When The Levee Breaks

[Rolf Jäger]

Country: Tripoli, Africa
Current Time: 11:20, April 1941
Weather Conditions: A strong wind howls between the buildings of Tripoli, pushing along shreds of clouds. The sun is still shining and even though the wind offers some reprieve from the heat of the day, it also pelts any people outside with tiny grains of sand.


The whitewashed walls of the old three-storied building resonated with the steady tap of various typewriters, rustling of papers and voices, both male and female, speaking over each other in German in the task of organizing all the various details of the current military offensive in Libya. The sunlight flooded inside the rooms through long, arched windows and small dust particles floated in the air, momentarily swirling in rapid torrents whenever an uniformed man hurried past, the step of their jackboots echoing in the long corridors. These sounds seemed muffled and distant inside the temporary office Hauptmann Jäger had been granted and the general bustle of the German headquarters was reduced to a steady murmur that felt almost pleasant in its unchanging resonance. The shadows were allowed to dance freely upon the white, undecorated walls of the room, the complicated ornamental patterns on the windowpanes creeping along the stone with the movement of the Libyan sun as it neared its highest point upon the sky. The room had scarcely any furniture, most of it having been divided among the various offices now occupied by officers from both Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, leaving the Hauptmann's office with only two chairs and a desk. The desk was standing directly in front of the window and Rolf could feel the warmth of the sunlight upon his shoulders and hear how microscopic grains of sand occasionally hit the windowpane when the gusts of wind pushed them high enough to reach the third floor of the building. The air inside the room had a musty, still quality to it and the warmth of the approaching mid-day made it grow more intolerable with each passing minute, the comfortable coolness of the morning now hopelessly lost. It was foolish to even consider opening the window under the current weather conditions and the people inside the offices were forced to withstand the increasingly suffocating febricity that reigned indoors.

The Hauptmann leaned back in his wooden chair and it creaked under his bulk, the movement sending small drops of sweat running down his back under his sand-coloured Luftwaffe uniform. He still carried an extensive collection of bruises upon his features, the right side of his face having suffered the most damage, creating a stark contrast for his otherwise neat appearance. Rolf had reluctantly shaved away the stubble he had grown almost accustomed to during the past few days, only further revealing the full extent of his unseemly injuries for others to gape at. A small cut ran over his right eyebrow and Rolf knew it would most likely leave a mark he would carry for years to come, if not for the rest of his life. No matter how extensively bruised his face appeared, the Hauptmann had still made an effort to look presentable, his desert coloured Luftwaffe uniform not carrying the slightest blemish and his black boots shined to perfection, his peaked cap resting upon the desk. It was much easier to retain such an appearance now that he was confined into working inside the office, restricted from flying as he currently was. He had left the hospital only four days ago and still suffered from random attacks of dizziness and nausea, not to even mention the headaches that frequented him with merciless punctuality. Even though they had gradually lessened in severity, he wasn't foolish enough think himself fit enough to fly and while his pride was telling him otherwise, he knew better than to listen to its enticing messages. There was hardly anything glorious or intelligent in jeopardizing the lives of his own pilots should he have stubbornly taken to the skies in his current state. The smallest disruption in his concentration might have not only sent his fighter plummeting down, but it could have also prevented him from notifying other pilots of enemy presence; it was such a seemingly small notion, yet still one that could make all the difference between life and death. There was little marginal for mistakes in the life of a fighter pilot and Rolf was ready to occupy himself with other duties until his health had fully returned.

Even this knowledge had failed to make him feel any better about the way things had turned out and the days spent inside the office had made him high-strung and irritable; qualities which were easily connected with Hauptmann Jäger in most situations to begin with, yet ones that had now grown tenfold. He had been acting quite erratically for the past few days, going from a strangely contemplative silence to a fit of unpredictable rage in the matter of seconds, which was most likely the reason why Kronberg was now sitting on the other chair in complete stillness, his lips pressed into a thin, serious line while his eyes cautiously skipped over the bruised features of his commanding officer. Rolf's gaze was travelling along the lines of text on a paper he was holding, a bleak hard expression frozen on his features, his concentration apparently set in absorbing the content of the text, yet his thoughts hopelessly lost elsewhere entirely. No matter how intensely he had attempted to shut out the events that had taken place over the course of his stay in the hospital, they still kept coming back to him with a brutal force. Even when he felt he could no longer keep his eyes open and that he would simply fall unconscious from the exhaustion, Riedel's words crept towards him from the shadows, carried by the howl of the wind and attacking him like a pack of hungry hell hounds, tearing apart his insides night after night. When he finally managed to drift into sleep, the beasts of his memories only clawed apart the veil of his dreams, filling his mind with the same tormenting visions he had worked so diligently to forget. It had become a fight he felt he was losing, a battle that was slowly wearing him down, the effects of his own personal strife having left their marks upon his bloodshot eyes and the distinctive dark lines under his eyes.

Rolf raised a hand up to rub his left temple carefully and he really attempted to understand what he was reading so he could turn the information into more useful, mundane thoughts, yet he could only see the viridian eyes looking back at him from amidst the military typeface, the soft tone of Riedel's voice slithering around him like some poisonous serpent. Only barely did he manage to resist the temptation to crush the paper inside his fist and instead he only dropped it back on the table, where it floated down upon a pile of other papers, all of them still demanding his attention. Kronberg shifted nervously in his seat, not daring to say anything when the Hauptmann only maintained his grim silence, his expression unreadable and blank. Kronberg immediately appeared all the more attentive when the Hauptmann drew breath deeply, the chair under him creaking once more as he allowed himself to slouch in it. "Ich traf eine bestimmte Frau. Hier in Libyen," the man suddenly announced, his hoarse voice piercing through the relative stillness of the office. Kronberg arched an eyebrow, an incredulous look taking over his previously apprehensive one when he simply had no idea if he was supposed to comment on this fact or not. Kronberg's mouth drew to form a small 'o' while his mind was still furiously trying to decide whether to come up with some sort of a reply or to remain silent. The Hauptmann continued before he managed to come to any conclusion, the other man absentmindedly picking up a pen from the desk just so that he could look at something while he spoke. "Riedel," the name was pronounced with slow languidness, yet the raspy tone of the man's voice carried a certain sense of intensity to it, as if the simple name held all the power in the world, a sacred relic of the old.

Kronberg blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in nothing but utter confusion. "Leutnant Riedel ist... eine Frau?" he asked slowly, carefully, his eyes widening.

"Nein, Sie Idiot!" Rolf growled at the Hauptfeldwebel, not even bothering to wrap his mind around such a ridiculous deduction. "Ich spreche über seine Schwester. Ich traf sie im Krankenhaus, sie ist ein Hilfsverb hier in Afrika, tuend - so, ich bin nicht völlig sicher, was sie wirklich tut, aber es ist wenig irgendwie von Bedeutung. Die Sache ist die..." the man flicked the pen around between his fingers, the purpose of his sentence lost mid-sentence when he realized he had no clear idea why he had even mentioned her to Kronberg to begin with. He just felt he needed to get these thoughts out of his head, yet he knew perfectly well he could have never discussed the details with anyone. Kronberg had adopted a slightly sheepish look by now and the man opted to glance nervously around the room instead of looking at the Hauptmann. Rolf's silver eyes suddenly locked upon his wingman and the man stared at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes when a fresh thought invaded his mind. "Sie sind verheiratet, Kronberg," since it was more of a statement than a question, the other man only nodded, flashing a small, nervous smile at the Hauptmann before he went on. "Als Sie Ihre Frau trafen, tat es ist aufgelegt... Sie... Sie wollen sie gerade erwürgen und sie zur gleichen Zeit bumsen?" the man asked between clenched teeth, his silver eyes adopting an almost feverish glint while the tips of his fingers curled at the image.

Kronberg shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his nose crunching and the corners of his mouth drawing backwards as he slowly tilted his head and finally managed to shake it, almost dreading to answer the other man. "Es ist... nicht wirklich, wie es für mich war, Herr Hauptmann," Kronberg replied carefully, not quite sure what kind of answer the officer was expecting to hear and whether he was only joking around, purposefully trying to evoke an awkward answer for him to laugh at. Instead of hearing the Hauptmann's hoarse, barking laughter, he could only discern genuine confusion and interest within the man's eyes and Rolf tilted his chin up as he considered the information, acknowledging it with a small, unreadable grunt. That glint of curiousness still remained within his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, new questions obviously surfacing in a rapid progression, but a sharp knock from the door interrupted any further inquiries the Hauptmann was planning to make. Rolf's gaze moved promptly towards the source of the sound and the man sneered, adjusting his position in the chair and sitting up straighter before telling the guests that they were free to enter the room. Oberleutnant Wahler stepped inside the office with three other uniformed men of the Luftwaffe, all of them snapping into a precise salute while Kronberg rose promptly from his seat, thankful for not having to continue the confusing and even somewhat alarming discussion.

"Herren," Rolf returned the salute almost lazily, only now hazily recalling that he had, indeed, agreed to have a meeting at this particular hour and it had simply escaped his mind; something that had become more of a habit than an exception in the past few days. The office had become nothing but a different kind of prison and he still found himself caged inside, accompanied by Riedel's gravely spoken words, the touch of her hand and the genuine, steadfast gaze of her green eyes. As long as he was restricted from flying he could not hope to break free from the shackles that constricted him so mercilessly and he was sure that if this would go on much longer, he would simply snap. He would snap and kill everyone, decorating the walls of the offices with their entrails. The thought made the man feel at least slightly better, if not a tad violent, and Rolf narrowed his eyes, delving decidedly into the various folders and papers laid out on the table in front of him in an attempt to focus his mind on military matters.


Translations:

"Ich traf eine bestimmte Frau. Hier in Libyen."
"I met a certain woman. Here in Libya."

"Leutnant Riedel ist... eine Frau?"
"Leutnant Riedel... is a woman?"

"Nein, Sie Idiot!"
"No, you idiot!"

"Ich spreche über seine Schwester. Ich traf sie im Krankenhaus, sie ist ein Hilfsverb hier in Afrika, tuend - so, ich bin nicht völlig sicher, was sie wirklich tut, aber es ist wenig irgendwie von Bedeutung. Die Sache ist die..."
"I'm talking about his sister. I met her at the hospital, she is an auxiliary here in Africa, doing- well, I'm not entirely sure what she's doing, really, but it matters little, anyway. The point is..."

"Sie sind verheiratet, Kronberg. Als Sie Ihre Frau trafen, tat es ist aufgelegt... Sie... Sie wollen sie gerade erwürgen und sie zur gleichen Zeit bumsen?"
"You are married, Kronberg. When you met her, did it feel like... you... you just want to strangle her and fuck her at the same time?"

"Es ist... nicht wirklich, wie es für mich war, Herr Hauptmann."
"That's... not really how it was for me, Herr Hauptmann."

"Herren."
"Gentlemen."

[Dirk Riedel]

Green eyes glanced back at the reflection in the mirror, meeting the face of an austere young woman, the features hardened and her jaw stiff, her fingers strongly circled around the bladed tool. The sun was slowly journeying down the path behind the hills, the wide blue firmament painted in glorious shades of magenta and gold as the last rays of sunshine penetrated the room through the open glass window, decorating each object in a soft orange glow. There was nothing but unbroken silence within the bedroom, as the girl without a word stared back at the mirror hang on the wall opposite her with a determined expression carved through the sharp angles of her severe appearance, sat upon a plain, timber brown chair, with one leg bent underneath and the other touching against the floor, in front of a mahogany wooden table upon which lay a mess of yellowed papers, other metallic devices, a lighter, an emptied packet of cigarettes, an overflowing ashtray. In the corner of the room a tall clothes hanger stood, a Wehrmacht military uniform hanging down with the cap left lopsided over the hanger’s top. Her pale skin appeared more youthful back then and, though with a roughened texture with evident traces of toil and hardship nonetheless, bore no marks and wounds of war and battle, as the years would come to scar her with. A deep breath, the heart sighing with anticipation, and her throat constricted. She had wished to do something similar to this a long time ago, despite her mother’s obvious protests which had eventually hindered her from completing the task – therefore why could she not do it now? Her intentions were clear, her plans had been set forward and she knew there would be no way back. There was no regret as she looked at herself, no hint of remorse or indecision passed through her gleaming eyes and as her gaze became harsh and unyielding only her soul understood the perfect, lucid clarity of her purpose. Perhaps it was that she was branding her future in one simple, uncomplicated motion; perhaps that she was aware of the consequences that would ensue following this seemingly insignificant action, aware of what she was about to do; perhaps all these which made her for a moment bring her hand down and perceive her own reflection, as if this would allow her mind to reflect upon her life as well. Something twitched in her face, and her eyes shone bright as the last remaining sunshine washed down upon the golden strands of long hair falling upon her shoulders in loose curls, the fingers tightening their hold around the electric razor as she brought it closer to her head again. The metallic, scratching noise pierced through her mind but her hand never faltered as the sharp blade found her skin and cut across the length of her head. Blonde tresses fell silently on the floor.

Whips of grey smoke surrounded the woman as she stared at the large building, and with a weary sigh leaned her back against the marble wall in contemplation, the sun shining down the blonde hair tied back into a long, tight ponytail, the brisk angles of her face further hardened by the austere expression carved into her face as she stood there, smoking a cigarette, her free hand resting across the other arm. She had spent days’ worth of consideration on what she was about to do, and yet each moment that passed only prodded her towards him, shoved her from her persistent immobility into his deadly embrace. She knew she had no other choice, and knew he was the only one to whom she could make this request, but also was very clearly aware of his reaction. One needed not possess a significant amount of intelligence and intuition to be able to understand the Hauptmann would grasp this opportunity to exploit her situation, nevertheless she was quite prepared to oppose such conduct. This should have never happened had recent events not taken place to prompt a continuous sense of foreboding and great apprehension over her brother, induced by the talk she had communicated with the pilot at the hospital. Not a day passed when she did not think of Julian, but it was relatively easy to bury any potential feelings of concern at his condition deep down when she was too troubled by other matters, when she was leading her troops to battle, when she was standing next to wounded soldiers to comfort them through their hardship; military life had completely dominated every fibre of her body and every space of her soul so that anything relating back to her life in Germany, what had been, what once used to be, was deeply embedded in her heart, carefully concealed and explored only when the soldiers lay to rest in their tents, as she would pull her hand under the back of her head and contemplate, eyes staring up at what would have been ceiling had it not been a mere tent in the middle of the African wilderness. She had endeavoured the best she could to control the overwhelming pangs of agony slowly building up to infiltrate her mind, for the first time having to deal with potential outcomes she had at an earlier time wished to leave unexplored. What if there was a fight in the region and the fool that he was became involved and injured himself? What if he became seriously ill? What if he had been attacked and required assistance? He was too young; he did not know how to take care of himself. Such thoughts tormented her mind, and she simply needed to set it to rest. They were nothing but by-products of her own inner fear, and though she was the kind of human being built of iron and steel, able to withstand such weaknesses of the mind, she could not help but be susceptible to anything regarding her family.

