Shadow on the Sun

[Dirk Riedel]

Country: Tripoli, Africa
Current Time: 19:45, May 1941
Weather Conditions: Relatively warm but as the evening approaches upon dusk a soft, faint breeze has been formed.



“Herr Leutnant.”

The military voice broke through the silence, but the young woman did not turn around. The end of the day had finally pulled its long-awaited veil of nightly standstill upon the region following the intensive offensives having been forwarded throughout these past few days, and the platoons of the 21. Panzer Division had enjoyed a minimal supper and then rest within their tents by the time the glorious Libyan sun had traversed slowly across the wide clear blue firmament on its journey behind the hills of sand, the sky now painted in colours of magnificent shades of orange, roseate and magenta upon the approaching dusk. She had been standing there for moments on end into the open and at a short distance from the tents, quietly staring at the horizon with an unmoving posture, but for her hand rising every now and then to smoke from the cigarette, tapping the ashes onto the sand without ever realizing she did so, her green eyes too absorbed into nothingness to notice the slightest traces around her, the sand ever faintly stirring from the small breeze that was only now beginning to form, a soldier’s distant voice from inside the tents, or the mechanics finishing their work in the garage some metres away where she could neither see nor hear them. The grey smoke had surrounded her, consumed and almost suffocated her, completely encircling her in a way which she could not control or hinder, and she drank it in further, as though she hoped that a larger intake of nicotine would alleviate the weight that had additionally been brought upon her, hopes she knew to be vain which only made the action more on instinct rather than anything else.

What, indeed, would the reaction of the High Command be were she to be identified as a hoax? She had often been contemplating on that issue even on the days before she had been shipped to North Africa and while she was still creating the strategy of her false identity, and did not quite reach a conclusion considering how, naturally, she had no other similar example to study in the course of Germanic jurisdiction in the twentieth century or even earlier. She had resolved that she need not explore this issue at length in any case for, as she very well knew and expected, the secret would not be leaked out in the first place and such she would guarantee. The pressure upon her shoulders on entering the branch of the armed forces and participating in this war was so immense that, in more ways than one, often by far outfight the pre-existent burdens each and every other soldier has. Not only did she have to fulfill her duty as a soldier and as a Leutnant – which was the only capacity the other men had which, consequently, made them relatively enjoy a more leisure in terms of burden and psychological weight, which of course, in a war such as this, such leisure was a little more or less a negative number, a fact which only served to emphasize to what a further disadvantage the woman was. Aside from being expected to be a man of the military, she had to ensure that for every second that passed, in every action she took, every word she spoke and every moment she made, nothing would be the faintest reason to rise suspicion; ipso facto, barring such a military duty, she also carried the problem of being closely attentive to her appearance and conduct. Perhaps this could be achieved more easily had it only been a deceit lasting for a matter of hours, after which she would go home and return to her former state, but this – this required she should, substantially, absorb the masculine aspect so deeply within her system that it became one with her, that she could no longer discern where Friederike ended and where Dirk began, that her very essence would be reordered and remodeled to that most befitting a Wehrmacht Leutnant, otherwise to pretend this nature consecutively would, among many other consequences, contribute to her eventual insanity. It was likely for her that the masculine temperament had already been forged through her essence on many aspects from nature, which made this transition relatively more facile for her to the point where she hardly felt she was being someone else whenever she was the Leutnant and, indeed, she was not. The brisk, sharp nature, the barking orders and strict commands, the militaristic tint of her conduct and severity, all were characteristics that best described the woman known as Friederike Woltermann.

Did it really matter that she would press a plating against the thorax, cut her hair to their roots and present them with a deceitful appearance when the substance of their communication and association was so very genuine? How difficult was it to establish true respect and connection with each one of them and a reputation of her own within the company, to preserve the secret and build a life during these few years, and yet how comparatively easy was it for all that to suddenly crumble, with a single movement and no trouble whatsoever; a power which the Hauptmann at present cherished, and how this had brought about the inner turmoil residing within her as she stared at the skyline and yet nowhere in particular, her eyes glassy and her lips drawn in a straight line of contemplation, the parasite writhing and squirming in her chest like a rotting animal’s cadaver, able to feel the stench around her and yet completely incapacitated to remove it. And the burden was still there weighing her down, very much alive and threatening to disrupt the order which had been founded through her determination and obstinacy of spirit, bringing a wave of tumult and carrying everything at its tempestuous wake.

A distant voice rang through her ears more distinctly now as the soldier called her again, and brought the woman back to the sense of her surroundings, turning her over her shoulder as she gazed at Obergefreiter Albrecht Kord. The man was standing a few steps behind her in the short distance, looking over at his superior with a concerned expression on his weary face and with his hands lying down by the sides of his uniform as he expected of her to show any signs of address. She looked at him in an emotionless manner, though fatigue and bitterness were visible through her still form. “Sie haben zu viel geraucht, Herr Leutnant. Es ist ein und Halbfälle von Zigaretten,” he remarked in a slow voice, his tone solicitous as he voiced his concern, having already observed his superior behave in this way whenever they were not sent in the front line. “Fehlt Ihnen etwas?” he asked her, and she could only gaze back at him silently, pulling the cigarette out of her mouth as she softly blew out smoke into the air from her nose that immediately dissolved into the early evening’s atmosphere, but spoke nothing. He waited for her to respond, and his considerate eyes only showed genuine interest, but it took a few moments before she slowly nodded her head – a movement which she hardly felt through her stiff skin. The Obergefreiter looked at her, somehow unconvinced, but could do nothing more but nod his head briskly and turn around to walk back into the tents.

Once he had left the woman turned her head around to look at the open horizon once more, a bright gleam surfacing through the glaucous irises for a fleeting moment before a shadow passed to darken her face, and she lit another cigarette.



Translation

You’ve smoked too much, Herr Leutnant. That’s one and half cases of cigarettes. Is anything wrong?

[Rolf Jäger]

The Libyan landscape had taken on a red hue upon sunset, the fields of sand now appearing like they were drenched in blood and the tint reflected back to the rows of German tents, as if some curious crimson infection had suddenly fallen upon them. It would be a sight short-lived, as the shadows were drawing ever longer and the sun was falling rapidly beyond the dunes, Helios urging his fiery steeds along the bridge of the sky so that another deity might take his place with the descending night. The tires of the open-topped Kubelwagen bit eagerly into the red sand as the vehicle sped on, bumping almost recklessly to the side whenever a larger rock found its way under the tires. In the vehicle the Luftwaffe Hauptmann narrowed his eyes to not to only shelter them from the dust, but from some sense of enjoyment as he felt the cooling air of the late evening caressing his skin with its soothing touch. Having even this small moment for himself felt blissful to Rolf and he breathed in deep as his hand rested on the steering wheel, the vehicle speeding along the makeshift road that connected the air field with the infantry barracks. It was nothing but a set of tire tracks embedded upon the ground, but the lane had seen heavy traffic in the past weeks and the road had become very distinct, the constant preparations for the German offensives requiring an ample amount of supplies, some of them brought in by aircraft. It wasn't the cooler air and this small spot of freedom alone that brought a lazy smile on the Hauptmann's lips and the smirk widened at the notion, his thoughts drawing away from the surroundings to gather around an entirely different subject.

He had not embarked upon a simple joyride and his journey to the Wehrmacht barracks had a clear purpose - an aspiration so strong, it made his insides feel light and his skin tingly, the sheer anticipation causing him to press his foot more heavily on the gas pedal. For a small after meeting Riedel last time, his thoughts had been plagued by a looming sensation of getting trapped and he had felt as if sharing Riedel's secret would have somehow been impossible. He knew not where such a notion had stemmed from, as it had been nobody else but him getting elevated to a distinct position of power and the woman could have not hoped to hold any sway over him. These gathering clouds of foreboding, pressing thoughts had haunted him for a day or two, before he had finally chased them away with an angry force, accusing himself of foolishness and having to remind himself that the woman had no way out of her current predicament. Riedel had harbored a secret that would have sent the entire country reeling in astonishment if discovered and Rolf had to admit that she must have been resourceful and intelligent enough to make her disguise last for such a long time. It had still not been enough to hide the truth from Rolf, who would have not initially even bothered with the woman had it not been for her defiance and the punishment she had forced upon him on their initial meeting. The thought seemed almost ridiculous now, as if he simply could not imagine a life where she did not exist, but the fact remained, that things could have been very different, had their first meeting happened in a different way. What if she had decided to act courteously and would have merely made it clear that she was bored, instead of lashing out at him with her words and fists? Rolf might have insisted on her attention for a while, but finally considered the task too bothersome, never paying the female a second thought.

It had not been fate that had turned the tables, but the woman herself, her feral desire for defiance having sparked Rolf's curiosity and later developing into something he could only describe as obsession. Interest was a simply too mild word to use in this particular context and Rolf knew he would have gone to any lengths to track Riedel down, had it been necessary. This was where the interference of odd circumstances had meddled with their lives, first having them meet near the airfield, then sending them into the same room of a hospital and next allowing Rolf to track down the woman in the hangar. If destiny did not wish their lives to become intertwined, it was doing a botch job at it and rational person as Rolf was, he was inclined to think that there had to be some meaning to all of this. It was either that, or their lives were controlled by invisible entities that enjoyed warping their lifelines for their own, twisted pleasure. Whatever it was, Rolf had decided to throw himself into the waves of this unexplored, deep sea and right now he was on his way to add a more pleasurable development to the story. Well, it would be satisfying for him and less so to Riedel, but she had put him through enough pain and misery as it was and she was only set on receiving some payback for her deeds.

As the vehicle approached the cluster of tents, Rolf forced his foot to raise up from the gas pedal just slightly and the distinct cloud of dust behind Luftwaffe-marked Kubelwagen grew smaller as the Hauptmann allowed the vehicle's speed to drop. His grey eyes scanned over the rows of tents and the makeshift signs that denoted the quarters of companies and platoons on the area in a characteristically effective and clear German manner. It was remarkable how each time the army stopped, the once quiet and lifeless desert suddenly became a miniature town, created in the middle of wilderness in the matter of one day and Rolf found the Kubelwagen rushing past the narrow streets that were created in between the tents.

Not wanting to cause too much disturbance, he brought his speed down even more when approaching the area where he expected to find Riedel, his hand going for his field cap and soon dropping it upon the empty seat just so that he could run a hand over his hair to look more presentable. His gaze was upon the tents and he wondered if he should have simply stopped the vehicle and asked someone where the Leutnant could be found, when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, a sharp jolt of realization rushing through his mind the moment he saw the dark figure of a person contrasted against the dusky sky. Even when he could not tell apart the facial features of the soldier standing a small distance away from the tents, some curious instinct told him that he was looking at no other than Riedel herself, the woman gazing somewhere into the distant desert, the ember of her cigarette only barely visible against the blazing colours of the sky.

The man narrowed his eyes, a brief smile flashing over his features at the sight of her, but he tore his gaze away from the figure and concentrated on turning the steering wheel, bringing the vehicle to a skidding stop on the sand, halting no more than few meters away from the Leutnant. A small cloud of dust was still washing over the vehicle when the Hauptmann stepped out of the Kubelwagen, slamming the door shut and brushing down the front of his tropical uniform, as if it had made any difference under the current conditions. He was standing on the opposite side of the vehicle and had to walk around it to reach the Leutnant, the man's lips drawing into a wide, content smile as he strode towards the uniformed woman, his silver irises already glinting with excitement. "Leutnant!" the man announced with a hoarse bark that flowed into a short chuckle, Rolf's eyes remaining intently on the woman's features, as if he had some grand announcement to make and he did not wish to miss her reaction. "Gerade die Person suchte ich," Rolf stated the obvious, as it was clear from his hungrily gleaming eyes that there was a set purpose for his unexpected - or eventually expected - visit.

The Hauptmann settled standing a few steps away from the woman, remaining obtrusively in front of her as if he wanted further to impose his presence upon Riedel. Seeing those familiar features again, disguised as she currently was, caused Rolf's heart to skip a beat and he stared at her, drinking in her presence eagerly like a parched traveller that had been lost in the desert for days. She was a different Riedel, yet the same, and Rolf settled on explording her viridian eyes and the small curve of her lips, further relishing in the familiar manner she held her cigarette. The man's eyebrows were arched upwards in a leisurely fashion, while under them his grey eyes stared at the woman, self-confident and even delighted. His arrogant posture was marred only by the red welt that still decorated his left cheek, another similar mark evident upon the skin of his neck. It seemed as if the man had already forgotten this punishment and settled into enjoying his current position, looming in front of the woman like a self-appointed sovereign of Libya. "Ich vertraue, dass Sie gelernt haben sich inzwischen benehmen. Würde nicht wollen, dass Ihr Aufenthalt in Afrika so sehr kurz geschnitten wird," the suggestion came in a low, hoarse voice and something more malicious resided within the man's eyes for that brief moment to make sure the woman knew that under his relaxed manners, he was being nothing but serious over his threats. "Aber ich kenne Sie, Riedel... Sie verstehen, welch von Bedeutung ist, würden Sie nichts Dummes tun. Und wie es geschieht, habe ich gerade etwas präsentiert, dass Sie für mich tun können... na ja, Sie haben es vorhergesehen, nicht?" the man asked mockingly, as if he would have expected to send the woman reeling from surprise with his words. "Es wird morgen abend geschehen. Sorgen Sie sich nicht, ich habe sichergestellt, dass Sie Zeit haben werden. Alles, was wir brauchen, ist ein paar..." the man stopped to ponder on the matter, his eyes narrowing and a crooked, a suggestive smile forming in the corner of his mouth before he continued. "...Stunden. Würde alles schließlich nicht treiben wollen, dass wir durch gewesen sind."

The smile widened to reach the man's eyes, the Hauptmann's silver irises glinting with open enjoyment over the situation and Rolf did not bother toning down the extent of his arrogance. If anything, he wanted her to be offended by it and to have her retaliate, just so that he would have the reason to go through with something he had failed to do earlier. He had found it impossible to make that decision earlier, but he was sure that with enough prodding by her, his ridiculous thoughts of preserving the woman's presence in Africa would be overtaken by his hatred and he could erase all traces of the unwanted weakness still lingering within him.


Translations:

"Gerade die Person suchte ich."
"Just the person I was looking for."

"Ich vertraue, dass Sie gelernt haben sich inzwischen benehmen..."
"I trust you have learned to behave by now. Wouldn't want your stay in Africa to get cut so very short."

"Aber ich kenne Sie, Riedel..."
"But I know you, Riedel... You understand what matters, you wouldn't do anything foolish. And as it happens, I have just come up with something you can do for me... ah, well, you already knew this was coming, didn't you?"

"Es wird morgen abend geschehen. Sorgen Sie sich nicht, ich habe sichergestellt..."
"It will happen tomorrow evening. Don't worry, I have made sure you'll have the time. All it will take is a few.... hours. Wouldn't want to rush everything after all we've been through."

[Dirk Riedel]

For, after all, had it not been entirely her own fault she should be in this situation, a dead end from which she had no route of escape regardless of any angle she glanced at? No other person knew the secret and, hence, it had been something she had said – something she had done – which had given the man enough information to gather and eventually solve the puzzle and look at the truth right before his very eyes as the truth gazed back at him. Her mind was racing with these thoughts whenever she was not too much occupied with other military obligations or offensives, inwardly distressed but refusing to let such weakness be exhibited for her subordinates to see, only ever being expressed as moodiness she accounted to their battle plans, seeing how she was determined not to break the example she, as their superior, must set for them to follow. It would do no one any service at all by obeying the orders of a commissioned officer who seemed incapacitated of performing his duties without the appropriate set of mind to contribute to the strength of his actions. Though she may have swallowed down all of her inner agony, her mind every now and then could not help but reconsider her actions and works ever since the first incident she had met the Hauptmann, hopping along from detail to detail in an attempt to see where she had been wrong, what path of darkness had she unwillingly chosen to tread which had been her undoing – and slowly these steps became desperate, violent and furious as she passed from one thought to the other, unable as she was to realize the flaws, a feeling of ill-natured necessity to know her wrongness (as though she believed that the realization would have assisted at all in righting what had been wronged) crawling within her viscera and every so often threatening to rush to the surface and reveal itself to the others, intensely though the woman attempted to conceal this torment.

Until her thoughts stopped upon her visit at the Hauptmann’s office, when she had voiced her request. Of course, it made absolute sense that he had traced her call back to Magdeburg, and after she had further contemplated on this case she realized that, through the social contacts he undeniably must have employed to his own benefit, he was able to procure the files on her family – and yet how had these files arrived directly from Germany, and who would be foolish enough to see to the transport of these insignificant papers at the time of war? Apparently even aristocracy cherished such privileges and she knew not, at one point, whether to be furious over his intrusion on her life or at the fact he had had the audacity to waste such time and effort of other people who worked for their country simply for the purpose of transferring the papers. Be that as it may, this still could hardly explain that the officer had been adept enough to place the little pieces of the puzzle next to one another and finally solve the riddle that was her. Certainly one must have thought that the woman had rather close relations to the family, but to even consider that she, Leutnant Riedel and Friederike Woltermann were the same person was a most ridiculous thought indeed, best served for those admitted into a psychopathic ward for mentally handicapped patients; part of the safety this deceit provided her, ironically enough, was the very fact no person in their right mind would even ponder how a woman would decide to commit to something as absurd and unheard of – and, therefore, even if certain actions or words of her were to otherwise rise suspicion at the beginning before she had learned her way around the military, they were only met with amusement and a friendly pat on her shoulder instead. How could one, consequently, ever attribute the existence of one person to another when they could have, as the rule of rationality would claim, been distant kinfolk, acquaintances, friends? Even if one had heard the conversation with her brother they certainly would not –

Her mind momentarily froze, and the woman slowly pulled the cigarette from her mouth, almost incapable to feel the smoke coming out of her nose and dissolving into the atmosphere. He had overheard her conversation with Julian. Green eyes stared blankly at the horizon for those few moments but had no more time to explore this sudden realization when, suddenly, she heard the distant noise of an engine approaching and, soon enough, as she slowly turned her head over her shoulder her heart sunk upon seeing the face of none other than the Hauptmann pulling the Kubelwagen into a halt a few metres in the short distance and jumping out of his seat to walk towards her direction. She no longer lived under the illusion how she would never see his face again each time their pathways parted as it so had happened each time, and indeed had been expecting a ‘visit’ at some point, but this did not make his abrupt arrival any less surprising. She stood there, with her head turned over her shoulder and smoking, before she turned her body around to face him, not failing to notice that he appeared particularly … pleased. Certainly, the bastard had no reason why not to be pleased, and she only awaited what rather interesting things he had to tell her, already exercising control upon her mind so early upon their meeting lest she should lose every bit of discipline she mustered, knowing perfectly well in advance she would not like what he had to say. And he had to say … a lot.

She did not react at such display of open arrogant, even more bloated than she had ever observed, the imperious, sneering quality of his appearance overflowing to such an extent it made her want to strike a blow against his face to simply tarnish such gloating smugness – and something nudged deeply at her stomach at the knowledge she was incapacitated of such an action she would have otherwise been too keen to take. Everything about him, from the overtly suggestive tint of his words, to the wicked smirk, the gleaming playfulness of his grey eyes, the amused chuckle at his own frolics and the unsurpassable impression of invincible strength he appeared to be possessing at this very moment, as though he was wearing a royal gown of steel which shielded him of any barbarous attack. It was not the content of his words which infuriated and distressed her; after all, she was hardly the type of puritanical woman with ascetic, narrow-minded views on such an issue. Any other woman would have focused more on the content rather than the marge of such a content, disturbed over the fact they had to comply to such a vulgar request, but for the woman the only aspect that mattered was compliance in itself. She had never been forced to yield to anything and anyone even when she must, her soul always too undomesticated and wild for submission, her mind too adamant and obstinate to compromise with anything less than personal freedom. Had she really not expected of him to demand this of her? She would have either been too ignorant of human nature or a fool, and considering the woman was neither, this had of course been the very first thing she knew to expect.

Instead of appearing either disgusted, shocked or distressed, the woman merely drew in another breath from the cigarette calmly, not in the least bit concerned, her fingers circled around the length of the tobacco roll, her posture tall and unyielding, refusing to comply to one of a more submissive kind, as would have best suited her current situation. She looked up at him and blew the last smoke into the air between them, her eyes surveying his face quietly and with her arms crossed as she did so. “Stunden?” she finally spoke, her tone unaffected and low, as she slightly tilted her head to the side. “Das Bekommen ein wenig rostig dort, stimmt dass?” she openly mocked him, and an amused smile crossed her lips. “Muss die arabischen Huren sein. Oder vielleicht … vielleicht ist das Sie gerade,” she said in a lower tone that almost resembled a jeering whisper, and her smirk widened before she took another drag from the cigarette.

“Na los, Jäger, seien Sie diesmal realistisch. Sie können nicht eine echte Frau behandeln,” she told him genuinely and blew the smoke into the air again, the smile now vanished from her lips and replaced by an expression that suggested she was neither being mocking nor trying to humiliate him; traces of contempt were always to surface through the hoarse tone of her voice, however, as her inner hatred towards the pilot was unfaltering and endless. “Sie sollten vorwärts gehen und mit jemandem Ihre eigene Größe spielen,” she suggested, and her eyes with glinted with something rather derisive at this moment, before she suddenly took a few step towards him and reached him easily, bringing her face close enough to feel his breath tingling her nose or see more closely that infuriating self-satisfied countenance he bore, and which she so dearly wished to destroy with a simple strike.

“Was ist los? Sind Sie erschrocken?” she asked him, her pupils widening with a characteristic glint as she wanted to see this sentiment drawing in his eyes – or, in fact, what she would have wished to see at another time, perhaps one night in the city’s military hospital would have been most appropriate, but right at this moment she only wanted him to crush him on the ground like a small piece of lettuce, to enforce her presence closer to his just so he could see she was not a plaything he could cherish with joy but a burden he did not wish to have. “Sind Sie von mir erschrocken … kleine Rolfi?” she whispered, and a short disdainful laughter escaped her throat. “Ist das Kind vom großen schlechten Wolf so viel erschrocken, dass er sicherstellen muss, dass sich der Wolf benehmen wird? Sind Sie so unsicher ich werde auf Ihnen einschlagen, dass Sie etwas ebenso schwach brauchen wie Erpressung, um Ihre eigene Angst zu kontrollieren?” she asked him with a ringing force, her eyes narrowing as she observed his features for one or two seconds, until she drew her now serious face backwards and took a deep drag from the cigarette, as though she knew exactly the risks she was taking and preparing herself for the repercussions, as if the woman knew very well she was dancing at the edge of a cliff when she could so clearly gaze down at the emptiness, her insides burning with secret agony. Nevertheless, at the time she blew the smoke from her nose into the atmosphere there was nothing but derision and hatred painted all across the angles of her face.

“Und bezüglich Ihres kleinen Vorschlags versuchend, obwohl es sein kann, habe ich Angst, die ich werde höflich neigen müssen,” she told him. “Aber wenn Sie darauf bestehen, dass Sie für mich im Platz des Kusses auf meinen Esel warten und Sie bumsen können,” she said with a sneer, and let the cigarette drop on the sand, where she extinguished it with her foot a moment before she turned her back at him on her way to the tents.



