, the woman turned around and began to walk away, back to the barracks in the hope she would return to that warm, familiar place, wherein she would be desperate for the faintest moment that would offer her some peace of mind.

*

The noise within the pub was thunderous, the sound of jazz reaching every corner of the room, its quick rhythm augmenting the vigor and exuberance affluent amongst the soldiers of the Wehrmacht as they drank from their bottles or glasses of beer and laughed, often pounding them upon the wooden surface of the tables in amusement, as they chatted animatedly or played game cards, shared jokes that were more often than not rude and obscene. The distinct haze of tobacco fume and the strong scent of alcohol had spread their tentacles throughout the pub and its proprietor, a short, thin middle-aged Arab, made sure that his two Libyan waitresses walked about the room lest there should be any soldier of the Reich who wanted to have his glass refilled; the proprietor wanted his customers pleased and well satisfied for as long as they would remain inside the pub, in his attempt to prevent any sort of trouble that might arise otherwise. The least the proprietor wished was to entangle himself in a chain of problems against any soldier of the Wehrmacht, and for such a petty reason, too. It was not easy for the young Arabian women to serve the loud customers, considering how they had to orientate themselves and slip through the narrow spaces amidst the overcrowded pub to walk through and avoid their greedy hands, often surprised voices escaping their lips whenever they were suddenly and without warning pulled on their laps and asked to take a swig from the alcohol. One of them did not mind such conduct to begin with and rather readily acceded to their various requests, appearing more likely to keep them entertained with her female companionship later at a particular price rather than her friend who, more reserved and less wholehearted towards such behaviour, appeared rather embarrassed and embarrassed whenever anyone were to pay enough attention to her. The atmosphere within the pub, as it was, was both light and heavy for the soldiers; light due to the relaxation and opportunity to drink away their concerns and military obligations, but heavy with the reek of tobacco and alcohol.

It was not too large and spacious a pub, which only ever magnified the feeling the place was really swarming with soldiers of any platoon and any rank – none of them, however, were commissioned officers, which, as Dirk realized, meant that she was higher ranked than them and could perfectly order them around and exercise military authority over them. This very thought amused the woman like nothing else and it rose a genuine smile in the corner of her lips as she stared down at them, feet steadily holding her upon the bar table and with her head bowed to face the soldiers gathered down around her, each one of them drinking from their bottles and smoking their cigarettes, eyes alight with surprise and anticipation at her unexpected appearance, clad in a grey dress made of white, circular patterns and which was inappropriately cut at a length above her knees, the sight of her skin generously offered to the drunken men who wished for her company. She smiled and closed her eyes, tilting her head backwards to drink from her own bottle, and thus the minutes passed in calm progression even further into a state of slowly growing intoxication, although it was only the beginning and she had many more hours to spend and many more bottles to finish. The song’s warm, fast rhythm filled her heart and she laughed loudly along with the other men as they turned to look at one of the soldiers having snatched the shy waitress from her waist and forced her to drink down the remaining of the bottle of beer, the girl arching backwards and submitting under his force with an inaudible muffled grumble in her throat as the alcohol was washed down.

“Trinken! Trinken! Trinken! Trinken!” Dirk roared rhythmically in one voice with some of the soldiers, her eyes gleaming with entertainment and the smile widening across her lips, before she laughed heartily, widely amused, at the same time as the waitress finished the drink and was ready to collapse onto the floor had the soldier not held her in his arm in the last moment, him and his comrades cheering and laughing like the drunken idiots that they were. The soldier effortlessly pulled her up and she appeared rather unconscious of what was happening around her, the men around Dirk laughing with their heart at this sight, and Dirk could only join them in such reaction, before she took another final swig from her bottle and carelessly threw it somewhere in the distance, the faint sound as it broke against a harder surface barely audible through the sheer amount of noise. Two soldiers raised their arms to gesture at her to come down to them and the others followed suit in an attempt to be the ones to employ her much desired company. She stared down at them, and evaluated them in her light-headed, faintly drunken state.

“Zu blond … zu dunkel …” she said, looking from one to the other; “… zu dickköpfig!” she laughed, and the comrades of the soldier she had addressed burst out laughing as well, before she turned her attention at each man she could see within her near eyesight. “Ihr Gesicht sieht aus, dass jemand es durch die Windmühle gezwungen und dann die gebrochenen Teile zusammen, schade befestigt hat! Und Ihrig Blicke wie ein Rätsel schaffte keiner jemals ganz … zu beenden, Ihre Zähne erschrecken mich … haben Sie jemals einen Tierarzt gesehen?” She laughed, and walked closer at the edge of the table not because she had found someone interesting enough in her book but because, at her state, she really could not care less how they looked or what they were after. She pointed at two random soldiers with her forefinger and they came closer, at which point she held on to them as they circled their hands around her waist and assisted her in climbing down the bar table. She looked at them and scoffed with amusement, her eyes alight from the drink and the entertainment which would only multiply once she began to really lose all self-control and discipline, but then, had she not already? It was then that she felt the palm of someone’s hand touching on her beck and once she turned around she came face to face with Hauptmann Siegner of the Luftwaffe, standing right behind her and looking as if he had suddenly chanced upon a long lost treasure, with an expression showing recognition but also surprise at this appearance, for the last time he had seen her she was characterized by a rather lighter shade, whereas now she sported straight, raven-black hair at the length of her neck that only ever accentuated the paleness of her skin and the gleaming quality of her green eyes. He pried his eyes away from her only to excuse himself to the soldiers of the Wehrmacht who could do nothing else but accept this misfortune of the Hauptmann’s arrival, and led her away.

It required particular attention to move through the crowd but the Hauptmann managed to take them on the other side of the bar table where fewer soldiers stood, before he turned to glance at the proprietor as he was wiping glasses with a white linen cloth. “Ein Wein, ein Bier,” he told the other man, while at the same time he placed his arm around her belly and gently prodded the woman to lean closer, her back resting against his torso, but she really needed no such incitement, for her head instinctively found its place on his shoulder and there she stood, looking around her through a haze of mild intoxication with the man’s dulcet tones calming down her spirits and further augmenting the drunken tranquility of her state. “Zwei Glas Bier,” she said with a smile, and the Hauptmann arched an eyebrow with a smirk. “Zwei Glas Bier,” he told the proprietor in repeat of her request, and yet had no time to rejoice at such fortune he should have met the woman in the pub by some chance as another commissioned officer of the Luftwaffe but lower ranked than the Hauptmann approached them, stopping right in front of the woman and addressing his superior with regard to certain military matters. What passed between the two soldiers Dirk could hardly pay attention to through that haze of inebriated peace and she merely stood there against the man’s embrace as she watched the other officer’s facial features before she stretched her hand and snatched him from the collar, forcing him to come closer to her, the woman now trapped between them.



Translation

Considered it? I had to handle enough problems as it was without having to think of marriage. Why are you so keen whether I would be married or not?

Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!

Too blonde … too dark … too thickheaded! Your face looks like someone’s forced it through the windmill and then fixed the broken parts together, sorry! And yours looks like a puzzle no one ever quite managed to finish … Your teeth scare me … Have you ever seen a veterinarian?

One wine, one beer.

Two beers.

[Rolf Jäger]

It appeared that the more Rolf attempted to delve into the reasons behind Riedel's unconventional choices, the more questions were created, none of them receiving an answer that would have really satisfied his curiosity. He knew that the knowledge rested somewhere behind those emerald eyes, but they were locked away from, sheltered by a stern wall built out of useless answers she was providing him with. She acknowledged the matter of marriage with saying that she had been dealing with enough problems to deal with marriage on top of that and Rolf arched an eyebrow at her words. For some reason it seemed as if she was bunching up marriage among those problems, also, not that Rolf could blame her; it was a burden, a problem he wished to be rid of, yet something that Germany was loudly demanding of her citizens. Rolf knew it was something he would be forced to face sooner or later, but for now he felt more comfortable merely pushing that duty back. The engagement ring was not truly lost and for some reason this made Rolf feel much more relaxed, as if he had been previously enclosed inside a prison and he had now found the door opened for him, finally allowing him to walk where he pleased. He blinked when Riedel asked him why he was so keen on knowing about these things, anyway, and the man merely glanced to his side, not quite able to provide her with a decent answer. He could have told her that he was attempting to find out why the woman had made the choices he had and what had made her so different from others, but such an answer would have been completely ridiculous. It was better if she could not understand the real reasoning behind his questions and the man returned his gaze back to the woman, tilting his chin up as he lied to her. "Ich glaube, dass ich mich gerade für das Wissen interessierte, wenn Sie für die Ehe sogar nach Bauer-Standards völlig unpassend sind," Rolf noted with a wry smirk, but when it was clear that these were the only answers he would receive on the matter and he simply moved on to question the woman about her mother and the knowledge she possessed on her double identity.

The questions Rolf posed were left lingering in the air, circling around the two figures cloaked by the descending darkness like a flock of vultures, hungry and ever vigilant. She offered him no words, but Rolf could see her expression twisting and the hatred churning behind her irises became a strong, violent torrent, silently promising to burn him for his offense. to simply undo his entire existence with the bright fury of a vast star. It was this treacherous silence that gave Rolf all the information he needed and that moment he was certain that Riedel's mother had no inkling of her daughter's endeavours. It was such an intricate web of lies, Rolf stared back at Riedel's wrathful countenance with wide, ravenous eyes, a warm and tingling sensation running along his skin at the thrill of this discovery. He could imagine being the only person in Africa with this knowledge - maybe even the only other person to know this besides Riedel and her brother - and he felt curiously satisfied with such an idea. He was now involved in her life in a way she could not affect and he felt powerful and influential in a manner he had never felt before. He could not quite discern the woman's abrupt reaction through this warm haze of satisfaction and she had already bolted up from the motorcycle, taking those few steps necessary to reach him, just to have her hate-filled eyes pierce through his, as if that gaze alone would have been enough to slay him on the spot.

He waited for the eventual attack that should have followed the initial reaction, the man's grey eyes burning with defiance, his muscles already contracting for that conflict, but it never came. Riedel merely stared at him, her expression alone reflecting the turmoil within and Rolf watched as she commanded herself to stay her hand and take a step back, to will herself away from the punishment she no doubt wished to inflict upon him. As she started walking away from Rolf, the man remained silent, allowing her to leave on her own will now that those secrets had been pried from her and consumed by his hungry mind. Even Rolf understood that she had been through enough of a turmoil, at least for now, and he needed time to consider her answers and the new information he had managed to uncover. When the shadows engulfed her silent, uniformed figure, Rolf still stood in his spot, grey eyes narrowed in deep contemplation and he stood there as unmoving and expressionless as a marble statue. A faint metallic noise from a distance caught his attention only a few minutes later and, waking up from his stupor, Rolf growled low in his throat and willed his boots to move, Friederike Woltermann's secrets following him like silent, shadowy sharks.

****

The sounds of roaring laughter and loud whoops bounced from the sandstone walls of the buildings in Tripoli and Rolf frowned, slowing down his steps just slightly to glance over his shoulder at the drunken group of German soldiers enjoying their short leave in the city. Even when their constant yelling and stumbling drew a small scowl from the Luftwaffe Hauptmann, he could understand the importance this one free night held for the soldiers, they needed to forget about the war and feel like life was still worth living after facing death and destruction each day they spent in Africa. Either it was them or their comrades, but someone always left the ranks and this wasn't something that was foreign to Rolf, either. He understood it was different from the way infantry experienced it, for there was usually little left of a pilot who was as unlucky as to have the aircraft burst into flames, to fail in opening the canopy to escape the damaged fighter or the ones that did manage to parachute to safety, just to find themselves targeted by an Allied fighter. The infantry saw their comrades dying right next to them and Rolf was not certain if it was better or worse to personally witness that end or not. Each loss of a pilot was felt by Rolf as a failure of his own, no matter how well he understood that he could never train them enough to make them invincible.

A handful of men from his Gruppe had been allowed to spend the night out on the town and at first Rolf had accompanied them to the small tavern they had chosen as their target for this nightly escapade, but he had felt far too strange attempting to connect with them over drinks. He had told them to enjoy the night, hearing them erupt into a loud and happy laughter the moment he had left their company and he knew it was better that way. Despite the fact he had ever endured various receptions and gatherings his entire life, he rarely enjoyed them and found himself most at ease when he was on his own. Rolf had chosen to explore the city on his own and he felt better outside in the cool air and the quietude - as easily broken by the German soldiers as it was - gave him time to settle down with his thoughts. By now he had spent ample time walking on his own and upon glancing at the group of soldiers, he spied the sign of the establishment they had just left and felt increasingly thirsty. There was nothing wrong with enjoying a drink or two and his rank might be just enough to shelter him from any unwanted distractions of any overly talkative countrymen. The thought of a cold drink lingered intensely before him and with a small grumble, Rolf turned around, heading towards the pub instead.

He felt immediate regret the moment he opened the door and witnessed the small bar filled to brim with lower ranking soldiers, their guffaws and music attacking his ears violently, and the sounds felt overwhelming after the relative peace of the streets. Not wanting to turn away now that he was already standing in the doorway, Rolf merely sneered and stepped further inside the establishment, slowly picking up the cap from his head while he allowed his steel-grey eyes to travel over the mass of drunken clientele. Something crunched under his boots as he stepped forwards and Rolf glanced at his feet, nimbly taking a step to the side to avoid the broken glass upon the floor. Performing this evasive maneuver, he found himself bumping into someone, or rather having someone collide forcefully with him and Rolf already snarled at the intruder, violently grasping the person by the arm, only to find himself staring at a rather drunken Libyan waitress. The woman attempted to excuse herself and Rolf released his hold of her arm, not quite understanding what possible use a waitress drinking on the job could possibly have. Regarding the stumbling woman with a confused and even disgusted expression, Rolf watched as she continued on, bumping into another soldier, soon getting whisked away by the laughing Germans, her thin figure disappearing between a sea of tan uniforms. The Hauptmann narrowed his eyes, but set back to his task of finding the bar counter, no matter how much he already wished to leave the place. He had decided on a drink and a drink he would have; broken glass, drunken waitresses and overly loud music could not sway him from this decision anymore.

Rolf breathed easier the moment he saw the space in front of the counter to be relatively free from the boisterous groups of soldiers and carrying the peaked cap in his hand, his steps became more decisive, the officer only slowing his steps whenever a soldier happened to block his path and he stared at them menacingly those brief moments it took for them to get out of his way. The man's eyebrows arched at the sight of a familiar face and he could recognize the features of Hauptmann Siegner from a distance, his attention further caught by the fact that another Luftwaffe soldier was standing very close to him - almost far too close, he noticed upon walking closer to them. Rolf had hoped that, having chosen another pub to enjoy his drink in, it would have been less likely for him to bump into anyone familiar, but he was already readying himself for a courteous greeting when he was no more than a few steps away from him. The words died on his lips when the commissioned officer in Siegner's company shifted and Rolf could see the woman standing between them, brushing herself against the Siegner while her hand grasped the collar of the other man.

Something shot through Rolf, a painful bullet of bitter venom piercing through his heart at the sight and the man came to a sudden stop, his grey eyes widened in surprise and disbelief at the sight. Even though the woman between the two men now sported short, black hair, Rolf could immediately recognize those features that had become so familiar to him recently; the small bump in the nose, the upturned tilt at the corner of her lips and the distinctively curved eyebrows over eyes of emerald green. Riedel looked completely happy and careless leaning against Siegner and Rolf's heart was suddenly beating violently, the sounds of his heartbeats thumping fast against his chest, sending small reverberations travelling all the way to his throat. Rolf's throat felt utterly dry and his blood ran cold, something in that scene suddenly bringing upon him such pain, wrath and madness as to drive him insane in the matter of mere seconds. He stood there for small moments, frozen into the hellish state of existence before his eyes regained some of their life and something sparked within their steel-grey haze, his gaze sharpening and his lips curling into a wrathful sneer. He knew not why the sight had caused him to succumb into such a conflicting state, his insides filled with an acrid poison that made him feel vengeful and renounced at the same time, but the anger inside him was calling him to take action, to break that scene, no matter the price.

His boots clicked violently upon the floor as he stepped towards the small group and his free hand shot out towards the commissioned officer and he pulled at his arm, suddenly disturbing the man's balance. The lower ranking man turned around with a fierce expression, but it vanished the moment he saw Hauptmann Jäger standing in front of him and his back collided with the edge of the counter as the man pushed him away forcefully, just so that he could stare at Riedel properly. Siegner had also noticed the arrival of the other Hauptmann and there was no small amount of surprise upon his features as he stared at the other officer, Rolf's eyes now burning with cold wrath. Both of the Luftwaffe soldiers were naturally familiar with the precarious and occasionally even violent nature of Hauptmann Jäger, the stories of the man's quickly changing moods having circled around the pilots for quite some time now. Rolf's attention was completely stolen by the woman, no matter what her disguise was and when he spoke, his words came in a hoarse, low growl. "Denken Sie nicht, dass Sie genug getrunken haben?" the man asked dangerously, easily recognizing the woman's drunken state, familiar as it now was to him. Just seeing the woman pressed so closely against Siegner was driving Rolf to new lengths of madness completely and he was ready to rip him to small pieces, to destroy the entire bar and howl his insanity across the sands of Libya in his bloodied craze. Whatever shreds of his self-control still remained were fading fast, simply vaporizing into nothingness while his blood boiled hot and untamed. How could he remain calm, seeing that expression of contentment on Riedel's features while she rested mirthfully against the smiling Siegner- oh, the ever perfect Siegner with his smooth voice, carefully chiseled features and always impeccable manners. It felt as if the man was everything Rolf was not, for his voice was ever raspy, his skin riddled with moles and he possessed manners only when it was convenient to him. Siegner was most likely just the kind of son Roland would have wanted and the thought aggravated him further, his primal mind marking the other man as a competitor.