It was with a grudge that she had resolved to meet the Hauptmann. Having thrown the clothes she had wore at the hospital (since she had considered that would be the last time she would need to pose in her true form, and thus the clothes would be rendered useless to her) she spent a good few minutes cursing inside her head; she could not visit the market in Tripoli for yet another time, it would be strange that a German officer was purchasing dresses over such a short period, and even though the merchants would neither spend a moment’s worth to realize this nor complain, she was rather meticulous with such matters, ascertaining there would be no foundation for a suspicion to rise. It was while she was walking into the greater region away from the Wehrmacht barracks when she realized something, and, indeed, upon storming at the known spot she found the old, black dress underneath a large rock, not many minutes away from the building in which the formal reception had been held. Having hurried to undress herself after the incident, her head suffering through a bad headache after the Hauptmann had crushed it with a triple strike into the ground to subdue her, she had changed into the military uniform and, lest anyone found a dress and a pair of female shoes randomly lying on the streets of Tripoli, she concealed it back under the rock, and following that event even forgotten having done so. She had picked it up, glanced at its wrinkled, dusty texture, the torn sides, as memories flashed through her head – and knitted it back together in secret, carefully procuring (stealing would have also been another appropriate word) a needle and an insignificant roll of thread from the quarter of one of the physicians. The shoes she had acquired back at that time, before the reception, by taking a short visit at the auxiliary units; these were also ‘borrowed’. Nevertheless, they served a higher purpose and right at this moment the woman could not care less about the way she looked as she leaned against the wall, finishing her cigarette. Once the last wisps of smoke were breathed out, she crushed it down on the ground with her foot, and went inside.

The first sound that crushed through her ears was that of a multitude of typewriters being clicked in rabid rhythm, almost with a surreal force and unity, the women’s heads bowed down in ultimate concentration as they typed incessantly, vast stacks of paperwork having piled up in small towers upon the wooden desks. Dirk slightly frowned at this aggravating noise but easily ignored it as she walked around, asking a secretary who chanced to be walking across the large hall with an overwhelming pile of papers on her arms where the office of Hauptmann Jäger was. The woman vaguely pointed at its direction and immediately strode away towards her table, setting the paperwork down and sitting herself upon the chair to continue with her work. Dirk wasted no time and with her hands loosely twisted into fists as though on instinct she made her way at the door in quick, determined steps – before she was suddenly interrupted by a female voice.

“Fräulein, Hauptmann Jäger hat eine Sitzung in diesem Moment, Sie können nicht hereingehen,” the young secretary spoke in a quick tone as she stared at the other woman, holding her own paperwork in her hands, and expecting her to approach her if she wished to discuss the hours the pilot would be able to meet her. At that moment the door opened and a few men of the Luftwaffe appeared, sharing their last words with the Hauptmann, whose outline she could not make out since he was inside his office. She heard his distinct guttural voice from the distance, and something grasped at her insides.

“Ist er?” Dirk said with a sneer, and walked across the hallway, directly towards the door.

“Sie müssen zuerst – Fräulein!” the secretary protested, and rushed after her. Dirk had already approached the door and the men, upon turning away to leave, looked over at her, their faces exhibiting both wonderment and interest. She saluted them, and they returned the salute after a moment’s puzzlement with keen smiles on their face, slightly bowing their heads in respect. “Sie können nicht den Hauptmann stören, Sie müssen sich mit mir zuerst in Verbindung setzen – ” the secretary said sternly, having caught up with her, but the woman ignored her. One of the men stretched out his hand, clearly to give her a kiss upon the hand in gratitude and fascination, but Dirk merely further pushed the door open and entered. There, sat upon his chair behind the wooden desk, stood Hauptmann Rolf Jäger in all of his glory; her face hardened, but she had no time to observe him before she noticed Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg sitting upon a plain chair next to him. His presence only forced a rush of memories to flash through her mind as she remembered with a great deal of irritation how he had so foolishly borrowed some of her soldiers for such a chore – but she shoved any resurfacing fury back into its little hole at the moment.

“Herauskommen,” she ordered him in a brisk, razor-sharp tone, her green eyes burning down through his own innocent, clear blues, her posture tall and domineering, imposing and severe, but also controlled and obdurate. At that time he door creaked as the secretary rushed into the room, looking rather disoriented and disorganised, glaring at her for the trouble she had caused her.

“Ich kann nicht dem erlauben!” the woman cried amidst all her confusion, but Dirk’s piercing glance was focused upon the shorter man in the room, running out of patience.

“Kommen Sie heraus!” she barked loudly, her tone a military order as her eyebrows curved fiercely over her eyes at such display of disobedience – rational to the Hauptfeldwebel who had no obligation to accede to such an order from a woman, but irrational to her who had been used to strict compliance by those she commanded. She observed the man standing up and walking towards the door, at the same time as the secretary refused to leave, looking at the pilot with an apologetic look.

“Herr Hauptmann, ich entschuldige mich für die Unannehmlichkeit –”

With a loud creak Dirk shut the door on the woman’s rigid face and brought a sharp end to her aggravating presence; in a swift movement she locked the door, then turned around to face him, and leaned to rest against the wooden surface, her hands interlocked behind her, as she gazed back at him through unyielding, gleaming eyes.



Translation

Miss, Hauptmann Jäger is having a meeting at this moment, you cannot enter.

Is he?

You must first – Miss! You cannot disturb the Hauptmann, you must first contact me –

Get out.

I cannot allow this!

Get out!

Herr Hauptmann, I apologize for the inconvenience –

[Rolf Jäger]

The Hauptmann sat up straighter in his chair, picking up a cardboard folder and pulling out a stack of papers, completely ignoring the presence of the four other Luftwaffe men and merely concentrating in feeling the smooth texture of paper against his fingertips, as if he could have somehow absorbed some sense of bureaucratic patience from them to calm down his frazzled nerves. The other men stood at attention in front of the desk, their backs rigid and their eyes on Jäger, who merely scratched his temple languidly, eyeing the papers and moving one after another from the top of the pile to the bottom as he went through them. It seemed that the Hauptmann had no intention in addressing the men at all, but then he suddenly eyed them, his sharp gaze almost making the men flinch, his face set into a mask of neutrality when his hoarse finally voice cut through the silence. "Wir sind gebeten worden, ins Bilden einiger Kürzungen im Gruppe zu blicken und mir, Herren zu vertrauen, ich weiß, wie das ähnlich ist; was zum Teufel konnten wir vielleicht einschränken? Sicher nicht der Brennstoff, kann nicht auf netten Gedanken fliegen, jetzt können wir? Aber da wir gebeten worden sind, auf dem Verbrauch von etwas zu schneiden, müssen wir glauben, wie man es lässt, scheinen, weil wir wirklich haben. Sie werden mir helfen, das zu vollbringen," Rolf's voice was unwavering and stern even when he could plainly see the already grudging faces of the other men. Both the Luftwaffe and the Wehrmacht were on a tight budget as it stood; supplies simply did not get delivered to Africa all too easily and any luxuries were simply unheard of. Still, it wasn't Rolf's task to complain and gripe about it to his subordinates and if he wanted to express his resentment to anyone, it was to his superiors only. He had been handed a problem to solve and he was determined to do it in a manner that seemed nothing but positive to the higher command, yet would not significantly affect the status of his Gruppe. Without even noticing it, his mind had blissfully settled in matters having to due with fuel consumption, rations and spare parts and for the moment very mundane problems had chased away the nightmares that kept haunting him.

He went on with the details of his plan, his voice steady and raspy, the man referring to his papers every now and then, posing various questions to the men he had summoned to attend the meeting to make better sense of the overall situation with their supplies. It was a dilemma he could at least attempt to solve and one that existed in very real terms; in the liters of fuel, in the amount of fighters in working condition and the amount of ones that were better scrapped for spare parts. When they finally decided that each of them would draw detailed lists from the information they had uncovered, Rolf leaned back in his chair with a sigh, realizing he had no idea how long the meeting had gone on. "Morgen dann. Bringen Sie mir Ihre Listen - und machen Sie sie ebenso ausführlich berichtet wie möglich - aber für jetzt... Sie werden weggetreten," Rolf said and returned to the salute of his men in a rather lazy manner, the gaze of his grey irises still skittering over the text on the papers. The Luftwaffe men were already at the door and Oberleutnant Wahler turned around once more to confirm the time of the meeting, the Hauptmann only waving his hand and growling out a absent-minded affirmation. Rolf's gaze lifted from the papers briefly to regard the men as they were taking their leave and Rolf pointed a finger at one of them. "Nicht Sie, Kronberg. Ich habe noch etwas um zu besprechen."

The Hauptmann's voice stopped the man dead in his tracks and, hiding a sigh, Kronberg returned back to the desk, slumping down on the chair opposite to the officer's. He had hoped that the man would have already forgotten the earlier discussion and settled into considering the results of the meeting, freeing him to tend to other matters and maybe to even grab something to eat. He was starving, but the Hauptmann apparently did not need any food to survive and had forgotten that normal, lesser people still did. Rolf placed down the fountain pen, obviously considering something for a moment and his lips parted as he still contemplated on his words before voicing them, only finding himself interrupted for the second time of the day.

A high, worried female voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of both men towards the door, Rolf's eyebrows already furrowing with first signs of irritation. The door was pushed open with determined force and Rolf's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Riedel's pale, relentless face, her sudden appearance resembling nothing short of a fevered illusion to the surprised man. She was wearing the same black dress she had sported upon their first meeting and a sudden flash of his own hand mercilessly ripping the canvas of the dress apart to reveal her smooth skin passed through his mind. The man gaped as Riedel's hoarse and commanding voice invaded his mind when she told someone - most likely Kronberg - to leave the room. His ears were humming from the tone of her voice and from her presence, as if he had been suddenly shoved from the safe sphere of his existence to another plane entirely and the room around him was revolving, only her commanding form remaining static and unchanging. Through his haze Rolf realized that Kronberg had stopped staring at the woman and was now looking at him, his blue eyes full of unvoiced questions. And as if there hadn't been enough traffic in the Hauptmann's office to begin with, a young female secretary burst inside the room, loudly protesting over Riedel's obtrusive presence in the office.

Riedel's loud command was repeated with an even stricter tone and Kronberg shifted anxiously in his seat, some military consciousness within him suddenly finding it very difficult not to comply to such sharply spoken words and Rolf's eyes visited the man only briefly, his head nudging towards the door in an almost indiscernible motion. Kronberg stood up with a prompt salute, nimbly starting towards the door and making sure to give the woman a wide berth as he moved past her, while at the same time he still stared at Riedel with no small amount of confused interest. The woman bore a very striking similarity to Leutnant Riedel and, based on the discussion with the Hauptmann earlier, it didn't take much effort to figure out that she was the Leutnant's sister, the one the Luftwaffe officer was so intent on both strangling and... Kronberg winced and chased the thought away with a small shudder, turning around in the corridor just in time to see the door slam shut in front of the female secretary. Whatever happened inside that office, Kronberg was more than elated to be outside the room and, preferably, a good distance away from it, too.

Inside the office Rolf merely stared at Riedel, watching as she remained standing in front of the door and merely leaned her back against it, her expression unreadable and stern. Her blonde hair was bound into a neat, tight ponytail that only further accentuated the strong angle of her jaw and the high cheekbones that gave her unyielding pride a nobler quality - she would have easily passed as an aristocrat, had she not possessed the crude manners of a common farmhand. Rolf arched an eyebrow at imagining the woman stepping gracefully among blue-blooded nobles, just to spout out a random insult grave enough to make a sailor's hair grow grey out of shock. It was an amusing thought and even in his confused state it made a small, almost invisible smile form in the corner of his mouth and his silver eyes travelled over the woman's features almost hungrily, as if hoping to drink in the secrets within her mind and, more specifically, the reason to her unexpected visit.

"Bitte, treten Sie ein und schließen Sie die Tür. Ertragen Sie dort das Aussehen nicht gerade, als ob ich dabei bin Sie zu beißen," Rolf gestured towards her as he spoke, obvious sarcasm coating each one of his hoarsely spoken words. The man slid the papers in front of him back inside the cardboard folder, but his eyes never left the woman and he allowed a small moment of silence to pass between them while he contemplated on her sudden appearance. For the life of him, he could not come with any decent reason as to why she would have sought him out and it bothered him more than he liked to admit.

Nothing but genuine interest lingered beneath his silver irises as he gazed upon her, the man's head tilting to the side when he addressed her again. "Dieses Kleid wieder tragend, biste? Ich sehe, dass Sie sogar die Anstrengung durchgingen, es... zu reparieren. Bringt solche zärtlichen Erinnerungen, stimmt das?" a predatory smirk crept to the man's lips and he arched an eyebrow at Riedel. "Ich glaube, dass ich nicht die nur ein bin, der nicht ganz aufhören kann, die Momente unserer ersten Sitzung noch einmal zu durchleben," Rolf flashed a more noticeable smile at the woman, well aware of the offensive quality of his words and only now did he finally avert his eyes from her, just to search for something from the front pocket of his tropical tunic. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and picked up one of the smokes, snapping the lid of the case shut and tapping the cigarette on its cover a few times as he eyed the woman from under his eyebrows. "Oder das zweite," the man's grey eyes glinted with some sense of mischievousness and a hoarse chuckle escaped from his lips as he dropped the case upon the folder, poking the cigarette in his mouth and narrowing his eyes while lighting it, shielding the flame of the lighter with his other hand simply out of habit. As relaxed and self-confident as the man outwardly seemed, the woman's visit had awoken the painful and confusing thoughts he had so diligently fought against and they grasped at his heart with the icy talons of dread once again. His insides felt strangely jumbled and painful and his heart was beating just slightly faster from the norm. It was as if realizing mid-dream that the events of the dreamscape were suddenly twisting and changing, transforming into something malicious, creating beasts that were useless to fight against, the dream an inescapable prison. Inside he felt nothing but the burning desire to snap at her, to push her outside the office or - if that proved impossible - to escape the room himself, maybe under some excuse of having important duties to attend to, but of course, he would have never succumbed as low as to make Riedel aware of such ridiculous sentiments. She had said he was afraid of her and he was going to prove her wrong; oh, so very wrong.

It was easy for him hide behind the mask he wore now; ever arrogant, persistently self-sufficient, nothing shaking his ruthless determination and the perceptions he held of the world that surrounded him. Everyone was a potential enemy and hence, best treated as distantly and domineeringly as possible, just to make them see that if trouble was what they wished to cause, they had better steer clear of Hauptmann Jäger. Yet there was also unbridled interest to this easily accessed appearance of his, an emotion so straightforward and strong, it would have been impossible for him to disguise and he leaned forwards in his seat just slightly, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth and breathing out lazy wisps of grey smoke that snaked in front of him in the still air of the room. "Gerade konnte nicht über mich vergessen, Riedel?" the hoarsely spoken words escaped the man's lips with the last traces of the cigarette smoke and Rolf rested his elbow upon the table as he watched her; ever the riddle, a ferocious Valkyrie, a steadfast protector of her family and the only one who had ever managed to cause him such pain, both physically and mentally. She had been leaning against the door in a similar manner just a few nights ago and he could still recall how he had felt, pushing his own frame against her and trapping her there for him to enjoy - yet she had managed to drive him away with nothing but stinging words.