Translation

Hours? Getting a little rusty there, aren’t we? Must be the Arabian whores. Or maybe … maybe it’s just you.

Come on, Jäger, be realistic for once. You can’t handle a real woman. You should go along and play with someone your own size.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Are you scared of me … little Rolfi? Is the child afraid of the big bad wolf so much that he has to make sure the wolf will behave? Are you so insecure I will lash out on you that you need something as weak as blackmail to control your own fear?

And as for your little proposal, tempting though it may be, I’m afraid I will have to politely decline. But if you insist you can wait for me in the place of kiss my ass and fuck you.

[Rolf Jäger]

A pair of defiant, unaffected viridian irises stared back at the Hauptmann, the woman's strong fingers merely curling around the length of the cigarette and the smoke between them obscuring the air between them, the woman's pale face momentarily hidden behind a veil of grey, lazy wisps. Rolf had expected to see fear in those eyes, or even anger and annoyance she would have been forced to tone down over the power he held over her, but instead he could only read open derision dominating them and she proceeded to smoke her cigarette languidly, allowing the silence between them to grow longer before she finally decided to speak. Rolf raised an eyebrow the moment her lips parted, knowing that Riedel would not grace him with anything pleasant, and he soon found that this, indeed, was to be the case, as poisonous words coated with derision dropped from the woman's tongue. Riedel smiled as she addressed him, hinting that the Hauptmann had grown rusty, either due to the "Arabian whores" or merely because it was actually characteristic for him. The content of her words failed to effect Rolf and it was only her utter audacity that caused the man to grit his teeth together, small lines of anger drawing at the corners of his eyes as they narrowed and betraying the emotions that were quickly being fueled within the man.

The woman must have been completely blind to the severity of the situation, for even through his anger Rolf could not consider that Riedel would have found the outcome of her predicament inconsequential. She had spent far too much time and effort and obviously faced challenges each and every day just to maintain her disguise to have her give it all up so carelessly. Rolf had figured that by now she would have had enough time to consider her circumstances to notice that she was trapped and left to his mercy, but apparently her unbreakable will had rejected this idea and powered her with an unhealthy dose of impudence. As if this had not been enough, she dared to go on, telling Rolf that he could not hope to handle a real woman and that he should spend his time on someone more suitable for him and her words were followed by a mocking glint in her eyes, which in turn drew an angry sneer to the Hauptmann's lips.

Her gall did not end there and she stepped closer to the man, bringing her face uncomfortably close to his and Rolf reacted to the gesture involuntarily; he did not take a step back, but pulled his face away from hers to create some distance between them, feeling uneasy the moment someone's presence was forced upon him. The moment he had done so, the woman shot more jeering words at him, calling him "little Rolfi", which caused the man to appear somewhat confused for a fraction of a second. It was the same name his mother had ever used of him, infuriating and demeaning as it was, yet one he had grown tired of complaining about. No matter how many times he had pointed out that he would have just preferred his real name, his mother had merely giggled at him and told him that he was being silly. The fact that Riedel's words were followed by a mocking chuckle, did not quite work to make matters any better, either, and he felt all the more infuriated the moment he realized he had created distance between himself and the woman out of instinct. As if to demonstrate that he held no amount of fear towards her, he brought his face closer to hers once more and sneered at the insolent words that kept finding their way out of her mouth. She was suggesting that it was only his fear that wished to see her shackled and these cheap means of keeping her in check existed only so that he could make sure she would not retaliate. Were there absolutely no bounds to the woman's brazenness or had she simply lost her mind, standing too long out in the scorching sun?

Rolf stared straight into those hateful green eyes of hers, his face frozen into a mask of almost appalled fury while his mind was already cooking up enticing scenarios of kicking her down to dust or laughing right into her face just before he would leave the barracks and walk inside the divisional headquarters to inform Riedel's superiors of the true nature of one of their Leutnants. He could already feel the liquid anger travelling fast inside his veins, feeding his muscles with the kind of electricity that had a habit of infecting his brain and incapacitating his ability to make rational decisions. The air in the short distance between them had suddenly grown heavy with the signs of an impending storm, crackling with the energy of pure, unbridled hatred and Rolf felt the tips of his fingers curling into fists while he wanted nothing more but to strangle the insolence out of her. By the time this thought had slowly managed to fight its way to the surface of his thoughts after having to wade through the crimson veil of his blinding anger, the woman had already taken a step back, blowing smoke through her nostrils as she glared at him, throwing her final insults at the Hauptmann before she turned her back at him, starting back towards the tents.

His grey eyes flashing with wrath, Rolf stepped after the woman with long, angry strides and he reached a hand towards her, grasping her by the arm roughly, almost violently, just so that he could pull her back and force her to face him. The tips of his fingers embedded themselves roughly into the woman's skin through the canvas of the tunic and Rolf tugged at her arm decisively, bringing his face closer to hers just so that she could clearly read the anger dominating his features, the man's eyes blazing with pure outrage and his teeth gritted together into a violent sneer. "Fick mich, Riedel..? Oh, das wirst du. Ist das nicht der komplette Pointe?" the man growled hoarsely while the gaze of his widened eyes bore into hers. He released his hold of the woman with an angry force, not able to resist giving her arm a small push before doing so, and Rolf drew his face further away from hers, never breaking the eye contact. "Vielleicht haben Sie das Ausmaß der Situation nicht völlig ergriffen, in der Sie zurzeit sind, aber Ihre fortlaufende Existenz hören in Afrika hängt allein von mir ab. Ich mache einen Vorschlag nicht, Riedel. Ich erzähle Ihnen was zu tun, und Sie werden so wenig Erfolg im Neigen von mir haben, wie Sie mit plötzlich dem Entscheiden haben werden, dass Sie nicht mehr verlangen, dass Sauerstoff lebt," the words came in a low, raspy whisper and all the while the man spoke, he held her gaze captive to effectively drive in his point. The man took the few decisive steps to circle in front of the woman, effectively obstructing the path between her and the tents. The man tilted his chin downwards, as if he was preparing to lunge at Riedel at any given moment, yet he merely stood tall and imposing in his place, the sneer now reaching his eyes and lighting them with a malicious glint. His will to further tease the woman with his risqué suggestions had passed to give way for a more practical desire of letting her know what he had in store for her and as much as he would have enjoyed playing around with these ideas further, in his anger he could no longer find that playfulness within himself.

Rolf's silver eyes narrowed as he gazed at her and a more serious, straightforward expression caused the snarl to evaporate from his lips. "Es gibt ein Sammeln in Tripoli morgen abend an 20.00. Sie werden ihm mit mir in Ihrer anderen... Form beiwohnen," the man eyed the woman's uniform briefly, before his eyes settled upon Riedel's face again and Rolf tilted his head slightly to the side, his hand snaking into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. "Hier ist eine Adresse zu einem Gebäude in Tripoli. Ein Zimmer ist dort für Sie unter dem Namen von Erika vorbestellt worden. Sie werden wissen, dass es Sie - nicht viele hohe, blonde Frauen herum in Libyen spazieren, irgendwie," the man added with a small, almost amused scoff, although the mirth did not reach the man's eyes and he merely held the piece of paper in front of her. "Ich werde Sie dort an 19.40, scharf, aufnehmen sollen. Ich vertraue, dass Sie die Chance verwenden werden, sich zu reinigen und sich präsentablen Blick zu machen. Sie wissen sehr gut, was mit der Karriere von Leutnant Riedel geschehen wird, soll ich scheitern, Sie bereit in der richtigen Zeit zu finden," the man added more ominously, standing up straighter and prouder in front of the woman, his eyes flashing with challenge. One part of him was expecting the woman to protest and continue on the path that would lead to her own destruction, as Rolf had decided that any further insolence would see him kicking her along that road, while another part almost fervently hoped that she would finally open her eyes and see the raw truth that would force her to gaze upon the consequences of her own actions.

Rolf held up the folded piece of paper between his fingers, his head tilted to the side expectantly, as if he was offering her a key with which the woman might lock herself up, the task too insignificant for the man to bother himself with. She was to lock her own shackles, write her name upon the contract with the crimson of her blood and to take that one decisive step from the edge of a cliff; there was nowhere to run to and she must have known it, the intent gaze of the Hauptmann burning into her like that of the Devil himself, ready to accept the doomed soul into his fold.


Translations:

"Fick mich, Riedel..?"
"Fuck me, Riedel..? Oh, you will. Isn't that the entire point?"

"Vielleicht haben Sie das Ausmaß der Situation nicht völlig ergriffen..."
"Maybe you have not fully grasped the extent of the situation you are currently in, but your continued existence hear in Africa depends solely on me. I'm not making a proposal, Riedel. I'm telling you what to do and you will have as little success in declining me as you will have with suddenly deciding that you no longer require oxygen to live."

"Es gibt ein Sammeln in Tripoli morgen abend an 20.00..."
"There is a gathering in Tripoli tomorrow night at 20.00. You will attend it with me in your other... form."

"Hier ist eine Adresse zu einem Gebäude in Tripoli..."
"Here is an address to a building in Tripoli. A room has been reserved there for you, under the name of Erika. They will know it's you - not many tall, blonde women walk around in Libya, anyway."

"Ich werde Sie dort an 19.40, scharf, aufnehmen sollen..."
"I will be there to pick you up at 19.40, sharp. I trust you will use the chance to clean yourself up and make yourself look presentable. You know very well what will happen to Leutnant Riedel's career, should I fail to find you ready at the proper time."

[Dirk Riedel]

If the woman had assumed she could return to the tents without any interruption (and, indeed, she unconsciously already knew that this would happen) she had been proved wrong, the Hauptmann’s hand seizing a firm hold of her arm, his movement violent and characterized by rage, as he informed her of her current situation, the inescapability, and the fact she was now chained to his own whimsicalities, whichever these may be and by whichever sentiment they may be molded. Her face remained stone cold and rigid as he told her of his plans and not only demanded of her to accede to his caprices but clarified precisely how precarious the knowledge he held could be. It was for the first time that Dirk truly understood the depth of his abuse, and as she gazed back at those cruel, ruthless eyes she realized the extent of his intentions and stared at the sheer magnitude of his wrath. The scrap piece of paper was dangling right in front of her eyes, and how she wished to simply snatch it just so she could tear it apart in hundreds of little pieces that would fly away in the wind and forever be lost in the endless sands. Nevertheless, her cold, unmoving posture did not flinch or react in a way she would have otherwise desired, knowing exactly what it would mean to take the paper with her. It was only a simple action that would only prove the existence of chains around her, but this simple action was enough to cause such turmoil and agony from within that, at the moment, it held all the meaning in the world to her. Fuming, the woman snatched the paper from his hand and threw a last glance at him – a glance washed in nothing else but profound hatred – as she, without another word, brushed against his side aggressively and carried on her way back to the tents.


*

The bright Libyan sun was gleaming down upon the glass window, and through it penetrated the small room, casting a soft afternoon glow at the walls painted in the shade of primrose yellow, the wooden pieces of furniture standing humble and without any ornamental use apart from serving a practical purpose. One might even assume, no less with a sardonic element to such contemplation, that the room was indeed perfectly suited to the woman’s character, though she was hardly thinking in this way in the slightest, her mind profusely occupied with other more significant issues. With a distasteful scoff, the woman looked around her, still incapable to fully believe how she had ended up in this situation; it seemed only yesterday that she had beaten the living daylights out of the Hauptmann and left him standing there as she left, expecting never to see him again – what had happened in the interim to allow such an unpleasant circumstance to blossom?

She had been the one to be able to inflict him damage, how had she led her own self down this road of exploitation and submission without even having realized she was doing so? And how could she, a creature of an untamed mind, ever learn to submit and yield to any whimsicality which the arrogant officer was prepared to demand of her? Never before had she been treated in this way; certainly having grown up in a rural area and being regarded the child of people belonging to the working class automatically forced her to accept that there were people superior to her own rank, and this hardly bothered her, for more than anyone did she know each social status was followed by an according characteristic and margin of power, such as the aristocrats possessed. She had learned of the injustice between the classes at an early age and been taught how to efficiently prevent this from discouraging her from completing and work and living on her life; and, certainly, even as she worked in the factories, exhaustive labour for minimal pay, she had met exploitation in that field, exploitation everywhere she went, to that extensive point that the woman no longer thought of it, unless it should interfere with her own sense of decency and self-respect. Never before had she been ordered to yield to someone’s whims, she, a being of raw and unrestrained freedom, to become a selfish baron’s plaything, she, with all of her strength of character and unyielding nature, to be his cheap little toy, his beloved little porcelain doll, a flower to ornament the front pocket of his uniform, a puppy dog sitting down whenever he so requested and wagging its tail around at his presence.

Leastwise, he was a complete and utter idiot. Being the only man who could enforce absolute control upon her, and in whose very own hands her future had been encased, he held all the power to bring her all the world’s damage. Just one word of his would suffice to not only destroy her military career in the Wehrmacht and bury her deeply into a series of juridical troubles from which there would be no escape, but also cause irreversible harm at her family, whose fate would certainly not be any better once the High Command would learn of Friederike Woltermann’s actions; if indeed she were to be punished, they were to be punished as well and, so it was, that the worst anyone could inflict upon the woman was to threaten the well-being of her family. And all he wanted was that … she would attend a social gathering with him? He held all this insurmountable power within his hands, and he nevertheless preferred to fulfill such silly caprices? This only further proved to the woman the Hauptmann was but a selfish child who wished to always serve his worst of whims, and though disturbing and ill-natured his threats and posture may have been, his infantile behaviour beneath that beastly mask was quite intolerable. Without doubt his whims were to grow in demand and this the woman already knew, but no matter how indecent and coarse such demands became, how tasteless and enraging, at least they only addressed her and were not in any way related to her family. Of course this hardly meant that the woman would be too keen to yield to them, nor that she was any less embittered, infuriated and agonized, for humiliation, in whichever form, was still humiliation, but to know her family served no role in his little theatrical play assisted in not letting her fall into the dark pit of insanity over the sheer magnitude of his power, even if its potential was always hanging dangerously in the air. It was the realization that his demands would easily rise in effect to cover her relatives that even further drew the burden residing in her chest to a higher point, often affecting her breaths and cutting them short. As long as he was more focused on her she would grit her teeth, bite her lips and swallow down her pride, as she should. And, after all, it was no sacrifice from her part to attend the reception, was it?

She breathed in deeply as she allowed her gaze to fall around the room, the beams of sunlight gleaming across the room and flickering upon the golden mass of hair tied in a tight ponytail in the back of her head, her arms crossed over her chest, and clad in her black dress. She slowly walked closer to the bed and saw, with a scoff, a dress of emerald green hooked with a hanger along the handle of a dark, tall wardrobe, its flowing, ethereal quality made of satin and lace telling her of how expensive it must have been, and had she not been as bitter as she was at this moment she might have even laughed in contempt. Her fingers stretched to touch the fabric on the edge and run along its length. “Oh, zu schlechtes Grün ist nicht meine Farbe. Betrübt mich,” she said in a falsely affected tone, and her hand let the dress slip from the hanger and drop to the floor. “Huch!” she voiced, and with a theatrical sigh moved away. He could threaten her and abuse this position he held over her, demand of her to play along this game of his, he could set the rules of the game, but he would not be the one to set the rules of this round. She let her feet wander towards the window, and rested her elbows upon the sill as she stared outdoors for a few moments, the sun embracing her face with a golden glow, green eyes gleaming as they looked at any passing figure in the narrow, deserted road. With a weary sigh she turned around, and glanced around her.

It was a very small room, one tall, large cupboard hang from the wall with a table and sink underneath serving as a miniature kitchen, while a narrow but long wooden table stood against the wall a few centimetres away, right next to the window, with a plain chair to accompany the set; there, no more than four metres in the short distance was a bed with the wardrobe on the right and a bedside table, and the a door on the left leading to a bathroom. Her military uniform had been stacked inside the wardrobe for safety reasons; after she had told her soldiers in the morning she would be absent in the afternoon until the following day, for she had a few obligations to fulfill before she attended a gathering with other officers, as was required, the woman had left the barracks and changed form in a deserted alleyway. She had neatly piled the uniform and covered it with large piece of papers for the purpose of concealment when she walked to the address the scrap of paper ordered and presented herself to the landlady, an old woman who had appeared too surprised to find a German woman in Africa – until Dirk explained (not because the landlady asked, but she wanted to cover all doubts the other woman may have had, as if she continued protecting herself instinctively against any suspicion that may arise, as though this would suddenly bring back the time and prevent the Hauptmann from discovering the truth) that she belonged to the female auxiliaries’ group. The landlady had, indeed, seemed rather interested at this story, but Dirk was hardly feeling the enthusiasm to converse with the woman, and thus cut their brief encounter short and locked herself in her room.

It was around four in the afternoon by the time Dirk returned from the market and indifferently threw the freshly acquired possession on the bed, a half-amused scoff escaping her throat as she threw a fleeting glance at it on her way to the bathroom, and yet disquiet was at the same time evident through her facial features. Nevertheless, she disregarded every reasoning inside her telling her not to act in this way, and walked inside the smaller room with her bare feet, sitting down on the bath’s rim slowly, her hands resting on the dress’s black fabric across her lap as she seemed to contemplate for moments on end, the expression on her face unfathomable, eyes staring blankly at the wall opposite her as she drew in the silence (or was it that the silence drew her in?), before she suddenly allowed herself to slowly fall backwards, her figure splashing against the waters as she sunk in, as though in vain expectation the water would cleanse her of all the burdens that weighed down upon her, and kept her head underwater for the next few seconds, eyes closed and hands covering the sides of her face, before she emerged in the surface and leaned her head against the old marble, where she remained, eyes cold and glassy staring blankly at the wall.

The hours seemed to pass at an achingly slow rate, enough to make her feel as if even time was mockingly laughing at her, pointing its rude finger towards her direction to indicate exactly how problematic her situation was. The quietude within the room was almost tangible, the afternoon inertia slowly drawing in every corner of space it could find, only ever violated by her agitated, moving figure. Fingers deftly clicked the bottle open and the woman tilted her head backwards as she took a large gulp from the beer, approaching barefooted the wooden table next to the window, on the corner of which stood a rather old gramophone, the only object to indicate anything unnecessary in the room, and still, she played the record that had been inserted. Deciding that the best solution to dealing with this problem that had without warning hopped onto the threshold of her door was to relax the continuous stressed, infuriated state she was in, she intended to do nothing more or less but numb this stiffness with a few drinks and music – after all, didn’t alcohol, cigarettes and music provide for enough submission to the inner calls of narcotic tranquility for her? She drew her head rearwards once more for another gulp, when suddenly Renate Müller’s “Ich Bin Ja Heut’ So Glücklich” filled the room, her mellow, soft voice singing to the jovial, upbeat tune, as Dirk’s eyes widened and she brought her face forward, her forehead wrinkled to an angry frown. “Versuchen Sie meine Nerven voranzukommen, Müller?” she growled, and immediately changed the song in a brisk movement.

Shifting the white towel around her, she walked back to the wardrobe – minding to hatefully tread upon the green dress still lying deliberately on the floor – and threw her weight on the mattress, rolling around and stretching her arm to snatch the packet of cigarettes from the bedside table before she returned to her former position, lighting a cigarette and with the beer bottle closely held at her hand. The soft music embraced the room, and she blew out smoke from her nose calmly, the man’s voice singing the first words just when she leaned more comfortably against the pillow. She arched one eyebrow and pursed her lips, making a rather rude gesture with her hand and directing it at the gramophone while Heinz Rühmann continued singing ‘Ich Brech’ Die Herzen Der Stolzesten Frau’n’.

The minutes elapsed in a painfully slow manner, the woman sighing wearily whenever she was not indulging herself to drinking or smoking from her cigarette, until she persuaded herself to finally stand up from the bed, as it was time to dress herself and make certain she looked … presentable. How she hated this! She would much rather lie on the mattress for the rest of the evening and sleep through the night rather than have to live through all this farce, but alas, she had no other choice but comply to the Hauptmann’s demands. She languidly stood up with a grimace, and reached over to extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray lying on top of the bedside table, but still refusing to let go of the beer, as though parting from it meant she would have to be separated from the only last remaining object to pacify her mind of anything surrounding her and numb her senses to the unavoidable reality. “Oh Ja, schauen Sie auf mich. Sind Sie auf mich stolz?” she said, bitterness surfacing in the hoarse texture of her sneering voice, standing up but looking nowhere in particular, the bottle grasped strongly by her hand as she spread her arms wide, though an eagle’s freedom was something she had now lost. “Ihr lieber Friede ist bis jetzt und Blick gekommen, wo sie jetzt ist. Oh, Sie müssen so stolz sein, stimmt dass?” she growled, her eyebrows curving over the fierce frown that had come to visit her face. “Wertvoller kleiner Friede, der ja allen Mätzchen einer nutzlosen Baron sagt! Schauen Sie, wie weit ich gewesen bin! Etwas aufrichtig Anständiges,” she sneered, and then looked at her own reflection in the mirror next to the wardrobe – and, clearly, she disliked the image that her eyes glanced back at, with a grimace turning around to face her own self completely. “Und Beifallsrufe zu Ihnen, alter Knabe!” she told the woman standing opposite her, raising her bottle of beer in a most mocking manner. “Aber wir versauten. Oh, wir versauten viel, tat nicht uns. So schlucken Sie die Pille herunter und nehmen Sie es wie ein Mann …” she mocked, and a bitter smile rose in the corner of her lips at the ironic words. But before she moved away, she turned her head over her shoulder for a final glance, “… Arsch,” she sneered hatefully, and furiously grasped the fabric from the mattress.

The sun had set on its familiar journey behind the hills of sand, painting the firmament along its way magnificent shades of golden magenta and orange at the time the woman had locked the door behind her. The dusk’s glow had settled around the area and embraced it with a soft orange and roseate tint, and she checked on the hand watch she used during her military capacity. It showed the time to be exactly twenty minutes to eight, precisely as he had ordered, but for this reason exactly did she halt and lean against the door, her eyes gazing at the object, calmly, contemplatively – and awaiting. It was not until it made that eventual move she was expecting that she sat upright and walked out of the small, narrow corridor, turning around the corner to step down the few stairs of the olden building and reach the car parked a few metres in the near distance. Tendrils of grey smoke danced in circles around the shrewd eyes of celadon green when they dissolved into the evening’s atmosphere from coral red lips that slowly blew the fume away as she came down the stairs in her proud posture, her stance unyielding and unaffected, the gait imposing and indifferent as it had once been, her motions light but at the same time domineering, fluid but firm and relentless, her blonde mass of hair falling like a golden waterfall in loose curls down the bare shoulders of her opaque skin, as though she a reflection of May-time delight was but without the seasonal blossoming sweetness, for no traces of such a characteristic could be seen across her solemn and stately expression, her lips drawn in a perfect line that only presented the dignified aura of her own self-respect, completely disregarding the lesser human being that was the selfish, abusive Hauptmann. As a matter of course, the expensive green dress was still lying on the room’s floor in a most humiliating treatment, the ivory fabric of the Libyan knee-length garment now adorning the crescents of her refined outline with almost sacred devotion as it meandered around her arms in the form of thin strips of cloth that came down to contour an open low neckline which, upon descending, was fastened by a cavalcade of pearl knobs which ended in a thin line of fabric circling around her waist, her arms exposed to reveal their strength and agility. She stepped onto the ground, the warm evening air cooling her skin as she reached the man leaning against the car.