No. He could not, he simply could not look at that scene any longer and Rolf felt if the only option was to strike the man down, to destroy him and make sure that there would be nothing for Riedel to cozy up to. Rolf's hand moved to grasp the woman by her arm, to pull her away from the other Hauptmann and he cared not what she might have thought, what Siegner might have thought, for all that mattered him was shattering that image, to have it scattered completely from his mind where it now lay painfully burned. "Ich denke, dass Sie haben! Wir reisen ab," Rolf growled, that violent expression betraying the insanity that lay just beneath the surface, the beast already running rampant within his chest, its fangs gleaming hungrily in the dark depths of his soul. Rolf's heart was still beating wildly and his breathing had become faster, his muscles urging him to attack the offender while some small voice within was telling him that such an action would have hardly been wise and that it would have consequences. Yet the simple animal inside him could not understand such words of reason, nor could it understand the meaning of consequences beyond those of blood and violence and with a feral growl Rolf attempted to lay claim on something he had started considering his, not caring if he should have to defend that claim against Siegner, against Riedel herself, or the entire crowd in the pub, as long as he held on to his fervent cause.


Translations:

"Ich glaube, dass ich mich gerade für das Wissen interessierte..."
"I guess I was just interested in knowing if you are completely unsuitable for marriage even by peasant standards."

"Denken Sie nicht, dass Sie genug getrunken haben?"
"Don't you think you've been drinking enough?"

"Ich denke, dass Sie haben! Wir reisen ab."
"I think you have! We are leaving."

[Dirk Riedel]

The noise was striking within the pub, but the woman could hardly pay any attention to it at the given moment, leaning against Hauptmann Siegner as she was and, having already finished two bottles of beer, feeling rather lightheaded but still perfectly conscious of everything happening around her, her senses not in the least impaired, for, after all, the woman needed a rather greater amount of alcohol to be entirely intoxicated and lose her capacity of understanding and perception, even speech and movement. For now she merely reduced herself to the state of short-term, superficial calmness she felt from being close to a male figure without her capacity as a Leutnant of the Wehrmacht but rather that of a woman, longing for the remotest warmth and attachment, different to the one she felt for the soldiers under her command and yet somehow the same. This need would have hardly expressed itself had it not been for Jäger’s – no, she could not afford to think of that animal at this moment, her purpose was to relax and forget about him, his cruel intrusions, the anguish he was causing her in that merciless, uncaring manner, his ill-intentions and uncouth ways, the terrible thoughts which his interference had created within her mind, thoughts that brought her nightmares and made the back of her neck sweat in the daylight while she was standing next to the Nebelwerfer and observing the engineer working with the machinery, and though her eyes were transfixed at the man’s hands, her thoughts lay elsewhere, irises that did not move but her heart was skipping beats at these thoughts, feeling suddenly as though she would suffocate at any moment. She brushed the Hauptmann away from her mind as she shifted her head slightly to more conveniently rest it upon Siegner’s shoulder, her fingers around the Oberleutnant’s tie as she looked at him through half-closed eyes and observed him thoroughly, not due to her interest of the man but simply because she had nothing else better to do.

The Oberleutnant appeared rather surprised by the gesture, at first, and then shared a glance with Hauptmann Siegner, who remained unresponsive and did not seem to mind the woman’s motion, but only tightened his hold around her waist, as though in subliminal forethought wishing to indicate that despite that gesture it was not to be questioned against whom the woman was resting. The Oberleutnant, vaguely awkward but nevertheless determined, continued speaking to his superior of certain issues with regard to their next offensive, Dirk hardly ever paying attention to what was really being spoken, her mind obliterating any message whose purpose was military and related to her other identity. Tonight she would be Friederike. Siegner laconically responded to his pilot, but then turned to the woman and leaned his face closer to mutter something amusing in her ear; she snickered, and her eyes instinctively moved at the bar in search of her bottle, now her thoughts completely occupied by the images of her hand circling around the glass container rather than a boring tie – and how cruel that such thoughts were to be rudely interrupted, as the Oberleutnant was abruptly forced away and to the side, her sight now claimed by the Hauptmann in person, his visage a perfect duplicate of one of the devils inhabiting the lowest levels of Hell from Dante’s Divine Comedy, or Goethe’s Mephistopheles, to such a disturbing point, in fact, that the woman gazed at him in stunned silence for a second or two before a smile rose across her painted lips.

“Jäger!” she called, and laughed delightedly as she gazed back at him, until a frown wrinkled her forehead when he snatched her furiously from the arm and violently pulled her away from Siegner and closer to himself. “Das Trinken genug?” she scoffed, looking at him as though he was being rather ridiculous … well, his usual self, then. “Oh, Sie haben das Trinken noch nicht gesehen,” she assured him, and attempted to force her arm away from his grasp in a careless, sharp movement, but how surprising it was to find that she could not control that motion even in the slightest, and regardless the intensity of strength she exercised against his hold her arm remained resolutely captive within his palm, his strong fingers looped around her skin with such force that it made his knuckles whiten, and the woman was utterly rendered helpless to this rather simple task of freeing herself from his irritating grip. The woman could not remember having witnessed him in such state before, and although his hatred had been expressed with as much fervent wrath during their first encounter at the time right before he had attacked her and toppled her onto the ground, it was still not in the same gravity of emotions and appearance – neither could the woman recall, under her current state, that small detail, her mind only ever violated by his present countenance, that wrathful, unyielding posture, dominating at the same time as it was almost barbaric, and filled with promises of bloodshed and regret from both of them, through their untimely demise – and though the other man’s body would be lying across the floor, slain, she would be expected to kneel down before him and beg for his forgiveness with her forehead touching the cold surface of the ground. And only when her skin would bleed from the contact would he finally and arrogantly offer his pardon to her.

She gazed at him for those critical few moments, the man intending to lead her away from the pub as he had dared to suggest – as if she would let him! With a scoff she provided enough resistance with her body to prevent the man from forcing her to move, even if he still tightly held her from the arm. Her green eyes gleaming with scorn and disdain, she pulled her body as closer to Siegner as she could, her face turned to face Jäger, her free hand clenched into a fist. Why did he have to ruin everything and disrupt even the only chance she had to find the remotest peace? “Hier schauen Standplätze Hauptmann Jäger, die allmächtige Baron, auf ihn!” she spat with hatred, and a mirthless smile appeared in her lips, cold and unforgiving. “Der Pilot, der gerade eine Scheide weg davon eine Hausfrau genannt zu werden ist, die Damentoilette verwendend und in einen Schönheitsfestzug eingehend! Sie verlassen feig Wellenbrecher-Ratte, ich habe Frauen mit mehr Grütze gekannt als Sie jemals hoffen konnten zu besitzen, dass, um Sie zu nennen, eine Frau ein großes Vergehen zur weiblichen Rasse sein würde!” she rasped bitingly, and Siegner could not help but laugh to himself quietly after a moment’s worth of astonishment at such words, her insults escaping her throat swiftly and hit him sharply across the face in their serpentine precision, but the woman was not finished with him, no, all the terrible anguish she had been through the past week, the dread and terror she had suffered and which would resurface the following day once she would come back to her senses would all be unleashed upon him with the fierce intensity of tidal waves in wintertime.

“Schauen Sie auf den Bastard!” she spat, her smile widening as so did her irises upon staring back at the man’s savage eyes. “Seine Wellenbrecher allein würden genug sein um Sieg jedem Vertreter von Baden-Württemberg für den Bundestag zurück am Tag versichert zu haben,” she said, her tone cruel and relentless, before she gave a short laugh. “Haben Sie gedacht Entomologie aufzunehmen … zum Beispiel … Maulwurfsgrillen?” Siegner laughed loudly behind her, and she joined him effortlessly, her green eyes alight with vicious delight, gazing back at him without ever diverting her eyes elsewhere, unblinking, her offensive unyielding. “Er ist einem Hund ähnlich, der die ganze Zeit wimmert sich nach Aufmerksamkeit sehnend,” she jeered, and smiled, Siegner covering his mouth with his hand at this point and attempting to restrain himself by suppressing the laughter that had arose in his throat, not wanting to find himself against his colleague for the simple reason he fancied solving matters through the benefit of dialogue rather than violence, although at his current state, having drunk a glass of wine already, he was highly entertained by the woman’s amusing quips, thus his concern over what the Hauptmann should think was relatively limited at the moment. After all, as he believed, he had rightfully deserved the woman’s company considering she had not opposed to it, whereas she clearly defied the other man’s presence, how very simple to solve, how absolutely uncomplicated.

“So, Sie waren derjenige um zu sagen, dass kein Mann mich wirklich dulden konnte, Jäger, ich beweise Sie nur falsch,” she told him with a complacent smile, and as if to encourage the verity of her words Siegner walked those few steps required to reach her and pulled his arm around her waist, leaning his head by the side of her head and resting it on her shoulder. The proprietor had prepared their ordered drinks already but he did not intend to interrupt the Germans as they were obviously having a tiff and he had better keep to his own business, nevertheless observing how odd the image before him was, with the woman’s arm still grasped by the pilot, trapped between the two soldiers as she now was. “Ich bin auch ziemlich positiv dass Herr Hauptmann meine Anwesenheit tragbar findet, selbst wenn ich nicht schlafe. Nicht Sie, Reinhold?” she said, and though she was addressing Siegner her eyes remained transfixed upon Jäger, glinting feverishly.

“Natürlich tue ich,” Siegner confirmed with a smile in his low, husky voice, his attention absorbed by the woman before him rather than, say, his wife Sabine Siegner back in Germany.

“Natürlich tut er,” she simply repeated, and a cruel smile rose in her lips as she gazed back at the pilot in front of her. “Nicht jeder ist ein gebumster, arroganter abuser wie sie, Jäger.” The fingers of the arm he was holding clenched into a fist, and she would have happily smashed them against his face had she been able to. “Reinhold war so nett um vorzuschlagen dass er mich ringsherum über unsere Kontrollzone im Stuka trieb. Ich bin sicher dass seine Frau nicht achthaben würde, also warum gehen Sie zu Ihrem Verlobte nicht zurück … Wie ist ihr Name wieder?”

“Elsa,” Siegner muttered next to her face.

“Rolf die Promenadenmischung und Elsa das Weibchen bin ich sicher, dass Ihre Bastarde winzige kleine Ungeheuer sein werden,” she spat, and laughed heartily, Siegner snickering quietly to himself, his smile wide at the woman’s open insults, obviously rather interested at the fact he should have met someone quite as careless in speaking in this way or as fearless as to talk back to Hauptmann Jäger in such an adamant manner, her insults amusing him to no end.

“Es tut mir leid, Hauptmann, dass leider die Dame Ihre Gesellschaft nicht bevorzugt,” Siegner informed the other man calmly, his smile genuine and simply communicating to his counterpart it would be wise to depart upon such fervent rejection, while his fingers moved from her waist to rest upon the elbow of her free arm, at the same time as Dirk gazed back at Jäger with her unforgiving, heartless glare.

“Sie sind gerade nicht … mein Typ,” the woman told him and arched her eyebrows in a falsely sad manner, but then the cruel smile resurfaced in her lips, before her free hand shifted backwards to circle around Siegner’s neck while her eyes lingered upon Jäger’s face with that same vicious concentration, before, as if to further prove her statement, she curtly turned her face over her shoulder and forced Siegner into a drunken kiss.



Translation

Drinking enough? Oh, you haven’t seen drinking yet.

Here stands Hauptmann Jäger, the almighty baron, look at him! The pilot who is just a vagina away from being called a housewife, using the ladies’ room and entering a beauty pageant! You cowardly desert mole rat, I’ve known women with more grit than you could ever hope to possess, that to call you a woman would be a great offence to the female race!

Look at the bastard! His moles alone would be enough to have guaranteed victory to any representative of Baden-Württemberg for the Bundestag back in the day. Have you considered taking up entomology … for example … mole crickets?

He is like a dog whining all the time, craving for attention.

Well, you were the one to say no man could really tolerate me, Jäger, I am only proving you wrong. I am also fairly positive that Herr Hauptmann finds my presence bearable even when I am not asleep. Don’t you, Reinhold?

Of course I do.

Of course he does. Not everyone is a fucked-up, arrogant abuser like you, Jäger.

Reinhold was kind enough to propose he drove me around over our control zone in the Stuka. I’m sure his wife wouldn’t mind, so why don’t you go back to your fiancé … What’s her name again?

Rolf the mutt and Elsa the bitch, I’m sure your bastards will be tiny little monsters.

I’m sorry, Hauptmann, unfortunately the lady does not prefer your company.

You just are not … my type.

[Rolf Jäger]

The woman pronounced Rolf's surname in a mocking fashion, laughing heartily at the sight of his scornful face, her delighted chuckling coming to an end only when the man snatched her by the arm, attempting to pull her away from Siegner. She struggled against his iron grip, but it was as relentless as Rolf's growing anger was and Riedel soon realized that her attempts were futile, instead grudgingly settling to her place. Rolf existed in such a feral state, he cared not what the woman thought or how Siegner might have viewed his dominating, possessive gesture, nor did he remember the crowd gathered within the murky establishment. His mind was dominated by a burning hatred that scorched him from the inside, threatening to evaporate the last traces of sanity some part of him was still attempting to cling to. He realized that he was standing upon a precarious threshold and that one step would change him into a howling beast, void of any sense of reason and humanity. That fiend could not separate a friend from an enemy, nor would it look past its actions once it had acquired a taste for fresh blood, only wishing to extend its wrath on anyone crossing its path. And once the beast was gone, Rolf would be left alone to face the consequences of whatever violent actions had been performed during that mindless state, feeling as if someone else had been the culprit behind them. He understood that nothing but trouble and pain would follow on the wake of the raw animal of feral instincts, yet he felt his control slipping with each second he had to watch Riedel and Siegner standing so close together.

As if to further aggravate these thoughts, the woman attempted to pull away from Rolf and get closer to the other man, her distinctly curved lips twisting as the first words of poison left her lips. He had known to expect insults the moment she opened her mouth, but even then their pure, unconstrained depravity surprised him. She called him a woman, insulting his masculinity in all the words she could muster in her drunken state, further telling Rolf that he was a coward, but the rest of her words floated past the man's hearing as his heart pounded faster upon the realization that Siegner was laughing at him and that everyone in the near vicinity could witness the woman's verbal assault. He had heard enough taunts from her to not care too much about their content, but he could not ignore their force nor the publicity they were getting. Rolf's eyes narrowed and his breathing became shallow at the fury building within him when he knew she was not finished and that she wished to humiliate him further as a payback for the power he held over her.

Rolf would have managed to deflect almost any insult she might have thrown at him, but it was when she addressed his appearance - and more specifically, his moles, with the other Hauptmann laughing heartily at such fitting words - that something snapped inside Rolf, some part within him that had slept forgotten suddenly recoiling in pain. For a brief moment he was ten years younger, standing outside a bar, surrounded by a group of young men of his age and his fists had been raised defensively in front of him to repel the incoming attack. Instead of a physical, violent confrontation, words very similar to those of Riedel's had been thrown at him, a chorus of laughters following them. He had always hated the sea of moles that dotted his skin and it was the one thing he fervently hated about himself, even in his overflowing narcissism. Most of the time he did not even acknowledge the presence of these blemishes as they had always been there and had simply become a natural part of him, an aspect he could not change. This had not been the first time he had heard remarks about the said aspect, nor was it the last one he would get to hear about them, but that one distant moment from the past reminded him painfully of the current one, the insult now burning him with a vicious, renewed strength. Riedel's remark had been too personal, too painful, and she smiled to further push the poison of these words into his wounds, the insult followed by an amused chortle from Siegner. The pain over Riedel's brute attack reflected from Rolf's eyes for a moment and he felt like turning his back at them and simply leaving, but he could do nothing but stand frozen in his place and stare at the woman's green eyes alight with derision and rancor. The present moment was mixed with the laughter of several voices from distant times, the sounds mockingly circling around him in that small space, stabbing at the man's insides with savage, curved blades, while a small voice was telling him that she was right, that he looked like a mottled hyena and that everyone who looked at him, thought that way also. Rolf's gaze shifted slowly, almost drowsily at Siegner and his happy, sneering visage, then back at Riedel to regard her painted lips curved into a vicious smile. For a small moment he forgot to hate them, his loathing too intensely dedicated towards his own imperfections and he felt numb, as if some paralyzing poison had been injected into his veins.