A small sneer appeared on the man's bruised features upon the thought, his grey eyes flashing with brief anger and when he realized it was a reaction he did not wish for her to see, the irritation within him only grew. Not wanting to give Riedel any insight into his thoughts, he pretended he was merely aggravated by her presence and when he spoke, his words suddenly came out surprisingly sharp and biting. "Und doch, ich bedauere aufrichtig, Sie zu informieren, dass ich mich mit landwirtschaftlichen Sachen nicht befasse. Vielleicht sollten Sie gehen finden ein anderes Büro, wenn Sie die richtigen Methoden besprechen wollen, im Schmutz und Schlamm zu wohnen," the man's eyes widened when he articulated the words at her clearly, as if she was some half-witted fool that needed to hear her explanations in the simplest manner possible. An irritated twitch visited the corner of the man's left eye as he leaned back in his chair, taking another drag from his cigarette and staring somewhere in front of him. "Bauer," the man muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low, yet loudly enough to make sure that the woman heard him in perfect clarity.


Translations:

"Wir sind gebeten worden, ins Bilden einiger Kürzungen im Gruppe zu blicken und mir..."
"We have been asked to look into making some cuts in the Gruppe and trust me, gentlemen, I know how this sounds like; what the hell could we possibly cut back on? Certainly not the fuel, can't fly on nice thoughts, now can we? But since we have been asked to cut on the consumption of something, we need to figure how to make it seem as we actually have. You will help me accomplish this."

"Morgen dann. Bringen Sie mir Ihre Listen..."
"Tomorrow then. Bring me your lists - and make them as detailed as possible - but for now... You are dismissed."

"Nicht Sie, Kronberg. Ich habe noch etwas um zu besprechen."
"Not you, Kronberg. I still have something to discuss."

"Bitte, treten Sie ein und schließen Sie die Tür..."
"Please, do come in and close the door. Don't just stand there looking like as if I'm going to bite you."

"Dieses Kleid wieder tragend, biste..?"
"Wearing that dress again, are you? I see you even went through the effort to... fix it. Brings such fond memories, doesn't it?"

"Ich glaube, dass ich nicht die nur ein bin..."
"I guess I'm not the only one who can't quite stop reliving the moments of our first meeting."

"Oder das zweite."
"Or the second."

"Gerade konnte nicht über mich vergessen, Riedel?"
"Just couldn't forget about me, Riedel?"

"Und doch, ich bedauere aufrichtig, Sie zu informieren..."
"Still, I sincerely regret to inform you that I do not deal with agricultural matters. Maybe you should go find some other office if you want to discuss the proper methods of dwelling in dirt and mud."

"Bauer."
"Peasant."

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman remained in her former position, with her back leaned against the heavy door’s surface, made of mahogany wood brought to the colonial region by the Italian administrators following the conquest of Libya in 1912, the fingers slowly slipping away from the latch once she made certain it was properly locked, and stared back at the man. She did not respond to the first presages of his relentless, undying arrogance, the smirk carefully but surely forming in the corner of his lips – lips that only knew how to best deride and spit at others – and written through his gleaming ice-grey eyes – eyes that were only used to glance at those human beings standing below him as though their sole existence was founded upon the presupposition they would be used as carpeting for him to tread through. The truth was that such conduct was to be expected and, indeed, when she had swallowed down her pride and made the very conscious and lucidly clear choice to seek him out in an attempt to make a rather grudging, even vexed request she knew no other commissioned officer would be likely to accede to, she had immediately come to terms with the fact his reaction to her presence would be erratic at best, absolutely aggressive at worst. This the woman considered as natural; she had transcended only a small but substantial quantity of doubts and notions through his mind over everything he had come to know so far as to be taken for granted, shoved him through a region outside his safety zone to a world of beastly brutality only ever counterbalanced through the affection one held for one’s family and the bonds thus established between its members, spoken to him – even if briefly so – about words whose meaning he knew and perceived differently, made him suffer ever so shortly for those few moments she needed to simply suggest an alternative, more meaningful way of living, and then with a harsh grasp brought him back to his safety zone, leaving him alone to deal with the repercussions of such a short journey all by himself. Naturally Dirk knew very well how in order for one to learn one should not be shoved through, but guided towards, a role which, as the woman had understood from the very beginning, was not set upon her to carry.

For these reasons alone Dirk Riedel was neither surprised nor annoyed to hear such otherwise demeaning, infuriating words lashed out by the supercilious, egotistical Hauptmann who wished to claim the entire world as his own; she had been accustomed to such articulate dialect by other wealthier members of German society, and especially learned this man’s fluent ways in expressing his utter derision to her kin that, indeed, it caused her no further disconcert and anger. He simply did not matter, his opinions were less than insignificant to her to the point where she considered an infant’s viewpoint of the world far more thrilling to explore than this baron’s life perspective, his bloated sense of worldly balance, the overflowing aura of self-sufficiency which distanced himself from every other human being for the mere purpose to carry out a given task he had been trained to accomplish at an early age, the sneering tone of his words, his vitriolic essence that infected the air surrounding them with a cancerous quality. The only thing which mattered to her at this very moment was to carry through the task of asking him her request (she did resent calling it a ‘favour’, even though such a term most likely befitted the purpose of her visit to a more realistic extent); Julian’s safety was placed first amongst her worries, and a Hauptmann’s line of insults hardly possessed the power to affect her in a way he probably wished them to do. She could do nothing more but silently stare at him, the only sentiments able to feel towards his person at the present moment being that of contempt and pity for everything he was, everything he symbolized, and everything he held as guidance throughout his life.

Nevertheless, it was not her task to see through his disillusionment and afterward enlightment; it was not her obligation to teach him, guide him and rule him with an iron grasp. It was not her necessity to achieve his purpose in life, not her trouble to be worried over wasting a whole lifetime in lies, conceit and errors of judgement; not her worry that he had to spend the rest of his days caged in his cage. Certainly, and only a fool would deny this, the cage was beautiful, made of the finest gold, but it was only ever a cage. This he could not see, blinded as he was by the gold’s glimmering upon his face, too consumed by the wealth reflecting upon his hungry eyes, the fine clothes he was wearing, the expensive silver rings, the velvet satin of his shirt, the gleaming texture of the shining new jackboots, an intricately carved cigarette case. Should he wish to move forwards, he could not. Should he voice a protest it would be immediately drowned into a ruckus of voices exclaiming words of exquisite delight upon possessing new materials, voices that belonged not to him, voices of everyone he had met, everyone who wanted to take him down with them. Yet she could see beyond the overwhelming glow, and saw the golden lineaments for what they truly were: cold, iron bars, cruelly snatching a hold of him, keeping him rooted to the spot; and even if in a moment’s clarity he desired to escape, once his fingers curled around the glowing bars they burned his flesh with a torrential pain, and with their golden fire embraced him, mesmerized him, hypnotized him so that he, once again, closed his eyes to his surroundings and fell deeper into the dark depths. But this did not concern her. She simply stood outside the ring of golden fire, calmly smoking a cigarette as she watched him burn, burn alive. He simply existed for the sole purpose of existing; everything else was unimportant to her. It not her area of concern to make certain he dropped his stupid posture and start behaving like a true individual with integrity and self-respect. For all she could think of right now was one thing and one thing only. Julian, Julian, Julian. All else mattered so little, if they mattered at all, and so by now he had assumed his proper place in her life: a single, unexceptional molecule of existence that had made its presence known in the sphere of her microcosm, a passing-by bird, only one dusk in an endless time of dusks and dawns. He spoke of their second meeting with such overconfident egocentricity, that though his own self-esteem widened in goaded divinity over his non-existent accomplishments, all she could think of their second meeting was that he had received a good few strikes up to his face with her jackboots, almost been deprived of the status of calling himself a man (for she certainly would have followed through with her plan to geld every remaining part of him and throw it away in the Libyan sand, whence it would be buried as deeply as his own sense of integrity and pride) and had an inferior-ranked soldier empty his bladder upon his face.

And yet here he was, thinking he was the master of the entire world, a king of kings, as if a god amongst gods he were, demanding to be hailed and have sacrifices set upon his name.

The irony of this was almost too overpowering for Dirk to ignore, and once he finished with his absurdities a small smile lurked in the corner of her lips, which soon widened to cover her face, spreading right through her vibrant, glaucous eyes. There was nothing mocking about this gesture, no derision or contempt exhibited. There was only amusement. Sheer, unadulterated amusement. Then again she could also discern the faintest traces of disconcert concealed beneath his cold eyes, and she need not look at him to understand so; it was clear from his very behaviour. She had already witnessed the momentary effect her words had inflicted upon him, the doubts she had passed on to his mind, but she knew that these had already been extinguished, so what stood now in the ashes was nothing more but his very own irritation over having exchanged something which had, even if only for a moment, troubled the smooth waters he had swimming through. Still, it was not her responsibility to care, and he simply did not matter. Whatever she had perhaps wished to let him know in the hospital was long since buried deeply into the Libyan sand, now left forgotten and unexplored, and she knew he treated it in this way. At any rate, after she had voiced her request and should it be completed, it was more than certain she would never be seeing him again. She breathed evenly and continued staring at him as if he was the most ridiculous thing in this world, her eyes calm but her jaw stiff. “Werden Sie die Tat, Sie nutzloser Schwule schneiden?” she told him in a slow, firm voice, her tone etched with a touch of amused disbelief even though her gaze was still dominantly austere. She arched an eyebrow at him, and allowed her body to sit up straight, as she slightly bent over and pulled out one of her shoes. In a quick, careless movement she threw it away across the room where it made a thudding sound as it fell somewhere on the floor in the near distance; the other shoe had the same fate, and then she slowly began to walk towards his desk barefooted, barely making any sound at all as she moved closer to him.

The truth was, years of wearing the hard surface of the jackboots in which her feet had room to spread had made contact with shoes of any more feminine form rather painful; she had already experienced the great inconvenience of wearing female shoes on that first occasion after all that time during the social reception she had attended a little more than a week ago, her pale feet covered in small bruises here and there, swelling, and quite a few blisters. She was being practical, and this was more convenient to her in the first place. Let him think she was being a boorish, uncouth peasant, she simply would not go through the trouble to pay such insults the vaguest thought. She easily found herself slithering along the edge of the table across him, facing him from the opposite direction, placing one knee over the other as she removed a half-finished packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her dress, her fingers quietly and rather skillfully working to light the cigarette with a lighter she had newly procured in the barracks. Soon grey wisps of smoke danced from her lips and joined the smoke exhaled from her nose, converging into one deadly union which embraced her affectionately. With the fingers of her right hand curled around the cigarette, she let the palm of her other hand rest upon the wooden surface of the table as she watched him closely, the sun infiltrating the airless room through the glass window and shining down on the golden mane of her hair and reflected upon her green eyes which slightly narrowed as they considered her options one last time. “Ich brauche eine Bevorzugung … Baron,” she said slowly, her deep, quiet voice serene and controlled, as she arched an eyebrow at him. She slightly leaned forwards and profoundly drew in from the cigarette, small circles of smoke in quick harmony dancing from her nose and dissolving into the room’s thick atmosphere.

“Ja oder Nein.”


Translation

Will you cut the act, you useless faggot?

I need a favour … baron.

Yes or no.

[Rolf Jäger]

A small smirk lingered in the corner of Riedel's lips and as it slowly widened, it injected Rolf's veins with a hateful, burning poison, the look in his grey eyes glazing over with new-found grimness; it wasn't so much an expression of anger as it was that of cold anticipation when he knew that such a smile could only be followed by something that would drive him into a state of blind fury. He would have enjoyed her raging at him, seeing those familiar flames lighting within her viridian eyes upon his self-conscious insolence, yet she only appeared mildly amused and Rolf's fingers looped more decisively around the cigarette, small lines drawing under his eyes when the muscles on his face tightened and his teeth clenched together. It was as if his insides were nothing but fields of dry, sunburned grass, swaying in the small breeze in silent anticipation, and when the woman finally addressed him, her words sent swift waves of fire spreading through that landscape, scorching away everything in their path.

The fingers in the man's free hand curled into a tight fist as he stared at Riedel in a confusing state of astonished anger, as if he simply could not believe the words that had just escaped from Riedel's smirking lips. The fact that the woman possessed the sheer gall to storm inside his office, command his men around and then call him such utterly repulsive names was a concept all too foreign for him to even begin untangling! Never had Rolf met a woman who would have managed to drive him from one state of mind to a completely opposite one in mere seconds, her presence both infuriating and fascinating him in a manner that was making him climb up the walls. He was sure that he would have lunged at her insolent figure in his current state of gut-wrenching violence had it not been for both the table and the distance that lay between them. He could only allow his hatefully glowing eyes burn holes into her irritatingly languid figure, as if he was hoping that the woman would keel over dead on the account of serious scowl alone.

Instead of really noticing - or caring - about the Hauptmann's severe mood, Riedel merely bent slightly to pull off her shoe, discarding it upon the floor and repeating the procedure to the other one, ending up standing barefooted within the office, obviously dwelling in nothing but complete comfort and self-confidence all the while Rolf imagined his fingers curling around that pale neck of hers. How it would have satisfied him to have her struggle against his hold, trying to pry open the relentless grasp of his hands while she attempted to gasp for breath, yet even when her survival instincts were telling her to fight back, she could only see her own image reflecting back from the eyes of a merciless beast and she would know it all was for vain. The man had to force himself back into the reality and his head twitched ever so slightly to the side when he actually saw the woman as she existed in the current moment, silently stepping towards the desk and appearing as if she had little concern over the effect her words had caused on the Hauptmann. It was as if she had an actual death wish, and Rolf could only stare when she parked herself casually on the edge of the heavy table, proceeding to search for cigarettes from the pocket of her black dress. Riedel placed one knee over the other in perfect ease, lighting the cigarette in serene silence while Rolf still sat upon his seat, small, angry electrical currents flickering within him and caressing his mind with a feral force. He felt like shedding his skin, bringing forth something more powerful and savage, a beast of howling fury that knew neither remorse or pity and was only familiar with the call of blood, an instinct so simple and primal, everything else would simply grow irrelevant.

Silver irises of raw hatred met the gaze of her viridian eyes, the cigarette now forgotten between Rolf's fingers when the woman leaned towards him on the table, her other hand settling to rest upon the wooden surface for support. Rolf's lips were drawn back in a silent snarl and a brief twitch visited the skin at the corner of his left eye while he stared at her, as if waiting to witness a violation that would triumph over the initial one, knowing that it would break the brittle chains of rationality that were still keeping him seated on his chair - at least for the moment. She sat upon the table surrounded by the golden light of the sun, dwelling in the complete serenity of a burning goddess, as if some divine knowledge had contributed her with enough confidence to not so much as bat an eye while a rabid beast growled and bared his bloodied teeth just inches from her face. And with that same unchanging composure she merely eyed him, the wisps of smoke dancing around her like sacred incense sacrificed upon her name, her voice low and determined when she told him that she needed a favour from him.

Rolf stared at the woman in complete and utter silence for a small moment, the anger still swirling beneath the hateful mask of his face as he blinked, his mind trying to get around the content of her request. Then the man suddenly shot up from his seat, the palms of his hands slamming forcefully against the surface of the table and the black phone sitting on top of the desk protested with a small, clear chime from its insides when the wood reverberated from the strike. Rolf leaned over the desk towards her, the angry snarl only strengthening when he spoke. "Und gerade welcher verdammt weg der ist, um eine Bevorzugung zu bitten, Riedel?" the man growled at her, his grey eyes widening with each accentuated word. "Briet dieses Fieber Ihr Gehirn? Hast du deinen Verstand verloren? Warum das Teufel würde ich Ihnen mit irgend etwas anderem außer mit dem Rausschmeißen Ihres aufdringlichen kleinen Arsch aus diesem Büro in diesem Augenblick helfen?" Rolf asked, his hoarse voice sharp and hostile, the cigarette still burning between his fingers and the tobacco roll having shed some of its ashes upon the papers during the man's violent reaction. What could she have possibly been thinking? Did she live under some ridiculous illusion of Rolf now having some grave weakness for her, one that would render him docile and subjugated, ready to jump at any of her whims on nothing but the tiniest gesture from her? If that was truly how she was perceiving things, she would soon see that there was no leash she could tug on, no collar upon his neck to claim ownership over him and, as long as Rolf was still living and breathing, there wouldn't be, either.