“Oh, schauen Sie, an dem es acht bis einundvierzig ist. Ich glaube, dass ich in großen Scheißschwierigkeiten jetzt bin, stimmt dass?” she breathed, looking at her watch and scoffed, before she quickly reached out her arm to pull the peaked cap from his head, and wore it herself. A mocking smile crossed her lips as she gazed back at him. “Präsentabel genug für Sie?” she asked him, but she did not wait for him to respond, rather with a last drag she dropped the cigarette on the ground and extinguished it with her foot, blowing the last remaining fume from her throat into the air between them. “Gut … gehen wir Party!” she cheered with a large smile, and then turned around to walk the other way, opening the door to step inside the car. She threw the watch somewhere, not quite interested to know where, and instead focused more on the driver at the immediate recognition. “Kronberg Kronberg … treffen wir uns wieder,” she told him, her hands grasping the rear of his seat as she gazed at him sideways.




Translation

Oh, too bad green isn’t my colour. Saddens me.

Are you trying to get on my nerves, Müller?

Oh yes, look at me. Are you proud of me? Your dear Friede has come so far, and look where she is now. Oh, you must be so proud, aren’t you? Precious little Friede saying yes to all of a useless baron’s antics! Look how far I’ve been! Something truly respectable.

And cheers to you, old chap! But we fucked up. Oh, we fucked up a lot, didn’t we. So swallow down the pill and take it like a man … Ass.

Oh, look at that, it is eight to forty-one. I guess I’m in a big fucking trouble now, aren’t I?

Presentable enough for you?

Well … let’s go party!

Kronberg, Kronberg … we meet again.

[Rolf Jäger]

A shiny, black shoe stomped heavily on the dusty ground, sending tiny grains of sand flying around as the Hauptmann stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut after him and his eyes immediately drawing up towards one of the windows of the nearby building. The dusk was settling over Tripoli fast and the streets were already bathed in shadows, while the upper parts of the buildings still glowed in the various colours of the setting sun, as if they were the dwellings of divine beings high in the skies and in the darkness below skulked only twisted, hellish creatures. Kronberg turned around in the driver's seat, resting his arm over the seat and opening his mouth to ask the Hauptmann whether he should have stepped out of the vehicle, also, but the officer slammed the door shut, keeping his back turned towards the car while his gaze remained intently fixed upon the building. Kronberg merely sighed, turning around and running his hands over the steering wheel. The Hauptmann would have enjoyed possessing a more glamorous ride for the evening, but the dusty, dented Kubelwagen had been the only vehicle available and Kronberg had merely pulled up the canvas roof to make it seem more presentable. It had helped little and the sand-coloured Kubelwagen appeared as unclean and worn as always, standing on the street like a stubborn, yet faithful little donkey. Rolf knew that being in Africa and in the middle of the war, he was lucky enough to have at least some mode of transport to use as he pleased, but his meticulously tidy appearance seemed ill-fitting for the vehicle. He had enjoyed the luxury of taking a bath and had been forced to spend a good while just trying to wash away the mixture of sand and sweat that eventually formed in everyone's hair after a few weeks in Africa. He had shaved in the morning, a Flieger had polished his black dress shoes for him and finally Rolf had donned the dark-blue Luftwaffe uniform instead of the flashier mess dress -one. That particular uniform had suffered from quite an unfortunate fate in the last gathering Rolf had attended, and the jacket was still missing all of its buttons. Rolf had simply not bothered having someone fix it, as it would have seen little use in Africa, anyway.

The man brushed a hand down the front of the grey-blue uniform, tilting up his chin and further adjusting the collars of the white dress shirt he was wearing beneath, the length of the black tie disappearing underneath the lapels of the officer's tunic. The pilot's badge was attached to the front of the uniform, the proud German eagle depicted upon the metal spreading its wings and extending its talons around the form of a swastika. He had opted to wear a pair of straight trousers and a set of black dress shoes that gleamed with a meticulous shine. A standard issue brown leather belt was worn over the tunic, but since it would have been unseemly to carry a weapon into a party even during a time of war, the man had left his Luger at the barracks, feeling quite strange not carrying a weapon with him. It wasn't as if he had really needed it much so far, but he had grown used to the comforting weight of the pistol in its holster and his hand kept automatically moving to his side to search for the weapon. This time Rolf resisted the urge and poked the rim of his peaked cap up instead, soon focusing on checking the time from his rather worn wristwatch. The woman had a few more minutes yet, but Rolf felt anxious and his skin tingled uncomfortably, as if a small army of ants was marching up and down his back. The man growled under his breath, silently scolding himself for allowing his mind to succumb to such a pitfall of needless doubts, and he sneered irritably, nimbly finding the silver cigarette case from the pocket of his tunic and proceeding to light up a tobacco roll, the ember soon gleaming orange in the shadows of the street. The man had not even drawn the first drag from his cigarette when from the corner of his eye he spotted something glinting in the soft light of its ember and he pulled his hand away from his face, frowning. The golden engagement ring glimmered orange in his finger and a heavy weight suddenly settled upon Rolf's chest the moment he saw it. He always wore it, never thinking about either the ring or Elsa much, and at first he had only worn it so that people would see he was upholding the customs of the German society just like all other men of his age were. Marriage and children were expected, so wearing an engagement ring had seemed convenient, even if the actual idea of getting married - especially to someone like Elsa - felt nothing short of nightmarish to him. He knew now why he had noticed it now, but the man glanced around quickly, grasping the offending ring and pulling it from his finger, nimbly slipping it inside the front pocket of his tunic. He stood in place in silence for a moment and held his breath, as if he was expecting a bolt of lightning to strike him dead where he was, but after nothing ill seemed to unfold, he breathed out evenly, gradually feeling lighter and more serene, almost liberated.

He was certain that the woman had realized the situation by now and she had accepted the paper with the address earlier, but she could have still changed her mind, choosing a path of foolishness instead of that of rationality. Rolf knew that Riedel was far too stubborn and proud for her own good, but he would have never figured that she would endanger herself like this, throwing away everything she had accomplished with, what could have only been, an immense amount of work and planning. Even without wanting to do so, Rolf checked the time once more, realizing that not even one entire minute had passed since he had last glanced at the slowly scrawling white hands of the Hanhart chronograph watch. The man brought the cigarette upon his lips in an angry motion, drawing in the smoke and allowing it to linger within before he exhaled it out slowly, glancing at the vehicle behind him before leaning against the side of the Kubelwagen carefully, as not to tarnish his uniform with any specks of dust.

Why was he already so convinced that Riedel would not show up, when she still had whole two minutes to step out of that door? The only thing she could do was to comply and, as much as he was aware that the woman would have rather shot herself in the foot than taken orders from him, too much was at stake for her to fight back now. Rolf still felt uncharacteristically edgy and nervous, and even these attempts of convincing his mind that Riedel would walk outside in that enticing little green dress of hers seemed wasted, and he settled into smoking his cigarette more intently, his eyebrows now drawn into a constant, paranoid frown. The minutes seemed to draw on, with no signs of movement manifesting at the door or at the window, and Rolf had to force himself to remain standing still instead of barging inside the building and running the small set of stairs up to her room to see if she was there or not. A lingering thought of the woman procuring a transport out of Africa entered his mind, but he drove it away with a small shake of his head, an image of her standing defiantly over him quickly replacing that image, filling him with a momentary mixture of scorn and admiration. No... Riedel would never succumb to such cheap antics and she would either finally listen to the voice of reason or choose a path that would see all of her carefully laid plans falling apart on nothing more but few words from him.

Rolf felt something inside him burning as he stared at the door, finally allowing himself to glance at his wristwatch once more, just to see that she was, indeed, running late. A low growl formed within his throat and he was already mentally preparing himself to storm inside the room he had reserved for the woman, when the door suddenly clicked open as if on queue to his thoughts and the woman stepped out, leaving Rolf staring at the sight in complete, stunned silence. The first thing he noticed had naturally to do with the fact that she was not wearing the gown Rolf had bought for her and instead, had chosen to wear an ivory dress that reached down to her knees, the open neckline revealing the enticingly pale skin beneath, but any lingering thoughts of irritation quickly vanished as his eyes travelled over the generously cut lines of the dress that hugged her figure. The man could only stand frozen next to the vehicle, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers and his mouth hanging slightly open as he watched her step towards the car like a member of royalty, a soft-stepping alabaster lioness of Libyan deserts and Rolf felt light-headed just watching her, his mind in too much of a buzz to grasp the idea of the hard-boiled Leutnant changing into something so completely different. The golden mane of her hair fell down her shoulders in lazy cascades and she clearly saw the Hauptmann, yet seemed to stare straight through him, as if he was simply too insignificant to even consider. For a moment, Rolf even felt so, paralyzed and completely unable to act as he was, his gaze completely captured by the woman who walked slowly towards him in proud, relaxed steps. Inside the man a fire suddenly burst into flames, scorching his chest and threatening to drive him wild with madness and lust, wanting to see him turning into a crazed canine that would howl and bark, chasing its own tail out of a sudden stroke of simple insanity.

The man managed to stand up straighter, his mouth opening more in an effort to find words to address her with, but his mind was not able to form any coherent sentences and it was as if someone had erased his capability of rational thought and all he could hear was a steady, low hum. The man did not only feel quite unintelligent, but he also looked like it, his face having lost any traces of irritation or pride, the sentiments currently replaced by pure astonishment while he could only continue staring at her, his mind slowly marking the curve of her painted lips and the distinct glint of the green irises contrasting against her luminous skin. Rolf heard her speak, but it was merely a distant mumble to him and as through through a dream, he saw her picking up the peaked cap from his head and wearing it instead. The man blinked, his ears straining to pick up her next words when she asked whether she looked presentable enough for him. A hoarse croak was all the Hauptmann could manage and the tips of his fingers felt oddly numb, while inside him the fire still burned bright and relentless, the flames scorching his insides almost painfully now. He could not fathom what exactly had rendered him so useless for a moment, for certainly he had seen his share of elegantly dressed enticing women in the past, but it wasn't just any woman he was watching this time; it was Riedel. She was acting as if she did not care about her appearance and as if her pale bloom was something only others could see reflected over her features, but which she was unable to recognize even when she glanced into a mirror. The aristocratic beauties carried themselves in a flighty manner, fluttering about in parties like brainless butterflies, but Riedel's movements had an austere practicality to them - hers was the gait of a trained hunter and not that of a skittish little foal and it was this very trait that had now caught Rolf's attention with a grasp of iron.

Still unable to find any words to speak, the man forced himself to step away from the vehicle and watch as the woman dropped her cigarette, the glow of the ember cutting through the air like a fast, falling star before it was extinguished under the Riedel's shoe. Rolf corrected his posture, forcing his mind into some sense of co-operation, but any such hopes were quickly erased by a renewed sense of astonishment when the woman flashed him a wide, mirthful smile, cheerfully announcing that she was ready for a party. Rolf's hand shot towards the door of the Kubelwagen, but was stopped in mid-movement when Riedel had already opened the door herself and sat herself on the seat of the car.

Behind the wheel Kronberg straightened up the moment he heard the door opening, making sure that his cap was sitting up straight and the man flinched out of pure surprise when he felt someone grasping his seat. The man turned around in his seat slightly, blinking the moment he saw the blonde woman staring back at him and calling him by his name and wearing the Hauptmann's hat, no less. The Hauptfeldwebel appeared quite stunned at first, before he finally found his voice and flashed a fleeting, nervous smile at the woman. "Hauptmann... Frau... Fräulein Riedel. Schön, dich zu sehen. Um. Wieder," it was the best Kronberg could manage with his shaky voice and his ears adopted a red hue; he had only seen the woman once before and the meeting had been brief, with no words exchanged between them. She looked so very different now, it was like addressing a different person entirely and the corners of the man's mouth drew to the sides into a sheepish grimace of apology. Rolf sat upon the seat next to Riedel, pulling the door shut violently enough to make Kronberg jolt in his seat and he returned his gaze in front of him, as if fearing that he had crossed some line by addressing the woman. Rolf, feeling somewhat agitated over having been rendered so useless for those small moments, raised an eyebrow at the Hauptfeldwebel. "Riedel, Kronberg. Kronberg, Riedel. Jetzt haben Sie sich offiziell getroffen. Sie können fahren," Rolf raised a hand and pointed it towards the street in front of the vehicle and Kronberg cleared his throat, turning the key around in the ignition and bringing the Kubelwagen rumbling into life, the vehicle soon scrawling from the smaller street to a larger one.

The moment Rolf turned his attention back at the woman, he found his gaze captured by the mere sight of her once more and he narrowed his eyes slightly, attempting to mask his current sentiments with some sense of irritation. She had been late and she had not worn the dress he had specifically acquired for him, but her skin appeared so pale in the middle of the shadows and now that she was sitting, Rolf could clearly see the generous cleavage and the small, delicate row of pearl knobs that held the dress fastened, that practically beckoned for him to-

Rolf blinked, bringing his gaze back at the woman's viridian eyes, and offering her a small, stern scowl. "Sie sind spät. Und was war mit dem in Ihrem Zimmer verlassenen Kleid falsch? Das war teuer, und es hätte Ihnen gerade fein angepasst. Nicht, als ob ich mich beklage-" the man's words came to a sudden halt when he realized he had almost graced the woman with a compliment and the left corner of his mouth drew to the side with irritation. Riedel had been far too jubilant for someone who was involved in something that should have been driving her to the troves of anger and disgust. Maybe she was merely trying to irritate him? Or maybe... A sudden realization visited the man's mind and the Hauptmann's eyes lit up with brief recognition. "Haben Sie getrunken, Riedel..?" the man asked slowly, his hoarse voice carrying traces of both astonishment and irritation while Rolf reclined his back against the seat, challenging the woman to voice out the truth... if she dared.


Translations:

"Hauptmann... Frau... Fräulein Riedel. Schön, dich zu sehen. Um. Wieder."
"Hauptmann... Frau... Fräulein Riedel. Good to see you. Um. Again."

"Riedel, Kronberg. Kronberg, Riedel. Jetzt haben Sie sich offiziell getroffen. Sie können fahren."
"Riedel, Kronberg. Kronberg, Riedel. Now you have officially met. You can drive."

"Sie sind spät. Und was war mit dem in Ihrem Zimmer verlassenen Kleid falsch..?"
"You are late. And what was wrong with the dress left in your room? It was expensive and it would have suited you just fine. Not that I complain-"

"Haben Sie getrunken, Riedel..?"
"Have you been drinking, Riedel..?"

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman hardly gave the Hauptmann any of her thought or attention, her eyes fixed at her surroundings as she gazed outdoors and the buildings that went past them along the Kubelwagen’s way, only ever turning her head around to face him once he addressed the issue regarding her lateness and, even more amusingly so, the dress she had been required to wear for the evening. A mocking smile crossed her lips a moment before she had turned to look at him, and upon their eyes meeting he could clearly see the unconcealed entertainment in the glint of her eyes. The last she remembered of the dress was that it lay upon the floor outside the bathroom door, and upon which she had tread on to dry her wet feet once she had finished her bath. “Oh, ein Kleid ist, was es war?” she asked him in false inquiry, arching one eyebrow. “Ich wickelte das Hundefutter damit, ich dachte deshalb, dass das dort war. Aber ich sollte gewusst haben, dass Sie nicht so viel eine nachdenkliche Person sind,” she added matter-of-factly, and faintly shook her head, her eyes falling outdoors once again at the city streets, hands touching the back of the driver’s seat as she allowed her gaze to linger upon the passing outlines, though she could not help but smile to herself. “Das war gerade ein Bier, seien Sie nicht solch eine melodramatische kleine Hausfrau, Jäger,” she easily jibed at him with an amused scoff, refusing to even look at him in the eyes as she spoke, for so insignificant was he that she could not bother to offer him that minimal form of recognition. He had been the one to demand she should present herself in the social reception by his side, now it was entirely his own fault if he was forced to tolerate her.

Her attention was suddenly revived and she brought her body forwards, nearer to the driver’s seat while her hands reached to rest at the sides once more, now positioning her head upon the corner to his right and bringing her chin closer to the Hauptfeldwebel’s shoulder. “So wie ist Ihr Name, Kronberg?” she asked him with curious interest surfacing through the faintly hoarse quality of her tone, looking at him sideways with an expectant glint in the eyes, completely disregarding the Hauptmann’s existence, for little did she care. “Ich hoffe, dass es nicht ein Name eines Hunds als mit Ihrem befehlshabenden Offizier ist,” she told him, and a jeering smile spread throughout her lips for a moment or two while she awaited for him to answer her question; he needed a few seconds to properly respond, hardly ever paying attention to the heat of the active volcano that stood close to her and which warmed up her side; nevertheless, she did not appear concerned in the slightest over the raging fire that was certainly to flame up any given moment, and rather focused her gaze upon the Hauptfeldwebel, until the man had pronounced his name. “Walter,” she repeated the name slowly, as though tasting it in her lips. “Es ist anständig. Nun ja … Walter,” she said softly, and without a warning spread her strong arms around both sides of his seat and touched him firmly upon his shoulders. “Sie und ich sind dabei uns gut zu unterhalten,” she breathed in an undertone, and her hands travelled upwards to the blonde man’s collar, when she was suddenly pulled backwards with great force, her back colliding against the seat and her forehead wrinkled into a frown that marked her surprise as she turned sideways to look at him, but then it vanished beneath the cold smile that appeared in the corner of her lips. “Aber dann brauchen junge Hunde immer Aufmerksamkeit,” she calmly reacted in a disaffected tone, and moved in a way as to initially turn her back on him, before she shifted her body to lay down across the backseat, resting her head onto his lap complacently as she curved her neck upwards to gaze at him, “bevor sie direkt von ihren Eigentümern unterrichtet werden …” she said, green eyes smiling at the grey abyss, crossing one leg on top of the other and resting her hands on her stomach; “… der ist nicht richtig, Zucker?” she breathed with a smile, and blew him a kiss.

And so the journey through the city of Libya continued, the car driving through the olden streets with the dusk having painted the firmament overhead a darker, velvety shade of blue when the sun had reclined into its chamber behind the sand hills, and by the time the engine had stopped in front of a large building a veil of blackness had surrounded the region. Dirk’s head was quietly resting against the man’s lap at the side facing the Hauptfeldwebel but looking at nowhere in particular, as she calmly lay in her position, motionless with only the rhythmic movement of her chest as she breathed violating this chosen stillness, until she shifted it once the Hauptfeldwebel brought the engine to a halt. Slowly rising from her position, the woman glanced outdoors from the window and her fingers in the next moment reached to open the door, exiting the car in a fluid motion and stepping onto the hard ground, the soft breeze caressing her face and dancing through the locks of her dark golden hair at the same time as she turned over her shoulder to look at the Hauptmann approaching her from the other side of the car. Her countenance had gravely altered at the present moment to that of a most solemn, thoughtful expression, clearly not keen in the least to attend this reception. She glanced at the building for a few moments before she turned around and pulled the peaked cap from her head, minding to place it carefully and properly upon his. She let her arms hang down by her sides and gazed at him silently, her lips drawn in that same, familiar straight line of calm austerity – before the man swiftly took a firm hold of her hand and began to walk with a determined stride towards the large front door, forcing the woman to maintain a good pace to be able to keep up with him. They passed through a deserted hallway, at the end of which stood another door where a soldier stood. She did not hear exactly what was being said – the soldier most likely checking through the invitation card and the Hauptmann addressing him – for she turned over her shoulder to glance at Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg who had just now appeared behind her.

The next moment the soldier moved away and opened the door for them, letting them pass, once more feeling herself moving along his side on the account of his solid grasp, entering a larger room which provided for the evening’s salon, immediately exposed as they were to the noise and chatter, tinkling glasses and the sight of a large number of soldiers standing around the hall in groups according to which units they belonged and ranks they held, although several officers were discoursing with other commissioned officers who were speaking – Dirk’s head slowly turn to look at the Hauptmann demandingly, and though she spoke nothing he could understand the meaning of that expression, the jeering glint that briefly flashed through her green eyes. The Italians? Had he really brought her to a social reception attended by the officers of the Italian army? She looked around her with a more attentive, careful gazing, and though she attempted to control her reaction – and, indeed, such discipline was to receive its own merit considering the woman’s situation – the faintest trace of a smile appeared in the corner of her lips, ever diminished to the state of being a mere smile even if, at another circumstance, the woman would have heartily laughed in a rather cold manner at such absurdity. Nevertheless, at the present moment she maintained her determined silence, feeling the warmth of his fingers intertwining through her own in an unyielding grasp spread throughout every corner of her outline, her chin held proudly high and her posture as tall and imposing by his side as it had always been. It was only until she saw two officers of the Italian army looking over at their direction with a nod and then walking towards them that she could no longer help it. “Oh, Herr Bumsengesicht und Herr Pisse-Kopf kommen für Sie, Jäger,” she said in an undertone, her eyes never leaving the outline of the soldiers reaching their spot in a few, short steps. The two men saluted the Hauptmann in proper military fashion, or at least in the manner they considered as proper (Dirk outdid herself in swallowing down the laughter that suddenly surfaced in her throat), when one of them addressed the pilot.

“Ah, Capitano! Mi permetta di introdurre il mio buon compagno e amico, Capitano Giuseppe Abruzzi,” he said, and gestured at the other man, who nodded his head in greeting. “Meraviglioso, semplicemente meraviglioso di incontrarmi con voi, mi permetta di congratularmi con lei per la sua ultima vittoria, abbastanza presto ho alcun dubbio che la Croce di Ferro decorerà la vostra divisa, come lei ha giustamente meritano,” he expressed his best wishes, and then his eyes travelled sideways. “E chi è questa bella signora?” he asked, interested but no less with a most genuine surprise in his facial features; for, quite rightly so, none of them were used to the presence of a female German in such a forsaken continent so far from home.

Dirk did not respond, but turned at the Hauptmann with an arched eyebrow, instead.

“Spricht Bumsengesicht mit mir?”



Translation

Oh, a dress is what it was? I wrapped the dog food with it, I thought that’s why it was there. But I should have known you aren’t as much a thoughtful person.

It was just one beer, don’t be such a melodramatic little housewife, Jäger.

So what is your name, Kronberg? I hope it’s not a dog’s name as with your commanding officer.

Walter. That’s respectable. Well … Walter. You and I are going to have a good time.

But then puppies always need attention before they are taught right by their owners … isn’t that right, sugar?

Oh, Mr. Fuckface and Mr. Pisshead are coming for you, Jäger.

Ah, Capitano! Allow me to introduce my good comrade and friend, Giuseppe Abruzzi. Wonderful, simply wonderful to meet you, allow me to congratulate you on your latest victory, soon enough I have no doubt the Iron Cross will decorate your uniform. And who is this lovely lady?

Is Fuckface talking to me?