He could hear her following insults through a curious haze, muffled and distant, while his fingers dug deeper into the woman's arm over the pain burning inside him. It was only when Siegner moved closer to Riedel once more, placing an arm around her and resting his head against the woman's shoulder that something else shifted within Rolf and pierced through that veil of numbness. It was a tiny, foreign feeling that had visited him just moments before and a heavy pressure pushed against his chest, invoking anger and some form of curious desperation mixed with burning hatred. The following brew was a dangerous combination of all of these things and Rolf's heart was alive once more, suddenly pounding against his ribcage and reminding him that he was still very much alive and that not every emotion within him had escaped into that darkness that had momentarily overtaken him. Rolf breathed out slowly, feeling a curious pain stabbing at his lungs as he did so, and he stared at the pair, completely forgetting about even such a basic function as blinking. He was too absorbed by the fact that she was calling Siegner by his first name, that they had made plans together and that they seemed to be at perfect ease with each other. They were not only laughing and sneering at him, but they were laughing and sneering at him together and it was this very fact that wounded him the most, attacking him with a force mere words could never have on him.

The affront of this image caused Rolf to dig his fingers deeper into the soft canvas of his peaked cap and his heart pounded violently, almost painfully at the realization of both of them having turned against him, having united to chide him the most vicious manner possible. Still, he also immediately blamed himself for allowing such a thing to even affect him, for had he not known that this was what people did? It was better not to trust anyone other than himself, it was best to keep other people at bay and to immediately assume that they only wished to profit from him or to cause him harm. The reasons mattered little, for people were rotten and self-serving on default and Rolf had never claimed to be any different from them, yet he wasn't going to allow himself being led into traps like a sheep, either. It had ever been everyone else against Rolf Jäger and he had learned to fight, to grit his teeth and repel any such attacks before they even had the chance to land, but somehow she had managed to set a trap for him and he had carelessly fallen into it, the poison of her unsheathed dagger mixing with his blood, emerald eyes looking down at him with delight as they detected the confusion and shock in his gaze.

Why so surprised, Rolf? Didn't you already see this coming?

Whatever Siegner and Riedel were telling him was lost the moment the woman leaned towards the other Hauptmann, leading the man into a drunken kiss, while Rolf blinked and the expression in his steel-grey eyes shifted in a fraction of a second when another entity got hold of the controls. Whatever sorrow, rejection and pain had tormented his thoughts before was now gone, quickly consumed by the blinding, scorching wrath that burst into flames within him and suddenly Rolf felt as if he was merely watching his own actions from a small distance away, so inevitable and primal they were. The fingers curled around Riedel's arm dug deeper into her skin when Rolf pulled her back violently, all the force of his savage anger fueling the brisk movement. He pulled her away from Siegner, the other Hauptmann not even registering the woman's sudden disappearance and Siegner's fingertips brushed powerlessly against Riedel's frame as Rolf stole her from his grasp. The man changed the movement into a sharp push, forcing the woman even further away and while this brutal action was still taking place, the peaked cap had already fallen from Rolf's grasp, freeing his other hand for other things. Time had slowed down for Rolf and he saw Siegner's lips moving as he called out to the woman in surprise, his hands instinctively attempting to grasp her again and leaving him hopelessly open for the attack that followed. Rolf's grey eyes burned with raw hatred as he released his hold of the woman's arm and fluidly transformed that simple movement into a fast punch, his fingers forming a merciless fist while his lips twisted into an animalistic sneer.

The vicious strike caught Siegner right in the middle of his face, the man's nose crunching beneath Hauptmann Jäger's fingers and the simple act of violence sent exhilarating ripples of satisfaction running down Rolf's spine, further fueling his blind fury. The beast within him loped wild and feral, its hunger only growing at the first taste of blood and he allowed the last image of Riedel's kiss flash before his eyes, only to rile up the savagery of the howling fiend. In those curiously frozen moments he could see Siegner stumbling backwards and hear the surprised yell of the Oberleutnant carrying over the thick, smoky air. The beast knew it was to be chased and punished, the hunter chasing into the one being hunted, and Rolf would have very little time to cause as much damage to his offender as possible. A hoarse, savage growl emitted deep within Rolf's chest as he pulled his fist back once more, the next strike also hitting Siegner on his face and even though the accuracy left something to be desired, it sent the other Hauptmann toppling down upon the floor. His eyes gleaming with nothing but utter murderousness Rolf followed the fallen man, intent on beating his face in completely, when the Oberleutnant leaped towards him and caught him by his arm, attempting to pull him back to shield his commanding officer. Rolf fought against his hold, his desire to obliterate Siegner burning bright and feral inside him, yet before he had time to wrench himself away from the other man's hold someone else had appeared by his side to pull him back, too. Jäger growled and sneered at them in his primal rage, yet more men hurried to the scene, some of them stepping between him and Siegner, a few of them crouching beside the injured officer to see what had happened to him.

Rolf's rage was anything but spent, yet he understood that it would have been impossible getting back to punishing the other officer now and he merely glared at the Oberleutnant, his steel-grey eyes reflecting nothing but the most primitive blood thirst, that one gaze promising the lower-ranking officer that should he linger, Rolf would do everything in his power to destroy him before going down himself. The other man stared at him in stupor for a moment but released his hold, just to take a step back and push past the crowd to the side of his commanding officer. The other man clinging to his arm, a slightly drunken Wehrmacht Corporal, received a similar glare from the Hauptmann and he stepped aside after realizing that he was alone, rather choosing to create some distance between himself and the feral Luftwaffe officer. The Corporal stumbled, staring at Rolf for a small while before attempting to peek over the heads of the other soldiers and at the Hauptmann who was currently being told to simply lie down by a group of intoxicated and overly helpful soldiers.

Only now did Rolf's gaze find Riedel once more, as if he had simply forgotten about her existence during that brief moment of savagery and the man breathed out sharply, stepping towards her and grasping her by the arm once more. "Besten am Sie Denken an Ihre Familie jetzt," Rolf's menacing growl was low enough for only the woman to hear, but it carried a heavy weight to it, a promise of unpleasant repercussions should she wish to cause any more trouble. He did not stand around waiting for a reaction, either, simply starting to pull her towards the door after him, his grasp merciless and strong. The entire pub was in a state of growing confusion by now and people were crowding to see what had taken place, soldiers asking each other if they had seen the events that had unfolded and it was in the midst of this commotion that Rolf pushed past the perplexed soldiers, relentlessly forcing the woman to follow after him. The soldiers would have stopped him had they understood that Rolf was the culprit behind the violent confrontation, but the presence of the woman implied to them that she was being taken outside for the simple reason of not to have her get exposed to such brutal events. The determination in the Hauptmann's eyes was unbreakable enough to warrant him a passage through the crowd and by the time the men familiar with the attacker had started looking around for Hauptmann Jäger, he was already hidden by the crowd, the door swinging open as the man pulled Riedel with him into the cool breeze outside.

He did not stop there and merely continued walking away from the pub, not caring if the woman should have attempted to struggle or protest. He was burning his hatred in those swift, decisive steps and after having pulled the woman along for no more than few meters, the anger within him had turned into a strange neutrality. It was as if all emotions within him had escaped in that one moment of raw ferocity and he felt numb, not even perceiving the fast heartbeats still thumping against his chest. There was nothing there to feel and it was as if Rolf Jäger was still standing inside the bar while his empty, dead husk walked outside, dragging the woman along after him. The man allowed his grip to loosen only once he had stepped around the corner of the building and he simply turned around to better face her, grey eyes now filled with cold, bottomless loathing. Rolf's hand shot out towards her, just to give her a swift, decisive slap across the face, either to wake her up from the sorry state she had fallen into or to punish the woman for her insolence, it mattered little; it was still a brisk and precise strike and Rolf did not even attempt to spare the brutal force behind it. The man's cold, grey eyes gleamed in the darkness of the night as he glared at her, his lips pressed together into a thin, violent line. A bleak hard expression had frozen on his features and when he spoke, the words seemed to come to him on their own volition entirely. "Schauen Sie auf sich selbst!" the man snarled. "Stellen Sie sich vor, ob Ihr Bruder und Mutter Sie sehen konnten wissen, sich selbst an beliebigem Mann werfend, durchqueren Sie Pfade mit, betrunken aus Ihren Witzen und wie die preiswerteste, schmutzigste Hure auf der Ecke handelnd. Ich bin sicher, dass sie auf Sie, jemals der Beschützer der Familie stolz sein würden, stimmt das? Sie denken, dass Sie mich mit den Dingen erniedrigen, die Sie sagen, aber Sie ertrinken nur in Ihrem eigenen Gift, versuchend zu lächeln, während Sie wirklich verzweifelt nach Luft schnappen," the man spat at her, his lips momentarily twisting with disgust.

"Was denken Sie, dass Sie tun? Spaß habend? Sich gerade ein kleines bisschen entspannend, ist dass es?" Rolf arched an eyebrow at her. "Vielleicht denken Sie, dass es gerade ist, was es ist. Vielleicht haben Sie sich erlaubt, über die Wirklichkeit zu vergessen, weil Sie es länger nicht behandeln können. Oder vielleicht haben Sie dem Trinken einfach erlaubt, diese leere kleine Meinung von euch zu schikanieren, wen das Bumsen kennt, aber Sie bringen nichts als Unglück auf sich selbst und Ihrer Familie. Sie denken, dass die Männer innerhalb dieser Bar zu betrunken sind, um sich an Sie zu erinnern? Sie denken, dass sich Siegner an Sie nicht erinnern wird?" the man pointed a hand towards the general direction of the pub, his eyebrows violently curved above his eyes. "Sie werden in Afrika mit diesen Männern gefangen, und Sie werden verpflichtet, sie früher oder später zu sehen. Wo werden Sie Ihr Gesicht jedes Mal einer von ihnen mit ihnen Wege kreuzen? Welche Entschuldigungen werden Sie ihnen anbieten?" the man asked vehemently, having stared at Riedel intently during his entire outburst. "Ich bin sicher, dass sobald Sie genug idiotische Fehler gemacht haben, Sie kommen werden, um Ihrer Familie gegenüberzustehen, sie in den Augen aussehen und persönlich zugeben, dass Sie alles versauten, kurz bevor Sie sie mit Ihnen herunterziehen. Und für was...? Siegner? Was für der Mann schaffen Sie, durch den Arm in Ihrem betrunkenen Dunst zu fassen? Oder war es bloß wegen einiger Getränke vielleicht? Ist einem schönen Geschäft ähnlich, stimmt das?"

Rolf was not really expecting to hear any answers from her, nor did he believe that she really understood anything he was telling her, but he had not the strength to say anything more and the painful turmoil he had forgotten about was slowly creeping back, a dead weight pushing against his chest. He remembered the laughter once more, her delighted smiles and sharp insults, and he did not wish to look upon that face any longer, simply taking a few steps away from her and diverting his gaze to the ground. It would have been only right, exacting justice upon her here, away from any prying eyes, and the bloodlust within him twisted like a growing larvae, telling him how much better he'd feel witnessing the crimson of her blood seeping into the sand. But the rage was gone, transformed into a hopeless state of forlorn weakness and he simply wished her gone, maybe destroyed by her own, careless whims. Something within his gaze shifted at these thoughts, another voice telling him that this was not what he truly wished to see, but he drove that thought away with a silent snarl, his eyes flashing with renewed defiance. She had laughed and jeered at him and he should have allowed her to dig her own grave, or better yet, to simply reveal her secret and watch her struggling against the torrent that would eventually wash her away, yet still he stood in his place, eyebrows furrowed and his teeth gritted together to contain the pain that had grown overwhelming, but which his pride was attempting to conceal.


Translations:

"Besten am Sie Denken an Ihre Familie jetzt."
"Best think of your family now."

"Schauen Sie auf sich selbst..!"
"Look at yourself! Imagine if your brother and mother could see you know, throwing yourself at whatever man you cross paths with, drunken out of your wits and acting like the cheapest, filthiest whore on the corner. I'm sure they'd be proud of you, ever the protector of the family, wouldn't they? You think you demean me with the things you say, but you are only drowning in your own poison, trying to smile while you are really desperately gasping for breath."

"Was denken Sie, dass Sie tun? Spaß habend? Sich gerade ein kleines bisschen entspannend, ist dass es?"
"What do you think you are doing? Having fun? Relaxing just a little bit, is that it?"

"Vielleicht denken Sie, dass es gerade ist, was es ist..."
"Maybe you think that's just what it is. Maybe you have allowed yourself to forget about the reality because you can't handle it any longer. Or maybe you have simply allowed the drinking to haze that empty little mind of yours, who the fuck knows, but you are bringing nothing but misfortune on yourself and your family. You think the men inside that bar are too drunken to remember you? You think Siegner won't remember you?"

"Sie werden in Afrika mit diesen Männern gefangen, und Sie werden verpflichtet, sie früher oder später zu sehen..."
"You are trapped in Africa with these men and you are bound to see them sooner or later. Where will you hide your face each time one of them crosses paths with you? What kind of excuses will you offer them?"

"Ich bin sicher, dass sobald Sie genug idiotische Fehler gemacht haben, Sie kommen werden, um Ihrer Familie gegenüberzustehen..."
"I'm sure that once you've made enough idiotic mistakes, you'll get to confront your family, look them in the eyes and personally admit that you fucked everything up just before you pull them down with you. And for what...? Siegner? Whatever man you manage to grasp by the arm in your drunken haze? Or was it merely for the sake of a few drinks, maybe? Well, that sounds like a fair deal, doesn't it?"

[Dirk Riedel]

When the woman would later attempt to recollect how what was to unfold next had began, she would find herself unable to precisely gather that authentic, unaffected memory which would present her with the images she would wish to explore. All she knew was that the grasp upon her arm had by now almost become unbearable, the man’s nails clutching onto her skin as she was suddenly pulled away with such violent force that a noise of surprise escaped her throat, and she was urged away by the Hauptmann, her eyes widened and her face distorted into an expression of astonishment and irritation at the same time. Suffice it to say, the irritation instantly evaporated so that only the former sentiment would dominate on her features for those few moments during which she could not clearly see Jäger attacking Siegner, as the man’s back was in front of her and almost concealed the sight, but she soon enough understood what had happened once the striking sound pierced through her ears and she saw Siegner shifting more to the side, her arms previously hanging down but now moving in mid-air as if on instinct at the sight of the attack. Before she could say anything or even properly react another strike had found Siegner in the next moment, and, strangely enough, a noise of amusement left the woman’s throat as she covered her lips with her right hand in surprise, the corners of her lips upturned into an unavoidable smile at Jäger’s feral strength and his uncompromising fist, but also not rejoicing at Siegner’s pain, either, that momentary smile fading on the spot once she saw him stumbling down on the floor in anguish, her eyebrows immediately curving into a frown as her eyes shifted from his lying figure to glare at the Hauptmann’s back. “Jäger!” she rasped at him, her tone disapproving and hostile, and irises narrowed to slits once she could actually find to say something, but naturally the man would not listen and, within moments, found himself entangled amongst other inebriated soldiers so that, in this absolute mess that had just been created in the pub and already augmented by the general sense of excess and noise dominating the room, Dirk could only watch them from the distance, until the Hauptmann’s eyes finally were upon her once he freed himself from the crowd.

He snarled at her and brought up her family as means of threat, although he really needed not have bothered to do so in the first place – she would not have been able to escape his grasp even if she had mustered all of her strength, not simply due to her inebriated condition but also it seemed that to unchain herself from the man’s iron grip would require phenomenal force which the woman neither possessed nor was bothered at the moment to have exercised, as it is. His hold of her arm was ruthless and uncompromising, and it was as she looked back at him that she truly did register to its deepest degree the severity of the situation, and simply how beside himself he was at this point, enough to render her speechless and numb her mind for those few moments of stillness during which their eyes met, her irises widening just as he began to force her away, her mind finally racing as it realized a few things upon such sudden departure even if she consciously had not understood that he was leading her to the exit door. “Aber das Bier!” she protested amidst all the general clatter, and her head turned over her shoulder to glance at the bar table at the same time as the man was tagging her along violently, but there was nothing she could do and her face quickly turned into an expression of horror once she realized she would be deprived of alcohol, her mind too messed up at this moment to even consider cursing at the Hauptmann for such unacceptable insolence. She moved through the crowd with the pressure he was exerting upon her, shifting in-between bodies, neither fluidly nor in an elegant, graceful manner, the heads soon becoming a mass of colours within her mind as they quickly passed by, until they eventually stepped outdoors.