His chest heaving slightly with the angry, long gasps of breath, Rolf stared at her for a small moment before his eyes slowly narrowed as he started actually noticing her, gradually realizing how close she was once more and how it allowed him to observe her in such a perfect vision; the dominant curl of her eyebrows over those relentless green eyes, the slight, upturned curve at the corner of her lips and the distinct arch of her neck that was now fully revealed to him when she had tied her hair. Still she sat upon the table and enjoyed her cigarette, her thigh resting upon the other one in a more feminine manner than Rolf remembered her ever before displaying; a feminine action, indeed, yet one that also appeared self-confident and domineering, nugding at some different part within Rolf's mind that made his lips part ever so slightly. Even through the rage, something shifted within his eyes and for a small moment the man's gaze moved to regard something else other than her eyes, his eyes glazing over and his breath coming out in one, slow exhale. His eyes snapped upwards once more when the man noticed himself faltering and the moment was left shortlived, with Rolf's expression steeling one more. Oh, to hell with it! This was clearly nothing but a ridiculous ploy from her part, meant to throw him off balance so that she could profit from his mistakes. Why else would she be sitting there on the edge of his table, looking as smug and unconcerned as she was? The anger was still clearly there when Rolf arched an eyebrow at her slowly, just daring her to try her luck within his domain once more, making it quite clear that whatever her scheme was, Rolf wasn't falling into such carelessly placed traps.

"Und warum würde ich Ihnen irgendwelche Bevorzugungen versprechen, ohne sogar zu wissen, was Sie dabei sind zu fragen? Wenn Sie etwas haben, um zu sagen, kommen Sie am besten damit jetzt heraus. Ich gebe eine Scheiße über Ihre Meinung von mir nicht, aber ich bin ein deutscher Offizier, ich habe meine Aufgaben sich zu kümmern, und ich habe die Zeit für Ihre Scheißspiele nicht," the man warned in his low, raspy voice, slowly lifting his other hand and bringing the cigarette to his lips, keeping his relentless gaze upon the woman through the lazy wisps of smoke that soon escaped from between his lips and from between the hungry teeth of the beast; a hellhound now resting in momentary repose, yet his keen eyes ever watchful, the tameless howl within his chest just waiting to be released.


Translations:

"Und gerade welcher verdammt weg der ist, um eine Bevorzugung zu bitten, Riedel?"
"And just what kind of fucking way is that to ask for a favour, Riedel?"

"Briet dieses Fieber Ihr Gehirn..?"
"Did that fever fry your brain? Are you completely out of your mind? Why the fuck would I help you with anything else except with kicking your obtrusive little ass out of this office right now?"

"Und warum würde ich Ihnen irgendwelche Bevorzugungen versprechen, ohne sogar zu wissen, was Sie dabei sind zu fragen..?"
"And why would I promise you any favours without even knowing what you are going to ask? If you have something to say, you best come out with it now. I do not give a shit about your opinion of me, but I'm a German officer, I have my duties to attend to and I do not have the time for your fucking games."

[Dirk Riedel]

She was so completely unconcerned about his reaction that when he shot straight upwards and brought a small ruckus in the desk upon his rather brisk – predictable to her – movement, his ferocious appearance serving only to further accentuate the gravity with which he had received her words, the sheer rage of his distorted features, the hardened jaw line and narrowed steel-gray, ice-cold eyes whose eyebrows curved above with a fierce viciousness to it as he glared at her with an intolerable, spiteful expression written through the stiffness of his face. She drew in deeply from her cigarette in a most nonchalant manner, her breathing steady and calm as she looked at him without the slightest trace of apprehension in her eyes; why must she be apprehensive of his reaction, really, even if her nature otherwise presupposed her character to have been built of the finest velvet instead of well-crafted steel? Would he, indeed, be capable of applying physical violence within the main offices of the armed forces to a woman? She was fairly persuaded he possessed absolutely no scruples in commencing another round of aggressive behaviour with her, as she could clearly see he could barely contain himself from submitting to, and still he must have known what consequences would be brought forwards, and what precisely he had to come to terms with once such conduct was unleashed upon her. She did not cherish the faintest desire to tolerate his irrational childishness, the arrogance and vanity of his ways, his supreme ignorance of life, at any rate.

Who knew what invincible power had propelled her towards his noxious, loathsome embrace four days before? She remembered it all with a clarity powerful enough to drive her to the pit of her fury – over herself, most of all – for her actions, the time she had wasted to speak to him about matters he did not understand but, most significantly of all, the greatest shame and disgust she felt in retrospect once she had woken up the next day upon her arrival at the barracks of the Wehrmacht and slowly realized the events that had taken place in all of their glory. Certainly one could not attribute to her febrile state her complete inability to avert his despicable approaches (and, to some extent, she was still going through the final stages of her illness) and it ached her to think that, perhaps, she had really wanted, even for the merest second, to tell him of his weaknesses, speak to him in such a way as suggested she had been receiving all the burden at a time and especially regretted everything she had told him, however vaguely so, with regard to her earlier days. There had been rage, there had been pain at the recollection of those days and then there had also been the feeling of disgrace and indignity over the merest contact they had shared, a wretched parasite that slowly ate her from the inside, mocking at her for ever disobeying to the calls of self-discipline as imposed whenever she met those of a nobler status. She had broken that discipline, shamed herself and disgraced her own people’s name simply by allowing that to happen; and thus had dived into the crystal, blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea to wash herself of any indications of illness, refresh her mind and clear her thoughts, and cleanse her body and soul of any traces of his essence, wretched remnants of his being.

How vain to know she would never be cleansed.

She merely looked back at him with an evidently apathetic expression etched across the sharp features of her face as she observed his gaze moving vertically alongside her figure, and might have even scoffed with unconcerned mockery were she not as disinterested to respond to his display of immaturity; even if at a brief second she felt like asking him whether his eyes were lopsided, for what he was looking at was certainly not what one may call the eyes in their typical form, she simply allowed the cigarette to brush further into her lips as she smoked from it, sending small waves of grey fume tracing circular paths around her outline. Before long he had raised his glance to stare at her once more, his eyes glazing under the fiery oaths of hatred and irritation with which his soul had been forged with for every human being he encountered. It was his fault, and to be sure one she had no business to come to terms with – let him live through a life spent in exploitation and contrivance, waste his prospects and any chance of fulfillment in matters which proved more trouble than they were worth, let him drown in the deepest lake. Let him emerge to the surface if he could. She allowed the smoke to slowly escape from her lips as she vaguely blew it to his own direction, arching an eyebrow at him. Bringing her face even closer she looked at his silver irises and calmly gazed at him for those two or three seconds she needed to speak her request. “Ja …” she barely whispered, her lips faintly parted whilst she stared at him, close enough to feel the breath he exhaled from his nose quietly tingle the bridge of her nose, “… oder nicht?” Her eyes slightly widened in anticipation of his response, but she never was a woman to live in illusions her own mind was creating to deceive her own self; she knew perfectly well the possibilities that existed under which the Hauptmann would ever accede to her request, and what his own demands would be in turn should he wish to do so. A few moments passed as she stared at him in silence, her viridian eyes momentarily glinting with something that showed concern, even expectation, but how could he know the great burden that swollen within her heart with each passing second? How could he ever know that despite the apathy, her unaffected demeanour, her terrible indifference towards him, all of which were felt in genuineness, lay another sentiment also, founded solely upon the familial bond she felt towards a missed brother? There were the rational reasons she could not inform him of – her existence in the armed forces was based on nothing more but discreetness – and naturally, why she would ever feel the need to share with him anything personal at all was beyond her scope of understanding. Even under the surreal circumstances there would be no consequences for her in his knowledge, would he have been able to understand?

A shadow passed from her eyes that very moment, and she pulled her head backwards, her face a sudden amalgamation of contempt and concealed disappointment. “Nein, dann,” she concluded in a low tone without looking at him, her hand bursting forward to crush her cigarette against the ash tray lying close to her upon the wooden table. “Ein Feigling, gerade wie wusste ich immer dass Sie waren,” she mumbled, a touch of asperity traced in her guttural voice, her tone hateful and brisk, as she pulled herself off the table and, with a final glance at him that showed her utter derision, she stormed away, at the new tidal waves of thoughts and sentiments overwhelming her racing mind even forgetting to fetch her shoes, her bare feet moving quietly across the floor’s marble surface, until her hand with irritation found the door’s latch and moved to unlock it.


Translation

Yes … or no?

No, then. A coward, just like I always knew you were.

[Rolf Jäger]

The woman remained completely unconcerned by the sheer rage that was bubbling inside the Hauptmann, the man's eyes gleaming with fervent hostility and his teeth gritting together the moment he brought the cigarette away from his lips, the lazy wisps of smoke slithering towards the ceiling in the suffocating atmosphere. No traces of either alarm or worry could be seen on her pale features and she did not appear even remotely surprised by the man's reaction, calmly staring at the savagely sneering man as she was. They were, of course, in the relative safety of the German headquarters, where a violent confrontation would have been soon interrupted and, most likely, Rolf would have been the one paying the full price of the skirmish regardless of the end results. The problem was that sometimes Rolf simply had no control over his actions, regardless of the time and the place and had he lost his temper, he might have surrendered to the primal call of blood. The only thing that had now derailed his violent intentions had been, initially, the distance between them, giving him just enough time to get in touch with the more rational side of his mind, but now he had been further distracted by her unexpected proximity and by the first whispers of desire. He could no longer remember her insults and instead he could only observe the way the black dress hugged her figure, his gaze stolen by the distinct curve of her exposed neck and the lips of morphine wrapped around the cigarette. Her dominant and undaunted manners worked to only hold his interest all the more firmly and Rolf knew he wouldn't have been quite as captivated by the sight, had some brainless and easily conquered floozy been sitting upon his desk instead. They were as easily used as they were discarded, working as nothing but momentary distractions, not worth sacrificing a second thought to. Riedel, however... Well, she was a different creature entirely and Rolf blinked as he watched her, drinking in the sight in all of its narcotic quality.

She leaned closer to him over the desk, her austere face appearing almost hazy through the smoke dancing between then and somewhere in the reached of his mind he realized how easily he found his mood changing, as it often did, this time from that of anger to one of open fascination and untamed lust. His silver eyes regarded the sea of small freckles that could be only discerned from close and Riedel's pale skin glowed golden in the light of the sun while Rolf breathed in her scent like a hunting dog, his mind drawing in recent memories that returned with the familiar fragrance. Her whisper sent enjoyable shivers running down his spine and Rolf had already forgotten where he was, not even noticing the tiny rain of ashes from his cigarette landing upon his fingers or the muffled stream of noises carrying inside the room from the corridors, the woman's cold and austere presence having completely consumed his entire existence. He breathed out and his eyes moved ever so slightly to regard the way her lips formed the simple words, returning back to her emerald irises just to see them widen upon anticipation of the answer. The man's eyebrows furrowed in silent confusion when he slowly managed to process the meaning of her question, yet could not understand how he was supposed to answer it.

Was he to blindly say yes or no to a question that remained so vague? Who would be as foolish as to do something like that, especially when it was a favour she was asking and could have entailed almost anything? Money she wouldn't ask for, this Rolf already realized, but he was a Hauptmann and it was more likely that Riedel's request had something to do with his rank. He wasn't blind to the fact that she despised him, so it truly must have been something important enough to have her voluntarily seek him out and visit his office, not to mention the fact that she had actually managed to ask him for a favour, as glaringly offensive as her manners might have been. He stared at the tranquil mask of her face, hungrily searching for answers he knew were hiding beneath that placid surface, carefully locked away by her will of steel. Still, for the smallest moment something different flickered within those viridian eyes of hers and Rolf grasped at that tiny shift in her demeanor, anxiously trying to decipher it, yet the moment slipped away from him when she distances herself from him and a renewed expression of contempt washed over the previous sea of serenity. She had already made up her mind about his answer and there was a touch of bitterness to the tone of her voice when she called Rolf a coward while crushing the remains of her cigarette inside the ash tray. Rolf's mouth hung slightly open, another part of his mind trying to figure out what exactly was supposedly making him coward and the other one alarming him to the fact that the woman had slipped away from the table, already starting towards the door with fierce determination.

Rolf acted on a hasty, impulsive instinct, extinguishing his own cigarette in the ash tray while his feet were already moving, bringing him around the desk, the man striding towards the door and he had to hasten his steps in effort to reach the door, his hand slamming upon the wooden surface just as Riedel's fingers curled around the door's latch. It still wouldn't have actually prevented Riedel from pulling the door open and Rolf's shoulder collided quite forcefully with the wooden surface as he pushed himself against it, his eyes already darting to the side to regard the woman, grey eyes flashing with intense resolve. The man slid his shoulder to the side as he turned around, resting his back against the door and he arched his eyebrows, his mouth opening before he had actually decided on what to say. Rolf tilted his chin down as he regarded the woman and he allowed the palms of his hands to further settle on the wooden surface, sliding down upon the wood in silent contemplation while his grey eyes stared back at her under the brows, open curiosity now dominating his keen gaze. "Na los, Riedel," Rolf rasped and his head slanted to the side, as if it would have somehow allowed him to better grasp at the secrets she was holding from him. "Sie haben mir nicht sogar erzählt, was es ist, Sie sind danach. Ich kann Ihnen nichts versprechen, bevor ich weiß, was es ist verspreche ich genau. Niemand würde das tun," the man's eyes glinted with brief sense of mild amusement, his voice was steady and genuine, yet not without a touch of starkness, the traces of her insults obviously still affecting some part within the man.

"Ich weiß, dass Sie hier nicht sein würden, wenn es nicht etwas Wichtiges wäre," Rolf announced casually and he raised his chin slowly so that he could better regard the tall woman standing in front of him. "Ich bin nicht der Feigling hier. Sie sind derjenige, der davonläuft, Ihre Meinung alle plötzlichen ändernd und sogar nicht wagend, mir zu erzählen, was es ist, dass Sie wollen. Auf die Weise fragten Sie mich, ich könnte geschworen haben, dass Sie nichts als eine negative Antwort zunächst hören wollten. Sie planten nicht sogar zurückzubleiben, um meine Antwort wirklich zu hören, und... Sie vergaßen Ihre Schuhe auch," the man's eyes skipped momentarily to regard the footwear the woman had so casually discarded upon the floor, but his gaze soon returned back at her and Rolf's expression changed slowly as he watched her, grey eyes delving into her viridian ones in an effort to make sense of her strange behaviour. There was newfound gravity to Rolf's expression, one that displayed both childlike interest and solemn sincerity and the man had absorbed these two sentiments as effortlessly as his moods could change; a talent that might have been both a blessing and a curse, yet also one had no control over and that was often throwing him from one violent situation to another. This was a more complicated feeling and the man found his insides tingling with anticipation, with nothing but raw desire to possess the knowledge that had been denied from him.