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf gritted his teeth together and the lines of his jaw hardened when he gazed Riedel in the eyes and saw nothing but amusement and derision within the green irises. She cared not about rousing his anger, not feeling the slightest bit worried that her defiance might see him kicking the insolent woman out of the vehicle and driving to the Wehrmacht HQ to instantly betray her true nature. Instead of reeling in fear or horror, the woman merely smiled, mockingly asking if the piece of cloth had indeed, been a dress, for she had found a much better use for it. They were clearly words that existed for the sole purpose of irritating him and Rolf attempted to fight his steadily growing anger in an effort of not providing her with that little victory, but a silent sneer was already drawing upon his lips as the torrent of wrath within him grew. Having her call him a housewife only further stoked the flames burning inside his chest and the look in the man's grey eyes grew cold and dangerous, the sharp words already lingering on his tongue, but by the time he would have lashed her with them, she had already forgotten his presence, leaning forward to address Kronberg instead.

Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg's eyes were occupied by the road, but he glanced behind him the moment he felt the seat shifting, the presence of the woman behind him drawing suddenly nearer. The slightly stocky man appeared momentarily alarmed when Riedel moved so close to him and he returned his eyes promptly back at the road, nervous both over her closeness and the Hauptmann's possible reaction. Kronberg had always been skilled at making himself appear invisible when needed, a talent he had found quite useful when dealing with the irritable Hauptmann Jäger. He had no chance of disappearing into the shadows now, driving the car as he was and he only smiled sheepishly, attempting to appear occupied with the road while also paying the appropriate amount of attention towards the woman's words. Kronberg felt his face burning with slight embarrassment and nervousness when the woman inquired his name, hoping that Kronberg had not been named after a dog like the Hauptmann. Kronberg cleared his throat and blinked, knowing full well that his commanding officer was waiting for his next words, no doubt seething with anger as he was, yet Kronberg could not be as rude as not to answer the woman. "Nein," the man answered promptly, grimacing silently when he realized he had just denoted that Rolf, indeed, was a fitting name for a canine. Kronberg continued quickly, his voice suddenly almost weak when a sudden jolt of terror ran through him. "...Walter," he attempted to reply as meekly as possible, feeling the Hauptmann's hateful eyes burning holes into the back of his head. He felt all the more worried when Riedel told him that she liked his name, placing her hands on his shoulders, Kronberg now staring at the road intently, his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. The woman's softly breathed words were accompanied by a slow movement of her hands, her fingers moving towards Kronberg's collars and the Hauptfeldwebel was shifting towards a blind state of panic, knowing that Riedel was accompanying the Hauptmann and that Jäger was watching the events unfold, no matter rapidly moving towards a state of uncontrollable anger. But what could he do? Should he stop the car? Draw away from the woman? Talk to the Hauptmann? Act as if he simply did not exist?

The problem was solved for the Hauptfeldwebel before he had time to take any of these actions and the woman's hands were suddenly drawn away, followed by a low growl from the Hauptmann as he grasped Riedel by the arm and pulled her back roughly enough to have the woman's back collide forcefully with the seat. Rolf had watched her ignore him, deciding to contribute her undivided attention to his wingman instead and Rolf felt a curious, bitter poison crawling along his veins at the sight. He knew that Kronberg could hardly be blamed for this and that Riedel was only attempting to further tempt his anger with her antics, but for a moment the Hauptmann felt like dragging Kronberg out of the car and kicking him down into the dust until there was nothing left for Riedel to give attention to. The desire burned within him for a small moment, but soon his more rational side drove away the violent images and he merely stared at the woman instead, his inner sentiments glowing bright and savage in his silver irises. In reality, he would have never seen himself attacking Kronberg in such a ruthless manner; they had been through several battles together and Rolf had found the Hauptfeldwebel to be a rather agreeable person to keep around. He knew better than to talk back at him and he listened to him silently, attentively, posing questions and comments when appropriate, finishing his tasks efficiently and most important of all, demonstrating such skills at flying, Rolf would have never chosen another wingman over him.

No, he would have never attacked Kronberg, not even through his blindest fits of rage and certainly not over someone such as Riedel. Or would he have...? Rolf narrowed his eyes as he watched her, a low, jeering scoff escaping from between his lips. The woman was smiling again, commenting something about puppies which the Hauptmann failed to understand, before promptly turning her back at him and rousing up a more violent sneer from the man again. For a small moment he was under the impression that she was further demonstrating her complete lack of interest towards him, when she suddenly lay back and allowed her head to rest in his lap. The Hauptmann's hands flinched away on an instinct, a strange mixture of disbelief and anger contorting his sneering lips and drawing his eyebrows into a distinct frown. Riedel's actions seemed completely erratic and Rolf was forced to push aside the anger just in order to analyze the steps she was taking, his mind desperately trying to entangle the mess she was creating and attempting to trace the narrow lines of the trap deftly hidden beneath the undergrowth.

Green irises stared back at him as the woman allowed her neck to curve so she could better observe him, continuing the sentence she had left unfinished and saying how the aforementioned attention-starved puppies needed to be taught some manners by their owners. Rolf gazed back at her, his eyebrows wrinkling with confusion over both the mysterious content of her words and by her curious actions and he was not sure if he should have asked her about them or simply slapped her. Calling him "sugar", she smiled and blew him a kiss, as if she had completely failed to read the raw anger that had dominated the man's expression just moments ago and it was this very heedlessness that rendered the man unable to act out of wrath, his head snapping to the side and his lips pressing together into a tight line as he stared out of the window instead. Rolf's heart was pounding fast against his ribcage, his chest still rising up and down more rapidly with the agitation. He could feel the confusing pressure of the woman's head pressing against his thigh and Rolf raised an arm to rest over the frame of the seat, while he pressed his other elbow against the window frame, the man covering his mouth with a hand while he stared outside sternly, now feeling more irritated at himself than anything. He should have not allowed her to play such games, to have her insult him so openly in front of Kronberg and then grant her the freedom to pretend as if she was nothing but a mere purring kitten, as mocking as the act was. He knew well enough that she was no cuddly little cat, but a treacherous feline of bloodied fangs and claws, yet he still found himself unable to make another move and instead sat perfectly still, allowing Riedel to rest her head in his lap.

If the goal of her game was to drive the Hauptmann to the edge of insanity, she seemed to be making good progress in it and the skin at the corner of Rolf's eyes twitched out of anger. Gathering the willpower to push her away, the man turned his head around to glance at the woman, just to have his eyes lock to the sight of her pale skin and the gentle curve of her neck as she stared somewhere outside in silent contemplation. It appeared as if she had sent her mind drifting to another landscape and Rolf's fingertips curved at the desire to slap her and to have her wake up to the harsh reality, to teach her that he would tolerate her mocking mannerisms no more, yet instead he merely stared at her in secret, his mouth opening in concentration as he drank in the sight. Riedel's skin seemed to glow pale in the midst of the descending darkness and the distinctly drawn lines of her jaw were further contrasted against the dark texture of the seat, strong and proud, decisive. Rolf's eyes followed the line from the tip of her jaw to her throat, his gaze drawing a delayed path along the woman's neck, slowing for a moment at the clavicles before eagerly continuing downwards. He surveyed the white desert of her skin that periodically rose along with the rhythm of her calm breathing, the tips of his fingers now curling from another desire entirely. The shadows inside the car created tempting shades over her form, accentuating the cleavage the dress was allowing him to see from his vantage point and the alabaster canvas clung to her features like a second skin. By now Rolf was far too mesmerized to recall any of his previous thoughts, his head tilted to the side while he observed her from the corner of his eyes in an attempt to hide his staring. The man breathed out slowly, his fingertips digging into the texture of the seat as he imagined running his fingers along that skin once more and feeling the steady pulse of life upon her neck.

The car bumped upwards as the left front tire hit a pothole and Rolf's eyes darted away from the woman, quickly returning towards the window and staring at the buildings that flashed by the window. He frowned in secret, hating the fact that he had allowed himself to get so confused by Riedel once more and Rolf's fingers curled violently, the man pushing his lips against the fist that he had formed while only barely managing to resist the urge to bite at his own fingers. He had to further force his mind away from the woman and he tried ignoring her presence, making note of each one of the buildings that slid by them, even when they appeared nothing but large, looming giants lined into neat rows on both sides of their path. He could still feel the distinct weight of her head resting against his lap and Rolf closed his eyes, imagining himself already leaving the party, stepping outside into the cool nightly air and feeling comfortably drunk and mirthful. He managed to hold on to that thought and it helped him get through the rest of the journey, his eyelids drawing open slowly the moment he felt the vehicle coming to a stop. Riedel was already scrawling up and she had opened the door before either the Hauptmann or the Hauptfeldwebel had any time to act like proper gentlemen and hurry to open the door for her. With a sigh, Rolf merely shook his head to further clear his mind for the upcoming task and pushed the door open, feeling better the moment he breathed in the cooling air of the evening, a gentle breeze ruffling his sandy hair. Kronberg was standing by the car, appearing quite lost over having his appointed tasks so ruined by Riedel and Jäger, who had both opened the doors of the car on their own. He could not understand how the woman could have so easily survived insulting Jäger, the man not even bothering to counter her words, and the Hauptfeldwebel stared over the car at the blonde woman, blinking in confusion. What kind of power could she hold over the gruff officer that would grant her such freedom to talk back at Jäger - a man who would have never taken even one cross word from anyone without bursting into rage. Was it love? Respect? Glancing at the Hauptmann, Kronberg could see no traces of either anger or delight on his face and the Hauptfeldwebel figured that if he would not find out the reason behind the man's neutrality, it was something he was simply not meant to understand to begin with. The man glanced at his shoes meekly, trailing a safe distance after the Hauptmann the moment he started tracing a path around the Kubelwagen.

Stopping next to the woman, Rolf glanced at her with no small amount of suspicion, as if he was just waiting to see her acting out in some completely infuriating manner, but instead the woman picked up the peaked cap and placed it back on his head, even making sure that it was properly settled upon its original wearer. Rolf frowned, ever paranoid, but when he saw the woman standing quiet and expectant in her spot, the officer merely narrowed his eyes, grasping the woman by her hand and promptly leading her towards the nearby building. The moment they had reached the empty corridor inside, Rolf's free hand snaked towards the inside pocket of his tunic, pulling out an invitation card and presenting it to the Italian soldier next to the door. Rolf's voice was low and hoarse when he spoke Italian, telling the soldier that the invitation was for him and the woman in his company and that the Hauptfeldwebel had a card of his own. The Italian nodded, taking the card and requesting for the officer's peaked cap, which he then placed on a wooden shelf along with the invitation card, before nimbly moving to open the large door for them. The moment Rolf stepped inside the salon, his ears were attacked by the clamor of the party, glasses clinking together and a group of men erupting into a roaring laughter nearby, the chatter among the soldiers mostly dominated by loudly spoken exclamations in Italian. Rolf could feel someone's eyes on him and he turned his head around to glance at Riedel, now staring at him with a look coated with derision and disbelief. The small smile appearing over her features was enough to communicate to him that the woman found the idea of being surrounded Italians ridiculous and Rolf merely gave her back a half-shrug and a brief raise of his eyebrow.

He could not blame her, for Rolf did not enjoy the company of their Fascist allies any more enjoyable and their flamboyant, overly expressive nature was something the man found himself frowning at. Rolf did not like the Italians, their manners or their language and he had been forced into attending the gathering by his superior officer, the man having cornered him for his previous slights and leaving him with little choice. The Geschwaderkommodore had not forgotten the two recent occasions that had seen the Hauptmann getting injured severely enough to prevent him from properly performing his tasks as a Gruppenkommandeur and the man had been practically fuming when he had addressed Rolf. Seeing as the incidents had happened outside Jäger's duties, his superior had decided to punish him with this charming little duty, mirthfully pointing out how his ability to speak Italian and his experience in attending parties as an aristocrat had made him the ideal candidate for the task. Deciding not to provide the Geschwaderkommodore with any reason for complaints this time, the man automatically stood up straighter, his eyes narrowing and his chin tilting up slightly as he sized up the challenge. He knew how to socialize and hell be damned, he would get through the evening and smile at the annoying Italianos until his face would hurt. Besides, that was why he had Riedel with him and she would provide for a nice distraction in the middle of all these annoying, overly flashy-

Riedel's voice cut through his thoughts and Rolf frowned when he processed the content of her words, wondering if he had truly heard her say that both Mr. Fuckface and Pisshead were on their way towards them. Rolf glanced back at the tall woman, his hand still commandingly grasping hers and the only word that managed to escape from his lips was a gruff "what", before he heard the loud, distinctly spoken Italian words invading his hearing from a nearby distance. Rolf followed Riedel's gaze, immediately forcing a welcoming smile to draw over his lips the moment he saw the two Italian officers approaching them. Rolf allowed his hand to slip away from Riedel's when the Italians saluted him and the Hauptmann felt strangely satisfied as he snapped into a much more sharper and precise salute. He admitted he had no extensive experience or knowledge of the Italian way of waging war, but they seemed far too relaxed and careless to him... and much rest of the German army currently in Africa. The benevolent smile still remained on his lips and his eyes appeared attentive, but it was a carefully trained act and a certain smoothness seemed to be commanding the Hauptmann's actions now, the man now adjusted to a world he had been so carefully schooled for.

The Italian officer was going through the usual compliments, which Rolf listened to carefully, nodding his head when convenient and waiting for the man to finish with his introductions. He only interrupted the man for a brief moment to spout back meaningless compliments, knowing that the Italians practically lived on them. "E cosa un grande piacere a batterci insieme una tale intrepidi esercito come te, Capitano. Sicuramente con forze come questi la conquista del nord Africa non è altro che una questione di tempo." While talking, he could plainly notice that the man was strained on keeping his attention on him and soon enough the Italian's brown eyes drew to the side and he questioned about Rolf's companion; at first there was a greedy sense of admiration to his gaze, but after a few seconds the Italian appeared almost daunted by Riedel, his eyes widening the moment he saw the strength evident in her arms, the tall woman standing tall and proud next to the Hauptmann. Rolf smiled even wider, the sentiment never reaching his eyes that now glinted with some sense of hostility and the man would have answered, had he not heard Riedel posing a question by his side, first. Her words were completely unexpected and so genuinely direct and mocking, Rolf felt an unexpected laughter bubbling inside his chest and promptly finding its way to his lips. He could not completely stop the reaction and he had to mask his unrestrained chuckle into a sudden fit of cough, the man politely holding a fist in front of his mouth as he did so, further turning around to chucklecough in secret. The man closed his eyes for a second, forcing the laughter back to its source, soon turning around to regard the two Italian men who were now staring at him in silent confusion. Rolf raised a hand, shaking his head apologetically and coughing once more into his fist before explaining himself with a severe frown. "Mi scusi, signori. E' la polvere, sono sicuro che conoscete, e troppo, anzi, non è così fastidio?" he asked, the small smile appearing his lips now that of genuine amusement.

The Italians stared at the Hauptmann and for a small while it appeared as if Rolf's bluff had failed, but then both of the men erupted into a loud laughter and the Captain spread his hands theatrically. "Ma, naturalmente! Non avete avuto qualcosa da bere, non possiamo lasciare questo pass! Soldato!" the man waved a hand towards a soldier carrying a tray of wine glasses and he soon picked up two filled glasses, personally handing them to the new guests, also picking up drinks for himself and his companion. Rolf accepted the glass with a gracious nod, clearing his throat and glancing at Riedel once more to properly introduce her. "Signori, consentitemi di presentarvi l'affascinante..." Rolf blinked, momentarily rendered silent when he realized that they had not agreed on her identity, but then the Hauptmann raised his eyebrows and pointed a hand towards the woman. "...Erika."

The Captain, still feeling obviously taken back by the exceptionally strong frame and the dominating presence the lovely Erika possessed, smiled wider, revealing a set of large, white teeth. "Erika. Un piacere di incontrare voi, un vero Edelweiss a metà di questo deserto torrido," the man complimented Riedel, grasping the woman by her hand and bowing low to place a kiss upon the back of her hand. While the woman turned her head slowly and stared at Rolf, the German pilot merely arched his eyebrows at her, as if to communicate to her that this was simply how the Italians were. "Hauptmann Ignazio Ferrari," Rolf told Riedel in a hoarse voice, while in the meanwhile Abruzzi was competing to be the next one to get introduced to the woman. The Italian Captain let his grasp of the woman's hand slide away rather reluctantly, just so that the other man could take his place and hold her hand in his while staring at the German female fervently. "A sposare una donna che riempiono il mio cuore con mille durate di felicità! Mi permetta di baciare la mano," the man exclaimed with a devout promise, placing a passionate kiss upon Riedel's hand and proceeding to hold it to his heart to further emphasize the gravity of his words. Rolf was not quite enjoying the situation by now and he took hold of the woman's hand instead, pulling it back and narrowing his eyes, glancing at Riedel briefly to explain the Captain's words. "Er... mag Sie," the man commented gruffly, turning his sharpened gaze back at the other officers. "Hauptmann Giuseppe Abruzzi," Rolf introduced the other Italian, his tone now slightly colder and he had to work to divert the situation, the gazes of the two Italian officers now glued to the blonde woman.

"Signori. Propongo bere per l'unità dei nostri eserciti," Rolf announced with a louder voice as he once more released his hold of the woman's hand, raising the wine glass in front of him and finally managing to draw Ferrari's attention to himself. The Italian's eyes lit up, for he loved to toast at every chance he got and he brought his own glass up, a large smile adorning his features once more. "Una splendida idea, Capitano! Cerchiamo toast per il nostro glorioso eserciti e per le belle Erika. Un drink per le molte vittorie davanti a noi e per la bellezza del tedesco donne. Per cento anni!" the man toasted and Rolf followed suite, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Per cento anni," he commented hoarsely, sipping the wine and allowing its calming coolness to linger within his mouth and to gradually travel down his throat.


Translations:

"E cosa un grande piacere a batterci insieme una tale intrepidi esercito come te, Capitano..."
"And what a pleasure it is to fight alongside such a fearless army as yours, Captain. Surely with forces such as these the conquest of North Africa is nothing but a matter of time."

"Mi scusi, signori..."
"Excuse me, gentlemen. It is the dust, I'm sure you are familiar with it, too, quite the annoyance, isn't it?"

"Ma, naturalmente..!"
"But of course! You have not had anything to drink, we cannot let this pass! Soldier!"

"Signori, consentitemi di presentarvi l'affascinante..."
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the charming..."

"Erika. Un piacere di incontrare voi, un vero Edelweiss a metà di questo deserto torrido."
"Erika. Such a pleasure to meet you, a true Edelweiss in the middle of this scorching desert."

"A sposare una donna che riempiono il mio cuore con mille durate di felicità.."
"To marry such a woman would fill my heart with thousand lifetimes of happiness! Allow me to kiss your hand."

"Er... mag Sie."
"He... likes you."

"Signori. Propongo bere per l'unità dei nostri eserciti."
"Gentlemen. I propose we drink for the unity of our armies."

"Una splendida idea, Capitano..."
"A splendid idea, Captain! Let us toast for our glorious armies and for the lovely Erika. A drink for the many victories ahead of us and for the beauty of the German women. For a hundred years!"

"Per cento anni."
"For a hundred years."

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman remained unmoving in her position by the Hauptmann’s side, and turned her face over her shoulder to glance at him as he addressed the Italians, never failing to observe the cold line forming across that false, hypocritical smile he graced them with, and though she could not understand the content of his words she already knew the meaningless flattering remarks that were shared between them, passing one another bouquets which, rather than roses, held thistle and thorns within, and she had to greatly restrain herself to swallow down the scoff of derision and contempt that would have surely risen in her lips, for nothing but antipathy and disrespect could she feel for this world he had grown up in and – as she could clearly observe now – at which he so fluidly blended in, as though he had been born for this precise reason. Disgust moving onto her chest at such a sight, she turned her head away from them and looked around her for a second or two, her eyes examining the area for any waiters that would pass them the drinks. It was only when one of the Italians had addressed her and she had posed that question to the Hauptmann that her gaze returned to them, her head turning over her shoulder once more to glance at the pilot as he, quite unexpectedly, seemed to have erupted into a sudden fit of hack. Wise to his little flimflam, she arched one eyebrow while the Italians were not looking, their curious faces focused upon the Hauptmann’s unfortunate situation, and rolled her eyes for a moment before she, with no less a condescending gesture that suggested she had no idea why she had agreed to accompany such an idiot in the first place, softly patted him on the back.

She never understood what ridiculous excuses the man had made in terms of his behaviour, but in the next moment the Italian fools laughed it off and ordered drinks at their direction – the only good thing to come out of this night, and Dirk gladly took the glass from Mr. Fuckface, unable even to remember his proper name if indeed he had pronounced it, and even if he had, she would have been unable to extract the name out of that Italian jumble, but then, she hardly even cared. Her fingers circled with an almost agonizing desire around the glass as she looked at it, prepared to raise it to the height of her face and take a large gulp from it – when, suddenly, from the corner of her eye she saw Jäger looking at her, blinking. She arched an inquisitive eyebrow, and looked at him curiously until he motioned his hand over her direction, as the woman then realized he was in fact introducing her. He bespoke that wretched name but she did not have enough time to think of glare at him properly, for she felt someone grasping hold of her hand, and she turned to look at the Italian with a silent expression, albeit mildly taken aback, the man fluidly speaking words to her which made no sense, only able to question from the minimal she had understood whether he had run headlong into a tank to think flowers could be found in the desert. Even more surprised was she when the man brought her hand closer and bowed, planting a fervid kiss upon the back of her hand. Slowly, the woman turned her head sideways and arched an eyebrow at the Hauptmann and, despite the message he communicated, that did not stop her from giving him a deathly cold glance before she returned her eyes upon the Italian’s outline. She did not have enough time to live through her quiet surprise when, suddenly, her hand was grasped once more – this time by Mr. Pisshead – and kissed with a more passionate gesture, when her irises widened as, out of the blue, the soldier rested her palm upon his heart. She slightly tilted her head to the side, and made an attempt to say something – but then again she knew not what exactly to say, her forehead wrinkled as she looked at him in all of her perplexity. The moment was, thankfully, brought to an abrupt end as the Hauptmann caught her hand and pulled it away, briefly informing her that she had met the Italian’s likement, and she was rather unsure whether this was one of his better insults or not.

At any rate, so far she had not understood what exactly had passed between the men, only having deciphered that Mr. Fuckface was an idiot who was wasting his time in looking out for flowers in the desert and that he had a rather tasteless car, that Mr. Pisshead found her agreeable enough, and that both were, ridiculously enough, Captains. To call Hauptmann Jäger a ‘Capitano’ was absurdly hilarious as it was, but then the woman had no time to properly jeer him for such a title as in the next moment the man raised his glass and, upon the others also following suit, she caught on and drank from the content of hers. The Italian Capitanos had to ogle at her, however, after they had taken a sip from the wine, when the woman, with her head properly tilted backwards, continued gulping down all the wine, her neck vibrating with the force of the liquid rushing through her throat and warming her up. “Mamma mia,” Capitano Ferrari whispered in awe, while Abruzzi was too lost for words, his eyes wide open in pleasant shock as he stared at her in an almost disturbingly intense manner, both soldiers agape at such unusual feminine capacity. Once she was finished she brought the empty glass now, slightly frowning to notice the two men looking at her in such a way and appearing as though nothing had happened. The moment was broken when a tall, graceful Luftwaffe Hauptmann dressed in his formal blue uniform casually approached them; the woman knew him not but the Italians had already been acquainted to the commissioned officer, a Reinhold Siegner, as the man absorbed their attention with his sudden appearance and saluted them as appropriate in military conduct. “Ah, Hauptmann,” he addressed Jäger, and then turned to the Italians. “Perdonate la mia intrusione, signori, ma devo semplicemente lo rubare lontano dalla vostra azienda per un breve periodo.” And with that, both Captains of the Luftwaffe moved away, Dirk following suit by his side even though the Italians were staring after her as they left.