The cool evening air felt sharp against her face but not refreshing, much as she would prefer to drown herself in that haze of tobacco and alcohol, but she had no say in the matter as she was pulled along by the Hauptmann, not even bothering to protest or speak insulting words at him. It was when he finally stopped walking that she did look at his face again, but she had no time to react in the slightest as his hand struck sharply across her face, throwing it to the right, the sound echoing in the deserted alleyway in its brisk, punishing quality. She slowly turned her head around to face him, not really affected, though a look of hunger had grasped a tight hold of her face as her eyes gleamed brightly in the darkness, lips faintly parted and staring at the man in all of his severe, unforgiving countenance. He spoke things, called her things which would have otherwise hurt her conscience but under the influence of alcohol only augmented amusement within her mind, and how curious it was that everything he said – from the escape of reality to the want of relaxation, being incapable of avoiding reality – and how ironic that such a speech would best fit a period belonging to a different time, how ironic that whilst the man was speaking of her identity as Leutnant Riedel and the great jeopardy she was putting it into, the woman would only connect his words to a time long gone and which would never pass, forever engraved upon her heart and memory with sorrow and guilt. Confront your family. Look them in the eyes. And admit that you’ve fucked everything up. Her drunken eyes glinted at the recollection, and she could only stare at him quietly as her mind weaved memories of the past and interlinked them with the present, perhaps in a cruel fashion. The man looked away from her, rage still evident in his facial features but also a sentiment akin to dejection, and became silent. The woman breathed calmly, and stared at him without a word for those moments that came to pass, lips still parted as she absorbed his harsh criticism of her, and silence crept in between them with its strange, inconvenient glare, all remaining unmoving and even the soft breeze appeared to have softened down at the tense moment.

Until she laughed.

Her laughter, heartless and drunken, pierced the evening air and her eyes narrowed to slits in mirth, shoulders shaking from this unexpected source of euphoria, the woman staring back at him without the slightest remorse or care. “Gehuren ringsherum? Trinkend? Oh, Jäger, wie naiv Sie sind,” she told him, her voice mocking and laughing at him straight in the eyes, an unpleasant smile etched across her lips. “Sie haben richtigen gehurt ringsherum nicht sogar gesehen. Sie sollten dort … in Hamburg … gewesen sein, um für sich selbst zu sehen!” she breathed in delight, her eyes gleaming at the horrid memories of wretchedness and accountability, before she stepped closer to him. “Vielleicht hatten Sie recht. Vielleicht bin ich wirklich eine Bauer-Hure,” she inferred in a slow whisper. “Oh, Sie sollten es gesehen haben, Jäger … berührten sie …” she whispered, the fingers of her right hand touching him across his cheek in a forceful, filthy manner, as her irises dilated at the thought, “… überall,” she finished the whisper, and the vulgar smile widened, for now it was more than suggestive, it was plainly distasteful and obscene. “Es widert Sie an, stimmt dass? Nicht es?” she insisted in a relentless tone, through gritted teeth, pressing on to him like a leech and not caring in the slightest with regard to his reaction, nor if he should such behaviour appropriate to the occurrence or not. “Dass ich schmutzig und verwendet, und wertlos bin,” she argued and her eyes now became two glowing orbs of despair and self-condemnation. She was being cruel at herself in this judgement. But she could never forgive herself. Ever forgive herself.

“Ich sorge mich nicht, ich sorge mich nicht ob sie mich finden, mindestens werde ich Sie nicht mehr tragen, nicht mehr durch Ihre Anwesenheit belastet werden, die alles ist, dass ich will,” she rasped at him hatefully, her arms now hanging down by her sides as she stared at him through this small distance. “So lassen Sie jeden wissen, SIE WISSEN LASSEN!” she barked at him, spitting at him all of her rage but at the same time expressing her despair, that carnivorous element which writhed inside her and gripped an unyielding hold of her viscera, made her stomach turn and created a strong knot within her throat. “Lassen Sie sie wissen, was ich aufrichtig bin, dann werde ich gerade über Sie lachen, und an Ihrem Gesicht spucken! Ja, ich werde alles verlieren, dass ich habe, aber ich werde Sie auch verlieren, Jäger! Das ist das, was ich will! Lassen Sie sie wissen! Lassen Sie sie wissen!” she begged of him in her misery and hopelessness, her gaze transfixed upon his eyes as crystal, bright eyes of celadon green had locked upon his cold grey countenance, the muscles in her face tautened and her skin stiff as she spoke, the smile now long since faded into the bowels of nothingness.

“Weil ich Sie hasse!” she cried with all the hatred she could muster, looking at him as if he was the greatest problem she had ever had the misfortune to be burdened with, a parasite she needed to crush on the floor, a nobody in her life who had suddenly and without warning turned into a somebody bearing as much gravity and meaning in her sphere of existence as she would have abhorred to admit. “Ich hasse Sie! Ich verfluche die Zeit und lege Sie musste in der Nähe von mir kommen, und ich verfluche den Grund, auf dem Sie spazieren gehen! Ich hasse Sie, weil Sie mir nur Sorgen bringen und ich Sie hasse, weil Sie nicht wissen, was Sie wollen. Was wollen Sie sogar, Jäger? Was wollen Sie mit mir?” she demanded of him in her brutal, feral tone, her teeth bared and her eyes widened, as ever. “Wenn ich so widerlich bin, wenn ich gerade ein Untergeordneter und nicht würdig einigen Ihrer Aufmerksamkeit bin, wenn ich ein Alkoholiker, ein Bauer, eine Scheißhure bin, warum reisen Sie nicht gerade ab? Warum drehen Sie sich nicht um, gehen weg und kommen nie zurück? Kommen Sie nie zu mir zurück! Sie wollen nicht mich bumsen,” she breathed, a touch of despair and even offence resurfacing through her tone as she spoke this, as she recalled all the times he had had the chance to use her as he wished and exploit her weaknesses, but had not. “Sie wollen nicht mich schlagen, und Sie wollen nicht mich – so töten, wenn es nichts von diesen, warum Sorge ist, um damit zu beginnen? Ich bin für irgend etwas anderes nicht gut!” she barked until her voice grew even hoarser, and her throat constricted.

She opened her mouth to continue, but could not speak anymore, as if the knot inside her throat had simply been tightened too much, now her stomach a strong fist and her eyes two orbs that despised him. She breathed in laboriously, panting first, agape and her forehead ablaze from the heat of her arguments, and when she could finally speak a sneer caught onto her lips. “Weil Sie ein Feigling sind,” she whispered her venom, in that low, slowly uttered voice, the tone awashed with contempt and derision, and the ever hateful glance. “Sie sind ein Feigling!” she insisted, now her face close enough for the man to feel her drunken breath tingling his jaw, or the feverish quality of her skin. “Was hört Sie auf?” she barely whispered, challenging him to fulfill the vulgar threats he had made.

“Schlagen Sie mich wieder,” she pleaded in a simple whisper, desperate and hopeless, green irises that were unyielding in their stare, and eyes that hardly blinked – and her hand struck against his face sharply with no great force, as though she wished to encourage him, to goad and force him to do as she demanded. “Schlagen Sie mich!” she begged, and slapped him again, the movement certain not to cause him any pain aside from a twinge of aching that would pass momentarily, but still delivering a message across. “Schlagen Sie mich!” And with a third and fourth slap she stood there before him, panting and awaiting for her punishment.




Translation

But the beer!

Whoring around? Drinking? Oh, Jäger, how naïve you are. You haven’t even seen proper whoring around. You should have been there … in Hamburg … to see for yourself!

Maybe you were right. Maybe I am really a peasant whore. Oh, you should have seen it, Jäger … they were touching … everywhere. It disgusts you, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? That I am filthy and used, and worthless.

I don’t care, I don’t care if they find me, at least I will no longer have to bear you, no longer be burdened by your presence, that is all I want. So let everyone know, LET THEM KNOW! Let them know what I truly am, then I will just laugh at you, and spit at your face! Yes, I will lose everything I have but I will also lose you, Jäger! That is what I want! Let them know! Let them know!

Because I hate you! I hate you! I curse the time and place you had to come near me, and I curse the ground you walk on! I hate you because you only bring me worries and I hate you because you don’t know what you want. What do you even want, Jäger? What do you want with me? If I am so disgusting, if I am just an inferior and not worthy of any of your attention, if I am an alcoholic, a peasant, a fucking whore, why don’t you just leave? Why don’t you turn around, walk away and never come back? Never come back to me! You don’t want to fuck me. You don’t want to hit me, and you don’t want to kill me – so if it is nothing of these, why bother to begin with? I am not good for anything else!

Because you are a coward. You’re a coward!

What is stopping you?

Hit me again. Hit me! Hit me!

[Rolf Jäger]

The woman's mirthful laughter echoed sharply from the walls of the alleyway, bouncing from the stone and reaching Rolf's ears with all the confusing viciousness it had to offer and the man shifted his head, just to stare at Riedel in confusion. He could not understand what she was finding so amusing, or if it was even something he was meant to perceive to begin with. Maybe it was some private joke of hers she was laughing at, maybe she merely found her current intoxicated state so funny, Rolf could not say, but his eyebrows still automatically furrowed with annoyance. Whatever the reason was, he was sure it was one he would consider far less amusing and he did not bother asking about it. Riedel told the man that he was being childish in imagining that her current magnitude of drinking and whoring was something to be frowned at and that he had not actually seen anything yet. She hinted at something that had happened in Hamburg, a referral Rolf could not understand, yet the manner in which she uttered these words sent a shiver of displeasure running down the man's spine. Never before had he heard such self-loathing, such foulness in the woman's tone and it was this very deviation in her voice that held him frozen in his spot when Riedel moved closer to him. While he immediately wished to know what it was she was talking about, he also felt he would have not enjoyed actually seeing it nor even really hearing about it, such depravity was there in those words of filth, things which she continued to speak of when Rolf was fast hoping he would not hear any more.

She moved her hand closer and her fingers pressed against his cheek, her words further sending shivers of disgust rippling over Rolf's skin. Of course she was right, he had ever called her a peasant whore, telling her just how cheap she was, but at some point it had become only a fitting offense, one he had no longer quite believed in. How could he have after witnessing the pride and anger with which she had defended herself with when Rolf had attempted to force himself upon her? She had given him no quarter, she had secured her dignity and even upon that first meeting of theirs Rolf - bleeding and hurting as he had been - had recognized this fact and even appreciated it. In fact, Riedel had ever been the first female to show such vehement resistance and had it not been for that fact, Rolf might have never developed such a burning interest towards her to begin with. Yet now, as her fingertips pressed against his skin, Rolf felt nothing but disgust as she told him that she had been touched everywhere, the tone of her voice nothing but repulsive and sleazy. She pressed closer to him and Rolf attempted to avert his face away from her, swallowing hard just to force down the taste of bile rising up to his throat. He could have always attempted to dismiss her words as nothing but horrendous incentive to rouse up his distaste and his anger, but he could not discard her words that easily, such gravity and truth they held to them. He would have never even imagined that she should have succumbed to such debauchery, but the hatred and filth dripping from her words revealed the disgusting truth to him, the desire to push her away just to save himself from contracting that sickness having now grown nearly overwhelming.

As if the nauseating content of her revelation had not been enough, she went on to demonstrate another side of her Rolf had never before witnessed and one he would have not expected to see in her, either; she was hatefully giving up and as challenging as her words were, they were just that; words of tired, angry renounce. She might have coated them as having something to do with her hatred towards him, rather choosing her own downfall over having to bear his presence any longer, but what Rolf saw was nothing but surrender. She had become another person entirely and it caused Rolf more distress than he would have cared to admit, as if the only thing that had been certain in the constantly precarious environment the deserts of Africa and the war had created, had been that Riedel would stand ever fast and proud, no matter what the odds against her were. Rolf had found this fact infuriating at first, but then it had become a concept that remained as unchanging as the fact that everyone died, that the Earth was round and that, like Riedel, Rolf would never give up his pride to kneel before anyone. To see this dogma so twisted and changed caused his heart to pound faster against his ribcage, making him feel curiously uncomfortable and perturbed.

Rolf stared at her, the mixed feelings of disgust, confusion and distress brewing inside him like a violent storm, yet surprisingly, it was Riedel's anger that next soothed these feelings. With an anguished, resentful tone she told him how much he hated him and not just him, but even the very ground he walked upon. According to her, Rolf only brought her worries, not knowing what he wanted with her, only finding her a disgusting alcoholic, a peasant, a whore. The man watched her silently, allowing the woman to vent her rage upon him, for at least it made him feel better, allowing him to imagine that Riedel was not as completely different as she had just moments ago demonstrated. Still, there was something different, something severely off in the tone of her voice and Rolf could sense the desperation reaching him like some foul stench and he knew; he was certain that the previous self-hatred had not completely evaporated and that it had simply taken on another disguise. Riedel claimed that he did not neither wish to hit her, kill her or to fuck her - words which seemed utterly ridiculous to Rolf, for he had desired all of these things and it was this very essence that still kept him hooked to her, his fate now entwined with hers. She invoked such wrath within him, at times he felt like strangling her to death, while at other times her mere presence made his blood rush wilder with untamed lust and there were other things he found himself craving for. It was curious that she had not yet recognized such raw emotions ruling his actions, but maybe they were easily mixed into that one, dominating torrent of hatred, stripping all the other sentiments of any outward signs they might have otherwise manifested.

A hoarse, hateful whisper slithered its way to Rolf, the woman telling him that he was a coward and her words roused up a more distinct sneer from the man, the change in his features easily noticeable after the relative silence he had spent wearing a neutral expression, one only momentarily perturbed by confusion and loathing. Riedel was standing close enough for him to feel her breath upon his skin and to smell the reek of alcohol and tobacco smoke that surrounded her her and her implication sent creeping, slow waves of anger travelling along the insides of his skull, like small flames licking their way up the dark trunk of a burning tree. Rolf breathed out slowly, wrinkling his nose as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips drew away from his teeth in his growing hatred. When she asked him what was stopping him from fulfilling his desires if he so loathed or desired her, only hardened eyes of steel stared back at her, as if he suddenly felt defiant at being goaded towards such deeds. A flash of surprise passed through Rolf's irises when the woman asked him to hit her again and he appeared all the more surprised when the first strike caught him across the face, causing his skin to tingle with slight pain. The sneer on the man's lips only grew and his eyes glinted with anger, when the force of another strike already stung his skin, Riedel still pleading for him to avenge the violence, to attack her back, the words followed by two just as swift strikes as before. Even though the force of her strikes was weak at best, not carrying with them the same emotions that her words were infested with, they were offensive enough to invoke the more primal side in the man, the simple affront of her actions overruling the severity of them.

If the wrath within Rolf's grey eyes had been nothing but an inkling at first, the emotion now flared wild and feral within him, gathering force somewhere in the pit of his stomach, rapidly moving up to scorch his lungs and then coming to a full torrent upon his features. The man's eyes glowed with this brightly smoldering rage and his muscles contracted as adrenaline flowed in his veins, his shoulder already moving back to return to the woman's offense, to give her just what she had been so fervently asking for. The strike landed across the woman's face, swift and brutal, the man growling like an enraged canine as his other hand shifted towards the woman at the same moment, grasping her by the throat. Rolf pushed the woman back with his forearm, fingers violently curved around the pale skin of her neck as he roughly slammed her back against the nearby wall. Rolf's fingertips dug into the soft texture of her skin mercilessly, the man only a fraction away from actually suffocating the woman, while he stared at her hatefully, as if he wanted nothing more but squeeze the very life out of her. Rolf's chest was rising up and down rapidly and he inched his face closer to hers as he studied her features, silently considering the question she had posed earlier. Why not fuck her, then? Why not hit her until there was nothing left of her but the mewling remnants of what had once been? The burning intent in his eyes could have been the offspring of either of these sentiments, but even through his anger he was also considering her actions and the pure irregularity that had governed them, something that was - in its essence - very unlike her. And at that moment he understood that maybe she had not prepared him for a final, decisive confrontation, but merely wished someone to punish her, to beat her up until she either perished from the brutality or had the filth dwelling within purged from her system.

The man's eyes skipped over Riedel's features in a feverish fashion while his fingers released their hold, only for a moment, just to creep up slightly and to latch around the edges of her jaws. Rolf's face was close enough for her to feel the rapid, almost shallow breathing travelling through the man's slightly open lips and right then and there, he understood what was passing through that obscure mind of hers and even though the strong fingers clasped around her face maintained their iron grip, a brief sense of that understanding lit his features. Rolf pushed her against the stone wall with renewed force, the man's forearm pressed against her chest effectively pinning her upper body in that awkward and even painful position. The man regarded the woman with a sneer, raising an eyebrow at her and breathing warm air upon her skin as he spoke. "Du hasst mich? Jeder hasst mich, Riedel! Denken Sie, dass ich mich sorge, was sie an mich denken? Ihr Hass ist, was mich bewahrt, ist es, was meinem Leben eine Bedeutung gibt, ihnen zu zeigen, wo sie schief gingen," the words came in a low, hoarse growl and they were announced with no small amount of severity, the fervent quality of them piercing through the rapidly cooling air of the evening. "Wollen Sie nicht mit allen sie gerade kämpfen? Lassen Sie sie Sie, das ganze Stolzieren und Wörter, jeder von ihnen gegenüberstehen, gegen Sie arbeitend, aber dann zeigen Sie ihnen... Sie lehren sie ihre Köpfe in der Rücksicht biegen. Es ist egal, wer sie sind, oder wie viel es von ihnen gibt, so lange Sie kämpfen. Gibt es irgendwelcher anderer Moment im Leben, wenn man sich lebendig aufrichtig fühlen kann? Bedeutungsvoll?" The man asked, the grasp of his fingers remaining as decisive and unyielding as before.