The man breathed out evenly and his grey eyes narrowed as he spoke, his hoarse voice remaining low and level. "Vielleicht bin ich nicht ebenso ganz... böswillig, wie Sie denken, dass ich bin. Sie haben nicht sogar versucht... also, warum nicht? Erzählen Sie mir gerade, was es ist Sie brauchen, Riedel," Rolf arched his scarred eyebrow, his gaze never leaving the woman's features while every fibre within his being waited anxiously her to answer. His uniformed frame still effectively blocked her way out in a curious imitation of events that had taken place only a few nights before and the man seemed settled on holding his position.

His back and the palms of his hands still resting against the sleek wooden surface, Rolf waited, and within his eyes dwelled only genuine interest and anticipation. His mind was warning him of the insults that would no doubt soon be aimed at him, yet he disregarded the warnings and allowed himself to dwell in the exhilarating prospect that had been strong enough to even clamp shut the jaws of his rage. She might just send him pivoting down the familiar torrent of his anger, make him crash and burn, but if he didn't take the chance, he could never achieve anything, now could he?


Translations:

"Na los, Riedel."
"Come on, Riedel."

"Sie haben mir nicht sogar erzählt, was es ist, Sie sind danach..."
"You haven't even told me what it is you're after. I can't promise you anything before I know what it is I'm exactly promising. Nobody would do that."

"Ich weiß, dass Sie hier nicht sein würden, wenn es nicht etwas Wichtiges wäre..."
"I know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't something important. I'm not the coward here. You're the one running away, changing your mind all of the sudden and not even daring to tell me what it is that you want. The way you asked me, I could have sworn that you wanted to hear nothing but a negative answer to begin with. You were not even planning to stay behind to actually hear my answer and... you forgot your shoes, too."

"Vielleicht bin ich nicht ebenso ganz... böswillig, wie Sie denken, dass ich bin..."
"Maybe I'm not quite as... malicious as you think I am. You haven't even tried.. so why don't you? Just tell me what it is you need, Riedel."

[Dirk Riedel]

She had almost turned the door’s latch and was prepared to make a brisk exit, when she suddenly felt a rush of movement soaring from behind her and with a force directly colliding against the door’s hard, wooden surface she noticed, upon turning her head sideways in surprise, that the man had stormed forward in an attempt to prevent her from leaving, as she wanted. As he furthermore rested his back against the door to ensure she would have no possible way of making her leave, she could only cross her arms, a stern expression seizing hold of her facial features as she looked back at him with curved eyebrows over her gleaming bright eyes, her tone enquiring but not ever shedding the traces of contempt and derision that still lingered in the corner of her lips, the green irises, the stiffness of her pale skin. She was reminded of a similar occasion not many days ago, and yet how childish his own same behaviour was, with what infantile obstinacy did he desire to hinder her from leaving for the sole purpose of discovering what favour she so deeply needed from him, his arrogance, his goaded sense of self-importance beating wildly against his ribcage without a question, as she imagined, regardless of the fact he would most certainly refuse her. She could already tell of his plan: reveal her request simply to satisfy his hunger for knowledge, then use her as a cheap toy, play around with her with his infantile little fingers before he could easily allow her to drop on the floor, let her break into a hundred little pieces until, victorious, he would stand up tall and proud in all of his height and look down upon her with a malicious glint of triumph through those cold-hearted, ice-gray eyes beyond which she could distinguish nothing but vanity and contrivance.

She looked at him with an unsmiling gaze, her posture unfriendly, but her eyebrows slightly moved to picture her growing curiosity over his words. She could not blame him for not giving him a promise beforehand, without even knowing the terms; doing otherwise would only prove his naivety, his foolishness or, simply, his complete and utter disregard of the favour at the first place. Nor was she the kind of woman to make such vague requests at the first place, but she had wished to bind him immediately to a positive response before he had had the time to reconsider and, perhaps, change his mind. Had he really wished to humiliate and use his power over her would he, indeed, have not already agreed directly upon her request without remotely listening to it? Certainly that would have meant he had paid no attention to her entreaty but, driven by the faint desire to torture her with the power he possessed to refuse or accept what was so significant to her, would have immediately jumped at the first occasion, only to hear what she had to ask afterward and plainly laugh at her with such a mocking force as would have been enough to break whatever shreds of patience she had left within her and, despite how she had reunited with her troops a few days previously – enough to give her the appropriate time to clear her mind and regain her control, her military command and discipline – it would not have been difficult whatsoever to make her lose every ability she possessed to restrain herself. She could tolerate a few of the traits the Hauptmann was known for, his aggravating intransigence, the ill-mannered and curt tone of his voice, his … well, there really was nothing more to tolerate, was there?

Or perhaps it was a careful ploy of his: allow her to assume he first needed to know of the favour, pretend he was going to consider his response until he satisfied his curiosity and eventually his laughing refusal slapped her harshly across the face. She narrowed her eyes at him in contemplation, and slowly walked alongside his figure to be able to examine his entire outline, study the expression on his face clearly lest she would discern the faintest hint of ill humour betraying his intentions, yet all she could distinguish was nothing but profound interest mingled with curiosity. Oh, of course he desired to know, and the truth was that she did not cherish many other options to begin with, although she had formerly questioned whether resorting to those other alternatives would have been any less infuriating and demeaning as this one was. Still, she maintained that minimal distance between them, not even flinching or caring over the fact she had forgotten about her shoes, so absorbed into her task she was as such insignificant matters hardly ever infiltrated her mind in the first place. With a final contemplative glance she allowed her right arm to slide down her figure, fingers skillfully slipping inside her pocket to pull another cigarette from the packet, as though she needed an infusion of that narcotic strength breathed in from the fume into her lungs to actually make her voice that wretched request. Soon enough wisps of grey smoke danced around her face as she looked at him in all of her proud, tall stature, her relentless physique, the unwelcoming, severe eyes, or the sharp angles of that fatigued face, while she inhaled deeply from the cigarette, her pale fingers tightly circled around its length as if it was the only last remaining thing to prod her towards her request. She knew she had to express it, she knew there was no other way to eventually make that entreaty – but she also knew she desired no favours … from anyone. Whatever it was she was being entitled to, in whichever circumstance, she always repaid in one way or another; and thus in this moment, although she was not really thinking about this – for she did not want to overwhelm her mind with futile hopes of his acceptance – deep in her heart she knew that come thunderstorm or dust storm, or the desert sweeping the entire tents offshore, she would return the entreaty. She would not allow herself to be bound to him. She never would.

Her breathing was calm and controlled as she drew in from the cigarette, silently looking at him looking back at her, through the glorious Libyan sun washing down upon their faces with its glowing quality, the golden rays of purity infiltrating the room through the glass window behind her. Without a word, she slowly turned around and began to walk at the opposite direction to his desk. She stretched out her free hand, fingers tracing a path alongside the mahogany surface while her eyes travelled to the window, quietly turning around to reach his chair, her hand curiously caressing its old back made of dark timber, until she sat herself upon it, her eyes reaching up to meet his own silver, her irises constricting as they were briefly concealed behind a cloud of grey smoke.

“Es gibt einen Bordfunker in Tripoli der direkt zu einem Radiozentrum in Deutschland in Verbindung steht, durch die Anrufe darin nachgeschickt werden können, welch auch immer Gebiet der Anrufer will,” she said in a quiet, steady voice, looking directly into his eyes as she spoke. “Natürlich wird nicht irgendjemandem erlaubt solch einen Anruf zu machen, aber Sie sind nicht irgendjemand – leider,” she said, no hint of derision or contempt etched in the tone of her voice as she added the last word, but instead an amused smile easily parted her lips as she gazed at him with her slow, contemplative gaze. “Ich muss einen wichtigen Anruf …” – her eyes gleamed for a second – “… zu jemandem machen. Das ist zu mir von Interesse dass ich diese Person erreiche. Sie sind der Hauptmann, Sie können Zugang dazu haben und dem Maschinenbediener befehlen,” she said, the smirk rising across the corner of her lips whilst her eyes remained as severe and stern as always, before she casually lifted her legs and crossed one over the other upon the table, and rested them there in her casual, ordinary manner, making certain their position would not interfere with his paperwork for, despite her utter disdain for the man, she would never act in any way which would potentially hinder the army’s progress, and for no reason at all. Even when the temptation to completely irritate the pilot and enforcing discipline on him through making him write the papers over and over again was pressing against her mind with a loud, demanding grasp, “diese Aufforderung meines Interesses zu machen, das Sie … im Augenblick …” she spoke, her tone almost reduced to a guttural whisper as she drew in from her cigarette, her green eyes bright and penetrative as she pierced through his own, the lines of her lips moving slowly to form the words she would have otherwise detested to say, “sehr … sehr, bedeutend zu mir macht.”

She drew in from the cigarette deeply and momentarily closed her eyes, moving her head to tilt a little backwards, slightly stirring to rest her back more comfortably against the chair, allowing her senses to fully embrace the warm, narcotic essence of the tobacco roll, the welcoming calmness enveloping her as the rays of sunlight softly caressed the nape of her neck, relaxing her into a state of leisure, before she gazed back at him again. “Ich muss diesen Anruf heute machen. Jetzt wirklich würde eine sehr gute Zeit sein,” she said, and smiled. “Ich sehe dass Sie hier aber …” she added, her eyes briefly falling upon the paperwork on the table, a few centimetres away from where her legs rested upon, the rim of the garment now due to the posture having to a meagre extent been pulled upper to the knee bone, “ganz überanstrengt werden Sie werden mich sehr geduldig und verstehend finden.” She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled, before she brought the cigarette back to her lips.



Translation

There is a radio operator in Tripoli that connects directly to a radio centre in Germany, through which calls may be forwarded in whichever region the caller wants. Of course not anyone is allowed to make such a call, but you aren’t anyone – unfortunately. I need to make an important call … to someone. It is of interest to me that I reach this person. You are the Hauptmann, you can have access to it and command the operator to make that call on my behalf, which makes you … for the moment … very … very significant to me.

I need to make this call today. Now, actually, would be a very good time. I see you’re quite overworked here but … you will find me very patient and understanding.

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf could feel the tiny particles of dust tickling his nose as he breathed in, his fingertips registering the small imperfections of the wooden surface as he rested the palms of his hands against the door and only barely noticed the drops of sweat snaking down his skin underneath his uniform. His attention was stolen by the tall, proud woman standing in front of him and he observed all of the microscopic changes in her expression, his grey eyes keenly watching as she crossed her arms in front of her chest to communicate nothing but her utter displeasure over the Hauptmann's intrusion. Riedel's eyebrows curved over her green eyes in cold derision, her gaze chilling enough to bring down even the uncomfortably warm temperature of the dusty office, yet Rolf still remained standing in front of the door, not caring whether he was angering the woman or not. He had asked a legitimate question and if she genuinely required his assistance, she was better off answering it, too. Rolf's breathing was coming in slow, steady draws and he observed the woman calmly stepping in front of him, her green eyes remaining upon the man as if to measure the weight of his words, her bare feet silent upon the office floor as she prowled along.

Of course she would not trust him and Rolf could fully relate to the sentiment - he would have never expected anything but malice from others, especially in a situation such as this one, where the other person was - at least to some extent - forced to place oneself on the supposed good will of the other. It was an obvious snare, a vulnerable pass in the middle of the only route out, yet also one that sometimes had to be travelled in order to continue forward. She was circling the trap and measuring its risks, her emerald irises delving into his in an effort to scout out the extent of the pitfall, yet the man's gaze remained ever unchanging and even, the small amount of understanding flickering within, yet failing to break through the veil of open curiosity. She had risked much in entering the office and telling him that she needed a favour, yet Rolf could not understand why she had even figured that he would do anything else but laugh at her. He wasn't the kind of person people came to for help and his way of dealing with others made it quite obvious that he would have not cared enough to even listen to people's requests, much less to fulfill them. This was the first time someone was asking him, Rolf Jäger, for a personal favour, and he found the position both exhilarating and strange. He was, of course, already entertaining the notion of listening to her request and then mirthfully denying it, just to see the anger flaring within her eyes, but it had been reduced to a mere shadow of a thought and Rolf wasn't sure which path to take should she reveal the content of her appeal to him. He wished to explore his options first and he remained silent, only waiting to see whether she would tell him the reason to her visit or if she should just choose to resort to her insults once more.

As if having reached some sort of conclusion concerning the honesty of the Hauptmann, Riedel's hand travelled down her side to pull out a packet of smokes. Lighting a cigarette seemed to bestow her with some sense of serenity, as if the noxious quality of the nicotine was the only thing calming her down and preventing a hateful outburst. Rolf stared back at her, his eyes never leaving her figure either out of mistrust or curiosity, and his chin remained held up in a gesture of confidence as he continued leaning his back against the door, stubbornly blocking the woman's way out. Still, it seemed as if Riedel was no longer in such a hurry to leave the office and she finally pivoted around, walking towards the desk in unhurried, determined steps, the smoke of the cigarette trailing lazily behind her. The sunlight framed the woman's figure with a golden halo and Rolf tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow arching up as he watched her walk to the table, her fingers touching the back of the chair almost absentmindely while her gaze was drawn towards the window. Rolf could only remain standing still, observing the sight in its hazy, dream-like quality as it was painted in front of him; the bright rays of sunlight blocked by her black-clad figure and dancing around the soft curve of her neck, embracing her in their glowing warmth, painting her skin white and gold and her hair in blazing saffron. He was more used to seeing her bathing in the silver light of the moon, but he now found that the vivid glow of the sun seemed to suit her just as well and it brought on new qualities within her. Rolf stared at her in hollow silence, a hunter in the shadows observing a fabled quarry, and his breathing had slowed down, a long, silent exhale escaping from between his lips once the woman finally sat upon the chair, emerald eyes moving back to regard him once more.

Her voice caused ripples in the momentarily placid surface of Rolf's mind and his head snapped up when she addressed him, her voice low, yet distinct enough for Rolf to hear. The man narrowed his eyes and his gaze was both stern and curious as he straightened his back and stepped away from the door, starting towards the desk all the while she spoke, and he drank in her words, drawn towards Riedel by each one of them. A very brief twinge of surprise visited the man's eyes when he heard that she needed his assistance in calling someone in Germany. Somehow he had imagined that the request she wished to make of him would have been something grander, more demanding, yet all she needed was one measly phone call. Naturally he realized that it had not been the content of the request that had so disturbed her, but the fact that she had been forced to ask him and Rolf hooked a thumb under his belt as he came to a stop in front of the desk, eyebrows furrowed in surprise and something akin to suspicion, as if he was expecting to find a dog buried somewhere in there, some secret ultimatum contained within her words. His paranoid thoughts were momentarily disturbed by the woman when she casually lifted her legs upon the table, crossing one over the other in a gesture of complete confidence and comfort. Rolf's eyes were easily captured by the sight of the black canvas sliding away to reveal the pale skin of her legs, the hem of the dress now resting at the level of her knees. An almost silent, low growl formed within the Hauptmann's throat and his gaze travelled from the tips of her toes and along the length of her shins to that enticing line where the dress covered up any further sights the man would have wished to explore. Her legs were resting just centimeters away from the stacks of papers Rolf had been delving into the entire day, the lines of his bold, precise handwriting dominating the papers among the military typeface and swastika-grasping eagles of the Luftwaffe. It took the man some effort to pry his eyes away from her legs and his lips remained slightly parted as he listened to her, silver eyes narrowed in silent contemplation as he absorbed her words. His mouth drew into a half-smile when she underlined just how important he was to her at the moment; due to nothing else but her request, of course, which was why the man found himself so amused by her notion and the entertained manner in which it had been spoken.