The group left the Italians and moved to stand several metres in the distance and away of any other group of soldiers that may overhear their conversation. Dirk observed the other Hauptmann carefully, noting his agreeable features and elegant features, who so deeply contrasted Jäger, the soul-sucking, worth-for-nothing little brute. The other man must have been in his middle thirties with hair of a golden hue and eyes blue like the Mediterranean Sea, and when he spoke his voice was velvety smooth and deep, enough to guarantee his winning a fight in the air simply through the means of talking. “Ich sehe dass der Geschwadercommodore Ihnen hier ebenso sandte,” he told Jäger, and scoffed with amusement before he took a sip from his drink, looking around him at the foreign counterparts, clearly no less treating this situation with as much displeasure as his colleague was. “Ist es nur ich, oder sind sie alle ziemlich lächerlich? Aber ich muss fragen,” he said, and turned his gaze back at them, now focusing upon the woman’s outline, evidently interested but in a more decent and less wooden-headed manner than the other soldiers had, “wie diese Frage mich seit vielen Momenten jetzt gegessen hat. Wo fanden Sie diese ungewöhnliche Anwesenheit in Afrika, Hauptmann, und wenn ihr dort nicht mehr abgereist ich ähnlich sind, um zu genießen?” he asked, but not once did he actually glance at the man as he stared deeply at the woman’s eyes, a small smile crawling across the corner of his lips. Dirk returned the visual contact most gladly, her eyes slightly narrowing as she observed him, and it seemed that Jäger had now become an insignificant molecule belonging outside their sphere of existence, and any words he might have responded with never quite reached her ears as her eyes bore into Hauptmann Siegner’s. “Obwohl ihre Anwesenheit mehr ist als Willkommen, möchte ich wissen, wie Sie sie wirklich überzeugten, solch einem dummen Empfang beizuwohnen,” he said, and Dirk strained herself for that moment to swallow down the scoff that rose in her throat.

“Er erpresste mich gerade … Wirklich,” she simply told him with a cold smile, at which the Hauptmann could only arch his eyebrows, turning his glance at his colleague for a moment or two as if to certify the verity of such a statement, but then gazed back at the woman once more.

“Wenn das die einzigen Mittel war, Ihr Äusseres hier zu versichern, muss ich zugeben, dass ich es ermutige und nicht im geringsten bedauernd bin er tat so,” the other man admitted with a smile.

“Oh, er wird sein,” she assured him with a determined nod, just as the waiter passed by and refilled her empty glass.

The man’s smile widened. “So bestraft zu werden, würde keine Strafe überhaupt sein,” he spoke, and then took another sip from his drink. He looked around him, back at his colleague, and then eventually rested his gaze upon her, once more. “Aber ich finde Ihr Existenz Überraschen. Die einzigen Frauen, über die ich im Laufe meiner Zeit mit Afrika geschehen bin, sind zu wenige gewesen, zuerst nahm ich an, dass Sie entweder ein Mitglied der Gruppe der Hilfstruppen oder die Frau dem Offizier waren …”

Just as the woman had raised the glass to take a large gulp from her glass the liquid had barely washed down her throat when she almost spilled the drink as she choked profusely at the man’s words upon misinterpretation, coughing loudly as she was, and feeling a hand patting her on the back.

“… der italienischen Armee, diejenigen die haben hier gelebt, da bevor dem Krieg, der ist …” Hauptmann Siegner finished his sentence in a slow, careful tone as he looked at her, frowning; “… Sie ganz recht Sind?” he asked her, as the woman coughed into her fist, and finally breathed down with no trouble. She turned to look at Jäger, and then proceeded to drink down the entire content in one major gulp.

“Ich brauche eine frische Luft,” she told them, suddenly feeling as though she was suffocating in this place, for her too hostile amidst all this aristocracy to tolerate. “Genießen Sie Ihr Getränk, ich werde Sie in privat besprechen lassen,” she said, and turned away, the last thing she heard was Hauptmann Siegner bringing up the Geschwadercommodore, before she walked away towards the balcony door, setting the empty glass upon a waiter’s tray as he happened to pass by, and turned the door’s latch.

The cool evening air caressed her face the moment she walked out into the balcony, the wide firmament a dark Prussian blue as the soft breeze danced around the loose curls falling down upon her shoulders. She breathed out calmly and approached the edge, attempting to clear her mind of everything – and yet how unfortunate to have her small moment of reverie broken when, out of the blue, the balcony door creaked open a second time and out walked the Italian she had been introduced to previously, Capitano Giuseppe Abruzzi. She raised one eyebrow, unimpressed, and crossed her hands, not feeling particularly tolerant at the moment but, then, the wine was slowly beginning its own effect throughout her body, even if she still had a long journey to tread down the pathway of blind, uncontrolled intoxication.

“Ah, Erika!” he chimed, and walked over to her. The Capitano had been stealing covert glances at her even as she had walked away with both officers of the Luftwaffe and, as may be made obvious, had watched her leave for the balcony alone; the Capitano had seized this opportunity and followed suit. “Mio caro amico Giuseppe stava parlando con me circa l’offensiva dopo, e mi era impossibile da ascoltare. Indovinate che cosa stavo pensando.”

Dirk arched an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, wenn es nicht Pisse-kopf ist.”

“Stavo pensando a te,” the Capitano continued his enamoured monologue. “Oh, Erika, Erika, Erika!” he sang theatrically, and Dirk’s eyes widened. “Come potrò mai ascoltare quando tutto penso sono i tuoi capelli – la vostra bella, capelli naturali – come maccheroni e odore dolce come una pizza! Come può la mia mente concentrarsi quando tutto quello che voglio è vedere il volto – forte e tagliente come un cavallo ben nutrito – ancora una volta e gioia per esso, tale austerità, essenzialità del genere! Oh, voi donne tedesche e il tuo insegnamento della disciplina e dell'ordine! Lo vedo solo guardando a voi, cari Erika, come ben insegnato sono e non possono fare a meno di ammirare una tale qualità!”

Dirk opened her mouth to say something but the man did not allow for the faintest time to speak even a single word, as he continued.

“In Italia tutto ciò che vedi è brune, brune, brune, in tutto il loro grasso e il grasso e agitando a voi con un mattarello e corteccia al di entrare in casa prima di sera, ‘Ignazio!’ avrebbero messaggio, ‘venire dentro adesso prima che ti ha colpito in testa con il mattarello!’ oppure faranno tirare i capelli a zero, come sharpies impaziente che sono. Ma vedo che seguire ciò che il vostro paese sta chiedendo delle sue donne, la salute come, ad esempio la forza fisica, mi ricorda di una statua greca.”

“So, Sie müssen den Ton Ihrer eigenen Stimme lieben,” Dirk muttered, and looked at him as if he were the most ridiculous creature she had ever looked at in her entire life, and indeed he was, but did he ever even listen to her, let alone understand?

He grasped her hand and kept it within his with an abundance of overflowing affection, infatuation tingling the corners of his black mustache as he took one step closer to her. “Mamma mia, ti avrebbe amato, sono sicuro, devo presentarti a lei quando questa guerra è finita. Una volta catturare l’intero Nord Africa Ti porterò in Italia e vi ho incontrare la mia mamma! Ella vi troverà bella come faccio io, e non avrai mai di usare il mattarello, vi prometto, dolce Erika, non ti lascerò mai questi mani …” he said, and slightly frowned as he felt the roughness of her hands, “… morbide indurire con lavori domestici, ma lasciare che la mia mamma farlo per noi. Solo tu mi cuocere torte il sabato, perché io amo il tuo torte!” he almost burst out, his brown gleaming in the dim light.

“Oh, Erika, io sono un italiano e mi deve sempre esprimere ciò che sento. Ho una grande passione nel mio cuore, si prega di venire con me in Italia!” he expressed, and pressed her hand with a more fervid passion than before, all the while as Dirk was thinking she needed to begin charging whenever someone did this. Feeling quite helpless in her current situation, and otherwise having throttled the man were she a little more sober, she mainly stood there in confusion, disgust and amusement, looking at her with a derisive glint in her green eyes, before they diverted to the door, as though half-hoping that useless Jäger would come bursting through to rid her of this problem. The Capitano followed the direction of her eyes, and came closer.

“Oh, lascia questo Capitano, egli non è buono per voi, Erika!” he begged of her. “Il suo naso è troppo piccolo come un’oliva piccola, la sua voce è quella di una iena e lui ha talpe basta che da soli potrebbero abitano le isole del Dodecaneso.”

Dirk could only look at him with widened eyes, her cheeks faintly reddened from the drink, which the Capitano wrongly misinterpreted as –

“Tale un po ‘timida colomba!” he sang. “Ma io ti farò felice perché il mio cuore andare boom ...” – he took a step closer – “… chicky boom ... boom dee boom,” he hummed, and closed his eyes as he pressed himself forwards, and Dirk pulled herself backwards in disbelief, until she no longer had where to go, her neck arching over and almost hanging down at the edge of the balcony, although, at the present circumstance, crushing down onto the ground was a more pleasant fate than the nightmare in front of her.



Translation

Ah, Hauptmann. Forgive my intrusion, gentlemen, but I must simply steal him away from your company for a short while.

I see the Geschwadercommodore sent you here, as well. Is it only me or are they all quite ridiculous? But I must ask, as this question has been eating me for many moments now. Where did you find this unusual presence in Africa, Hauptmann, and if there are any more like her left for me to enjoy?

Though her presence is more than welcome, I’d like to know how you did persuade her to attend such a dull reception.

He just blackmailed me … Really.

If that was the only means to ensure your appearance here, I must admit that I encourage it and am not in the least regretful he did so.

Oh, he will be.

To be thus punished would be no punishment at all.

But I find your existence surprising. The only women I have chanced across throughout my time in Africa have been too few, at first I assumed you were either a member of the auxiliaries’ group or the wife to the officer …

… of the Italian army, those who have lived here since before the war, that is … Are you all right?

I need some fresh air. Enjoy your drink, I will let you discuss in private.

My good friend Giuseppe was talking to me about the next offensive, and I found it impossible to listen. Guess what I was thinking of.

Oh, if it isn’t Pisshead.

I was thinking of you. Oh, Erika, Erika, Erika! How can I ever listen when all I think of is your hair – your beautiful, natural hair – like macaroni and smelling as sweet as a pizza! How can my mind concentrate when all I want is to see the face – strong and sharp like a well-fed horse – one more time and delight at it, such austerity, such starkness! Oh, you German women and your teachings of discipline and order! I can see it just by looking at you, dear Erika, how well-taught you are and cannot help but admire such a quality!

In Italia all you see is brunettes, brunettes, brunettes, in all of their grease and fat and waving at you with a rolling pin and bark at you to get into the house by nightfall, ‘Ignazio!’ they would shout, ‘come inside right now before I hit you in the head with this rolling pin!’ or else they’ll pull your hair off, such impatient sharpies they are. But I see you follow what your country is asking of its women, such health, such physical strength, it reminds me of a Grecian statue.

Well, you must love the sound of your own voice.

My mamma would have loved you, I’m sure, I have to introduce you to her when this war is over. Once we capture the entire North Africa I will take you to Italy and have you meet my mamma! She will find you as beautiful as I do, and you will never have to use the rolling pin, I promise you, sweet Erika, I will never let these … soft … hands toughen with housework, but let my mamma do that for us. Only you will bake me pies on Saturdays because I will love your pies!

Oh, leave this Capitano, he is no good for you, Erika! His nose is too small like a tiny olive, his voice is the one of a hyena and he’s got enough moles that alone could inhabit the Dodecanese.

Such a shy little dove! But I shall make you happy because you make my heart go boom … chicky boom … boom dee boom.

[Rolf Jäger]

Observing the amazed looks the two Italians were giving Riedel, Rolf arched an eyebrow and turned his head around, almost dreading to see what deed of hers had roused such awe in the Italians. The woman was holding an empty glass, having gulped down all of the wine in one go and even though the pilot frowned slightly at such a lack of etiquette, it did little to surprise him. Her gruff words aside, she had already shown a considerable measure of calmness when entering the reception, carrying herself with pride, and Rolf could not expect her to be familiar with all the finer points of social graces; she was, after all, only a simple peasant and as such her manners were still in need of some polishing. He could only hope that she would not quip something inappropriate in front of the few Italians who actually knew some German and Rolf considered whether he should have pulled the woman aside to make sure that she would keep any further mockery to herself, but the thoughts were interrupted by Italian words spoken in a faintly familiar voice.

Recognizing the features of Hauptmann Siegner, Rolf returned the salute and narrowed his eyes, not certain if he was to be pleased by the intrusion that provided them with the opportunity of distancing themselves from the Italians, or if he was to consider him yet another annoyance. He was not very familiar with the other officer, only having discussed tactics and the situation with the supplies with Siegner and he held neither hatred or any special respect towards him. He was an officer of the Luftwaffe and Rolf could appreciate the fact, which was why he wore a neutral expression as they stepped away from the others, the man only briefly making sure that Riedel was still tagging along, further turning his head around to observe Kronberg trailing behind at a small distance. The Hauptfeldwebel had not even bothered picking up a drink and the man was currently glancing somewhere up towards the ceiling, observing the intricate carvings in the boarding along the wall. Rolf's gaze returned promptly back at the other Captain, appearing attentive and serious, his left eyebrow drawing up ever so slightly when the other man asked him if he had been dragged to the party due to an order from the Geschwaderkommodore, also. He was not certain whether the man was attempting to take a jab at him, denoting that Rolf had not possessed the freedom of choice, but since his words had hinted that he found himself similarly trapped, Rolf allowed his stance to relax slowly. "Wer in ihren richtigen Meinungen würde mit den Italienern aus der freien Wahl verschmelzen?" the man commented in a low voice, his hoarse voice creating a stark contrast for Siegner's smoother, pleasant tone. He snorted when the other Captain went on to ask if he also found the Italians ridiculous and of course, soon a question about the woman followed, Siegner's gaze now fully occupied by Riedel.

Rolf's gaze skipped at the woman also and an immediate frown crinkled his brow the moment he saw that Riedel's attention was similarly drawn, but towards Siegner, instead. The other man, his voice velvety and smooth, was enquiring how Rolf had managed to persuade the woman into attending the reception and Riedel answered on her own accord, her dry answer amusingly accurate, but of course only in a manner that only the woman herself and Rolf could understand. The look in Hauptmann Jäger's grey eyes sharpened, adopting a more hostile edge when he could do nothing but watch as Siegner and Riedel stared at each other and a fast image of his fist connecting with Siegner's face caused his fingers to press more tightly against the glass. He had to force the desire down to the dark reaches whence it had risen, but the irritation still glinted within his eyes and a slow sneer drew across his lips at the situation.

Siegner's question was left unanswered by Rolf, for he realized he had not possessed the foresight to come up with explanations for the woman's presence; a slight he now found himself severely regretting. It mattered little, for the other man was already drawing his own conclusions and Rolf listened to him silently, his back straight and his stance rigid, the wine glass forgotten in his other hand. Rolf raised an eyebrow when Siegner went on to tell them how he had imagined that Riedel was one of the auxiliaries or a wife of an officer, at which point her musings were cut short by the woman going into a small fit of coughs. Rolf glanced at her, placing a hand over her back to give her a helping pat, a confused frown now wrinkling his brow, while the woman still coughed and Siegner inquired if she was quite alright. As soon as Riedel had gotten over her small fit of coughs, she explained that she needed some fresh air, politely dismissing herself and as she stepped away, Rolf felt the burning desire to simply follow her.

His desire was only bridled by the presence of the other officer and while Siegner glanced after the woman, he soon directed his attention back at the other Captain, Rolf only barely managing to catch his words about the Geschwaderkommodore through the heavy hum dominating his head. The man blinked, realizing that Siegner had asked him whether their commanding officer had mentioned anything about an upcoming relocation of the third Gruppe and Rolf forced his mind back at the present moment, allowing it to process the correct answer. "Er hat kein spezifisches Datum erwähnt, aber ich schlage vor, dass Sie Tripoli genießen, während Sie können. Bald genug wird das nichts als Wüste sein, die uns umgibt, und wir werden kommen, um unsere eigenen Startbahnen in der Mitte Felsen und Sands noch einmal zu machen," his answer was matter-of-fact, yet his thoughts were not in the advance of the German forces, nor was it in the sandstorms or engines rendered useless by the dust. His eyes had settled on Capitano Abruzzi, the man bee-lining towards the door that no doubt lead to the balcony and to Riedel and he resisted the urge to stare after him, already full well knowing that he was after the blonde woman. Siegner's answer felt distant to his ears and even though his attention was apparently directed at the other Hauptmann and his musings about the desert, he felt like turning around on his heels and disrupting the Italian Captain before he'd have so much time as to even reach the woman, but courtesy kept his feet glued to the floor. He nodded and tasted his wine, offering Siegner a courteous reply that seemed to come to him automatically and when the other man pointed towards the other side of the room, telling him how he would appreciate Jäger accompanying him in addressing some of the other Italian guests, Rolf blinked and forced a strained smile on his face.

"Natürlich werde ich dort kurz sein. Ich werde nur das sehen... Erika fühlt sich zu unwohl nicht. Wenn Sie mich jetzt entschuldigen, Hauptmann," the man took a step back as he was still speaking, leaving Siegner standing puzzled in his spot. Rolf pivoted around so unexpectedly, he almost bumped into his wingman, the man having remained so skillfully invisible and silent near him, Rolf had already forgotten about his presence. "Verdammt," Rolf growled irritably, gulping down the rest of the wine and offering the empty class to Kronberg. The Hauptfeldwebel took it, blinking and standing aside meekly to make way for Rolf, the man hastening his steps as he moved closer to the door. As his hand reached out to open the door and he stepped outside, his eyes locked upon the sight of the Italian officer standing at the very edge of the balcony and leaning towards Riedel, the woman trapped between the overly eager man and the stone railing. A low growl formed inside Rolf's throat, his eyes flashing with anger and disgust, and he merely allowed the door to close behind him as he stood in front of the door for that small moment, as if he was planning on leaping the distance required to reach the offender and to wrestle him over the edge of the balcony.

"Cosa è questo?" Rolf's hoarse bark pierced through the cool air and the amorous Italian officer appeared surprised, but not intimidated by the Hauptmann's sudden appearance. He still moved away from the woman, allowing her to breathe once more, the man proudly turning around to face his challenger, his chin held up in a gesture of self-worth and confidence. He had already made up his mind about introducing the lovely, flaxen Erika to his mother, already dreaming of the lazy Sunday afternoons he would spend in his villa with his young German bride doting to his wishes. He would certainly not allow a mottled German hyena ruin his blissful future and as the Hauptmann stepped closer with determined, irritated steps, he held his ground and stared the tall German pilot in the eyes as the man stopped in front of him. "Questo, Capitano, mi è spesa qualche tempo privato con la mia futura moglie. Ella ha denunciato lei ed è fissato per l'ingresso dal matrimonio con me e nulla può estinguere le fiamme del nostro comune passione ora. Se siete un vero uomo d'onore, Capitano, vostra sconfitta vi confesso e lasciare me con il mio piccolo fiore preziosi," Abruzzi announced with vehemence, taking a step back closer to the woman and grasping her hand with both of his, holding it close to his chest determinedly.

Rolf had listened to the man's ridiculous dribble with no small amount of disgust and disbelief written over his features and his lips drew into an open sneer, the man's silver eyes glinting dangerously in the shadows. "Ella non parla una parola di italiano, Capitano, come potrebbe cosí lei hanno capito niente lei dice?" the man growled hoarsely, the muscles over his shoulders strained with anger while his head hung lower, like that of an angry canine's readying itself for an attack. By now Riedel had already freed herself from the Italian's hold and Rolf stepped around Abruzzi, his mind already having let go of the need to remain as polite and diplomatic as possible. Anger and hatred were quickly replacing such rational inclinations and Rolf forced his bulk between Riedel and the Italian officer, a constant snarl frozen upon his lips. Abruzzi snapped into a proud stance, puffing out his chest at the intrusion and when he spoke, his hands moved along with his words to further emphasize them. "Voi sciocco non sanno nulla tedesco uomini vero affetto, di quale tipo di attenzione donne implora per, come hanno bisogno di essere adorato. Lei non ha bisogno di conoscenza della lingua italiana, essa può comprendere il linguaggio dell'amore!"

Rolf took a step closer to Abruzzi, staring him down, his fingertips curling slowly into merciless fists that wanted nothing more than to wreak havoc over the Italian's pompous features. "L'unica lingua lei parla è quello di completare cazzata, Capitano," the pilot snarled and Abruzzi's mouth opened at affront of his words, the situation moving into a more precarious direction with each passing second. Right at that moment the door to the balcony opened and Captain Ferrari stood at the doorway, gaping and then spreading his arms theatrically to express his complete horror. "Signori, per favore!" the officer exclaimed as he walked towards the two men, Rolf only barely managing to divert his attention from his adversary. Ferrari stopped next to the two other Captains, promptly placing a hand on each one's shoulder and shaking his head. "Siamo tra amici qui, no? Sicuramente questo è solo il vino parlando, per favore... C'è una signora presenti, dobbiamo comportarci come signori," the man continued, tilting his head to the side with a smile. The skin at the corner of Rolf's left eye twitched and he fought the desire to slap the other man's hand away, only seeing weakness in Ferrari's amiability; the Italians were desperate to keep the Germans fighting the war at this forlorn front and the officer was merely protecting his own interests in preventing a hostile confrontation. Ferrari patted both of them on the shoulder, glancing at his friend and nodding towards the door. "Vieni ora, mio amico. Andiamo godere il partito, consentire a questi sentimenti a rallentare modo, possiamo tutti essere compagni ancora una volta. Scusi," the man smiled widely as he bowed at the woman, nodded at the German Captain and then lead his reluctant countryman away from the balcony, the door soon swinging shut after them.