"Sind Sie wirklich wegen dabei meiner aufzugeben? Oder bin ich gerade eine Entschuldigung, die Sie bereit sind zu verwenden, wenn Sie an nichts anderes denken können, um Ihre Handlungen damit zu rechtfertigen? Sie beschließen, in einigen entfernte Vergangenheit und für was zu leben! Denken Sie dort nicht dass sind wichtigere Dinge sich zu konzentrieren?" There was a brutal edge to his tone, but Rolf knew that he could not bring back Riedel's true spirit by coddling her and it was only through anger and conflict that one found their true meaning. He could not look at her, wallowing in filth and depravity as she willingly was, and she needed to be picked up, to be slapped in the face so that her raw anger and life force would direct her to the right path once more. Rolf had ever admired her strength and to see it lay tarnished and forgotten as it was now, was something he simply could not let pass. "Reiß dich zusammen!" he hissed, ramming the woman against the wall one more time, staring into her eyes of purest green, as hazed by the alcohol as they currently were, before finally allowing the relentless grasp of his fingers to yield. Instead of really letting go, Rolf merely slid his fingers down her throat, sizing her up with a slight tilt of his chin. "Sie können mich alles hassen, dass Sie wollen, aber ich gebe nicht auf und weder bin Sie. Sie haben den Aufwand nicht," the man commented hoarsely, his mind suddenly focused on the current moment, borrowing emotions from another one when he had also allowed the tips of his fingers to travel upon her pale skin.

And no matter how much he hated her and been mere millimeters away from squeezing the very life out of her strong frame, Rolf tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting feverishly as he dwelled in those moments mixing with the current one, his face lingering an insignificant distance away from hers. He had just demonstrated just how able he was to cause pain on her and to punish her, so why not demonstrate that there were other things he would have wished to bring to fruition, also? With his chest heaving up and down with his heavy breathing, Rolf met her gaze hungrily, the violent desire to possess her having dissipated the anger within and the man pushed his frame against hers, wanting and desiring. His lips were now so close to hers that only the tiniest movement would have been required to press them against her distinctly arched lips and he allowed his rapid breathing to brush against the soft texture of those painted curves, yet something prodded his mind and told him that this was not the time nor the place, that if he was to give up to his urges now, it would somehow disrupt with his true aspirations. A small, almost indiscernible frown drew across his eyebrows when he tried to make sense of what these true aspirations were and when he could not understand them, his fingertips pressed more forcefully against the woman's jaw once more, the anger at his own thoughts manifesting itself through this simple reaction. As if to assist himself in making that decision, he allowed the force of her jeering words and actions to come flooding back to him and suddenly, he felt his insides shrinking with feelings he had already pushed away.

Something shifted within the man's gaze and disrupted the feral yearning dominating his eyes, a brief twinge of offense visiting them instead. Rolf growled low in his throat, sliding his fingers away from her face and releasing her as he stepped back and pulled his arm off her chest. There was that cold, decisive air to the man once more and he remained standing a mere step away from her, scoffing, as he had found her actions ridiculous, when he was really trying to dissolve his own confusion and hurt at her words. It was strange how little he cared if she told him she hated him, for this much he already knew. It was her insults hitting far too close to the mark that had affected him and they made him feel more uncomfortable than he ever remembered feeling. Certainly over these years he had developed a thick hide for insults and he had been certain that no sharp words could pass through these defences, but as with many things, Riedel had proved him wrong once more. But she knew this not and it was better that way, the man merely standing up straight and proud, expecting to see the woman shaping up - if not for her own sake, then for that of her family. With all the high words with which she had spoken about them one would have expected her to remember them now when she was apparently ready to give up.

Rolf eyed her neutrally one more time before his hand snaked into his pocket to fish out the silver case of cigarette, sliding out one of the tobacco rolls and proceeding to light it, this simple action giving him the momentary excuse of diverting his attention away from her. Rolf still refused to look at her as he was dropping the lighter back inside his pocket, his eyes rather fixated somewhere upon the dusty ground and the shadows drawn across it, the ember of the cigarette lighting his face with an eerie orange glow as he brought the tobacco roll to his lips and slowly inhaled the smoke. He did not want to look at her, for he realized he did not want to see the forlorn version of Riedel and that he needed to witness her feral and proud once more... for whatever undiscovered uses it might have held for him.


Translations:

"Du hasst mich? Jeder hasst mich, Riedel..!"
"You hate me? Everyone hates me, Riedel! Do you think I care what they think about me? Their hatred is what keeps me alive, it's what gives my life a meaning, to show them where they went wrong."

"Wollen Sie nicht mit allen sie gerade kämpfen..?"
"Don't you just want to fight all them? Have them confront you, all swagger and words, each one of them working against you, but then you show them... You teach them to bend their heads in respect. It doesn't matter who they are, or how many there are of them, as long as you fight. Is there any other moment in life when one can truly feel alive? Meaningful?"

"Sind Sie wirklich wegen dabei meiner aufzugeben..?"
"Are you really going to give up because of me? Or am I just an excuse you are willing to use when you can't think of anything else to justify your actions with? You choose to live in some distant past and for what! Don't you think there are more important things to focus on? It's time to get a grip, Riedel!"

"Sie können mich alles hassen, dass Sie wollen, aber ich gebe nicht auf und weder bin Sie. Sie haben den Aufwand nicht."
"You can hate me all you want, but I'm not giving up and neither are you. You don't have the luxury."

[Dirk Riedel]

A muffled groan escaped the woman’s throat as the man raised his hand and a ruthless strike caught her face viciously, throwing her head to the side, and from such animalistic force she would have without doubt stumbled backwards had he not grasped her by her throat, the satisfied smile that had risen across her lips vanished on the spot at the same time as his strong fingers savagely circled around her neck and pressed onto her carotid, forcing her backwards until she felt her spine crushing against the brick wall. His wrath was consuming, and spreading onto her like a disease as he glared down at her with such raw savagery as was enough to root her to the spot even if she had otherwise wished to move, but immobilized to the ground and on the wall, trapped into his deadly embrace she could only stare back at him, the fly gazing into the eyes of the spider as it was being choked, ensnared into the webs he had so patiently been weaving only for her in particular, and as his fingers pressed tightly upon her throat she felt her lungs running out of air, lips weakly parted in a desperate effort to gather as much as they could and force it through the throat to revive her fainting system, but in vain, for his grip was unyielding and murderous, eyes of coldest ice and hard as iron giving her a black look as they choked her, mercilessly, and without hesitation. Her right hand instinctively moved to grasp his as the remotest sign of resistance, but she had barely touched him on the wrist when she forced her hand away, and let it writhe against the wall by her head, her other hand hanging down by her side, her nails digging into the brick; the knuckles whitened at the sheer force with which such movement was made, the magnitude of her despair, the terrible effort to drive against the instinct of self-preservation and let the man complete what he so desired, her green irises widened and her mouth reacted in distress, hollowed words dissolving into the atmosphere but drowning halfway through their journey towards him – and it was fear that had gripped its icy fingers around the woman’s heart and consumed her with despair and agony, for never before had she witnessed such bloodlust in his eyes and the elementary wish to kill. She had known that he was always possessed by the human urge to ravage her, to attack and thrash her and beat her to the ground, but never could she imagine he was capable of ending her life right there and then, without any more explanations given, without a simple word.

There he stood, like another Pricolici, built of an unbreakable, barbaric quality, and though she felt her throat burning, her hand still struggled, writhing against the wall by her side frantically, ready to fly to his fingers and provide for that resistance she consciously refused to give him, her eyes never quite leaving that monstrous visage from such an inconsequential distance, her forehead ablaze, her breathing growing faint and shallow to the point where her lungs screamed at her, but she could not hear, and her hand hated her, but she could not care. And then, slowly, his hold around her neck weakened, a hint of surprise passing through her face as she gazed back at him and she furiously blinked for those few moments during which he released his hand, his fingers instead crawling up and pressing around her jaw, as he rammed her back against the wall for a second time, the force of such movement awakening her mind from the prospect of suffocation and she breathed desperately, her eyes alight gazing back at him, hardly blinking, not even flinching as he pressed his forearm at her chest to immobilize her even as it already ached from the metal plating which had filled it with minor bruises and grazes, the woman absorbing his hateful words as they pierced onto her being with all of their determined, unbending force. He claimed that everyone hated him, and it was those very words that rooted her to the ground more firmly even if his grasp was relentless; he claimed that she should fight, scorned her for thinking of giving up and for using him as an excuse for her surrender, and it was these words that truly did hold onto her heart for she had not pronounced them herself, yet he had seen through her dismissal of his threats as it being nothing more but an expression of surrender, and indeed, were he not right? Her eyes gleamed at him, frozen, lips that could utter no word. He spoke of what was truly meaningful in life, what made one alive, reminded her of what was more important and she should have thought of her family … but did not.

A small smile rose across her lips, as though in subliminal appreciation of such strength as the one he possessed – and was it not ironic? That she should be the one to draw from another person’s strength, that here stood a man who could pick her up from the ground and slap her back to whom she used to be, but such was the woman’s state that she did not want to be revived, she had succumbed to the temptation, to the weakness of falling into such a state that to be forced away from it was neither her wish nor her intention. She wanted to stay there, in the mud, and wash her face in dirt, until she became nothing but the smallest worm, the most insignificant molecule that would be stomped and easily forgotten; once she would fall into such a state there would be no easy way of coming back, no road to return to her decency and self-respect without first having lived through that condition of worthlessness and debauchery. She could not tell if he cared – perhaps he did – but she did know that no matter what he told her at this moment would not be enough to revive her into her feral, unyielding self. He had brought this upon her and she had bent under the weight and sheer pressure, suffocated, shrunk underneath his command and into his very own hand, until she had no other road to take but the one that was most hateful to her. It was ironic, even cruel, that so were to happen, but so came to pass, indeed. How true were the words he spoke – she did not have the luxury, how well she knew this! Did it not make her situation all the more unfortunate?

Perhaps he wished to punish her for pursuing companionship with another soldier of the Luftwaffe, perhaps he simply resented having to observe her in this ridiculous, disgusting state, but it was her plight – she was the bearer, he was the creator. His words little but affected her, the woman’s senses better attuned to his breath briskly tingling her lips as he spoke, the warmth of his fingers as they pressed onto her jaw line, or the strength which he applied to exercise power against her frame, the brutal ferocity of his eyes, and upon recollecting the vicious strike she had received from his very own hand the smile widened from the corner of her lips and faintly parted them, as if she were to remark upon something, but rather remained quiet, observing him through that strange haze of senselessness during which she pleaded for him to complete his wretched objective and thus end his pursuing of her. The pain. Yes, the pain, she welcomed it; at one point it had been the only thing she wished to experience to numb the heart through the anguish of the body, and how vain to think such a thing should be feasible.

She collided with the brick wall once more, and her irises distinguished that familiar hungry gleam of his grey eyes, and she knew that the feeling was there, slowly simmering on the inside and burning his viscera. She had witnessed it too many times before to have simply neglected its recognition at this critical moment, and she waited, open and void of any rejection she would have otherwise forwarded at a different state, in a different circumstance. It was almost too good: the man she resented the most and whom she wished to strangle for all the worries he was giving her prove to her exactly how worthless she could be, for that was what she desired. Slap her, beat her to the ground and fuck her up against the wall – such an opportunity to demean herself to the lowest of the lowest had not arrived upon her threshold even at Hamburg, and that had been the peak of her depravity! Her insides writhed at the thought, ridiculous, drunken and desperate as it was, and did she really intend to – could she really bear to throw herself down to such debauchery? Then again, had she already not done so? The means to cheapen oneself were far more diverse and efficient than to remain above in self-respect and decency as though life had on purpose presented human beings with more opportunities to be devalued than be dignified. The road to vice and perversion felt effortless and lightheaded, and though she had been a creature of wisdom and perception she was vulnerable to the pitfalls of her own heart, the weaknesses of her mind and suddenly lost all strength which seemed to be the fountain, the source of life for her, essentially dooming her to the state of a common, cheap prostitute not because she was one nor that she felt one amongst them, but because to diminish her existence to the state of a worm meant to be ridden of the pain and anguish that came from caring too much, to be stomped on to the ground by the brutal feet of people meant to feel pain no longer, and to be used in such a disgraceful manner would eventually liberate her of the anguish. It was sardonic to think so, but she had easily submitted to that state before, though it was once and it was years ago, and it had been followed by more years of guilt and self-loathing in a vicious, unceasing cycle that laughed at and mocked her for her pitiful human state.

This state came alive before her eyes as the man pressed his frame against her and brought his face closer, fingers looping around her neck to ensnare her, capture her within the palm of his very own hand, and she could already feel what should follow even through the stillness of time, her hand slowly moving to grasp at the tunic on his side with a tight fist. She gazed at him endlessly, despair in her eyes, as if awaiting for that single, simple moment to finally come – one that would break the stillness and lead to a chain of moments that would bind her to that utter worthlessness she so craved for, and even he could not be so cruel as to deny her this. What an absurd contrast to the time of their first meeting, then she had been a fierce warrior defying his wish, his right to claim her, now what was she but a seemingly simple-minded, uncaring whore who desired to dance through the fires of hell and burn to ashes from the sins that wore her down and forced her to kneel on the ground and wash herself with dirt? She could feel his breath on her skin and her lips remained parted in anticipation, eyes unblinking and gleaming as they stared back at him, and for the first time his touch did not feel as disgusting as it had on other circumstances, and yet now there was something else which drew her to him without any such precedence having taken form before throughout the time she had met him, and though she hated herself for it, how she longed to close that miniscule, stupid gap that separated her from him.

Until he released his hold and took a step backwards. The woman blinked, confused, and her forehead wrinkled as she looked at him with a frown, not quite able to understand him. The orange glow of the cigarette he smoked illuminated part of his face and his cold, silver eyes and she remained there, leaned against the wall, and a glum expression momentarily passed through her face as she looked down on the ground, feeling rejection and bitterness, for hatred had always been there to begin with. And he was not even looking at her. The bastard was refusing to look at her. She raised her eyes, irises burning into his form with glowering intensity and wishing him dead in that very moment. “Schauen Sie auf mich,” she whispered hatefully, and once he looked back at her and their eyes locked, she found she had nothing to say.

The woman could do nothing but remain silent, her mind contemplative and her body attuned to the unpleasant feeling of sudden coldness as the breeze danced in between her curves and embraced her skin. The next moments were spent in silence as she retained that unresponsiveness, eyes observing him closely in that cold stillness that seemed to have frozen even time, the atmosphere sudden heavy from the magnitude of such deeply contrasting feelings that passed between them, lust, resentment, hatred, wrath, dejection, and even the pub inside seemed to have quieted down, and if she focused enough she could even hear his violent heart beats. Then, she could see behind him four figures in the near distance; it was Friederike, at the age of ten, with short, blonde hair at the height of her neck pulled behind her ears, the girl watching her own older self with a frown, her pale face confused and disapproving at the same time, expressing her distaste and dislike of what she saw before her, arms crossed and eyebrows curved over those eyes of purest green, clad in the grey school uniform. Next to her stood a fourteen-year-old Friederike, whose long hair had been tied up in a strong ponytail, her strengthened figure visible even through a pair of comfortable grey slacks and a simple black blouse, her jaw hardened as she observed the woman reclining against the wall, the woman that looked back at her with burning eyes of celadon green. Next to her stood a nineteen-year-old Friederike. And next to her there was Leutnant Riedel, clad in the military uniform and wearing a severe expression across the strong, sharp angles of his face, eyebrows furrowed in disgust and resentment at what his eyes saw, in pure contempt retaining that forbidding aura around him and glowering at her with an unforgiving stare. The woman looked back at them for only a moment before she turned to the Hauptmann.

“Wie Don Quixote … verurteilte er ist zum Ritterstand bestimmt und durch seine kurzen, molligen Landjunker-Sätze auf vorgestellten Abenteuern … das schrecklich Vergöttern seiner Dulcineas gefolgt worden, sie glaubend, ein Mädchen des Vorteils, eine königliche Zahl der Vorzüglichkeit und Anmut, die reinste Form der Fraulichkeit … zu sein, um was am Ende zu finden?” she said softly. “Dass sie nur aus der Luft, ihr Image geschnitzt in seiner fantasievollen Meinung gemacht wurde, dass sie nicht wirklich bestand, dass sie nichts mehr außer einer Wahnvorstellung seiner Meinung, nichts als ein … einfaches Bauer-Mädchen war. Eine Hure.” Her eyes gleamed. “Wie grausam, zu erwachen und solche Dinge zu begreifen, nicht wahr?” she posed the question, poisonous and bitter as it was, but whether she felt this allusion to be true was yet not clear. Her father had presented Julian with the book of Cervantes as a birthday gift, for her brother avidly loved literature, and how Julian had resented that tale! And, yet, how Dirk thought Don Quixote was precisely like Julian, an idealist, a fantasist, a man who fancied himself being a knight in shining armour. “Sie sind nicht ein Ritter, Jäger,” she told him, words that were cruel and which attacked the man with a biting force in all of their acidity. “Und ich habe keinen mehr Wert, als eine allgemeine Hure hat,” she assured him, eyes glinting as she pronounced such falseness.