The small smile still remained in the left corner of his lips as he leaned towards her, resting his hands upon the surface of the table while the woman leaned back in the chair - his chair - drawing from the cigarette and closing her eyes for a moment to better enjoy its treacherous toxin. Rolf remained standing in front of the desk, hands pressing against the wooden surface as he stared at her, eyes lingering upon the pale of skin of her neck, the man remembering how his fingers had traced paths upon it just a few nights earlier. He could once more feel his fingertips burning as they recalled the feverish surface of her skin and Rolf found himself swallowing, his hand yearning nothing more but to reach out and duplicate those moments once more. Rolf noticed her shifting and he found himself staring into her green irises once more, her soft, yet curiously hoarse voice telling him that she wished to make the call right now, yet could understand his hurries - an inclination that appeared quite mocking when coming from her, indeed, yet Rolf couldn't be absolutely sure of his interpretation and he decided to let it pass. His attention was more drawn by her presence and gradually, by the answer that had not even properly formed within his mind, yet he knew this was the moment he was supposed to offer it to her.

Rolf tilted his head to the side, traces of a smile still lingering within his eyes while his lips remained slightly parted. For a moment it seemed as if the man wasn't going to say anything, but soon his eyebrows curved more clearly into an expression of open confusion. "Ein Anruf?" the man repeated gruffly and his eyes immediately searched hers for any signs of betrayal, as if he simply could not believe this was everything the woman was requesting. A curious mixture of a sneer and a smile appeared on the man's features and he leaned over the desk momentarily to put more weight on his question. "Es ist, wofür Sie hier sind? Ein Anruf ist alles, dass Sie brauchen?" Rolf repeated once more, knowing quite well that she needed the help of a military officer to even hope to connect such a call, yet it still seemed like a far too humble request, no matter how important it might have been to her. The obvious thought of laughing at her crossed his mind, yet he was also far too curious to see what would happen should he agree to help her; he already knew she would feel nothing but anger and hatred towards him the moment he would mock her, but what if he should choose to assist her? Wouldn't that throw her off balance, to have her hear an answer she was not expecting? Which path would he find the more enjoyable one and what would it have been like, offering his assistance to someone and, even more importantly, to Riedel?

The man scoffed and promptly straightened his back, his eyes skipping from the woman to regard the blue sky outside. For a moment it seemed as if the man was going to reject her request, yet instead his hand went for the phone and he grasped it, turning it around on the table to face himself and the machine emitted a small, clear chime upon the prompt movement. A curious, wild exhilaration was causing Rolf's insides to feel light and bubbly, his heart pounding just slightly faster with the force of a sentiment that was unknown to the man; it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, as unexplored as it was, and he felt a curious sense of heavy importance as he lifted the handset and brought it to his ear. The line crackled and he heard the familiar voice of a young female operator answering and Rolf stared somewhere in front of him, feeling almost lightheaded from the curious sentiment that had taken hold of him the moment he had grasped the phone. "Hauptmann Jäger, Jagdgeschwader 27. Ich brauche einen Anruf nach Deutschland verbundenen. ...nein, nein. Ich habe jemanden hier, der Ihnen wo dazu erzählen wird. Ein Moment," Rolf's voice had taken on a very prompt, sharp quality the moment he had addressed the operator and only now did his gaze fall upon Riedel again, the man covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his other hand as he regarded her. The uniformed man's posture had automatically straightened the very same moment the tone of his voice had shifted and his shoulders were now drawn back in a precise, sharp military fashion - it was obviously a change he had not noticed himself, so deeply rooted it was within his spine, a manner honed by years of strict schooling by his stern father.

Grey eyes searched the viridian ones keenly for a reaction, to see if the woman was surprised, if she still figured that he was merely toying with her when the operator was already waiting for further instructions on the other end of the line. Rolf's free hand touched down on the table once more, the man leaning in closer over the table to slowly bring the phone towards the woman, grasping it by the mouthpiece so no words uttered in the office would reach the operator's ears. "Alles, was Sie tun mussten, sollte fragen, Riedel," Rolf's voice was dark and husky and amusement glinted within his eyes as he suddenly moved the headpiece away from her, as if he was still planning on changing his mind and a hungry beast lifted his head within the man, a malicious growl emitting deep within its furred chest as it waited for that familiar taste of hatred and violence. It could almost savour the first drops of hot blood upon its tongue and sharp fangs gleamed in the darkness of Rolf's soul, a toothed mockery of a smile forming upon the canine face.

Rolf blinked and the beast was gone, vanished in the same shadows it had awoken from and instead of the maliciousness that had just dominated his face, only a mixture of amusement and open curiosity now dwelled, the look in his grey eyes bright and genuine. "Behalten Sie es knapp," the man advised hoarsely before simply handing the headpiece to the woman and releasing his hold, standing up straight once more, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he stood in front of the desk and waited, obviously assuming that Riedel had no problems with him hearing the incredibly important and fascinating discussion.


Translations:

"Ein Anruf? Es ist, wofür Sie hier sind? Ein Anruf ist alles, dass Sie brauchen?"
"A phone call? That's what you're here for? A phone call is all you need?"

"Hauptmann Jäger, Jagdgeschwader 27..."
"Hauptmann Jäger, Jagdgeschwader 27. I need a call connected to Germany. ...no, no. I have someone here who will tell you where to. A moment."

"Alles, was Sie tun mussten, sollte fragen, Riedel,"
"All you needed to do was to ask, Riedel."

""Behalten Sie es knapp,"
"Keep it brief."

[Dirk Riedel]

The grey smoke circled around her with its dangerous, overwhelming quality as she gazed back into his silver eyes, her face quiet and contemplative, eyes of pale sea green faintly narrowed to regard him with an expression that suggested she was, indeed, posing a challenge to him. He appeared thoughtful, curious but at the same time dominant while he was reflecting upon her request, the smile etching across his lips evident also in his gleaming eyes while she traced their gaze upon her figure. Certainly she was not a fool or ignorant enough as to question the nature of such a smile, yet the curious truth was that she had far from intended this on purpose. In fact, it had only been an impulsive act of the moment, nothing more or less but a small proof of, ironically, how unfeminine she was. Other women would have been more inviting and less straightforward, tempting instead of offensive, more sultry rather than careless of their own appearance; and even if their faces would be seen as works of art, Dirk would still regard them as nothing else but hideous, these unappealing and revolting little sharpies with their resorting to such cheap methods to reach their objectives as would strip them off any rights to be referred to as women truly worth knowing. Dirk had never respected such women in her life, and, from the day she had been born to the day she died her heart knew she would never come to persuade men sporting such a disgusting behaviour. And thus, instead of complying to such a feminine call of appearing careful with her actions and minding to appear provocative enough, here she was, throwing her shoes around in a careless, aggravating manner, smoking like a sailor and sitting herself on the chair as though she simply did not care about him – which she did not.

The truth was, she functioned more under a force of masculine perception that often made her react in ways which would have been most likely considered as unbefitting, inappropriate or immoral by the female members of the society, her often vulgar sense of humour, her complete and almost shocking deficiency in being graceful and elegant, her ignorance of and indifference to her own appearance, her continuous disregard of couture, etiquette and gentility, her adamant and non-submissive character, the harsh obstinacy, the inclined violence, the starkness and savage strength of her figure, or the roughened skin, were all to be considered by them as weaknesses she possessed and which she must repair in order to be seen as a true specimen of their species; a species the woman thought of as ridiculous, frail and aggravating. For all that, it did not mean that Friederike Woltermann was a woman of loose morals, with no manners to speak of; quite on the contrary, she had been raised with the strictest rules and learned to respect, honour and praise that which should be respected, honoured and praised, condemn what must be condemned, and laugh at what should be laughed at, always demanding order and discipline and expecting of others to show the same civility she offered them. She would never tolerate rudeness and disrespect, especially when it was uncalled for, but made of flesh and blood as she was, and being only a human being with flaws and mistakes, she would find herself often resorting to derogation and exhibiting contempt whenever she felt she was communicating with ungrateful, arrogant and discourteous human beings. As it so happened, she was looking at one at this very moment.

She knew not exactly what invincible force had thrown her into the mortal confines of his office, although at first she had believed his was the only office she could tread through without losing as much self-respect as she would have otherwise lost had she turned to another military figure. At least with him she need not swallow down her pride, her hatred, the fury over making such a request at the first place; truth be told, and there was enough sardonicism in such a notion, that she had the leisure to possess enough freedom at his presence to be her own self even when she had a favour to ask, even when she was unable to bite her tongue and speak ill off him, and even when despite her insults she could still face him, still expect of him to yield to her request, not in the least by reason of a weakness of his own but, rather, an unspoken rule of mutual understanding that had almost passed between them. She could have presented herself in front of any other military commissioned officer, drowned down her dignity and pose an alluring façade for their own pleasure, goad their expectations and promise to return their kind service in ways she would have not intended to keep. It would have been easy enough, and yet it was not. How could one shed their self-worth? The fact remained that she would have gone to great lengths to ensure her family’s safety, even for something as seemingly insignificant as learn whether they were all right, to the point where repressing her indignation and conforming to any such demeaning promises sounded too irrelevant for her to care, too unimportant for her to refuse and sacrifice the by contrast gravely important chance of speaking with her brother again. It was one thing to circuitously employ such feminine characteristics as would enable her to appear more inviting in an attempt to be more persuasive and conniving, and a completely different one to be direct and straightforward with what she had to offer in return; the latter could be forgiven. The former could not. And, therefore, perhaps she would have done it, perhaps not, but at the present moment she need not think of such unwanted deviations.

She did not move a muscle while he regarded her question, not least with a rather curious disbelief in his words; naturally he had been brought up to fulfill great expectations, and thus must have been expecting in turn great things of others to ask of him, a notion which perfectly explained why he found it so unusual, what she had to ask of him. It was almost amusing, in a sense, and Dirk would have most probably found it amusing had she not been too absorbed to his pending response – did he expect she would ask him the property rights of the Saharan desert? That she would desire a statue made of gold and ivory be erected in her name? Ask him to run his fingers through the endless list of connections he possessed and recommend her to a sickly wealthy aristocrat she could get married to and finally end the humiliation and horrible suffering of living in peasantry? Employ the country’s best engineers to build a staircase to the sun? Conquer the African continent to present it to her as a Christmas present? What ridiculous thoughts he might have had before she voiced her request she was neither keen nor interested to know, for all that mattered to her at this very moment was the positive reception of her request; this was precisely why she had stressed out how important he was for her, she was not an idiot to underline something which brought her only irritation, but she had merely assumed that upon realizing the truth of such words he would be overwhelmed with a rush of self-importance and gravity, enough to goad him along the road of acceptance.

She exhaled fume as she drew in from the cigarette, her eyes never leaving his figure even as his head turned to view the glass window, and though outwardly she appeared calm and awaiting for his reception, at some moment she missed a heartbeat as his posture and reaction only suggested nothing short of negative. She narrowed her eyes slightly through the smoke and breathed in – as if to prepare herself for an answer she did not wish to hear – while he seemed to be pondering, her legs still casually lying across the table, her entire figure unmoving but for her chest rising and falling calmly despite her inner uncertainty, her gaze persistent and unyielding as her eyes burned onto the glowing skin upon which the sun embraced with her golden tendrils of light – when, without a warning, the telephone chimed at his arm’s sudden jerky movement, and she could only stare, the hand frozen halfway through on its way back to her lips, but it was only until the inescapable reality of his guttural, brisk, military voice spoke through the mouthpiece that she slowly began to pull her legs off the table and back on the floor, her forehead wrinkled, her eyes faintly narrowed and her lips vaguely parted, all indications of her confusion as she gazed at him, the cigarette burning at the end of her fingers as the ashes quietly fell on the floor, listening to his brisk commands as the very essence of that voice rang through her entire length in reverberation. The faintest smile crossed the corner of her lips as she stared at him with curiosity gleaming in her green eyes. His hand outstretched to give her the mouthpiece, and hers reached to his direction to take it from him, before he moved it away. She looked at him intensely and her eyes glinted, awaiting, her fingers curled against the palm of her hand in anticipation. In a moment he returned the mouthpiece to her and, as she grabbed it, her fingers stretched to cover part of his hand, keeping it there as she held him in that gesture for those moments that followed, her eyes transfixed through his grey irises, until she finally let go and held the mouthpiece closely to her.

She frowned upon suddenly realizing the Hauptmann had no intention of leaving, and she slightly tilted her head to the head, soundlessly communicating whether he planned to stay there for the rest of the afternoon, stern eyes demanding he should leave the room right this instant, the mouthpiece held on the side of her face as she waited for him to pull his fancy self out of the room.

Once he had complied and she distinctly heard the door clicked closed, she moved the mouthpiece closer to her lips, her heart rate slowly increasing in anticipation. “Ja, verbinden Sie mich nach Magdeburg, Deutschland, Materlikstraße 2, Frau Wahlberg,” she spoke, and while the phone operator told her to wait while she was being connected she sat up straight and moved around the table quickly, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the desk, bringing one leg to lie underneath as the other hang down on the floor, and drawing deeply from the cigarette, then running her hand through her head in what appeared to have been a mixture of excitement and uneasiness. The moments simply did not seem pass, and what was to be twenty seconds seemed like endless eternities to her perception. The room felt heavily silent, and her chest heaved high as she breathed in, her eyes diverting off to some part of the room, towards the window, back on the floor, glancing but not really looking at anything, a rush of thoughts racing in her mind during the tortuous wait. At some point she sighed wearily, and her head turned to view the door, as if to ensure it were properly shut, even meaning to examine it carefully – until, suddenly, a voice rang from the other line, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Frau Wahlberg, ich muss mit Julian sprechen,” she briskly requested.

“Wer ist das?” the woman’s voice responded, suspicious and enquiring.

“Riedel. Er kennt mich, verbinden Sie mich bitte.”

The woman’s breath could be heard through the line, while she was apparently contemplating on the stranger calling and, without another word, a pause followed, and Dirk’s heart began to pace wildly against her ribcage upon her fervent anticipation, the fingers holding the mouthpiece clicking against it with an impatient rhythm; it was only until a male voice suddenly came through the line when she missed another heart beat, and her lips slightly trembled.

“Julian.”

The word was spoken so softly it was barely heard, and the woman covered her lips with her free hand. She had not heard his voice for such a long time. It had been such a long time.

“Wer ist es?” his silken, deep voice came through, skeptical and distrustful, and her hand slowly slipped away from her mouth, her breathing suddenly rapid and heavy. She opened her mouth to speak but her throat constricted, and she had to swallow down and wait for a few seconds to pass, to get used to that voice once more, to deeply realize she was indeed talking to him, while he waited in all of his growing suspicion, her fingers faintly shaking as she breathed in, eyes frozen on some insignificant spot in the wall.

“Es ist ich.”

There was a pause.

“Friede?”

The young woman could not contain herself any longer and tightly covered her lips with her hand to drown out the guttural sound of genuine emotion that escaped her throat. She felt a distinct prickling feeling in the corner of her eyes, and slowly breathed out calmly.