The German pilot stood in his place, feeling his muscles twitching with barely contained anger while he knew that he was supposed to enter that wretched room again, just to suffer from the irritable language invading his hearing from all sides while he was forced to smile and play the part of the cordial ally. Attempting to force his hatred back to its sources, the man finally turned around to regard Riedel, his mind failing to draw any extent of diversion from her as the flames of anger still burned within. The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but in his irritation he simply could not find any words to address her with and he ended up shaking his head instead. "Bleib hier," Rolf snarled at her, holding her gaze captive with his own for a small moment to further drive in the point, before he turned around and headed to the door, his angry steps sounding loud against the stone. The moment the Hauptmann had stepped back inside the large room, his eyes settled on Kronberg, the German pilot standing silent and humble near the door. He almost jolted the moment he saw the familiar wrath burning within the Hauptmann's irises and Kronberg had to resist the desire to take a step away from Rolf as he moved towards him, his voice nothing but a low growl as he addressed him. "Nehmen Sie ein Getränk zu Riedel und stellen Sie sicher, dass niemand sie schikaniert. Verkehren sie, halten sie unterhielt," Rolf glared at Kronberg for a small moment, before turning around and promptly facing him again as another thought entered his mind. "Aber nicht zu unterhielt. Sie scheitern in dieser Aufgabe, Sie wissen, was geschehen wird," the man warned him fervently, poking the man roughly in the chest with his fingers before turning around once more and heading towards the other side of the room, the Hauptmann breathing out deeply and rolling his shoulders in an effort to calm himself enough to exchange yet more meaningless pleasantries with the other guests.

Kronberg stood stunned in his place, before he finally grimaced and forced his suddenly weak feet to move towards one of the waiters, the man picking up two glasses of wine and pausing behind the door to take a deep breath before he opened it. Upon spotting Riedel the man forced a somewhat apologetic smile upon his lips, meekly making his way towards the woman, as if he was worried that his presence would only irritate her. "Entschuldige mich. Ich... Ich brachte Ihnen das," the stocky man explained, his motions nervous and jerky as he walked towards the woman and offered her the filled glass. Kronberg smiled wider to demonstrate that he was not there to disturb her, although he realized that should the woman tell him to leave, he simply could not, for then he would have been opposing the Hauptmann's orders. The man glanced at the extra glass, appearing sheepish for a while before placing the glass upon the wide railing. Kronberg shifted his feet around and shrugged, glancing at Riedel sideways as he wondered what kind of things the woman might have enjoyed discussing. "Um," Kronberg started, glancing at his feet as he still pondered the topic he should choose. "Viele Italiener in dort, gell?" the man asked, but soon realized that this bit of information was quite obvious and did not relate to much anything. "Ich spreche keine Italienisch," Kronberg explained quickly, glancing at the door and then back at Riedel.

"Der... Hauptmann sprach sehr höchsten Tönen von Ihnen," he attempted to sound more cheerful and for a small while he was quite pleased with this new subject, for certainly Jäger would have appreciated Kronberg putting in a good word or two for him. "Er sagte dass-" Kronberg paused as Jäger's actual words about the woman rang through his mind and he realized that it was propably something he should have not further conveyed to the woman. The man realized that his pause was growing far too long and he panicked, quickly spouting out whatever seemed like a good continuation. "Au Backe, er mag Sie sicher, Fräulein Riedel," Kronberg said with a raise of his eyebrows, trying to smile in a way the woman would see as natural and relaxed as possible.


Translations:

"Wer in ihren richtigen Meinungen würde mit den Italienern aus der freien Wahl verschmelzen?"
"Who in their right minds would mingle with the Italians out of free choice?"

"Er hat kein spezifisches Datum erwähnt, aber ich schlage vor, dass Sie Tripoli genießen..."
"He has not mentioned any specific date, but I suggest you enjoy Tripoli while you can. Soon enough it will be nothing but desert surrounding us and we'll get to make our own runways in the middle of rocks and sand once more."

"Natürlich werde ich dort kurz sein.."
"Of course, I will be there shortly. I will only see that... Erika isn't feeling too unwell. If you'll excuse me, Hauptmann."

"Cosa è questo?"
"What is this?"

"Questo, Capitano, mi è spesa qualche tempo privato con la mia futura moglie..."
"This, Captain, is me spending some private time with my future wife. She has denounced you and is set on entering wedlock with me and nothing can quench the flames of our mutual passion now. If you are a true man of honour, Captain, you will admit your defeat and leave me with my precious little flower."

"Ella non parla una parola di italiano, Capitano, come potrebbe cosí lei hanno capito niente lei dice?"
"She does not speak one word of Italian, Captain, so how could she have understood anything you say?"

"Voi sciocco non sanno nulla tedesco uomini vero affetto, di quale tipo di attenzione donne implora per..."
"You foolish German men know nothing about true affection, of what kind of attention women crave for, how they need to be worshipped. She does not need to understand Italian, she can understand the language of love!"

"L'unica lingua lei parla è quello di completare cazzata, Capitano."
"The only language you speak is that of complete bullshit, Captain."

"Signori, per favore..!"
"Gentlemen, please! We are among friends here, no? Surely this is just the wine talking, please... There is a lady present, we must behave like gentlemen."

"Vieni ora, mio amico..."
"Come now, my friend. Let us go enjoy the party, allow these feelings to cool off so we all can be comrades once more. Excuse me."

"Bleib hier."
"Stay here."

"Nehmen Sie ein Getränk zu Riedel..."
"Take a drink to Riedel and make sure nobody harasses her. Keep her company, keep her entertained. But not too entertained. You fail in this task, you know what will happen."

"Entschuldige mich. Ich... Ich brachte Ihnen das."
"Excuse me. I... I brought you this."

"Viele Italiener in dort, gell? Ich spreche keine Italienisch."
"Lots if Italians in there, right? I don't speak Italian."

"Der... Hauptmann sprach sehr höchsten Tönen von Ihnen."
"The... Hauptmann spoke very highly of you."

"Er sagte dass- Au Backe, er mag Sie sicher, Fräulein Riedel."
"He said that- Oh boy, he surely likes you, Miss Riedel."

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman frowned, her eyebrows curving fiercely over her eyes as she looked at the foolish Italian in front of her pursing his lips and forwarding himself closer, at which point she could not help but think of his striking resemblance to a walrus. At another circumstance – one in which she would have been more clearheaded – she would have simply rid herself of such a nuisance through the means of a good smack, and nothing more – more severe beatings were left for the times anyone would speak ill of her family and her heritage, unless of course that nuisance was being particularly resistant and needed more than a simple clout, in which case her aggressive nature was better understood, although this had rarely happened, for nobody had taken as much excessive interest in her in the first place and if they had, they were most likely heavily intoxicated. Little did she care, however, not only due to her indifferent nature but also the fact how for all those long and arduous years she had been focused on nothing more but troubles, worries and personal vexations, enough to keep her occupied with more significant concerns which bore more consequence than these thoughtless drunkards she met in various pubs. Then again, there had been one or two occasions when a close friend she had grown up with (better able, as she had always been as a child, in befriending boys rather than the silly little girls of her region) had began, upon his entering University, viewing her differently, but such was the sisterly affection she held for him, and such were the troubles that weighed down upon her back that she simply was neither interested nor prepared for ‘off-the-schedule’ affiliations, except for few random, short-lived and insubstantial affairs which at this time seemed too irrelevant, withered down and pointless to even remember – even if she had been expected by her social environment to soon become engaged, a notion which the woman had always scoffed at. At any rate, she was hardly the woman to play around and pretend to be the teasing damsel, nor the arrogant cocotte who fancied numbering all the men who had desperately fallen upon her feet, pursuing her attention and affection; this was hardly within the woman’s coarse and straightforward nature and, truth be told, she did not give a hoot.

For all these reasons alone, one could imagine how ridiculous she believed the Italian’s behaviour to be, and not only on the grounds he was – well – a ridiculous Italian. She had sacrificed such a variety of things, abandoned her identity, left her home, left her country to arrive in this hostile, god-forsaken land bearing huge responsibilities, one should think that the very least – indeed, the very least – she was concerned about was pursuing wild adventures and romance. Perhaps this would have been so were she built of a different element, but she was not, and she had come here to commit to a sacred duty. That the Italian believed she would be distracted away from this purpose was almost infuriating, and a sudden flash of rage pierced through her mind as she openly glared at him. This was all Jäger’s fault! If it had not been for his terribly smart ideas she would not have had to tolerate such behaviour, and such was the progressive anger within her at both men that she felt her hands a second away from grasping hold of the Italian’s shoulders and throwing him directly out of the balcony to send him flying onto the hard ground, free fall and inevitable gravity crushing his large nose and creasing his black mustache as would render him incapable of any further babbling. It was at that moment the balcony’s door creaked open, and in walked the very person she had actually hoped would appear, as though she had to some unconscious level already realized that she could not spend too long a time away from him and that he was simply bound to follow her. His tall and imposing figure stood amidst the shadows that darkened parts of his hostile countenance, whilst the dim light seemed to have cast an almost eerie glow in his silver, furious eyes. “Ah, Jäger, kann das erst sein und nur Zeit ich bin wirklich glücklich Ihr Gesicht zu sehen,” she said with an amused glance, her head tilted sideways to look at him, as the Italian slightly moved away to address the German.

What followed Dirk had neither the capacity nor the knowledge to understand, word after word passing by with a brisk starkness from the Hauptmann’s part, contrasted by the Italian’s superfluous, colourful and theatrical tone that almost gave her a headache. She felt her hand pulled at one moment by the Capitano and she could only frown, looking at him with a bewildered expression that also signified contempt and disgust, looking at the Capitano and from him to the Hauptmann, and then back to the Italian as if he was the most ridiculous creature this earth had ever seen. She forced her hand away in a brisk, determined movement and a moment later felt the Hauptmann forcing himself between her and the Italian, the front of her figure almost touching against the Hauptmann’s back, almost able to feel the overflowing rage seething through his veins, and which curiously calmed her, as though her own former fury had now been emptied within the pilot’s body and she was now able to breathe in a more relaxed, unperturbed manner – although, in reality, and what she did not realize was that his very presence had rendered her subliminally secure and thus she no longer had to be defensive at present. Her hand almost stretched to touch his back as his furious, aggressive words cut through the air, razor-sharp and threatening, perhaps intending to calm down his spirits not for the purpose of saving the Italian from the Hauptmann’s wrath but simply because she wanted to pacify him. But at that moment the balcony’s door swung open once more, in walked the other Italian Capitano, and her hand dropped to hang down by her side, her attention distracted by the sudden arrival.

The other Italian appeared to keen to appease the two soldiers, and even turned to the woman with a radiant smile as he may have addressed her momentarily, Dirk assumed, and she with a scoff registered the apologetic tone of the Capitano’s voice as he spoke to both men, soon enough hastening to take his friend away, and they both returned to the room. Her eyes focused on Jäger’s face as the man turned around to gaze at her, still evidently fuming with rage on account of, as she believed it, his own mind being unable to cope with the fact someone else wanted to play with his little toy, his own possession, taking measures to prevent anyone else from trespassing upon his rightful property. Even this knowledge did not suffice – at this point – to infuriate the woman, for to have the Italian removed from her presence only further worked to her benefit. Their eyes locked for those moments as he insisted she should stay where she was, and she had no problem obliging to that request as it meant she no longer had to tolerate the too elegant atmosphere within the room, the Italians or German aristocrats, so that being alone in the balcony where the soft, slow music playing on the gramophone could not reach her, where the voices were only muffled sounds belonging to a different world she was not required to be a part of. She watched the man move around and leave, before she turned to her shoulder and gazed up at the sky for the next moments she had to spend by herself, in silent contemplation, before the door creaked open again and she turned to look as the Hauptfeldwebel came through with two glasses of wine.

The man walked closer to her, and a smile faintly appeared to stretch the curve in the corner of her lips as she looked at him; she had misunderstood him during their first encounter, thinking he had been the one preposterous and foolish enough to make such a ridiculous call on her soldiers – she should have known it had been the Hauptmann, thoughtless and absurd as he usually was, to have forwarded such a command, and even though she had been rather resentful at his inferior still, now she could plainly see what Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg was really like. Obedient, kind-hearted, polite and easily intimidated, a small puppy that needed to be caressed by her stern hand in order to be re-assured and gain a minimal sense of self-confidence. He nervously spoke of random, silly things, his voice giving in his tense and uneasy condition, and her eyes warmed to the image: an adorable little bulldog that trembled towards strangers. She was quietly listening to him, her fingers circling around the surface of her glass, raising it to her mouth to take a sip when he suddenly mentioned the Hauptmann. She scoffed loudly at his words, and put the glass down, her expression alone communicating how ludicrous she regarded them.

“Oh, ich bin sicher, dass er tut!” she laughed them off, and tilted her head backwards as she raised the glass, taking a major gulp of wine down her throat. “Ich bin sicher, dass er es liebt, um mich zu erpressen, mich zu erniedrigen, mir zu drohen und mich an der ersten Chance zu beleidigen, die er findet,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyebrows curving over her green eyes as she spoke, sudden fury sweeping throughout her entire length with an unpredictable, abrupt force. “Ich habe zweifellos er spricht sehr hoch von mir, wenn er sagt, dass ich der wertlose Welpe einer zahnlosen Hure - einer faulen, zahnlosen Hure bin – diese waren seine Worte, ich, glaube solche Wertschätzung!” she jeered bitterly, a cold smile locked onto her lips as she spoke, but she was not looking at the other man, rather her eyes were fixed at the door, as though they managed to see right through the glass, find the Hauptmann’s figure and burn holes into his back. “Seine Rücksicht ist fast reichlich, wenn er mich eine einfache kleine Schlampe, ein preiswertes Getrampel - eine Bauer Hure nennt - aber wie ist Ihre Meinung, Kronberg, denken Sie, dass seine Zuneigung am besten ausgedrückt wird, wenn er meine Mutter nennt, wartet ein …” – she paused, looking down on the floor with a wrinkled forehead as she tried to recall the precise words, her fingers tapping musically against the glass as though the soft rhythm would assist in remembrance – “wie war die genauen Wörter … dass ich das unfeine Kind einer kranken Kuh bin, ist dass, wenn er dann am liebevollsten ist,” she told him, looking at him, “oder wenn er versucht, mich auf der Straße zu bumsen? Ich kann nicht gerade meinen Entschluss fassen,” she mocked with a sneer, her eyes traveling around her slowly, before they returned to the Hauptfeldwebel.

“Sie sind zu naiv, Kronberg, seine Gefühle missdeutend. Es gibt nur zwei Gefühle, die Kind haben kann, der Wut und Ressentiment ist, wann auch immer er nicht bekommt, dass er, oder aufgeblähte Selbstachtung will. Sicher nicht Vergnügen, und sicher nicht für mich. Vielleicht missverstanden Sie ihn, während er über seinen Verlobte sprach, obwohl … er sie sicher ebenso mag,” she taunted and then laughed shortly, for she had already established the meaning of ‘likement’ according to the Hauptfeldwebel’s level of perception. She was dreadfully self-assured that the man had completely misunderstood the Hauptmann, and indeed, were his words not some of the most ridiculous, laughable things she had ever heard? Walter Kronberg’s inability to truly understand his superior officer was not necessarily something she could blame him for, for the Hauptmann was to be known for his rather infantile temperament of many shades and colours, yet through these years of working under his command had he really not come to fathom his nature? Certainly he did not know the woman, therefore he could not be aware the kind of connection she may have to the Hauptmann, but nonetheless he should have been already aware that it was impossible for the superior commanding officer to ever feel the remotest sense of esteem for any woman – for any human being – let alone hold the faintest form of affection for her. To be sure, that was a statement so nonsensical and outrageous that Dirk could not help but heartily laugh at it, laughter that was cold and wintry and which lacked any depth of emotion other than sullenness and antipathy.

Her eyes sharpened and her jaw hardened as she glanced at the door. “Das … Mensch ist nicht ein Mann,” she passionately stated, her forefinger pointing at the door, the frown severe in her newly stiffened face. “Er ist ein Feigling, ein Schlingel und ein nichtsnutziger Bastard, der irgendetwas dass Fälle in seinen Händen ohne den entferntesten Sinn des Taktes und Selbstwerts ausnutzt,” she declared with a vehement ferocity to her voice that allowed traces of rage and hatred to surface through, her chest heaving upon reminding herself of these rather unpleasant facts. With a scowl, she raised the glass one more time to her lips, her eyes glued to the door. “Mein Gott, warum nicht mich gerade tun ihn erwürgt,” she breathed in an audible, harsh whisper, before she closed her eyes and drank from the wine.


Translation

Ah, Jäger, this may be the first and only time I am actually happy to see your face.

Oh, I’m sure he does! I’m sure he loves it to blackmail me, humiliate me, threaten me and insult me at the first chance he finds.

I have no doubt he speaks very highly of me when he says I am the worthless whelp of a toothless whore – of a rotten, toothless whore – these were his words, I believe, such esteem!His respect is almost abundant when he calls me a simple little slut, a cheap tramp – a peasant whore – but what is your opinion, Kronberg, do you think his affection is best expressed when he calls my mother a … wait, what were the exact words … that I am the lowbred child of a diseased cow, is that when he is being most affectionate, then, or when he tries to fuck me on the road? I just can’t make up my mind.

You are too naïve, Kronberg, misinterpreting his feelings. There are only two emotions that child can have, that is anger and resentment whenever he does not get whatever he wants, or bloated self-esteem. Certainly not likement, and certainly not for me. Maybe you misunderstood him while he was talking about his fiancé, although … he surely does like her as well.

That … human being is not a man. He is a coward, a scoundrel and a good-for-nothing bastard who exploits anything that falls in his hands without the remotest sense of decency and self-worth.

My God, why don’t I just strangle him.

[Rolf Jäger]

The air felt blissfully cool to breathe after Walter Kronberg's short stay inside the large room, the oxygen inside having already been consumed by the crowd within and the man allowed his hand to settle resting upon the stone railing, his fingertips tracing over its rough pattern next to the wine glass. The man blinked in careful silence as he observed the tall woman, appearing worried when she scoffed at his words, as genial as they had been, and further feeling the need to shrink back when he saw Riedel looking back at him with an expression of pure derision. Her sarcastic agreement to his statement was followed by a cold laughter before she went on, jeeringly telling him how the Hauptmann had insulted, blackmailed, humiliated and threatened her - things which Kronberg had no knowledge of and he merely frowned, appearing nervous and confused, not quite sure if she was being serious or if it was a jest, some macabre joke requiring the kind of sense of humour he did not possess. With this confusion written all over his features, Kronberg gaped as he stared at the woman, sensing the sudden anger emanating from her figure, the sensation distinctly reminding him of Hauptmann Jäger.

As if Riedel's initial words had not been enough to confuse the man, her next words were chilling enough to terrify him. The woman was not looking at Kronberg anymore, her green eyes locked upon the door as she recalled the insults the Hauptmann had addressed her with. The Hauptfeldwebel was a man who hardly ever cursed and when he did, his swearing could have hardly been considered offensive at all, but by now he was used to hearing all sorts of language from the other pilots and even more so from the members of the ground crew who continuously seemed to drop things on their toes or lose just the tool they needed. The Hauptmann himself was prone to using strong words often enough and Kronberg always allowed them to go in from the other ear and leave quietly through the other one, but never before in his 30 years of life had he heard a woman using such offensive language. Kronberg was rendered frozen in his place, his mouth hanging open as he listened to her casually dropping such horrible, foul words from her lips, another part of his mind trying to wrap around this fact, while another was still trying to discern whether she was joking or not. Riedel's expression was frozen into a mask of hatred and intentness and Kronberg waited for her to burst out laughing any moment now, just to tell him she had been merely jesting, but the tone of her voice remained ever cold and serious. When she mentioned that the Hauptmann had attempted to fuck her on the road, Kronberg's eyebrows drew into a severe frown; had this really happened or was she exaggerating, perhaps in her anger using stronger words than she was meaning to? Was the Hauptmann capable of doing something like that and how would have such a situation come to pass in the first place?

Kronberg felt nothing but discomfort crawling along his back and the man's confused expression had drawn dark and blank, his lips now pressed into a thin, hard line, the Hauptfeldwebel finding himself unable to comment on anything or even draw his gaze away from the woman. The man attempted to shift his feet around, but found himself unable to do so, only glancing at his shoes that now seemed to remain effectively glued to the floor. He realized that Riedel had turned her gaze back at him and the man's head snapped up, a more sheepish and unsure expression replacing the expression of despondency when the woman told him that he was being naive and that the Hauptmann was a man of simple, childish emotions. She was certain that he held no amount of affection towards her, her words further hinting that Jäger was unable to possess such a sentiment towards anyone to begin with. The laughter that followed her words chilled Kronberg to his bones and he frowned once more, appearing like a puppy that had been just smacked by its owner for a reason he could not fathom. The woman pointed a hand towards the door as she called Jäger various very unkind things, saying how he was only able to exploit things, feeling no remorse over using others to his advantage.

Kronberg opened his mouth to protest, but he had never found himself in a situation where he was required to defend his commanding officer from such accusations and he stood in silence for a small moment, allowing his hand to slide slowly away from the railing as he stood in his place, appearing lost. He knew well enough that people did not like Hauptmann Jäger and that the Hauptmann, in turn, did not appear to like many people, either. When he had first been assigned to the Hauptmann's Gruppe, he had already heard the tales of the irritable and arrogant baron, but had dismissed them as nothing but tall stories. The first time he had met the Hauptmann, he had appeared at the headquarters and saluted him, after which Jäger had taken one look at him, told him to get lost and swung the door shut in front of his face. In his confusion Kronberg had remained standing outside the door and waited for two hours before the Hauptmann had finally stepped outside to witness the man still waiting in the corridor. Jäger had told Kronberg to follow him and that was precisely what Kronberg had been faithfully doing ever since; following Hauptmann Jäger. He had heard people talking about the Hauptmann behind his back, either with hatred, disbelief or amusement and he had seen Jäger walking into a celebration between the pilots just to see everyone grow quiet and timid the moment they saw him, the normal chatter resuming only once he had left the room. Kronberg had also seen all the pilots of the Gruppe standing in front of the Hauptmann in neat rows, each one of them beaming with pride, and he had witnessed the Hauptmann trailing after a damaged fighter of his Gruppe to shield it from bullets, his voice over the radio ever steady, ever fearless.

He had no knowledge of the nature of the relationship between his commanding officer and the tall woman, but from what he had witnessed, it all seemed very complicated and confusing. The only thing he was certain of was that both of them seemed to possess a strange desire to strangle one another, but then... people could do some very curious things for fun these days. If Riedel so hated him, why would she have ever accompanied Jäger to the reception? And if she had been blackmailed, as she had said, what had the Hauptmann used for leverage? Violence, maybe, but something in the woman's stance told Kronberg that such means would have hardly forced her to do anything; she was much more taller than Kronberg was and there was obvious strength to her arms, the woman carrying herself in a confident and proud manner. The Hauptfeldwebel felt awkward and clumsy standing near her, although in some curious way, it felt oddly familiar, too. The man opened and closed his mouth, realizing that he had been standing quiet for too long and Kronberg's eyes darted at the woman, his fingers secretly scrawling up across his palm to fiddle with the sleeve of his tunic. "Ich... Ich denke wirklich, dass Sie den falschen Eindruck von ihm haben, Fräulein Riedel," the man started in a careful manner, not wanting to appear too bold, arguing back as he was.