She stood there, her head leaned against the brick wall and observing him still, her tone of voice unyielding and determined as she spoke, “Wenn Sie mich jetzt nicht haben, haben Sie mich nie.” It was her own warning, perhaps her own final effort to goad him to this depravity, perhaps a form of despair from which she could hang on to as a last resort, or perhaps she wanted to drive him to near insanity and bitterness to have him realize that such a statement were to hold true – and there was something in her decisive, hawk-like eyes that alluded to the fact such words were not to be taken lightly and that she was being rather solemn, indeed, that such an opportunity – be it a result of her own need to demean herself or simply intoxication – would hardly ever again present itself to him, that if he had truly wished to complete what he had intended to finish the first time they met this was the moment to do so. She would not oppose, she would not accuse him afterwards and she would not punish him, but chance had presented him with this rotten, repulsive offering that to let it go seemed the decision of a foolish man – or of one who wished to be true to oneself. She was there, what could possibly hold him back? Then again, that was not really her, was it? It was the price he had to pay, sacrifices always had to be made, and this was as good as it would get, to begin with. To unwrap the ribbons of such a gift with half a heart – it looked so awfully tempting on the outside, it was beautiful and so well presented, imposing and breathtaking, perhaps even made with divinity and elegance … he should long to outstretch his hand and within his palm hold that which would otherwise be forbidden to him, stretch his fingers and open a crimson rose – but once it were to be opened what would unfold would repel the man’s eyes, for what lay inside was ugly, sickening and repugnant. Everyone had a price to pay, and a worth to devalue.

“Sehr gut,” she sharply said, and stood upright, her tone cold and bitter. “Dann werde ich jemanden anderen finden,” she informed him with a cruel, wintry smile, and walked that step closer to him just so she could snatch the cigarette away from his lips; then, without another word or glance, she smoked from the tobacco roll and walked past him, brushing against his side for a moment before she strode in the distance at the same time as the sound of the military police broke through the area.

The baron’s words were not entirely without merit; of course the woman would not give up … her desperate need of self-loathing and vicious immorality, so to be sure it was not very difficult to step onto the first pub that came along her way a few metres in the distance from the other one, for certainly the woman was not in that state to be searching for it too long a time, and how fortunate she was that the soldiers of her platoon were elsewhere located in the other part of the city, although one could assert how the woman’s subconscious had made such wise a decision. She stood by the closed door, evidently listening to the loud noise from inside, and turned around – and she was there.

The nineteen-year-old Friederike, standing a few metres in the near distance, and looking at her with a knowing, meaningful glance that spoke nothing but which communicated more than the woman would have desired to know. There she stood, dressed in her tight, torn black dress, the straps hanging down by her shoulders, bare-footed, and with spider webs visible around her body, sadly telling the woman a silent story of how the young girl had been trapped into the lair; filth and mud was etched across her legs, and her blonde hair hang down by her shoulders, wet from the wine, the figure reeking the stench of tobacco and alcohol, with black circles under her eyes and looking as if she had not slept at all for the last months, burning herself through over-exertion and having fallen down upon the road to depravity. An image to behold but no spectacle to adore, and she appeared fatigued beyond her age, bitter, and cold. Then, her lips twisted into a filthy, lewd smile as she stared back at her, slowly walking towards her direction, the bare feet that stepped one after the other on the dusty ground moving with cold purpose to them.

I’ve been waiting for you, Friederike. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. The woman’s eyes looked at her past, degraded self, her face solemn and thoughtful. Cowardly, filthy, weak Friederike. The young girl came closer, and smiled at her older self, bemused and as if goading her to continue with what she intended to do – as if daring her, mocking her to try to achieve the state she had lowered herself to those years back, quietly communicating she was not capable of reaching as low, of washing her face in the mud and the dirt, that she was too proud, too dignified, too incompetent to kneel down on the ground and defeat her old self in debauchery. She could not have managed to be as worthless as she had been back then, how absurd to even try. The woman stared at the girl through that haze of senselessness, her breath suddenly growing heavy and her heart sank, something shifting within her stomach, before she turned around and turned the latch, moving inside the pub. The girl stared after her, the sly, twisted smile widening with warped delight, and eyes that shone brightly in the darkness.

The German and even some Italian enlisted soldiers were to be suddenly entertained by the appearance of a woman no one was really familiar with. She did not appear quite Arabian even if her hair was dusky, but her skin was white as milk. Was she one of the Italian mistresses who had been living in Libya since before the war? Did she speak any German? Such questions hang in the air, until a soldier suddenly shouted at her over the loud music, “Waren Sie ein Kabarett-Mädchen vor dem Krieg?” The woman, standing upon the large wooden table in her wild, dancing figure, stopped and looked at the man, frowning. “Was?” she cried, his voice having only sounded like a muffled blending of sounds and oddly disrupted by the quick rhythm of the jazz song. The soldier came closer to the table and covered his mouth with his hand as Dirk slightly bent over to listen to him, as the man repeated his question. The woman smiled, and stood upright as she looked at him. “Nein, ich war ein Ingenieur!” she shouted back, and the comrades laughed heartily at this splendid source of amusement, as so did she. The soldier who had posed the question laughed, too, but then mentioned something about fixing his broken heart, to which the woman smiled with scorn in her eyes and pointed her forefinger at his bottle of wine, as though to silently communicate that this would be the form of payment at such services. The soldier did not hesitate and outstretched his hand to offer her what she so desired, even though she had already drunk a bottle. Or was it two? She could not remember at this point.

Where the dress had been thrown off to, another unimportant fact she was ignorant to at this moment, as the woman lay down to crawl across the large table and roll around herself until she stopped and looked up at the ceiling, her head creating a hundred different shades, colours and sounds within her mind, surrounded by drunken men and their greedy, goaded hands that were only too eager to also rip apart the coal-black undergarments, or the sable transparent tights, the black high-heeled shoes, and with her short black hair only ever accentuating that dark effect as the dim light washed upon her in its filthy, narcotic quality, eyes gleaming brightly from the intoxication. With the bottle in her hand she took a large swig from the wine, and then motioned it towards her stomach, where she let the liquid fall until it drenched her. She closed her eyes, and smiled at herself, as she announced, “Mittagessen wird gedient.”



Translation

Look at me.

Like Don Quixote … convicted he has been destined to knighthood and followed by his short, plump squire sets on imagined adventures … awfully idolizing his Dulcinea, believing her to be a girl of virtue, a royal figure of excellence and elegance, the purest form of femininity … to find what, in the end? That she was only made of air, her image carved in his fanciful mind, that she did not really exist, that she was nothing more but a delusion of his mind, nothing but a … simple peasant girl. A whore. How cruel to awaken and realize such things, isn’t it?

You aren’t a knight, Jäger. And I have no more worth than a common whore has.

If you don’t have me now, you will never have me.

Very well. Then I will find someone else.

Were you a cabaret girl before the war?

What?

No, I was an engineer!

Dinner is served.

[Rolf Jäger]

The evening air felt thick and heavy and as clear and cool as it had been just moments before, it now pressed around Rolf, an uncomfortable heaviness wrapping itself around him like a suffocating blanket. He tried focusing his mind on his cigarette, on the distant voices echoing from the streets and through the opened windows, his gaze pointed somewhere beside the woman, his eyes skittering over the tiny cracks of the wall on the opposite side, yet all he could think of was the completely foreign state which Riedel had succumbed into. Listening to her words had made his skin crawl and the feeling had not yet evaporated, her lewd words repeating themselves over and over while his mind was already painting up nauseating images based on the vague hints she had offered him. Rolf did not want to think about them, yet he could not drive the visions away either and he brought the cigarette to his lips in a swift, angry motion, pulling in the smoke deeply, as if its presence would have driven away the unwanted thoughts.

It was her angry whisper that caught his attention and the man's gaze shifted back at Riedel automatically and involuntarily, Rolf rather choosing to regard her from under his brows while his eyes glinted briefly with expectation. Maybe his harsh words and the swift slap he had given her had managed to wake up the real Riedel hiding beneath all this filth; maybe she had gone back to the way she normally was? Rolf's heart was still beating fast, now filled with that tiny shred of hope and the feeling only grew when he could see her eyes burning with a hatred that had become so familiar to him. He knew not why he was suddenly feeling so distressed over witnessing the woman's curious state and he only realized that he needed to bring back the Riedel he knew and that if he managed in this task, he would feel much more comfortable once more. Maybe it was just due to the fact that it was something he knew and that as much hatred and disgust had passed between them, her stubborn manners had become meaningful in a way he could not completely understand. Rolf felt too confused and tired to bother delving into the reasons behind this feeling and he only focused on his own heartbeats growing faster, on his fingers suddenly curling more decisively around the cigarette in silent anticipation. He looked at her, just as she had requested, and the silence that passed between this moment and the next felt almost intolerable. Rolf breathing out slowly only once she spoke once more and the content of her words caused him to jerk his head up properly, the man's eyes gleaming with confusion when she referred to him as Don Quixote, mentioning a plump squire that could have only meant Kronberg. It was an amusing image and had Rolf been in a different mood, he would have laughed at it, but the reference became less entertaining when she quickly went on, mentioning the fair Dulcinea and just how plain she really was; only a peasant and not only that, but a cheap whore. Rolf's careful education had ensured that he was familiar with the most prominent literary classics and the story of the delusional Quixote was familiar enough for him. Having her contrast him against this story prodded at something within him, the ridiculous quality of her reference soon lending air to confusion and then, some sense of recognition. Had he truly been reading fanciful tales of virtuous deeds for such a long time, it had addled his mind, making Rolf think himself a knight? Was he really trying to push upon Riedel some grand expectations she could not hope to fulfill, imagining her a noble, proud woman of high aspirations, these qualities lingering just beneath her pale skin? And was Riedel truly a whore as she was now attempting to convince him and had he only been blind to this fact, far too caught up in his own illusions to accept the truth?

Rolf's throat felt dry and he attempted to swallow, the burning cigarette forgotten between his fingers while he stared at her and frowned. For a brief moment he fought desperately against the truths she was pushing upon him, but then the frown deepened and the look in the man's steel-grey eyes became sharper. Dulcinea she was not, nor the princess or the fair lady waiting to be rescued by her gallant knight, but Rolf did not wish her to be any of these things, either. Blushing, slender ladies he had seen enough, and as enticing as they were with their carefully preserved virtues and impeccable manners, it had ever been only Riedel that had managed to catch his attention in such a relentless manner. She might have not been one of these fanciful beauties, but she was no common peasant whore, either, no matter how diligently he was now attempting to convey such an image to him. She was Riedel and it was just how Rolf wished to see her, her crude manners and sharp tongue as much a part of her as her pale skin and eyes of gleaming green were. As if on queue to these thoughts, she assured Rolf that he was no knight and that that she held no more worth than a common harlot did and as Rolf's eyes flashed with brief anger, the emotion was only ever targeted at the words with which she so demeaned herself.

As much as he wanted to counter her continuous taunts, he could not force the words out of his mouth and instead he only pressed his lips into a tight, violent line. Countless times had Rolf called her a peasant whore and to outright pronounce that he had been wrong was simply too much for his pride. The words bounced harmfully inside him instead, urging him to bow his head for once, to admit that he had changed his opinion and spoken out of turn. But would she have believed him even if he had managed to turn those thoughts into actions and attempted to convince her otherwise? He knew she would have not and it was this simple question that locked those words inside his mind completely, their conflicting force only faintly visible in the silver mirror of his irises. As if this confusion had not been enough on its own, the woman reclined leisurely against the wall as she watched him, suddenly inviting him to take that which he had so craved for. Rolf froze at her words, blinking and staring at the woman in nothing but utter confusion and disbelief, while from her eyes he could only read the severity of the proposition. If he would not take her now, he would never have her, it was as simple as that. Wasn't that making the decision more than just slightly self-evident to him, indeed? Here she was, telling him to come and enjoy her while she lay there submissive and tame and Rolf's eyes were drawn to her curves hugged by the grey canvas of her dress, the curious circular patterns drawing his attention further in. The man's gaze caressed the curve of her hips, moving slowly to admire her slim stomach before sliding upwards to trace a path along her breasts, the sight rousing up the burning desire he had managed to banish somewhere within. He could already imagine his fingers travelling upon that same path, finally moving from that obstructive canvas of the dress to her smooth skin and beneath the straps of her dress, just to push it away from her shoulders to reveal more of the pale landscape for him to explore. And how he craved to travel those lands still unexplored, a feral beast loping on open fields and howling his wanton desire upon the entire world and he would have ravaged her, drowned himself in her until his entire world was nothing but a raging inferno of simple, raw lust.

His breathing had become shallow upon these images and Rolf could already see himself taking up on the offer and curing the illness that had twisted his insides ever since he had crossed paths with her, but there was something so severely off in the woman as to keep the man rooted in his spot. Like a bloodied, fresh piece of delicious meat, she was graciously offered to him, but beneath that beguiling bait a vicious trap lay hidden, the sharp teeth of the metallic jaws laid out carefully just for him. Even through his feral lust he hesitated, silver eyes gleaming with that mistrust, but then her offer had already expired and she stood up straighter, saying that she needed to find someone else for the task instead. An expression of anger and irritation pierced through the obvious haze of desire dominating the man's eyes and his hand was left hovering in the air as Riedel snatched the cigarette away from him and the man breathed out sharply when she brushed against his frame, obviously planning on making true her words and leaving Rolf alone in the alley. The man pivoted around, a vicious snarl already drawing across his lips when he could plainly hear the commotion from the street in front of the pub reaching him, the mention of the military police catching his attention effectively enough. Rolf glanced behind him and towards the street, then back at Riedel's figure, already moving further away from him. He grimaced, the desire to hurry after the woman to stop her battling with the knowledge that should he leave the scene, it would make him look like a cheap coward fleeing away from the scene of the confrontation; a confrontation, not an offense, for a crime he would have never considered it and the punishment had been justifiable enough.

With a low growl, Rolf turned around, glancing once more after Riedel before moving back to the main street, immediately noticing the two military police standing in front of the pub. They were currently questioning the Oberleutnant that was obviously working under Siegner's command and another patron from the bar, the German Unteroffizier currently wildly describing what had taken place inside the establishment just earlier, his intoxicated state further lending weight to his enthusiastic explanation. Rolf could only catch the last part of his words, the soldier mentioning how the offender had simply disappeared from the scene and Rolf scoffed at such an implication as he walked towards them. "Ich bin hier," the Hauptmann noted roughly, quickly silencing the Unteroffizier and effectively drawing the attention of the small group towards himself. Rolf allowed the Oberleutnant a crooked, mocking smile as he stopped nearby, the Feldgendarmerie NCO giving his comrade a knowing look upon recognizing the Hauptmann; it was not the first time Rolf had been dealing with these officials, Kettenhunde as they were often called, and he had met these two particular men before under rather similar circumstances. "Herren," Rolf greeted the men in a low voice, shifting his gaze upon the Oberleutnant briefly enough to read the irritation and hatred dominating his features. No doubt he had imagined seeing Hauptmann Jäger brought to justice cursing and struggling, but instead the man stood calm and collected in front of the military police, who returned to this action in a similarly neutral fashion. There was no reason for dramatics when the Hauptmann showed no signs of hostility or intoxication. He was, after all, a commanding officer and this fact seemed to create some automatic, military sense of respect between them. "Ich fürchte, dass es ein geringes Missverständnis gegeben hat," Rolf continued smoothly, not really expecting to convince the men that nothing harmful had happened just earlier, merely wanting to demonstrate that he was at a complete composure of himself, capable of showing both proper manners while discussing things rationally.

Leading the military police away from the fuming Oberleutnant and the Wehrmacht Unteroffizier, Rolf naturally admitted that he had been the one to strike Hauptmann Siegner, that he had been caught in an argument and defended his honour in a true German manner - arguably he had allowed his anger to get the better of him, but then he simply could have not helped it when Siegner had crossed boundaries in his drunken haze. Rolf's mind was in a complete state of clarity, the man expressing no signs of alcohol consumption at all and even though the two men of the Feldgenarmerie were frowning at his words, full well knowing that a more complicated conflict lay behind his carefully laid words, the Hauptmann had obviously calmed down by now, further explaining that he had left the scene as not to cause any further harm upon his adversary. The older man, a Sergeant of the police unit, had heard about the curious, dark-haired woman who had apparently been at the center of these events and Rolf's heart jumped both at the mention of Riedel and at the realization that he had not prepared any answers concerning her. Rolf paused for a small moment, but then disguised his silence as confusion, next pretending that he had suddenly recalled the woman in question. No, she was not a person Rolf knew very well and she was one of the auxiliaries, just someone who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luckily enough, the Sergeant did not seem to think that the identity of the woman held much meaning in regards of the events and when he seemed to get ready to make some decision concerning the Hauptmann, Rolf pointed out that it would only waste their time to escort him to the military jail, not to mention how needless it would have been to lock him up to begin with, for he would have much more preferred returning back at the barracks and settling the matter in the morning, after everyone had a clear mind.