“Erzählen Sie mir wie Sie sind,” she breathed eagerly. “Erzählen Sie mir was Sie getan haben, sind Sie ganz recht? Werden Sie verletzt? Haben Sie sich verletzt?” she inquired, not least in an apprehensive tone.

“Aber wie – ”

“Es gibt keine Zeit um zu erklären. Erzählen Sie mir.”

“Alles ist gut. Frau Wahlberg bringt mir Essen jeden Tag. Gestern schaffte ich einen Kohl zu kochen, mir das vorzustellen!” he chimed, and an amused sound escaped Dirk’s throat as she could only smile, her eyes gazing another spot in the room. “Wie ist die Situation dort?” he asked her.

“Sengend,” she commented, sarcasm obvious through her tone, but Julian was not to be fooled.

“Sind Sie geschossen worden?” he inquired slowly, no less in a skeptical tone.

“Nein, ich bin fein.”

“Sie sind geschossen worden, stimmt dass?” he insisted.

“Nein, ich habe nicht,” she assured him. “Ganz und gar nicht einer Narbe, um anzugeben, würden Sie zufrieden sein.”

“Sie versprechen?”

She sighed quietly. “Ich verspreche.”

“Wann kommen Sie zurück?”

At this her heart sank low into her stomach. “Ich weiß nicht,” she only had to say. “Wie steht’s mit ihr?” she then asked. “Haben Sie getan wie ich Ihnen erzählt habe?”

“Ich habe ihre Briefe in Ihrem Interesse gesandt sie denkt noch dass Sie in der Bombe-Fabrik arbeiten, aber ich musste ihr sagen dass Sie von Berlin zur Grenze mit Polen abrückten. Sie wollte Sie besuchen.”

“Und was sagte sie?” she asked with a frown.

“Sie ist müde besorgt gewesen. So, sie hat Sie in mehr als einem Jahr nicht gesehen, sie ist beunruhigt worden irgendetwas könnte mit Ihnen geschehen sein. Sie brauchen nicht jedoch alarmiert zu werden ich versichere sie immer, dass Sie vollkommen gesund, aber immer überanstrengt sind.”

She smiled. “Warum müssen Sie so klug sein?”

“Warum müssen Sie ein Schmerz in meinem Arsch sein?”

Another amused sound was drawn from her throat. Her heart was almost tearing her ribcage from the thrill as she was speaking to a beloved brother, and so eager, so hungry was she to hear anything he had to say that she could only insist, “Sprechen Sie mit mir. Sprechen Sie mit mir, ich will Ihre Stimme hören. Sie passen auf sich selbst auf, stimmt dass? Es hat keine … Eindringen gegeben?”

“Nichts überhaupt, sorgen Sie sich über mich nicht. Sie sollten über sich selbst besorgt sein. Sagen Sie mir bitte, dass ganz gut geht.”

But it was at that point, quite sardonically so, that a passing suspicion was rooted within the woman’s mind.

“Fingen Sie an zu rauchen?” she asked him carefully, all traces of the smile having vanished deep underneath her suddenly stern facial features.

“Natürlich nicht.”

“Der Ton Ihrer Stimme sagt mir, dass Sie geraucht haben.”

“Das ist nicht wahr!” he objected, but rather poorly attempted to conceal the laugh rising in his mouth.

“Julian,” she warned him, her teeth gritted and her eyes narrowed, “wenn Sie das Rauchen wieder aufgenommen haben, werde ich Sie durch eine Mühle ziehen und Ihren Kopf in Mehl schleifen, hören Sie mich?”

“Das war gerade eine Zigarette, ich ging Adrenalin durch!” he protested, amused.
“Ja, und wenn ich meine Hände auf Ihnen bekomme, werden Sie auf dem Adrenalin allein sicher laufen!” she rasped back, and sighed wearily.

“Scheint, dass Sie mich überhaupt dann nicht vermisst haben. Welche grausame Schwester.”

She could not believe him. Certainly the young man was only teasing her, and as much she very well knew, but she still caught the bait, it was too inevitable not to. She cared too much.

“Oh, verschlossen, Sie arroganter Bengel, denke ich an Sie jeden Tag,” she snapped. “Jeden Tag!” she persisted, her irises widening.

“Ich glaube Sie nicht. Ihre Meinung muss mit einem jener Soldaten in der Vorderseite inzwischen besetzt werden, ich werde ganz überzeugt. Jemand damit bildet sich wirklich Schnurrbart und einen Bart vielleicht ein, wer sieben Brille von Bier jeden Morgen trinkt, wacht er auf.” He seemed to be really enjoying this, but Dirk could not take this as lightly as he was. That foolish boy, she should have known.

“Sie sind solch ein Idiot,” she concluded.

“Und ganz richtig so!” he continued with a chime. “Nur heute begriff ich, dass ich Ihnen einen Gefallen statt dessen und nicht den anderen Weg ringsherum tue. Vielleicht, wenn Sie mit Ihrer barbarischen Metzger-Mutter zurückkehren, wird aufhören, als ärgerlich darüber zu sein. He denken Sie, dass ich das in meinem folgenden Brief erwähnen kann? Oh, sie würde einen Aneurysma haben!” he laughed.

Dirk scowled.

“Warum nannte ich Sie?” she inquired in a fatigued tone.

“Ich schrieb ein Gedicht für Sie,” he said non-chalantly. “Würde Sie mögen, dass ich es zu Ihnen las?”

She scoffed. “Nicht!”

“Ich werde es in diesem Augenblick bringen, auf einen Moment warten!”

And so the next few moments passed.

“Das ist schön,” she spoke through the line. “Hören Sie mir, Julian, ich will dass Sie vorsichtig sind. Sie gaben mir eine Versprechung sobald, und ich bitte Sie, es zu behalten,” she asked of him, her tone once more affectionate and loving.

“Wie ich.”

She sighed wearily, her eyes looking over at the door.

“Ich muss jetzt abreisen,” she spoke softly.

“Friede!” he protested.

“Auf Wiedersehen, Julian.”

“Wann werde ich Sie wieder sehen?”

She put the mouthpiece back to its place, and the line ended. She kept her hand upon the device still, her face thoughtful and contemplative. She could not tell him. She did not have the strength to tell him – to realize herself – that she may never see him again. She remained unmoving in that position, through her persistent skepticism, the sudden sentiment of glum bleakness which came to silently possess her, while she serenely stared at nowhere in particular. It was then that she heard the wooden door creaking open, and the Hauptmann’s distinct figure appeared. Dirk raised her face almost instinctively to glance up at him, though no words reached her lips to address him with. She extinguished the remaining bit of the cigarette in the ashtray, and slowly her leg slipped off the table and she prodded herself into a standing position, wordlessly walking towards the room’s corner to pick up her shoes.

By the time she bent over, one hand against the wall to support herself, the door burst open again and in rushed a Luftwaffe enlisted soldier, addressing the Hauptmann’s attention immediately, before he stopped in an instance as he glanced from the Hauptmann to the woman in the corner, and back to the Hauptmann, his lips faintly parted in initial surprise, alternating to inner comprehension – before he briskly nodded, vaguely murmuring he would return in a while. Dirk could barely pay any attention to him – she had hardly heard his words which, due to her present state of mind, had been only distant and vague – focused as she was on putting on her shoes in a careful manner as not to further irritate her blisters. With a last smooth movement she slipped the left shoo in, and walked towards the pilot. There were no words to cohesively form in her mind, such was the inner turmoil of the latest phone call, and her face was an amalgamation of skeptical calmness, contemplation and even curiosity. She only stood in front of him, gazing back into his grey eyes, for less than a few moments, until she moved past him, opened the door and disappeared into the noise. And though she had sought out to make that call on the basic purpose of calming her mind, it seemed it had caused her more turmoil than it had ever achieved to evaporate.


Translation

Yes, connect me to Magdeburg, Germany, Materlikstraße 2, Madame Wahlberg’s.

Madame Wahlberg, I need to speak with Julian.

Who is this?

Riedel. He knows me, please connect me.

Who is it?

It’s me.

Tell me how you are. Tell me what you’ve been doing, are you all right? Are you injured? Have you hurt yourself?

But how –

There is no time to explain. Tell me.

Everything is well. Frau Wahlberg brings me food every day. Yesterday I managed to cook some cabbage, imagine that! How is the situation there?

Torrid.

Have you been shot?

No, I am fine.

You have been shot, haven’t you?

No, I haven’t. Not a bit of a scar to show off, you’d be pleased.

You promise?

I promise.

When are you coming back?

I don’t know. What about her? Have you been doing as I’ve told you?

I’ve sent her letters on your behalf, she still thinks you’re working in the bomb factory but I had to tell her you moved away from Berlin to the border with Poland. She wanted to visit you.

And what did she say?

She’s been weary, anxious. Well, she hasn’t seen you in more than a year, she has been worried anything might have happened to you. You don’t need to be alarmed, however, I always assure her you are perfectly healthy, but always overworked.

Why do you have to be so smart?

Why do you have to be a pain in my arse?

Talk to me. Talk to me, I want to hear your voice. You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you? There have been no … intrusions?

Nothing at all, do not worry about me. You should be worried about yourself. Please tell me all is going well.

Did you start smoking?

Of course not.

The sound of your voice tells me you’ve been smoking.

This is not true!

Julian, if you’ve taken up smoking again I will pull you through a mill and grind your head into flour, do you hear me?

It was just one cigarette, I was going through adrenaline!

Yes, and when I get my hands on you, you will surely be running on adrenaline alone!

Seems like you haven’t missed me at all, then. What a cruel sister.

Oh, shut up, you arrogant brat, I think about you every day. Every day!

I do not believe you. Your mind must be occupied with one of those soldiers in the front by now, I’m quite persuaded. Someone with a really fancy moustache and a beard, perhaps, who drinks seven glasses of beer every morning he wakes up.

You are such a moron.

And quite rightly so! Only today I realized I am doing you a favour instead, and not the other way around. Perhaps when you return with your barbaric butcher Mother will stop being as annoying about it. Hey, do you think I can mention that in my next letter? Oh, she’d have an aneurysm!

Why did I call you?

I wrote a poem for you. Would you like me to read it to you?

No!

I shall bring it right now, wait a moment!

That is beautiful. Listen to me, Julian, I want you to be careful. You gave me a promise once and I beg of you to keep it.

As I shall.

I have to leave now.

Friede!

Goodbye, Julian.

When will I see you again?

[Rolf Jäger]

A strange sense of exhilaration and mirth had taken over Rolf's entire frame, all the earlier traces of anger and contempt now completely erased to make way for new emotions. The transformation seemed effortless, one state of mind flowing into another as seamlessly and easily as the water of a river mixing into that of the vast sea. He never questioned the rapid changes of his mood, not that he would have often stopped to consider them, either. If there had ever been a person who managed to evoke these changes in him more often than usually, it certainly was Riedel; her manners, just her mere presence, worked to both infuriate and entice him. Such was the case this time, also, and Rolf froze in his spot the moment he felt her fingers overlapping with his just as he was handing the phone to her, his grey eyes interlocking with hers for a small, fleeting moment. He attempted to search the green irises for the emotions that were dwelling within, but he found himself unable to discern them, either because there wasn't anything specific there to read or for the simple fact that it was a sentiment foreign to him, rendering him unable to identify it. Her fingertips felt warm and the touch was soft, yet undecipherable, and Rolf could only consider it as some form of gratitude Still, even thinking that she might have felt the briefest sense of thankfulness was an idea too absurd to even consider and when the woman grasped the headpiece and Rolf straightened his back, the man's eyes narrowed in silent contemplation, arms crossing in front of his chest in a dominant manner to thwart off any spiteful attacks from her.

A slow frown appeared over the Hauptmann's features when Riedel regarded him sternly, her head tilting towards the door and her green eyes steeling in anticipation as she held the headpiece next to her head, obviously waiting for something. Rolf arched an eyebrow at the woman, blinking and gradually realizing that she wished to make the phone call in private and that she expected the man to be courteous enough to grant her this quiet. A small, annoyed sneer appeared on Rolf's lips and the man tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing in nothing but sheer annoyance. This was his office and he certainly had the right to remain there if he pleased, yet he already knew that if he did not leave the room, he would find himself in another grating argument with the woman and she might have found other means of making the phone call. It was a strange, foreign thought, and for a moment Rolf considered why he really would have cared one way or the other, when something already made him shift his left foot slowly, his black boots creating a scraping sound on the floor while his arms already unfolded and dropped to his sides. With an annoyed, low groan, the Hauptmann turned around and walked to the door, his feet moving according to the will of whatever force was currently possessing him.

The sounds of typewriters assaulted all of his senses the moment he stepped outside into the corridor and the man glanced at the door over his shoulder when he heard it click shut. The young female secretary assigned to assist him glanced at the Luftwaffe officer with some trepidation, as if expecting that the man was there to scold her for allowing such an intrusion to happen in the first place. Rolf merely glanced at her, disinterested, and turned around to regard the door instead, his mind churning to possess knowledge of the words that would be exchanged inside the walls of the office and he hoped he would have possessed some magical skill that would have allowed him to listen to the discussion in complete secrecy. A low growl formed within his throat as he felt nothing but complete frustration over having complied to her request of granting her the privacy during the call, yet he also knew that it would have been ridiculous to change his mind now. Ignoring the clumsily concealed stares from the soldiers and secretaries nearby, Rolf turned around to regard the door and his head tilted to the side as he studied it, remembering how it had on occasion popped ajar on its own when the window had been opened. As sturdy as the door appeared, the locking mechanism had left something to hope for and Rolf slid his fingers down the side of the door, his fingertips stopping at the lock set and his head inching ever closer to the wall, until it bumped against it. Hauptmann Jäger was known for his easily changing moods, for certain, but the sudden interest he was showing towards the door of his own office was drawing confused glances, the stares hopelessly lost the man himself, his fingers now inching to push back the bolt of the lock, carefully, silently.

The lock emitted a soft, almost inaudible click as the door slid slightly open and the fingers in Rolf's free hand curled momentarily into a fist while the man grinned a silent, victorious smirk. His head turned around slowly and the moment his grey eyes regarded the people behind him, everyone had suddenly gone back to typing, writing and checking papers. The Hauptmann narrowed his eyes and slid his shoulder along the wall, turning around and resting his back against it, while his other foot inched towards the door and the tip of his boot found its edge, nudging it gently so that a small crack formed between the door and its frame. Rolf tilted his head to the side and tuned his hearing to pick up only Riedel's voice and the man brought his head closer towards the small opening, his arms folding slowly across his chest.

He could already discern her familiar voice carrying to his ears, just in time to hear her addressing a Madam Wahlberg and the name that followed the first one caused Rolf's heart to skip a beat. Julian. The very same name the woman had spoken upon awakening from what had appeared to be a severe nightmare, a name that Rolf had not had time to consider, yet which now suddenly carried a heavy weight of importance to it. Whoever Julian was, he must have been a person of great importance to Riedel and as such, he had become meaningful to the Hauptmann, also. Riedel's voice carried no signs of anger or suspicion, telling Rolf that she had not noticed his secret intrusion, and if anything, he could only discern a sense of curious excitement to her tone. There was a moment of silence as Riedel waited for Julian to appear on the phone and Rolf allowed his eyes to scan over the rest of the office as he waited, making note of just how busy everyone seemed to be with their task and wondering whether they were always as industrious as this. His gaze sharpened the moment he heard Riedel speaking again and she inquired to know how Julian was, the request ringing with a desperate force Rolf would have not easily connected to the woman; obviously she had not been exaggerating when she had told him how important the phone call was to her. He could only wonder just what kind of person would have inspired such fervent dedication within the woman and the first thought that entered his mind was that Julian was the husband her brother had mentioned, or maybe not even a husband but a lover. The notion made Rolf wrinkle his eyebrows and he wanted to believe otherwise, settling into listening to the conversation all the more closer even if he was still hearing only one side of it.