"Wenn er Ihnen allen jene Dinge erzählte dass Sie sagten, ich bin sicher, dass er sie nicht meinte. Manchmal wird er gerade sehr böse, Anfänge zu schreien. Aber er meint alle Dinge nicht wirklich, die er sagt, das ist gerade... auf die Weise ist er, ich schätze," Kronberg flashed a small smile at Riedel. "Einige Menschen können nicht ihm helfen, ich habe gewusst einige dass ihn mögen. Vielleicht ist etwas mit ihnen im Leben... an einem Punkt geschehen, der sie die Art machte, wie sie sind. Ich weiß nicht, ich glaube, dass es abhängt, aber ich weiß dass der Hauptmann jene Dinge nicht meint, er wird gerade sehr verärgert," the man shrugged and, feeling strange talking about such things to someone he did not really know, his gaze turned away from Riedel to glance at the Libyan landscape. The darkness was dabbled with various small lights shining through the windows of the buildings, of homes occupied, of people going about their last daily chores before rest. "Er ist ein guter Kommandant. Er passt auf seinen Gruppe, und er arbeitet sehr hart. Und er ist nicht ein Feigling," the man announced with almost uncharacteristic sternness in his voice as he glanced briefly back at the woman, his hazel eyes looking at Riedel with nothing but earnestness. "Ich sollte wissen, ich bin mit ihm seitdem '38 geflogen. Leute können viele Dinge über ihn sagen, und nicht sie alle sind nett, aber ich würde niemandem zuhören, den Hauptmann ein Feigling nennend," the man frowned and even though it was left unclear how the short and slightly stocky man would have retaliated to such accusations, he seemed serious about it and Kronberg stared at the woman in this fashion for a moment, before the expression finally cracked and Kronberg appeared tentative once more.

"Gerade vor einer Zeit fragte er mich-" the man stopped in the middle of his sentence, realizing that he might have been breaching the trust Hauptmann had graced him with by revealing his words, but Kronberg breathed out deeply, feeling as if it was something that had to be said, for maybe the Hauptmann would never find the means to convey these words himself. "So, ich hoffe, dass Sie ihm nicht sagen werden, dass ich Ihnen das erzählte, aber... Er fragte mich, wie ich mich fühlte, als ich meine Frau traf. W-wann, der über Sie spricht. Ich glaube, dass er wissen wollte, ob das als ähnlich war... als er Sie traf. Aber sagen Sie ihm nicht, dass ich es sagte, bitte, Fräulein Riedel," Kronberg implored as he stared at the woman, his eyebrows curved over his hazel eyes in desperation, although a nagging voice was reminding him of the actual words the Hauptmann had mentioned in the situation, having to do with strangling and... other things. But it was best to leave that part out, for surely this was what the Hauptmann had actually meant and if the woman would just know it, she might think more kindly of him, too. "Vielleicht haben Sie gerade einander missverstanden," Kronberg suggested with another careful smile, arching his eyebrows and shrugging, his gaze fleetingly falling upon the railing and the glass of wine that still stood untouched upon it.

With a jerky motion, Kronberg picked up the glass and offered it to Riedel, the shy and nervous smile still drawn across his lips. She might think him naive, but Kronberg knew that despite his nature, the Hauptmann wasn't a bad man and it was a shame that other people did not know it. Sure, Jäger might have called him an idiot and a fatty, he might have flipped the cap from his head in anger to stump it in the sand with his boot, but when Kronberg had found himself chased by two Allied fighters, he had been there to fight them off and on an occasion when someone had insulted the Hauptfeldwebel in a bar in France, the Hauptmann had gone into a fit of rage and broken a chair over the offender's head. These things had been enough to prove to Kronberg that despite the Hauptmann's outwardly hostile nature, there was light to counter the darkness; it might have appeared in brief flickers, but Kronberg knew it was there and that was enough to redeem him.

Still holding up the glass for the woman, Kronberg opened his mouth to convey these thoughts to her, but right at the moment the door opened and the Hauptmann himself stepped outside, his sharp gaze immediately fixing upon the woman and his wingman, as if he had been expecting for Kronberg to have failed in his task. Rolf had been walking around the room with Siegner, greeting the other guests, and his mind was still swimming in the loud, erratically bubbling discussions he had just had in Italian. He was in a desperate need of reprieve, of some form of distraction before he would simply lose his nerves and turn every table in the room around in a blind fit of rage. He was not sure if the current vision of the woman and Kronberg was something to soothe his mind, but he would have gladly traded having to greet one more Italian officer with one hour of Riedel's insults; at least her jeering remarks came from the heart. Kronberg was at the verge of panic at the sight of the Hauptmann and for a small moment he was certain that by whatever means, the man had been listening to the discussion and witnessed Kronberg betraying his words to Riedel, but instead Jäger only walked to the woman, glancing at her from head to toes, as if to check that she was just as he had left her.

"Komm," the man ordered in a low, hoarse, voice, not waiting for the woman to comply and instead grasping her by the arm, pulling Riedel towards the door and glancing briefly at Kronberg just to raise his eyebrows at him. After Kronberg had woken up from his stupor and following after them, Rolf lead Riedel back inside the room, where people had gathered into smaller groups at the other side of the area, some of them standing next to the wall to better observe the pairs that had found their way to the dance floor. The violins and piano melded into a cheerful, bouncy melody and even though Rolf could not quite remember the name of the song, it was familiar to him, the simple tune just the kind that would stick inside one's head easily after a small while. The floor was not actually filled with dancers, for only some of the soldiers had been fortunate enough to be able to bring a female companion with them to the reception, yet the pairs dancing seemed to be enjoying themselves, the occasional laughter sounding from either them or from the observing crowd. Rolf released his hold of Riedel's arm, placing a hand behind her back to further push her towards the dancing couples, pausing at the edge of the improvised dance floor to grab the glass from her and to hand it to Kronberg. With the same silent determination the man slid his hand in hers, pulling her along the few steps required to reach the dance floor.

Placing his other hand upon her waist and raising the hand holding hers, the Hauptmann pulled her closer, his emotionless expression and his gruff manners only communicating some sense of irritation. "Sie wissen, wie man tanzt, wa?" the man asked in a low voice, his silver eyes locked upon hers, a brief glint of amusement visiting visiting them. "Ich denke, dass Sie wissen. Nicht Sie unterhalten Bauern sich, indem sie innerhalb von Scheunen oder Dingsda tanzen?" he asked with a mocking raise of his eyebrow, not bothering to wait for her to answer and instead already pulling her along to the dance, his steps practiced and precise. He breathed out deep and slow, attempting to diffuse the anger within and in an attempt to further drag his mind away from the reception and from the irritating manners of the Italians, he pressed the woman tighter against himself and craned his neck closer so that he might breathe in the scent of her hair as the merry tunes of the song bounced from the walls, allowing him to draw his mind away from his surroundings.


Translations:

"Ich... Ich denke wirklich, dass Sie den falschen Eindruck von ihm haben, Fräulein Riedel."
"I... I just really think you have gotten the wrong impression of him, Miss Riedel."

"Wenn er Ihnen allen jene Dinge erzählte dass Sie sagten..."
"If he told you all those things you said, I'm sure he didn't mean them. Sometimes he just gets very angry, starts shouting. But he doesn't really mean all the things he says, it's just... the way he is, I guess."

"Einige Menschen können nicht ihm helfen..."
"Some people can't help it, I've known a few like him. Maybe something has happened to them in life... at some point, that made them the way they are. I don't know, I guess it depends, but I know the Hauptmann doesn't mean those things, he just gets very angry."

"Er ist ein guter Kommandant..."
"He's a good commander. He takes care of his Gruppe and he works very hard. And he's not a coward. I should know, I've flown with him since '38. People may say many things about him and not all of them are nice, but I wouldn't listen to anyone calling the Hauptmann a coward."

"Gerade vor einer Zeit fragte er mich..- "
"Just some time ago he asked me- Well, I hope you won't tell him I told you this, but... He asked me how I felt when I met my wife. W-when talking about you. I guess he wanted to know if it was similar to as... when he met you. But don't tell him I said it, please, Miss Riedel."

"Vielleicht haben Sie gerade einander missverstanden."
"Maybe you have just misunderstood each other."

"Sie wissen, wie man tanzt, wa? Ich denke, dass Sie wissen. Nicht Sie unterhalten Bauern sich, indem sie innerhalb von Scheunen oder Dingsda tanzen?"
"You know how to dance, don't you? I think you do. Don't you peasants entertain yourselves by dancing inside barns or whatnot?"

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman turned over her shoulder to glance at the Hauptfeldwebel as he told her she was speaking in such a way only due to the fact she lived under the wrong impression with regard to the Hauptmann’s conduct, and she could not help but silently scoff at him, easily dismissing such words as naïve and guileless, the man too unknowledgeable of his superior’s nature to be able to understand in the first place, for, after all, how could anyone come close enough to the commanding officer without invoking a certain amount of violence with such intimacy? She turned her head away and looked at her surroundings, although her gazing was not focused at any object in particular while her hands circled around the glass, taking another sip from it, feeling the red wine’s warm quality washing down her throat and heating up her insides as she was almost predisposed to ignore anything else the Hauptfeldwebel would say in defense of his superior commander, yet she did not quite know why someone would need to place themselves under such an arduous, vain and miserable task simply for the purpose of changing the mind of someone who was hardly anyone noteworthy in terms of military consequence – at least in this form she presently carried. She could understand why the shorter man would feel the necessity to do so when addressing the Geschwadercommodore, in a sense wishing to interpret and elucidate the Hauptmann’s conduct with the purpose of lifting the weight of any impending punishment which may be implemented upon the Hauptmann as a consequence of such conduct. Nevertheless, when the Hauptfeldwebel’s voice softly spoke calm and, what appeared to have been, well-informed words the woman slowly turned her head around to look at him once more, her forehead slightly wrinkled.

The Hauptfeldwebel insisted the Hauptmann’s conduct was nothing more or less but his reaction during times of excessive temperamental heat, and while Dirk perfectly understood this concept – for, most likely, she was guilty of that quality herself to a certain extent – she could not in the least attribute this flaw as an explanation to the man’s behaviour. Perhaps it would have been more appropriate to believe this for other military figures she had worked close to, and indeed, the woman had oftentimes yelled insults and cruel retorts which she had never meant in the first place, but her uncultivated nature and inability that on occasion possessed her to discipline her thoughts and reactions led her to such situations in which words of injustice were spoken at the peak of rage. Still, even if the Hauptmann was characterized by this flaw in other situations and over different circumstances – and, indeed, the woman was inclined to acknowledge this to be likely – she was more than positive that this did not apply to her. The rage which whole-heartedly possessed him, the unprecedented inability to control himself and the murderous, noxious essence of his torrid hatred, fierce as it was all-consuming, illuminated with a flaming bright glow the precise sentiments the man felt towards her. There was no doubt within her mind – no room for any trace of question – that every word he had uttered he had believed, and so she knew. The Hauptfeldwebel excused the conduct partly to the means of upbringing and unforeseen events that could occur in someone’s life, but she disregarded that excuse as inapplicable to the man’s case; certainly, the way he had been brought up rendered him almost instinctively prejudiced against the people of her heritage, the ways of aristocratic breeding enforcing such beliefs between the kinfolk, but she believed in the character and personality of each man, and how each person was perfectly able, upon growing up and reaching adulthood, to alter their views, adjust his perceptions and even correct beliefs they had held as standpoints that were to guide them through their lives, but not him – he had in a mechanized fashion formulated those spoon-fed ideas and never bothered to judge and criticize them, swallowing them down like pills that were to immediately rid him of an illness, which only further proved to her how much of a child he was.

The woman treated herself generously to another gulp of wine, but not without noticing this time the diffident man’s tone change to something which bore a stricter quality to it, and she turned her head over her shoulder to look at him curiously, silent as he spoke – with a touch of admiration surfacing through his voice – of his Hauptmann, absolutely refusing that cowardice was anything his commanding officer was guilty of, and spoke of him in such a way as had Dirk gazing at him in quiet contemplation as she listened curiously but carefully; to her the greatest commendation and proof of respect was not given by those of the higher command, but those over whose command she had been placed. To have your subordinate speak of you with respect and admiration was to her the most significant, important matter that should claim her interest, and as she listened to the Hauptfeldwebel something shifted inside her – and yet the moment was short-lived, for the stocky man began to say something about the Hauptmann asking him how he had felt upon first meeting his wife and she wondered whether the Hauptfeldwebel had drank a little too much wine that was now getting to his head, or if he really thought such trivial tittle-tattle would meet her fascination, not quite sure where he was getting at … until he mentioned her. She needed a few moments to register the true meaning behind his explanation, and when realization slapped her sharply in the face she only stared at him as if he was the most ridiculous human being in the entire world. Indeed, the Hauptfeldwebel was too romantic and naïve than was good for him.

She was about to tell him this, when the balcony’s door suddenly swung open and in walked none other but the Hauptmann himself, looking his usual, irritated self. He walked close to her, and she scoffed at him once he began to examine her in a most thorough manner – oh indeed, he could pretend now that she was not good enough for him, the absurd, shallow and conceited fool that he was, but she did not know for how long she could tolerate his infantile conduct and prevent herself from slapping him around properly, as she ought to have done in the first place. She, however, did not have enough time to react as he demanded of her to follow him, and without another word he grasped her hand and pulled her along towards the door and back into the room. A grimace embraced the woman’s face and she wrinkled her forehead in distaste as the music and the heavy noise rang blaringly through her mind, images of people passing between her eyes in their sharp lucidity. She drank the final large gulp of the remaining wine, as though braving herself for what was to come, just as he applied pressure against her back to force her to walk forwards, until he suddenly grabbed her glass and interwove his fingers through hers, now actually realizing he was intending to –

“Tanz? Ist das ein Witz?” she grumbled under her throat, but he was steadfastly leading her closer to what appeared to be a small space for the dancing partners to engage to the music, and only moments later did his sharp, vexed voice choose to insult her once more, and she could only faintly smile bitterly at herself, the Hauptfeldwebel’s words now only proven even more ludicrous to her. She was caught unprepared when the Hauptmann pulled her closer to him and pressed her against his strong frame, feeling his violating hands grasp her with a firm and decisive hold, one around her waist and the other claiming her fingers his; her right hand almost instinctively moved to rest on his shoulder as he motioned them to the slow rhythm of the music. “Ich würde nicht wissen – war es dieselbe Scheune, die Sie vermieteten um Ihr kleines Pferd zu bumsen?” she answered him, her eyes gleaming at the insult she gave him back, the man close enough to feel his breath tingling the side of her face, and she inhaled calmly, arching a mocking, enquiring eyebrow at him. “Mindestens hoffe ich, dass es … Stunden nicht nahm,” she jeered in an undertone with a smile slowly crawling its way in the corner of her lips.

“Sie wissen, wenn Ihnen so viel an meinen Manieren und Erbe missfallen wird, gab es keinen Grund, mich zu zwingen, an erster Stelle zu kommen. Sie konnten irgendjemanden haben Sie wollen – die Frauen an den Gruppen der Hilfstruppen wären nur zu erfreut worden, Ihnen mit ihrer Anwesenheit nachzugeben – Sie brauchen nicht … zu haben lud denjenigen ein, Sie meist zu hassen. Aber vielleicht sind Sie darin, Sie bösartiger kleiner junger Hund,” she told him in a calm, knowledgeable tone as they moved to the music, letting him lead and guide her instead, and, indeed, if anyone were to listen in to their conversation, how sardonic to find it most contradicted the tranquil, pleasant appearance of the dancing! “Erzählen Sie mir … wie oft muss ich Ihren Verstand für Sie zerschlagen, um zu lernen?” she asked him, and smirked. “Aber vielleicht … vielleicht meinen Sie es nicht wirklich. Oh Ja,” she announced, and her green eyes gleamed distinctly at the soft orange glow of the light emanating from the small lamps attached to the stone walls of the building, “besprachen wir Sie mit dem Hauptfeldwebel, während Sie mit den Italienern tanzten. Sie haben keine Idee welche Information man daraus herausziehen kann, die Geschichten von jemandes Untergebenen zu hören. Wie – wie scharf Sie von Ihrem süßen kleinen Verlobten sind, wie interessierten, um zu wissen –”

But then she frowned, realizing something oddly different regarding his appearance, yet being unable to precisely pinpoint where this strangeness lay – until perception suddenly hit her on the face. “Wo ist Ihr Ring?” she required in a low voice, her eyebrows slightly curved over her eyes as she gazed at him, perplexed and curious.


Translation

Dance? Is this a joke?

I wouldn’t know – was it the same barn you rented to fuck your little horse?

At least I hope it didn’t take … hours.

You know, if you are so much displeased at my manners and heritage, there was no reason to force me to come in the first place. You could have anyone you want – the women at the auxiliaries’ groups would have been only too delighted to indulge you with their presence – you need not have … invited the one to hate you the most. But maybe you are into that, you vicious little puppy.

Tell me … how many times do I have to batter your brains out for you to learn? But maybe … maybe you don’t really mean it. Oh yes, we were discussing you with the Hauptfeldwebel while you were dancing with the Italians. You have no idea what information one can extract from hearing the stories of one’s subordinates. Such as – how keen you are of your sweet little betrothed, how interested to know –

Where is your ring?

[Rolf Jäger]

The soft scent of the woman's hair was beguiling to Rolf and he closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed in, for those few seconds merely allowing it to calm him, to bring forth memories of a different time and place. Shadowy images flashed through his mind, of a brief moment when they had regarded each other in complete peace, no hatred or anger passing through the small distance between them, and he granted his mind the luxury of drawing some sense of serenity from that memory. It filled his lungs first, scrawling there like hazy wisps of smoke before injecting itself slowly into his blood stream and allowing his tense muscles to relax until the last traces of irritation exited his system in one, long exhale. The man's attention returned back from this comfortable warmth to listen to Riedel's words and a frown wrinkled his brow the moment she insulted him in a lazy, relaxed voice, implying that Rolf shared some rather unconventional relations with horses in a barn. An angry flicker of flame lit within the man's chest, nearly driving away the comfortable veil of neutrality he had worked to draw over his thoughts and the Hauptmann drew his head away from the woman, hints of a feral snarl already visible at the corner of his lips. For a few fleeting seconds it seemed as if the man would succumb to his usual reaction, growling sharp words back at her, but then the man blinked and the mask of hatred melted away, the sneer transforming into a small smirk.

The smile became looser, more relaxed and a hoarse imitation of laughter emitted deep within the man's throat when he realized that he was actually finding her insults refreshing, as if he had been sitting outside in the scorching sun for hours and suddenly offered the chance to splash cool water over his face. Riedel certainly evoked violent feelings within him and there were times when he wanted nothing more but to destroy her where she stood, but right now her jeering words seemed to be the only truthful thing within the room, a welcome change to the meaningless prattle he was forced to endure. The fleeting traces of anger melded into the dark reaches of his mind and Rolf tilted his head to the side, the smile still lingering upon his lips as he watched her. "Mein kleines Pferd?" the man repeated with a raise of his eyebrows. "Ist das der Name, den sie für Bauer-Huren an diesen Tagen verwenden? Ja, das war tatsächlich die wirkliche Scheune und nein, natürlich würde ich Stunden an sie nicht vergeuden. Ich habe diese spezielle Zeit nur für Sie, Riedel vorbestellt," Rolf spoke in a low voice and answered to the woman's smile, his feet moving automatically to the music, each movement so carefully practiced he did not need to pay a second thought to the way he stepped.

With this same relaxed disposition, he listened to Riedel asking him why he had decided to bring her to the reception when it would have been far more simple to have one of the auxiliaries to accompany him, as in her opinion, any of them would have no doubt agreed to such a request. When she said that he could have anyone he wanted, Rolf raised an eyebrow, wondering whether it was supposed to be a compliment or if she had simply wanted to emphasize her point, just to further underline how unsuitable she was to the task. A crooked, interested smile hung at the corner of the man's lips as he listened to her speak, watching her with a glint of unbridled curiosity in his silver irises when she suggested that it might have been some twisted game of his, bringing with him someone he so vividly hated instead. Rolf considered these words, trying to peek past them to make sense of the agendas beneath, yet her mysterious observations remained unsolved, still. Was this her polite way of distancing herself from him, of trying to speak sense to him so that he might leave her alone, as if her words carried such a heavy weight of truth to them, they would force him to face it and change his mind about her. It was true enough, Rolf could have asked any of the auxiliaries to accompany him and most likely they would have been flattered by the Hauptmann's request, especially after they found out what kind of wealth he possessed. Money seemed to work in strange ways and just the mere suggestion that you possessed it was enough to make most people act differently. Rolf knew well enough that this was the only reason he might easily capture a woman's attention, for as much as he considered himself to possess agreeable looks, women were first and foremost interested by his wealth and stature before even considering his other qualities. Most women would have married anyone with enough money to their name and Rolf was comfortable with this knowledge, understanding that after the basic needs of a person had been satisfied, they would always crave for more, even the merest hint of luxuries rendering them completely blind to other things.

Having always lived in the comfortable state of never wanting for food or shelter, being able to purchase whatever he craved for, Rolf had never learned to be greedy. Why would he want for anything more when everything he needed was within his reach? Certainly, had he suddenly lost this advantage he would have grown as gluttonous as anyone else, but right now he did not need to think about acquiring more wealth. It felt like a natural state to exist in, for what else had he known during his life? This was why he could understand people with lesser fortunes desiring what he had and he knew that the scent of money attracted women that held no personal interest in Rolf Jäger, but only in what he possessed. So why wouldn't he picked one of these desperate beings among the auxiliaries, chosen a woman who would pretend to dote over him, feign interest over each of his words and laugh at his every joke? The man narrowed his eyes at the thought, looking at Riedel as she stared back at him with those eyes of emerald green and he knew that wealth only stirred anger within her, his stature further driving her towards the torrents of anger. He had never quite looked into these thoughts before, yet now they stood in front of him, clear and uncomplicated, drawing an amused smile upon Rolf's lips. It was this difference and the various other fascinating deviations within her that held his interest, that ignited his obsession and drew him to her and Riedel was here for the sole purpose of allowing him to delve into her nature further. Well, maybe he would delve into something else, also, but that was for later...

Her steady, confident voice awoke Rolf from his silent musings and he observed her with a neutral expression, as if to express to her that no amount of insults would be enough to invoke his anger and that he was dwelling on a plane of existence she could not touch with her words. When she reminded him of the times she had managed to subdue him, Rolf merely scoffed, forcing back the painful stab of anger and humiliation, his face still managing to retain the mask of relaxed indifference. It was when she mentioned that she had discussed him with Kronberg when Rolf's eyes sharpened and narrowed, the man's eyebrows curving with both surprise and irritation. What could that airheaded Hauptfeldwebel told Riedel, anyway? Rolf was not one to discuss any personal thoughts or matters with anyone, and even if Kronberg was someone he was most likely to discuss non-military matters with, he had never heard anything Rolf would have not wanted him to hear. There were no secrets or worries shared, no moments when the Hauptmann would have found himself in such a desperate situation as to betray any of his thoughts to his wingman. This was why the man appeared all the more confused when Riedel suddenly referred to his fiancé and how Rolf had spoken of her to Kronberg with such fond terms, the mere suggestion of such absurdity raising a look of complete disbelief upon the man's face. The woman would have continued, but her gaze was suddenly drawn away and she remained silent for a small moment before promptly asking about Rolf's missing ring.