Rolf was soon walking away from them, placing upon his head the Sergeant had returned to him, feeling nothing but utterly relieved for a moment, having managed to preserve both his freedom and Riedel's secret. The man breathed out in relief, knowing that he wouldn't have to spend the night in the embarrassing and uncomfortable confines of the prison. There would be other consequences later, but he simply could not settle his mind into dealing with these matters as his thoughts had already returned back to Riedel and her words, at her promise that she would find someone else and wallow in her filth, regardless of all the things he had told her. But she had been lost in the streets of Tripoli now, nowhere to be found and Rolf was not certain if he would have wished to find her anymore, either. It was better to imagine that she had found the truth in his words, switched back to being the strong and relentless Riedel he knew and returned back to the barracks, discarding that disguise Rolf had suddenly grown to hate so much. He knew that these thoughts would follow him, tormenting his mind the entire night and beyond and the pace of his steps became brisk and irritated, as if he could run away from the images haunting him. Rolf lit a cigarette, soon breathing out the grey smoke into the darkness surrounding him and feeling just slightly better over the simple, soothing luxury of nicotine. Moving past the buildings, he could hear the muffled sounds of music strengthening as he slowly trudged closer to their source, sensing the location of the pub even before he could actually see it.

It had been some night out, causing him only misery and torment and getting him into trouble he had sworn to keep out of. He had not even enjoyed a drink to soothe his tired mind, these intentions abruptly changed after he had ran into Riedel and Siegner. The images of these two standing so close together to each other, exchanging laughs and smiles, Siegner's arm dominantly curled around Riedel's waist caused the muscles over Rolf's face tighten, his fingers pressing into a tight fist. He needed to forget about them, evaporating both this scene and Riedel's words from his head, completely erasing them from existence. Rolf knew this sounded a lot more simple than it actually was and that he had told the military police that he would be heading straight to the barracks, but he simply needed a drink after a night such as this. He realized that he had stopped in front of the bar, hesitating, but the decision was now as good as made and discarding the cigarette, he simply pulled open the door, stepping inside into the midst of the loud clamor of several voices, his vision immediately obscured by the thick clouds of tobacco smoke.

Something had caught the attention of the intoxicated patrons and they crowded around a table, whooping, laughing and trying to see past the heads and shoulders of their comrades. Rolf arched an eyebrow at the unruly mob, not possessing any desire in engaging in whatever childish games they were enjoying, rather bee-lining towards the bar counter instead. He had stopped next to it, already drawing breath deeply to address the manager of the establishment in a loud enough voice over the noise, when he heard one of the soldiers shouting at one of his friends sitting in another table. "Aksel! Kommen Sie und sehen Sie sie an! Beeilt euch!" he goaded his friend and Rolf stopped at the mention of her, something ominous and horrible twisting inside him like some disgusting maggot. Rolf turned his head around slowly, his eyes suddenly alight with rage and maybe even some sense of horror and his feet were already moving before his mind had even properly registered the action. The Hauptmann hurried to the soldiers, roughly pushing aside any men blocking his path, barking hoarse curses and orders at them as he created a path through the thick crowd. He reached the table with a gasp, his eyes immediately settling on the pale, strong figure writhing upon the table like the treacherous snake of Eden and his insides froze at the sight, the man merely staring at Riedel and at the extent of her white skin exposed for everyone to see. The soldiers attempted to reach her hungrily, grasping her by her feet and arms, filthy hands reaching towards her and heads inching closer to her, eager to taste the red wine that now dripped down the muscles of the woman's stomach. Riedel's currently raven hair was accentuated by the black underwear and high-heeled shoes in charcoal, her pale skin glowing luminous in the dim lighting, the arch of her back curved in an almost artistic manner while her painted lips curled into an intoxicated smile. She lay there in a state of some foreign ecstasy, allowing herself to be touched by the grubby, hungry hands and fingers, further infecting her with the filth she was so eagerly bathing in.

Rolf felt nauseated at the sight, at first not even managing to admit to himself that this was Riedel, that she was offering herself in such a cheap manner for anyone who only managed to fight their way close enough to the table and he stared at the sight in distress and disgust, eyes momentarily gleaming in the shadows. Then his expression twisted with rage and that silent glint changed into a fiery torrent, the man violently pushing away the hand etching its way upon the woman's thigh. "Genug! Das ist genug! Bekommen Sie das Bumsen weg von ihr! Du! Hände davon, bevor ich Ihre Knochen schnappe! Weg! Du auch!" the hoarse, feral roar seemed to wake up the attention of some of the men, their initial reactions those of anger and annoyance before they saw that the commands were coming from a Hauptmann. Some were still too stubborn or drunken to listen to any such orders and Rolf snarled at them like a rabid canine, wishing to rip open the throats of everyone in the vicinity. Instead of succumbing to such raw state of violence, he grasped Riedel by her thigh, pulling her closer while his other hand finding her wrist just to violently rip her away from the greedy hands and off the table. A rather intoxicated Corporal settled a hand over the Hauptmann's shoulder, raising a bottle of beer in the other one. "Aber... Herr Hauptmann. Herr Hauptmann, sie ist... sie genießt die Gesellschaft, warum forcieren sie weg?" the man asked in a slurred manner and Rolf turned his sneering visage at him, eyes flashing with feral hatred. "Vielleicht würden Sie genießen, Ihre Zähne vom Fußboden der Rest des Abends aufzunehmen?" he snarled and the Corporal blinked stupidly, only to have one of his comrades pull him away from the enraged Luftwaffe officer.

Rolf's actions were dominated by the burning desire to pry the woman away from the wretched state she had fallen into and he attempted pulling her off the table and back upon her feet, violently bumping his back against one of the more stubborn admirers the woman had by now gathered. "Das ist genug... Genug!" the man hissed fiercely through gritted teeth, trying to steady the half-naked woman into standing next to the table. "Was zum Teufel tun Sie? Wo sind Ihre Kleidung?" the man asked sharply, not really expecting to get a proper answer and instinctively starting to open the clasp of his belt instead, nimbly pulling off his waist before moving his hands to nimbly open up the buttons of his tunic so he would have at least something to cover the woman from the prying eyes. To manage all these tasks, he had been forced to let go of the woman, but all this while his eyes guarded her with the ferocity of a trained guard dog, the belt held in the palm of his hand as he worked fervently on the round metal buttons of the uniform. When he finally pulled his tunic off, his expression had become dominated by a curious mixture of wrath, anguish and disgust, and Rolf moved closer to the woman once more, attempting to settle the blue tunic over Riedel's shoulders to save whatever shreds of decency she still possessed.


Translations:

"Ich bin hier."
"Here I am."

"Ich fürchte, dass es ein geringes Missverständnis gegeben hat."
"I fear there has been a slight misunderstanding."

"Aksel! Kommen Sie und sehen Sie sie an! Beeilt euch!"
"Aksel! Come and take a look at her! Hurry!"

"Genug! Das ist genug! Bekommen Sie das Bumsen weg von ihr..!"
"Enough! That is enough! Get the fuck away from her! You! Hands off before I snap your bones! Away! You too!"

"Aber... Herr Hauptmann. Herr Hauptmann, sie ist... sie genießt die Gesellschaft, warum forcieren sie weg?"
"But... Herr Hauptmann. Herr Hauptmann, she is... she is enjoying the company, why force her away?"

"Vielleicht würden Sie genießen, Ihre Zähne vom Fußboden der Rest des Abends aufzunehmen?"
"Maybe you would enjoy picking up your teeth from the floor the rest of the evening?"

"Das ist genug... Genug! Was zum Teufel tun Sie? Wo sind Ihre Kleidung?"
"That is enough... Enough! What the hell are you doing? Where are your clothes?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Smoke-consumed and yielding to the inconceivable power of vice and perversion that claimed an immovable hold of her viscera and enveloped her mind with nothing but the filthiest visions, evaporating her judgement and creating a dangerous, warm sensation floating around her with the soothing qualities of rose petals but the stinging sharpness of thorns, the woman writhed across the table and with her siren song called for the sailors to desert their ship and embrace her as she stood there, upon the sea-weathered rock, waiting for them. Soft, sharp, ear-biting sounds all dissolved into bleak, black or grey-fueled images, her perception grotesque, unorthodox and resourceful, her whole being at present as if dominated by the most modernistic touches of a young artist of the Art Nouveau movement, the sinuous crescents of her lying figure accentuated by the faint glow of the dim lights caressing that feminine form thus awakened to the whispers of obscene, undiluted desire, which blinded, and polluted and tainted her. She laughed in her pitiful, intoxicated state as she, with eyes closed, felt the hands of men, hundreds of men, seeking her out, grasping her and touching her, fingers circling around her feet, her ankles, pushing her arms and caressing the weary muscles of her stomach drenched as it was in warm, red fluid – and she delighted in their touch, her right hand tightly holding that wretched bottle of wine without ever appearing either ready or willing to release it, instead shifting it closer to her mouth and drinking the remaining of it to the last drop, and it was with a groan of ecstasy that she threw it away into nowhere, where it silently crushed against the floor, the noise drowned under the strident noise filtered through the pub and the men further stomped upon the hundreds of little shards of glass in their eagerness to be nearer to the table, pushing one another with furious keenness in their desperate effort to touch the woman offered to them like some gourmet food for the hungry mouths of those who battled like warriors and dined like beggars.

Then, the strangest thing should happen – and she did not quite understand how it came to be or why, but through the amusement of her inebriated existence she felt an oddly familiar and powerful hand snatching her from the thigh and pulling her violently along the table, but the surprise of such sudden movement was easily succeeded by delight, as she understood that one of them had finally stopped wishing to play games and come to claim her, laughter rising in her throat at the prospect, before the blurred image of the man cleared and her eyes came face to face with the livid outline of the Hauptmann glowering at her with spite and rage. She could not help it, and a smile soon appeared across her lips at the sight – had he changed his mind, then? “So, wenn es nicht Jäger in seiner Tupfen-Klage ist. Warten Sie oh, es ist gerade Ihr Gesicht,” she said, and laughed heartily. Any other soldier who chanced to be near and heard her words also laughed, and such was her present state that she did not oppose whatsoever as he pushed her along and closer to his fangs, eager and awaiting to devour her, or so she assumed. This delightful thought danced within her and consumed her mind, but she was given no time, ungenerous and selfish as he always was, to dwell on such self-satisfaction before he violently forced her to sit upright and then pulled her to stand on her feet, savagely barking such ridiculous words that she only smiled derisively. He wanted to ruin her evening, ruin everything and destroy that which brought her most appeasement, but he was so very cruel and heartless to attempt this, so deluded to believe he would be able to tear her away from her objective or pose an obstacle between her and the other soldiers of the Wehrmacht or, even worse, between her and alcohol. He began to undress, removing the belt first, and though he was holding her no more there was nowhere she intended to go, her right hand pressed against the edge of the table to provide for some balance in her otherwise stumbling form, her eyes staring at his fingers as he unbuttoned his tunic and envisioned these movements in a totally different fashion than the one he intended at the moment, and her smile widened at the sight, her mind creating engaging illusions of what she hoped to pass, even if, as she were to shortly realize with no less a great amount of entertainment, the man only desired to cover her. She laughed to her heart’s desire and eyes gleamed from the sheer amusement of such gesture, looking at him as though he was the most ridiculous creature on earth, with that ridiculous question he posed. “Trug ich irgendwelchen?” she asked him, laughing, feeling his arms pulling the tunic along her shoulders and she could only smile at such absurdity.

If he should think this would be resolved so effortlessly, he was in for some rather rude awakening, indeed. “Das ist nie genug, Jäger!” she called out to him loudly over the music, the previous song having come to its end and soon enough followed by the quick rhythm of an Arabian dance played by a small group of locals standing at the far corner of the room; perhaps they wished to provide for some entertainment to the Germans to make sure they were on their good side and stayed out of trouble. “Das ist nie genug!” she assured him, her hands pressed against his chest, and then shoved him aside with force before she smilingly moved away from him in her gait and lost him in the crowd. Uncaring as to his presence, the woman grasped the tunic from around her shoulders and threw it sloppily upon the wooden table in one simple, thoughtless movement before she let her body find its rhythmical pattern as it scraped against a soldier’s standing form who appeared only too pleased to act as her pole, her arms flailing around her head and with her eyes closed drowned into that warm sensation of utter nothingness in which only she existed, the magical sounds of temporal musical patterns and the bodies of hundreds of men all offered to her as though in sacrifice to the temple of a goddess; she could bathe in their blood and feast upon their flesh, or lay down to rest upon their weary, tormented bodies. But at the moment she was simply content to make turns around herself, consecutively, rolling her body around and passing from one soldier to the other apace, hands momentarily caressing the nape of their necks as she passed by but her promising gestures leaving each one thirsty to the touch, the curves of her body shifting wherever the music took her, the melismatic notes of the oud and rabab that possessed her dancing form and which numbed the rationale and judgement of her mind in favour of her heart’s despair, that small lingering parasite that crawled along her veins and fed her with agonizing pain and affliction. And thus she passed from one to the other with the mystical force of a foreign spirit having possessed the woman’s form in a secret pagan ritual, each one of them holding their bottle of beer intact while attempting to touch the woman even minutely before she deserted them like the wind onto her journey alongside that endless wall of masculine figures lined next to one another, the grimy hands that touched her, the fingers pressed around her waist and which were hesitantly pulled back once she moved away.

A colourless amalgamation of sounds and colours came before her sight as her eyes widened to better realize where she stood, and she instantly grabbed the beer bottle a soldier next to her held in his hand and tilted her head backwards as the liquid washed down on her throat, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy, rejoicing in the feeling of alcohol and debauchery as it held her hostage to her own self, in this punishment she inflicted upon herself, although not mere punishment but also the only road left to take once all other pathways had been blocked from view, when all other options had vanished and she was left alone to tread down the declivity towards this unassuming madness in which soulless people pursued soulless lives and burned away their troubles and anguish through a dance of carnal fusion in which the blood and flesh inextricably intertwined to numb the heart to torpor and bring forth the lingering impulsions of primal desires, as cheapened and forceful as they might be but contingent on final inner relief. She let the bottle drop on the floor and a pair of strong, scarred hands assisted her in climbing up the wooden table again; her eyes locked at the Hauptmann’s grey, ice-cold and wrathful countenance as she spotted him in the distance lost through the gathered crowd, but she seemed thoughtless and uncaring to the fact the straps of her brassiere had been pulled down her shoulders from the dance, rather more focused on returning the Hauptmann’s glare with an equal ferocity to her drunken, green eyes, but then she closed them and allowed the overwhelming sensation to suffocate her with its sultry promise of burning all of her worries to ashes and lifting that ancient burden from her chest to throw it away, forever lost and never to be found again. Her waist moved to the rhythm but she stretched her leg and rested her foot upon the shoulder of a soldier, as his comrade busied himself in circling his fingers around her ankle to pull the high-heeled shoe from her foot and cast it away. As if in ritualistic process, she continued with the other leg and while she waited her hand easily reached for the cigarette within another soldier’s mouth, the man standing next to the comrade presently removing the shoes and throwing them away in the distance. She smoked and closed her eyes as the nicotine consumed her lungs and warmed her insides, allowing her to observe the situation through a haze of tobacco smoke and the severe intoxication that bound her to these shackles of utter and absolute depravity and lechery, the taste of sin and worthlessness sweet and promising; depravity which bore no end, as the men, goaded and demanding, now arrogantly placed their greedy hands at her thighs and furiously pulled down the tights, for they were befouling her by thus covering her when she without question ought to present herself in her naked beauty upon their eyes.

The woman, unaffected, flailed her arms around with the music’s quickened rhythm, the Middle Eastern temporal pattern erupting with its strong force such power from within her through her dancing form as her chest heaved high and then down low from the vigorous rhythm, at the same time as the translucent nylon was further drawn downwards and removed from her legs, thrown aside, and one soldier arrogant enough climbed upon the table and pushed her to rest with her back against him, his hands following the journey down alongside her curves as many more other hands of other men caressed her on the stomach, and within that room insatiability was ripe and as bittersweet as berries in the summertime. She grasped at his sides as she danced and the man seemed mindless of his comrades fondling her at their disposal everywhere they could, the man holding her back when she motioned to leave him for the purpose of grabbing another bottle of beer, but he kept her close enough and refused to let her go, and she happily submitted to the demand, allowing her frame to dance against him with her arms rhythmically moving and resting around his neck before she moved to dance low all along his frame, but at the time she had risen again a comrade had also climbed up on the table, his tunic missing and his belt held tightly within his fist before he pulled it out and lashed it towards the woman, the leather strap circling around her waist briskly as it cut through air like a lasso capturing a wild horse, and brought her closer. She rolled around the strap, each step she took around it delivering her closer to the soldier, each step entangling her further around the leather strap that trapped her and which led her directly into the wolf’s mouth, but did she really want to avoid that self-destruction?