The man blinked, his own gaze shooting towards the hand with the missing ring, a faint line of lighter skin still remaining where the ring should have been. Rolf's momentarily addled mind was still trying to figure out how the woman would have possessed such skills in perception as to notice the missing ring, while he was also realizing that he was supposed to come up with some explanation for it. The man's gaze moved back at Riedel and he opened his mouth for a small moment, the words finding their way automatically out of his mouth. "Ich verlor es," Rolf lied, immediately feeling as if the ring he had "lost" was burning a hole through the front pocket of his tunic. His eyes attempted to instinctively move to regard the object he was thinking about and he stopped himself quickly, glancing up and shrugging as to keep himself from revealing the actual location of the ring. "Aber das ist mir wurscht. Ich entschied, dass ich mich irgendwie nicht verheirate." He had not really even registered the presence of these thoughts and hearing them coming from his own mouth surprised him, for as reluctant as he had been to think about the impending marriage, he had never actually admitted out loud that he was not meaning to go through with it - hell, he had not even admitted it to himself! Feeling as if everyone in the room was suddenly glaring at him, Rolf's grey eyes moved to glance sideways at the other guests, while he still stepped to the music in automatic motions, yet at the same time he also sensed a heavy weight lifting from his chest. It was as if the words had been poison or a disease spreading within his system to ultimately devour him and speaking out his thoughts had released him from the sickness. He felt oddly light and free and Rolf allowed the sensation to fill him, a careful but almost victorious smile rising upon his lips as his eyes returned to regard Riedel once again.

"Es hätte nicht ausgearbeitet, Elsa war nicht wirklich... mein Typ," Rolf arched his scarred eyebrow, inwardly laughing at such a sentence. In his parents eyes, Elsa had been just his type; well educated in social graces, delicately feminine, able to effortlessly follow and take part in discussions had at dinner parties and raised in a respectable German family. Rolf's personal experiences of her had involved her constant, bubbling giggling, continuous discussions of such meaningless topics as fashion or music and having her cling to him in constant fear and desperation. He knew that her family needed the marriage and Elsa was working to hold on to that advantage, always asking Rolf's opinions concerning the upcoming wedding, as if talking about it enough would bring the event to fruition. Rolf cared not about her mindless banter and at the time he had only wished to concentrate on his law studies and flying, on the long drives upon his motorcycle upon quiet, winding roads or riding headlong into a thicket after a fleeing deer. He had possessed no desire to even consider marriage, but he also been well aware of his duties and had finally agreed to exchange engagement rings with Elsa, feeling as if he had just made a pact with the Devil.

He realized that there, just now, he had denounced her, freed himself of the bond that had been weighing him down ever since he had made the promise and the smile upon his lips grew wider, reaching his eyes and lighting them with vehemence. A nagging voice was telling him that he could not make such a decision on his own, that his parents would not hear any such nonsense from him, but they were such a distance away, even the voice felt oddly weak and he was able to drive it away with a mere shake of his head. "Ich glaube dass es bedeutet dass ich frei bin, irgendetwas zu tun dass ich will, jetzt tut nicht es?" the man asked in a hoarse, amused voice, the hand resting upon Riedel's waist snaking downwards while Rolf pressed his bulk against her greedily, the fast feeling of freedom having driven him momentarily insane with joy.

"Sie sehen gut aus," the man suddenly complimented her, feeling elated enough to grace her with such unexpectedly spoken words. He cared not what Riedel herself thought about his approval and he merely brought his face closer and pressed his cheek against her hair, his eyes closing as he breathed in deeply, relishing both in her scent and closeness. Rolf tilted his chin down and his lips parted as he concentrated on the texture of her hair upon his skin, the man no longer able to hear the music over the alluring song of freedom, the soothing notes whispering to him of the opportunities that now lay open before him, ready for him to conquer and claim. The man shifted his head just enough to have the woman to feel his warm breath upon her ear and he allowed his eyes to crack open slowly, a low, satisfied growl forming within his chest as he imagined all the things he could do, how the woman had no escape, how everything he would ever want was suddenly his. The thought filled his muscles with curious strength and he felt the burning desire to drink to his heart's content, to sing and dance and to drive a car along the desert in the middle of the cool Libyan night just to feel the wind against his skin. Rolf smiled, not quite certain which one of these things he would have rather done first, when his eyes suddenly fixed upon a familiar figure standing distinctly from the crowd.

Major Heinert looked straight back at Rolf, smiling and raising a hand at the Hauptmann the moment he was certain he had noticed and identified him. Rolf's hand, the one that had been snaking languidly down Riedel's back and by now almost reached her behind, froze in its place and the man growled with barely contained irritation, his blissful mood effectively ruined in the matter of a second. As if all the events had been nothing but a carefully practiced play, the song came to a convenient end and the guests clapped their hands, forcing Rolf to distance himself from Riedel out of common courtesy, the Major's eyes never leaving them. Rolf felt the burning need to curse out loud, to stride to the Major and punch a fist into his face, but he merely stood up straighter, his hand sliding away from Riedel's waist and the hand holding hers coming down, yet not releasing the grasp. His face was now frozen into a dark mask of hatred and it was a well known fact that Hauptmann Jäger and Major Heinert held little respect towards each other. Heinert could not stand the Hauptmann's arrogant manners and the man was constantly pushing him to obedience, regarding him with little respect at all and constantly abusing his rank, while Jäger considered Heinert having climbed up the ranks in a cheap manner, constantly avoiding any situations that would have forced him to endanger his life. Even when both of them acted in a seemingly courteous manner towards each other, Rolf begrudgingly saluting and addressing the superior officer in the manner expected of him, they held nothing but contempt towards each other. Knowing that he would be forced to endure his barely coated hatred and disrespect, Rolf stood in his place stiffly for a small while, finally forcing himself to walk towards the Hauptmann, his fingers still entwined with Riedel's.

The Hauptmann released his hold of the woman's hand as he stopped in front of the Major, snapping into a precise, sharp salute and waiting for the officer to return to it. The Major took his time, smiling as he saluted the Hauptmann back, his eyes mostly fixated upon Riedel the entire time, as if Jäger wa too insignificant for him to really notice. Rolf stood in his place, his stance rigid and hostile, and the thin smile that found its way to his lips was as cold and hateful as his merciless gaze was, the man wanting nothing more but seeing the other officer utterly destroyed, thoroughly trodden into the darkest, deepest depths of the Libyan desert. "Major Heinert," Rolf's hoarse voice had a dangerous intensity to it, like that of a metal string having been forced to its extremity by pulling it from both ends, the cord emitting an ominous metallic chime just before it would snap in half. "Das ist-" the man had no time to introduce Riedel, as the Major had already extended his hand to grasp Riedel's, the man staring intently at the tall woman. "Oh, Bemühe dich nicht, Hauptmann, wir haben uns bereits getroffen," Heinert announced with a smile just before he bowed down to kiss the woman upon her hand, Rolf's teeth gritting together as the beast of anger whispered him murderous tales of carnage and destruction between its sharp, blood-smeared canines.


Translations:

"Mein kleines Pferd? Ist das der Name..."
"My little horse? Is that the name they use for peasant whores these days? Yes, that indeed was the very barn and no, of course I would not waste hours on them. I've reserved that special time only for you, Riedel."

"Ich verlor es. Aber das ist mir wurscht. Ich entschied, dass ich mich irgendwie nicht verheirate."
"I lost it. But I don't mind. I decided I'm not getting married, anyway."

"Es hätte nicht ausgearbeitet, Elsa war nicht wirklich... mein Typ."
"It wouldn't have worked out, Elsa was not really... my type."

"Ich glaube dass es bedeutet dass ich frei bin, irgendetwas zu tun dass ich will, jetzt tut nicht es?"
"I guess it means I'm free to do anything I want, now doesn't it?"

"Sie sehen gut aus."
"You look good."

"Major Heinert. Das ist-"
"Major Heinert. This is-"

"Oh, Bemühe dich nicht, Hauptmann, wir haben uns bereits getroffen."
"Oh, do not bother, Hauptmann, we have already met."

[Dirk Riedel]

Her face remained unresponsive and critical as he returned her jibe in an equal mocking tone, even though she was certain he meant every word he said, once more calling her that which she believed he assumed her as, a peasant whore, that which he had called her during the very first encounter, that which she had told Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg he thought her as and which the man had denounced as mere words spoken in the heat of fury, and such as the Hauptmann now never failed to pronounce once more – quite an irony to what the Hauptfeldwebel had insisted, but the woman was not to be surprised, nor did she react in any other way apart from staring back at him with a serious, unsmiling expression before she spoke to him of her thoughts regarding his choice in companionship – and though she expected of him to respond to her, anticipating nothing else but a crisp, mocking insult, how he had chosen her simply on the grounds that he desired to irritate her, or because this was just for the purpose of his own entertainment, or that peasant whores like her deserved to see the civilized world at least once in their lifetimes but … none of these left the Hauptmann’s lips, as he, strangely enough, began to gaze at her in a different manner, a slow smile forming in the corner of his lips and which soon spread to cover the entire length of his mouth. What was most interesting but also confusing at the same time with regard to this silent response was the genuine essence of the smile which, oddly enough, was neither mocking nor condescending, but one having been born out of the seeds of natural amusement. She could hardly understand him, let alone decipher the meaning of this or what thoughts he may have obviously been contemplating at the moment, but the woman stood silent as she watched him carefully, the minimal changes of his facial features as he lead her through the slow dance with his well-calculated, fluid movements that drove her along in a musical, rhythmic pattern. She slightly frowned and gazed at him curiously, until she voiced her question, to which the Hauptmann, finally, found something to respond with.

Dirk could have laughed at his face right at that moment at his ridiculous explanation, but so confused and taken aback was she at such absurdity that she merely graced him with yet another of her scowls. How farcical he was! As though she would ever believe such an infantile, foolish lie, even in the case she should have been through several surgeries of lobotomy. How could one possibly lose a ring they wore every second of the day? Had he suddenly lost so much weight that the ring, indeed, had fallen off his emaciated finger without him realizing it, for, after all, he did appear to be the same to her. Of course she did think that perhaps he had pulled it away during one incident, misplaced it and then been unable to relocate it, although the woman concluded this to be highly unlikely and, in any case, regarded his words nothing but a ridiculous lie. Nevertheless, she did not fail to notice how he had blinked upon her mention of his missing ring, as though he had even forgotten about the issue, or his face immediately turning towards a direction – until he returned his eyes to her, and it was what he had to say next that truly caught her interest. He announced that his decision was that of not following marriage, after all, and even claimed that his betrothed was not to his ‘type’. Her forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows curved above her eyes to reveal her perplexity, as she wondered when and how on earth had he made such a decision in the first place when, clearly, his parents and inner family circle would hardly even know about this. She questioned whether this abrupt and daring verdict had been the result of his staying in the sun for too long, since, to be sure, despite his general dislike for his intended and other objections with regard to her, pronouncing the entire marriage was invalid seemed to be a conclusion that was not within his hands to decide in the first place, whether this was to his likement or not. Certainly in aristocratic circles one must abide by several obligations as enforced by the parental ‘guidance’ which had surmised how their daughters and sons needed to engage themselves only with other people of equal consequence, hence why their approval was awfully significant for any such settlement to be made. And yet here the Hauptmann was, denouncing any relation of importance – and claiming himself to be free as, with no amount of faint surprise amidst her confusion and scowling, she was pressed firmly against his frame, arching one eyebrow upon feeling the fingers of his hand on their earthward journey across her back.

She treated the suggestive nature of such words with nothing more but a barely suppressed scoff, and was just set on telling him how he would never be free – when she distinctly frowned as he spoke next, expressing how well she appeared. The traces of confusion relocated themselves upon the sharp angles of her face as she tilted her head slightly to the side and gazed at him curiously, wondering if, indeed, he had commented on her health, as she had formerly assumed, or if he was merely referring to the dress. Whichever of the two it may have been she cared very little, hardly the one to feel exhilarated and fishing for such empty, meaningless compliments that served no other purpose apart from prolonging conceit – which was precisely the reason, the woman thought, the beings of nobility were most famous of such bouquets – but even so, the woman did not have any time to either properly scorn him for such foolishness or respond with a mocking jibe, for the man, quite surprisingly, leaned in and brought the side of his face against her own, feeling him bury himself within the golden mane of hair, and the peaceful silence he maintained appeared so sacred and untouchable that she never wished to disturb him, her hand upon his shoulder moving instinctively closer to the side collar of his neck, as if in protection, her chin almost touching the left shoulder as she gazed into nothingness, and she let the moments pass, her face an unreadable shore of contemplative introspections across which the warm winds blew at its direction, but it was only ever his breath embracing the side at the ear, with the power of tidal waves spreading alongside every corner of her neck, its warmth traveling through her face and underneath her hair. It was relatively easy to succumb to that moment of inner tranquility which she was infected from by his own form – the calmness imparted through such intimacy, and it would have been a pleasant paradox to claim so, but even through their dancing movements a perfect stillness lay between them, and her grasp of his shoulder faintly tightened – as though she no longer was the cornered doe, and he no longer was the bloodthirsty hunter. Her body moved slowly to the song’s rhythm yet she could not see her feet moving, nor could she control her movement, the fluid essence of their motion light and free, and she let herself sink in that rare moment of peace – such as she had not felt in a long time in the war – until, suddenly, the music had come to its end and the motion had ceased to be, before she had even realized so, as if awakened she had suddenly been from a dream she had not remembered ever seeing.

She did not quite understand what happened in the next moment aside from the fact the Hauptmann was leading her through the crowd somewhere, and it was only when they had arrived at the man’s destination that her gaze sharpened as she came face to face with Major Heinert. He was the last person she wanted to see right now, and yet here he was, the tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man gazing over at her with a distinct smile as their eyes met, and she felt a sudden desire to vomit. It was when they stopped in front of his figure and he grasped her hand for a kiss that she arched one eyebrow, quite tired of this silly way of showing one’s compliments. “Ich muss anfangen, dafür zu stürmen,” she said slowly, and though the Major looked curiously at her at first, he warmly smiled, amused.

“Sie könnten sich von meiner Bekanntschaft mit Fräulein Riedel fragen,” he told Jäger, the tone of his voice suggesting that he wished to express the level of intimacy he possessed with the woman in the desire to communicate to the Hauptmann that, indeed, he knew the woman quite well and therefore drive him away. “Es war nur drei vielleicht vor vier Tagen, dass sie mich in meinem Büro besuchte, bittend, dass ich einige Züge erlaube – kann ich mich nicht erinnern, welch, mir – ” he said, his apology addressing the woman as he glanced at her before he returned to the Hauptmann, “des dritten Panzergrandier Kompanie verzeihen Sie, um sich auf dem Gebiet auszubilden, das ich dem zweiten Schwarm des dritten Staffel zugeteilt hatte. Weicher Sand verflucht werden!” he called out, amused. “Sie, würden Hauptmann nicht wissen, dass der Bruder der Dame im Wehrmacht ist, ich nehme an? Tatsächlich, eine nachdenklichste Schwester, würde es ein Verbrechen sein, um solch eine Bitte nicht zu befriedigen, wenn es aus dem Herzen kommt. Als tut meine Hingabe zu Ihnen, Fräulein Riedel, Sie wissen so,” he assured her, his eyes returning to meet the woman’s face once more in most ardent zeal. “Tatsächlich ist das ein ziemlich fremdes aber angenehmes Ereignis, natürlich Sie hier aus allen Plätzen zu treffen, als nur vor Momenten ich dachte, wie ich in an der Gruppe der Hilfstruppen auf der Suche nach Ihnen geknallt haben sollte,” he informed her, his tone smooth and friendly yet never quite concealing that conniving desire to distance her from the Hauptmann. “Ich wollte Sie zu diesem Empfang persönlich einladen, gerade als ich, Fräulein Riedel, und als ein Deutscher versprochen hatte, muss ich immer meine Versprechungen erfüllen. Ich sehe jetzt, dass der Hauptmann fand, dass genug Zeit mit seiner Liste zu einer Einladung sah, anstatt mit seinen Aufgaben im Büro weiterzumachen,” he addressed the other man this time in a more critical tone, and though his voice showed he was most likely teasing about it, there was a subtle suggestion that the Major was being nothing short of judgemental.

He turned to the woman and proposed, “Ich finde, dass eine Anwesenheit wie sich selbst verlangt, dass eine mehr höhere Reihe durch eskortiert wird, Erika, sicher würde ein bloßer Hauptmann ganz … unzulänglich wie ein Eichhörnchen sein, das ein Bilden mit Baumblättern tut, wenn es von Früchten fressen kann,” he expressed to her in a tone that was hardly subtle nor too quiet so that only her could hear, but, perhaps comically enough, the woman was focused on simply one aspect of all this speech.

“Sie denken dass ich wie ein Eichhörnchen aussehe?” she asked with an amused scoff, and looked at him with wide, expectant eyes, the mocking smile etching from the corner of her lips.

“Oh, mein liebes, natürlich nicht – Ihr Rahmen ist eher – ”

“Die Auswahl zwischen dem Hauptmann und Ihnen lässt mich aufgelegt sein, dass ich zwischen einem Felsen und einem harten Platz, ein bin schlechter seiend als der andere,” she expressed heartily in her firm, strong voice, and the Major was taken aback.

“Wie tun, meinen Sie – ”

“Ich wünsche, dass ich schlagen konnte, die Ihr Gesicht betrachten aber ich mich fürchte, um eine Krankheit zu fangen,” she spoke, her eyes burning little holes through the Major’s face, her tone ice-cold and razor-sharp, for once the woman began to speak out her true thoughts – especially under the partial influence of alcohol consumed – there would follow a tide of verbal assaults that new no restrictions and no end. “Sie sind nicht irgendwelcher lieber als er ist in der Arroganz in der Eitelkeit in Ihrem Glauben der Überlegenheit. Die Wahrheit ist Sie widern mich an, und ich kam nur in Ihrem Büro, weil ich wusste, dass Sie mich nicht ablehnen würden, wenn nur ich vorschlagen würde, dass ich Sie ich in Ihrem Schreibtisch für diese kleine Bevorzugung bumsen lassen konnte. Waren Sie ein wenig enttäuscht, stimmt dass?” she said, and arched an eyebrow as the derisive smile never left her lips, by which time the Major’s hand, the one that was holding the drink, had remained unmoving mid-air, his face only able to exhibit the great amount of shock and affrontation, his lips parted at the disturbance. But she would not stop here. “Ich glaube, dass Sie sagen konnten, dass ich Sie für mein eigenes Ziel verwendete, aber Sie bevorzugten meine Bitte, und ich ließ Sie von meiner Spaltung fantasieren, so nehme ich an, dass uns sogar macht, nicht es jetzt, Sie erbärmlicher alter Dummkopf? Sie denken, dass ich mich sorgte, Sie wieder zu sehen, aber ich konnte nicht half-assed darüber sein. Ehrlich gesagt, ich möchte ohne einigen von Ihnen zwei ärgerliche kleine Pest lieber auskommen, die an mir wie die Blutegel festhält, die Sie beide sind. Also warum nicht tun, behalten Sie einander Gesellschaft und lassen mich allein, ich denke, dass ich genug Scheiße geduldet habe, wie es ist. Guten Abend,” she told the Major, and then turned her head over her shoulder to glance at the Hauptmann. “Guten Abend!” And without another word, she threw Jäger a last cold gaze before she turned around to stride away from the pair.

The Major, needless to say, needed a few moments to recover from such a merciless stream of invective, and when he turned to look at Jäger the only emotions registered through the ever upset features was contempt at the other man, anger and hatred. “So sind diese die Frauen, die Sie selbst mit vereinigen, Jäger? Ich sollte gewusst haben,” he muttered, and raised his glass to take a large gulp from wine, as though expecting to calm down from this rather rude awakening.

It was a fact that the woman specialized in them.

Having followed one of the waiters to the large kitchen behind a wooden door, she moved around the busy, loud room until she found an open bottle of wine ready to be placed upon the silver tray next to it, even if its waiter was not near. Without a moment’s hesitation she snatched the bottle and found her own corner in the kitchen where she would not be bothered, as she rested her figure against the wall and tilted her head backwards when she began to drink from the wine. It was several minutes later when she stepped out of the door – not without having to take one step back and support herself against it before she found her proper balance again – and walked alongside the corners of the room, quiet and staring at her surroundings with gleaming green eyes, not wanting to gather any attention towards her self. As may be gathered, this was quite difficult at a room inhabited solely by male population and, as such, it was a minute after that a group of middle-aged German aristocrats saw her walking near, and addressed her.

“Sie sind Hauptmann Jäger’s Eskorte, stimmt dass? Welches überraschendes Äusseres hier in der gottverlassenen Seite der Welt,” they warmly expressed, and she looked at them strangely for a second, before she tilted her head faintly to the side, curiously, thought procession rather laborious at this moment and for that reason alone she needed a moment to think before she could respond to them.

“Ich bin sein Sklave.”



Translation

I need to start charging for this.

You might wonder of my acquaintance with Miss Riedel. It was only three, perhaps four days ago that she visited me in my office, requesting that I allow some platoons – I cannot remember which, forgive me – of the third Panzergrandier Kompanie to train on the area I had assigned to the second Schwarm of the third Staffel. Soft sand be cursed! You would not know, Hauptmann, that the lady’s brother is in the Wehrmacht, I assume? Indeed, a most thoughtful sister, it would be a crime not to satisfy such a request when it comes from the heart. As does my devotion to you, Miss Riedel, you know so.

In fact this is a rather strange but pleasant event, of course, to meet you here out of all places when only moments ago I was thinking how I should have popped in at the auxiliaries’ group in search of you. I wanted to personally invite you to this reception, just as I had promised, Miss Riedel, and as a German, I must always fulfill my promises. I see now the Hauptmann found enough time in his schedule to see to an invitation, rather than continuing with his duties in the office.

I feel that a presence such as yourself requires a more superior rank to be escorted by, Erika, certainly a mere Hauptmann would be quite … inadequate, like a squirrel making do with tree leaves when it can feed from fruits.

You think I look like a squirrel?

Oh, my dear, of course not – your frame is rather –

Choosing between the Hauptmann and you makes me feel like I am between a rock and a hard place, one being worse than the other.

How do you mean –

I wish I could slap that look on your face but I fear to catch a disease. You are not any better than he is, in arrogance, in conceit, in your belief of superiority. The truth is you disgust me and I only came in your office because I knew you wouldn’t refuse me if only I suggested I could have you fuck me in your desk for that little favour. You were a little disappointed, weren’t you? I guess you could say I used you for my own objective, but you favoured my request and I let you fantasize of my cleavage, so I assume that makes us even, now doesn’t it, you pathetic old fool? You think I cared to see you again, but I couldn’t be half-assed about it. To be honest, I would rather do without any of you two annoying little pests holding on to me like the leeches you both are. So why don’t you keep each other company and leave me alone, I think I have tolerated enough shit as it is. Good evening. Good evening!

So these are the women you associate yourself with, Jäger? I should have known.

You are Hauptmann Jäger’s escort, aren’t you? What a surprising appearance here in the god-forsaken side of the world.

I am his slave.