Upon deliverance the soldier pulled his arm around her but no such pleasure could be taken as his friend strode and grasped her from behind, claiming her his, and she smiled, closing her eyes, her upper body arching backwards to greet the former soldier while the latter held her from the waist. Could she really not be shared? Then the gathered crowd around the table also was growing impatient and greedy, were they to be such disappointed and have their desires shattered with such unforgiving cruelty? One of the two soldiers pulled at the belt and rolled her around to disentangle her from the leather strap, the woman unaffectedly and without any reaction whatsoever simply going along with the movement, fluidly, and flailing her arms along with the music. Once she was freed from the tentacles that held her hostage, without hesitation did she grab both soldiers from their ties around their collar and brought them closer to her, the promising nature of such gesture immediately devastated once she threw them from the table onto the crowd downwards – punishment for their arrogance. Their comrades laughed, and she laughed, but such laughter could only be cold and hateful, for unspeakable sources of wrath and rage burned on the inside, and though another man from the crowd outstretched his hands to touch her she placed her foot upon his chest and pushed him away, all of them, away, and she turned around, but they were everywhere, around her, all she could stare at were the faces of hundreds of masculine figures hungry for her flesh. But she was not angry at them – no! – they were brave soldiers of the Wehrmacht, but she was furious at him, at his arrogance, his intolerable nature and the ice-cold, iron-clad ways with which he had irreversibly bound her, furious he should have been the very reason behind such disgrace, the road he had made her follow, the dead end he had offered her, this desperate, agonizing and pitiful state that saw neither conclusion nor catharsis. How she hated him! Oh, she hated him! Her face distorted into an expression of unreserved wrath and misery, and as such suffocating sensations submerged and left her helpless to her weakness and raw vulnerabilities her hands shifted and, the straps already hanging down, with a sudden, abrupt movement the brassiere was torn apart and fell on the table, lifeless and useless.

For a moment she could not hear the strident noise, the music, could not see the hands begging for her and yearning to touch her, but, without a word and with a solemn look, did she bend down to pick up the forgotten Luftwaffe tunic. It was a thoughtless move and one which required no real contemplation or critical judgement, and the woman pulled it along her shoulders before she stared at the figures around her, a small smile instantly rising across those twisting lips of befouling intentions and ill-natured boldness, and walked slowly across the wooden surface of the large table in her bare feet, to climb down on the floor – one or two soldiers outreached their arms and held her upon their shoulders to provide for an easier journey downwards, and she momentarily embraced them both against her shoulders before stumbling away, her mind now addled completely by one and only thought: Jäger. The others were not good enough, and no matter how low she succumbed it would never be the same as when she would fall right upon the pilot’s feet and have him watch her having fallen to such a state. She would not be worthless enough unless she was worthless to him. She had to see him, had to be near him else everything should be destroyed by a torrent of her own wrath unless her wish were to be fulfilled, this insanity etching its burning, red-hot fingers around her heart and imprisoning her within the hateful desires of her own heart. No, she had to go to him, but where was he! Where was he! A moment longer she could not wait, this frantic need to approach him forcing the woman to shove the men away with an indifferent scoff and stumble through the thick crowd in her inebriated condition, despair crawling inside her viscera to make her stomach turn at the prospect he should not be there, that he should have left – that he should have left her. She frowned, and her irises widened, the knuckles of her fingers whitening at the pressure she applied when she forced everyone away, until, suddenly, she saw him in the near distance, awashed in his familiar wrathful, intolerant glower – and she smiled. Yes, the despair, she wanted him to feel it, have it creep slowly and poison his veins, and then perhaps – perhaps – he would remotely feel what it meant to be strangled to one’s final desperate notes of anguish and horror, drawn nearer to a cliff’s edge against his will while an invisible hand had grasped the back of his head and forced him to stare at the precipice and at his bleak fate. She staggered as she made her way to him, but felt a force holding her back, arms pulling her closer to them and preventing her from reaching the pilot.

She wrinkled her forehead in anger, but strong fingers had been looped around her arms around the tunic’s material and hindered her; she could not escape, and now that she had so willingly offered herself to them such prey would hardly find an exit way to its freedom, everything about her only ever having encouraged them to imagine much, demand more and receive what had been with such wanton extravagance promised to them. She growled under her throat and pushed them all away violently, at the same time as an Unteroffizier of the Wehrmacht, absolutely trashed as might be expected, had grown nothing but extremely weary of the Hauptmann’s constant threats and barks, that he simply enough shoved him to sit down on a chair near the table, the action brisk, sharp and so sudden that the woman’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she now openly stared at him, her fists bearing the soldiers away and she gestured herself forwards, not before she had to battle another comrade who seemed obstinate enough to claim her as he so pleased; she fought against his grasp and forced herself to move at the opposite direction, this small drunken battle ending up in the soldier falling back into the arms of his comrades, and the woman collapsing onto the floor. With her palms pressed against the cold floor did she raise her head and stared at the Hauptmann, their eyes locked in that final moment of heretical union.

Slowly did she crawl along the floor like a reptile or, rather, a feline with cunning thoughts in her head, and even more sly ways to bring them to fruition. Her hands moved across the floor, slowly, as the body slithered along, lithe and serpentine, the intent clear in her lightheaded mind and with the clarity of purpose etched across her arms as they determinedly shifted to take her closer to him, her back arched at the movement and with her head pointed at his direction, the open tunic shifting along and occasionally gesturing at the sight it often neglected to cover underneath the garment, and in those few steps required to reach him did she revel at thought of seeing him trapped there, and there was nowhere to go should he wish to leave. Really, where could he go? The only road left for the man to take stood right in front of him, and that road had a name: Friederike. The woman outreached her hands, kneeling on the floor, and grasped at his knees as she rose higher to meet his relentless, wrathful gaze, as though a cobra she was and he a snake whisperer. There was something in such wrath that truly did draw her nearer to him, and how absurd that he should have been the one to have chained her down and caged her, mindless of whether her teeth were gritted and bared whenever he would approach the cage and throw a bone or two in between the bars, keeping her there with a leash tightly pressed around her neck, at times suffocating her, but when she would not cause too great a trouble he would slowly loosen it, except that he would still keep her imprisoned within that enclosure he had built just for her, used as a toy, a porcelain doll, a cheap little tramp whose services had been purchased to be employed only by him, a feral animal whipped down to domestication and taught to obey her master’s will, whichever that should be. But the leash had been tightened as ever these past few days, and wherever he walked she followed, wherever he went there she was behind him, docile and subservient, kneeling down at his feet and whisking her tail between her legs when he would beat her, for she was ever so unfamiliar with obedience that she often barked at her master furiously, teeth bared and growling, with her hackles raised in hostility, but then she would learn. Oh yes, she was his little bitch dog, personally trained to fulfill her master’s wishes and desires, tamed for his pleasure and tamed for his whimsicalities. She was his dog, crawling on his feet and craving for his attention.

She rose higher with the venomous grace of an Egyptian cobra, hands grasping at his knees strongly and binding him to the chair with her legs bent against the floor, and she barked, at first once, then twice and then more, barking slowly for him, a lewd smile gracing the corner of her lips as she looked up at him, and barked, like a bitch, barked, like a slave, and barked, like a peasant whore. Her eyes gleamed brightly at the amusement amidst the dim lights that cast shadows upon parts of her neck while it lightened the mysterious cleavage the tunic offered, her knuckles whitening at the pressure of her grasp and with her chest pressing against his legs did she rise to the level of his head to lean nearer to him, her hands creeping along his chest firmly, moving against his torso and up to his shoulders with hungered passion, and, like a dog, ran her tongue along the side of his face, from his jaw line up to the temple of his forehead, the motion achingly slow leaving behind a moist pathway that seemed to have been drawn for several centuries amidst all that noise and clamour surrounding them with the infiltrating power of parasites infecting the human body, but then without warning she snatched his peaked cap to wear it around her head at the same moment as she stood up and climbed upon the chair, her feet effortlessly and without prior thought finding their way between his legs as she rose higher, to look down on him from such new heights, an eagle which had been previously caged and now set free – it would have been a bitter illusion to think so, and now she bore no such ill-natured fantasies. She knew that she was still tied to him, that even if she was allowed to soar up at this height she would never truly explore the wide blue skies, for he was always below her, observing her with his commanding glare and promising his leash around her neck should remain as unyielding and ruthless as always. He had simply loosened the strap only slightly because she had been good to him. She had been a good little dog.

Her hands moved from the peaked cap on their journey down across the Luftwaffe tunic, the curves moving to the slow rhythm of the blooming Arabic dance and following the harmonica’s sounds from left to right; the muscles of her stomach also shifted to the tune with graceful agility, arms snaking down in this pagan ritual to grasp at each side of the tunic which from the movement occasionally almost left little to be imagined but at the last moment, as though she was cruel enough to do so on purpose had it not been by chance itself, it returned to its former covering position. Her green eyes gleamed as they stared down at him, her dancing figure goading and slow, and now clad in his attire she was one with him, and breathed from his scent, revolting as it used to have been, now the only thing she wanted to have close to her at such a repulsive, unrecognizable and pitiful state to which she had surrendered. Then, she looked upwards and closed her eyes, losing herself to the musical beat of times gone by, her chest heaving high and then down low along with the sound the mouth organ guided her to and drowned in this moment of torpor and spiritual numbness, entering another state of consciousness in which the reality of war had been lost to the clear, blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea and the sight of Phoenician merchants sailing across the peninsula trading glass, Tiryan purple and wood with neighbouring regions, the Grecian traders and Roman artisans which had come to annex the ancient city that had once bloomed in wealth and prominence. Now she was not Friederike – now she was Libya, famed daughter of Epaphus, the son of Zeus and the ruler of Egypt, in her sultry dance for Poseidon who only wished to ravage her, but she was not the only one. There had been Caenis upon whom the god had fulfilled his lust, but he was not without mercy, for at her request did he transform her into a man to fight amongst the Lapiths; or Demeter, who upon realizing the god’s desire became a mare to hide herself in a herd of horses, and deluded was she to think such deception could pass, for he turned into a stallion and seized her with raw, unyielding power, the promise that such conquest held sweet and engaging. No, the woman was not Libya, she was not Caenis, or Demeter. She was all three molded into one being, but he was ever the same, looking up at her with that same sensation gleaming clearly in his eyes. And perhaps her dancing figure was not to appease him; perhaps it was to further goad him through evergreen forests of blossoming desire.

Slowly, she moved downwards like the crystal waters of a softly rippling river embracing the small rocks that came along the way, hands by her hips as they curved to the music, until she reached him again. Her legs bent and opened around him at the height of his stomach in a fluid dancing motion and stood each by his side at the time that her face stirred closer to him. Her hands grasped him from the head and circled around his neck, strong and unyielding, and breathed at his nose as she stared at him, faintly tilting her head to the right as she observed him, and contemplated. “Behalten Sie Sie … oder verlieren Sie Sie?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and fueled with eagerness and hatred alike as she held him closely, forcing him to look only at her, the distance between them diminutive, inconsequential. “Nehmen Sie Sie … oder ertränken Sie Sie? Nein … was ich tun muss ist nehmen Sie mit mir und vernichten Sie. Ich werde Sie anbinden, das Benzin auf Sie gießen, und … blasen … Sie ….” she whispered, slightly narrowing her eyes at the thought, her fingers moving behind his neck to caress the nape of his neck, feeling the veins, the tightened muscles and stiff texture of his neck, and a genuine smile rose across her lips at the thought. “Und Sie werden in Flammen … und Brandwunde ausbrechen. Zerstören Sie Sie. Ja … werde ich Sie vernichten,” she told him, eyebrows curved above her gleaming eyes with a fervent, resolute promise as she spoke this, and the agonizing hatred was so overwhelming, and so engaging was the sheer detestation that, abruptly, she closed the distance and crushed her lips against his into a forceful, desperate kiss.

Her hold around his neck strictly tautened, and her hands moved from the neck to rest up around his head in a hopeless, desolate clench, fingers dancing through his hair and refusing to let go of him as if to do so meant to surrender what she most depended on to survive. Nothing of this was graceful, romantic or even remotely sweet-tempered, such characteristics would best describe people heavily different to the ones presently involved in the situation, for it was only desperate and violent, distressed and hateful, and how strangely did these contradicting sentiments override one another, then interweaved, and created a web of such inexplicable, mystical irrationality that only madness would cure it. Never before had despair and violence been fused into such an enraging wildfire of unhinged discrepancy that seemed to carry everything along its way with its destructive force such as only nature could bring forth, though somehow instead of collapsing they provided for the strangest balance and thus never drowned, rather floating on the surface they were, emotions brutal and undomesticated through the relentless flow of time, forged through hell and still as indestructible and feral as they had always been. Yes, madness, madness.

Without feeling the need to break from him and look up, the woman haphazardly moved her hand to grasp at any bottle of wine she knew was held near her, the soldiers around them creating such an unbearable noise to which, however, she was now numb, and grasped around a soldier’s bottle with no hesitation, bringing it closer to the man’s face. She need not think as she tilted it to the side and let the liquid pour down on his face, the red wine smearing the pilot’s mouth with a roseate tint for those few moments as it washed down on his throat before she leaned forwards again to drink from his lips, hungry and thirsty, brushing against his face and drinking wherever the wine fell, her hand holding the bottle above their heads, pouring it down on them like nectar as though gods they were, her other hand still grasping him around the head with its relentless hold, and if he had any wishes to desert or throw her away, she defied them. Even if that only meant he should have tightened the strap of his leash to a greater extent at such obvious disobedience, she defied him. The wine poured on his mouth and, as he drunk, so did she drink from him, her lips travelling slowly alongside his skin and drank from his jaw whence the wine dripped down from his mouth, as though thirsty she had been for years, a nomad roaming in the desert and finally finding peace in the oasis of his moist flesh to revive her dried lips, her fingers shifting to touch him at the side of his face and traced the pathway the wine made as it trickled down across his cheek, before she moved to clean him in her own despairing, loving way.

In rhythm to the harmonica’s slow and magical sound did her fingers move peacefully as they caressed his face, her lips following the trickling pathways of the wine around his jaws as though they were dripping of the sweetest honey, and the hand generously poured more from the bottle as it washed down upon his mouth, and she drank him in, and so familiar was she with his essence that she did not realize as it enveloped her with a mesmerizing, warm quality and danced around her with its merciless, ambrosial venom that she both detested and was desperate for. The mind was not attuned to the movement as the hand finally pulled the bottle to its former upright position, and she opened her eyes to observe him. Green locked in grey. The fingers of the other hand rested across his jaw, and she stood there in silence, hardly even feeling the strained muscles of her bent legs when she would retain that position, all her attention offered for him to feed from, all of her being offered to him to pillage and wreak havoc on if he so desired, for he held the source of life that still bound her to this world, to the remotest shreds of sanity that threatened to desert her upon the first tremble of a heartbeat. She had preferred him dead, this very thought had infected her body with its slow, cancerous disease spreading throughout her veins and fueling her hatred … but she did not really want this, did she? She would be an awful liar to her own self to claim such falseness that was too ugly and repulsive to hold as a wish, and her heart truly knew it had not been rejoicing on such thoughts but that it had been the result of needing to appease such unimaginable wrath that otherwise choked her, and could he blame her? Could he blame her that she hated him? He had brought a hundred and more worries at her threshold, violated and intruded her life, savagely claiming a part of it, threatened, abused and injured her, and still she was here, standing so close to him, and little could she tell that she would forgive him. She needed him. This she did not know, but she needed him. With a final note she leaned forwards and wiped the red tint besmearing his mouth, and then, with her gaze transfixed upon his eyes, almost unblinking, she brought herself down and walked backwards, until her back touched against the edge of the table.

She sat there, and easily dragged her body closer to the centre of the table to lie down upon the wooden surface with her back curved slightly, her neck arching backwards as she let the remainder of the red wine pour from the bottle down upon her face, drenching her hair, and, in rhythmic pattern attuned to the musical sound of the Arabic melody, drew the bottle down along her body in this southern, humid journey of May’s wet monsoon unleashed across the narrow passage between the highlands as covered by the military tunic. The wine flowed, and it was not until her legs bathed in it that she closed her eyes with a satisfied smile and let the empty bottle roll around the table, falling into the floor and breaking into pieces. The soldiers, eager and impatient, crowded around her, and her hands outstretched to grasp from their ties two of them that chanced to be closest to her, and pulled them to her, each by her side, their backs arched as they bent over and drowned their faces into hers, and a third one circled his arm around her thigh with delight in his drunken eyes, motioning closer to drink from her leg. And to be sure, more were to come, for the woman had been offered to the hungry wolves that growled impatiently, their teeth bared, and finally attacked to feast upon her.



Translation

Well, if it isn’t Jäger in his polka dot suit. Oh wait, that’s just your face.

Was I wearing any?

It’s never enough, Jäger! It’s never enough!

Keep you … or lose you? Take you … or drown you? No … what I must do is take you with me and blow you up. I’ll tie you up, pour the gasoline on you and … blow … you … up. And you will burst into flames … and burn. Destroy you. Yes … I will blow you up.