Obviously Julian had his own concerns over Riedel's well-being, for the woman had to convince him that she was fine, without so much as a scar - a lie, Rolf already knew this, for she had been shot not too long ago but he wasn't as out of touch with basic human motivations as not to understand her not wanting to make Julian worried. Silver eyes narrowed in contemplation when Riedel mentioned someone, a woman, asking about her, although the question remained vague to him and related to something Julian had been expected to do, a request Riedel had made of him. Each word that carried faintly to the door was absorbed hungrily by Rolf and he attempted to hold his breath to hear each word even better, separating Riedel's voice from the steady stream of background noises that continuously attempted to make his task all the more difficult. By now he had gathered only the most basic things; that Julian was a person of great importance to Riedel, currently in Germany, accompanied by someone called Madam Wahlberg, and that a third person was involved, a female, somehow connected to both of them. An almost fanatic edge appeared on Riedel's tone when she asked for Julian to keep talking to her, just so that she could hear his voice and multiple questions followed; had he been taking care of himself, had he been disturbed, had he started smoking... again? The more Rolf heard, the more convinced he was that Julian could have not been either a husband or a lover, although the way in which she addressed the other one seemed warm even the words were stern and decisive. It was a curious combination and one Rolf could not quite understand, his own lack of any such connections rendering him unable to correlate such behaviour to anything specific. She called Julian a brat and a moron, hinting that Julian was younger than her and if the words had a meaning beyond that of a mere insult, he must have been much more younger than the woman was.

The combination of sincere warmheartedness and playful mocking was confusing enough, let alone the fact that Rolf could not understand just how the mysterious Julian was connected to Riedel; he might have been her brother, yet Riedel already had one brother in the German army and she had obviously followed him all the way to Africa. If there was a third sibling, how did he relate to all of this? Certainly Riedel had spoken about family with fervent appreciation just a few nights ago and the same warmth coated her words now, also, hinting that this might have indeed, been the connection Rolf was searching for. Yet, even with her brother not more than a few kilometers away from the hospital, Riedel had been left to fend for herself, no visits or messages from her brother ever reaching her. Rolf had been in the same room nearly the entire time of his stay in the hospital and certainly one would have expected her overprotective brother to dash on the scene the moment he would have heard about his sister's injuries. Maybe she had simply lied that time, too?

Rolf would have shaken his head in confusion had he not been so keen on hearing the rest of the conversation, his ears now picking up nothing but complete silence from within the room. The man shifted slightly, quite certain of the fact that even through his contemplation he had not missed any words uttered by the woman, hearing no good byes, either. He would have rather not have Riedel finding him standing right next to the door and he was just about to shift away, when he heard the woman's distinct voice once more, in his surprise managing to grasp only the end of her sentence and hearing her go into what seemed like a farewell, Riedel telling Julian to be careful and to keep his promise. When Rolf heard her telling Julian that she needed to go, the man straightened his back and stepped decisively away from the door, turning around and eyeing the entrance, as if he was expecting the door to fly open any moment now. It stood ever silent and unmoving instead, the soft sounds of typewriters becoming more distinct within Rolf's ears once again and the man breathed out slowly, standing still for a small moment before finally stepping towards the door and pushing it open as casually as possible.

Riedel was sitting upon the edge of the desk, her hand resting on top of the phone and her face set into a mask of deep contemplation, her other leg folded under her in relaxed ease. Rolf allowed the door close behind himself once more, the uniformed man taking a few steps towards the table, yet he came to a silent halt in the middle of the office the moment he witnessed the distinct gravity enshrouding the woman's presence. She merely glanced at him, uninterested, viridian eyes moving away from his figure as she extinguished her cigarette in the ash tray and slid both of her feet back upon the floor, soon heading towards the shoes she had so carelessly discarded to the other side of the room earlier. Rolf's mind was full of questions he wanted to pose at her, yet he knew perfectly well that he could not present them to the woman as he had not been meant to hear the conversation in the first place. The inquiries within his mind protested loudly and Rolf had to spend some effort in silencing them, lest he'd slip something that would betray his small spot of spying to Riedel. He watched her lean against the wall as she bent down to put on her shoes once more and Rolf felt giddy enough to almost jump up and down from the torrent of energy that was consuming him with the force of a dying sun, a red giant engulfing everything within its path. He knew that he was better off appearing as ignorant about the call as possible, comfortably neutral and natural, but sometimes it was simply impossible for him to hide whatever sentiment had taken over his mind at the moment.

The man opened his mouth, attempting to ask Riedel if she had managed to settle her matters in a manner that she was content with, when someone suddenly burst inside the room and Rolf's attention was drawn towards the newcomer, a small sneer of genuine displeasure already drawing upon his lips. The Flieger saluted him hastily, the hurried words almost finding their way upon his tongue, when he suddenly noticed Riedel who was still casually putting on her shoes on the other side of the room. Something shifted within the soldier's expression and he shifted moods from that of confusion to one of apologetic awkwardness. The man muttered something about visiting the Hauptmann later at a more convenient time and he was already promptly making his way out of the office, Rolf only narrowing his eyes and watching as the door swung shut once more. People certainly had enjoyed barging right into his office today.

The woman had by now finished putting on her shoes and she stepped towards the door, causing Rolf to tilt his head to the side and regard her more from the corner of his eyes as he came into a stop in front of him. The words he had been meaning to say had been lost in the small moment of confusion over the Flieger's intrusion and he waited her to address him instead, grey eyes set into an expression of neutrality that was still disturbed by a small flicker of open interest. It was curiosity that had lingered there before, but which by now had taken on a hungry determination of a beast that had ever lived its life driven by the pangs of hunger. The hunter had managed to track down a distinct trail and the hound howled with wild excitement, craving to run headlong after the quarry, but it was momentarily contained by a strong, decisive hand that seized it from the collar, the master whispering gentle words into its ear, calming it down with promises of a more discreet kill it would soon get to enjoy.

As the woman walked past him, Rolf remained standing still, not even bothering to glance after her or at the door that clicked shut once she was gone. The man stood in his spot in complete silence and waited for that tranquility of his solitude to settle in, before he finally stepped towards the desk and walked past it, grasping the phone and turning it around as he sat upon his seat, grey eyes glazed over with cold, intelligent determination. Picking up the headpiece, the man leaned back in his seat and brought the phone to his ear, his voice low and husky when he addressed the operator. "Das ist Hauptmann Jäger," the man stated, eyes glinting with fervent conviction. "Der letzte Anruf. Ich brauche um mich wieder zu verbinden."

Rolf Jäger listened to the operator answering him and as he waited for the call to connect once more, he picked up the silver case of cigarettes from the table and slid out one of them, a slanted smile drawing along his lips but never reaching his hungry eyes.


Translations:

"Das ist Hauptmann Jäger."
"This is Hauptmann Jäger."

"Der letzte Anruf. Ich brauche um mich wieder zu verbinden."
"The last call. I need you to connect me again."

[Dirk Riedel]

The sun was shining down with its scorching force upon the shaved head, the Leutnant’s face tilted slightly to the side as green eyes stared at the view in the small mirror, hands working skillfully along the hairline as she, with a stream of invective soaring through her mind, applied the glutinous substance with a spatula carefully, making certain it covered every bit of the area, the golden mass of hair lying on the sand below, right next to her feet while she busied herself with this rather aggravating necessity even though she had promised herself she would never have to waste her time any more with such ridiculous activities. And still, even despite its utter absurdity, she had realized she had no other choice but comply to the male human nature and exploit it – or, better, employ it in such a way as would enable the best possible results to stem from an otherwise useless aspect of their nature during a time of war, by means of utilizing her capacity to exercise influence on such nature. This would not have been made necessary had one of the Senior Commisioned Officers of the Luftwaffe not decided the training practice of the 2nd Schwarm of the 3rd Staffel to take place in the precise area the Leutnant had marked as Wehrmacht territory, for there the sand was soft and better allowed the 3rd and 4th platoon of the 3rd Panzergrenadier Kompanie to train the Nebelwerfer 40 for their next offensive in the North African borders alongside which they were to battle against the British troops.

“… und sobald etwas in seiner Meinung befestigt wird, gibt es keine Weise sich zu ändern es, Herr Leutnant, kommt Regen oder Schein,” Schütze Menner told his Leutnant as the platoon was lying down upon the sand as they rested that early May’s morning around their tents, eating from the canned beef and discussing the recent situation. “So, lassen Sie den Flieger ihren wertvollen weichen Sand haben, wir können mit härteren Bedingungen fertig werden.”

“Kommen Sie heran, Reiner, senden Sie ihm Ihre Schwester, und ich bin sicher dass sie seine Meinung sofort ändern wird,” one of his comrades suggested, and he, along with the others, chuckled with wild amusement at the thought. Needless to say, Menner did not appreciate such a notion and threw his emptied can across to fly directly at Sturman, who missed it by a centimetre with a sudden jerk of his head.

“Ich wette dass seine Augen noch einen Rückkubaner unter Röcken machen. He, Reiner,” Obergrefteiter Kord Albrecht suddenly turned to the other man, “warum kleiden Sie sich als eine Frau nicht an und appellieren an seine bessere Natur?” All of them burst into a fit of laughter, except, naturally, for Reiner in question, who clenched his fists.

“Ich werde einen Rückkubaner aus Ihren Augen machen wenn ich meine Hände auf Ihnen bekomme, Ihnen –” he started with a growl as he kicked his comrade in the shin, as though that were to stop the other man from shaking his shoulders in sheer laughter.

“Stellen Sie sich vor sich zu einem blauäugigen Engel für solche Dinge zu verwandeln wir würden keine Probleme haben, stimmt dass?” Jürgen Kampfer spoke, a slow smile slowly forming in the corner of his lips more so over imagining a blue-eyed angel in front of him, a Saharan delusion to be sure, rather than at all interested in anything else at the moment.

Dirk stirred slightly in his position when he moved his head against the old tire, lying as he was across the sand, the military uniform uncomfortably sticking to his skin from the sweat formed underneath and, once having recovered from the bout of laughter, better contemplated on Kampfer’s words.

“Stellen Sie sich das vor,” he mumbled with an amused scoff, and then closed his eyes as he tilted his head backwards to drink in halfway through the bottle of beer.

And, thus, the shoes distinctly clicked against the marble surface as the young woman walked out of the office, victorious and dominant. The Senior Commissioned Officer had seemed rather surprised by her sudden appearance, not in the least uninteresting as it had been engaging, for apparently the officer had not been in close contact with the auxiliaries and lacked the knowledge that, in his words, such compelling female German presence had followed her heart’s desire for duty and serve the Fatherland in such respectable means. Other women may have acted agreeable and inviting, but Dirk only ever behaved according to her true nature, presenting the facts as they were, rational, stern but also disciplined and expecting to yield the best results from both branches of the armed forces. She, however, needed to hold back on her tongue and prevent herself from throwing a few curse words at the officer’s complacency and his initial refusal to set things as they were and allow the Wehrmacht platoon to train in the desired area. To her his conduct was most unacceptable and she would have gladly slapped him a few times to get the message across the area was not his to possess as he best desired, that he served further obligations apart from those towards the air force, and this was the general and extended duty to ensure Germany’s interests were best served as efficiently as possible, and this was not accomplished by undermining the Wehrmacht training. Still, she had managed to bite her tongue and, through the perseverance of her character and the austerity of her voice, as combined by the rationality of her words and her unforeseen appearance, persuaded him to warrant the area as a training quarter for the Wehrmacht. But, in truth, he had also been gazing into her cleavage for far too long.

She walked casually the narrow corridor at the end of which stood the stairway that led to the hall where the secretaries worked in laborious fashion, the noise of the typewriters stabbing her ears like daggers thrown at her direction; the officer had expressed his adamant wish to see her again, confident enough their next offensive would bring the Reich a great victory and, thus, enough of a cause to invite her to a social reception to be held in the city of Tripoli. Dirk neglected to mention she had had enough of such receptions in the first place, and even concealed her contempt beneath a façade of tolerance, without quite assuring him of her acceptance or making an open refusal, which, naturally, the middle-aged man perceived as silent confirmation. Upon her taking leave he kissed her hand and escorted her to the door, assuring her he would be at her service for any problem that might arise in the auxiliaries troops. Biting her tongue at the last moment when she felt like wishing him good luck with that in a most sardonic fashion, she gave him one last contemplative glance before she turned around, finding him staring after her with keen interest even as she walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him only after her figure now stood in the short distance; with a weary sigh of frustration she rolled her eyes and slightly shook her head in mild disbelief, walking down the stairs with her eyebrows curved in irritation still, and then with a scoff rubbed her hand against the fabric of her black dress on the side.

She knew not how her feet led her there, but her mind was racing with such force she barely even noticed she was walking across the large, deserted hangar inside which the aircraft had been housed. The silence aided her to clear her mind as she closed her eyes for a second as she passed from the neat line of fighters, interlocking her fingers before she crossed her arms, without her intention examining the finest display of human craftsmanship, her footsteps now slow as she better observed the aircraft, moving from one fighter to the other, interest and fascination forcing her to stay behind instead of storm away, change clothes (in what she was determined to be the last time) and return to the Wehrmacht barracks, at which point she were to announce a rather interesting item of news. Nevertheless, she took her time to stare at these works of art, when her eyes suddenly caught something; green irises moved to regard the next fighter aircraft and she stopped right in front of it, a small smile of amused incredulity slowly forming in the corner of her lips as she looked at the name inscribed. But it was when her eyes moved to glance at the black horse painted on the aircraft that she felt the sudden need to stretch out her hand and trace the animal’s outline, the smile replaced by a silent, appreciative gaze, as her pale fingers softly touched across its dark form with an almost affectionate admiration.



Translation

… and once something is fixed in his mind, there is no way to change it, Herr Leutnant, come rain or shine. Well, let the flyboys have their precious soft sand, we can cope with harder conditions.”

Come on, Reiner, send him your sister and I’m sure she’ll change his mind in no time.

I bet his eyes are still making a reverse Cuban from under skirts. Hey, Reiner, why don’t you dress yourself as a woman and appeal to his better nature?

I’ll make a reverse Cuban out of your eyes when I get my hands on you, you –

Imagine transforming into some blue-eyed angel for such things, we wouldn’t have any problems, would we?

Imagine that.

[Rolf Jäger]

"Nein, ich will einen anderen Mechaniker nicht, ich will Kreutzer!"

Rolf's hoarse voice barked at the Oberleutnant striding along next to him, the other man having to hasten his steps in order to keep up with the Hauptmann. The two Luftwaffe pilots were making their way towards the hangar, the sun shining unobstructed from the endlessly blue sky and their boots kicking up thick clouds of dust as they advanced towards the large doors of the hangar. The bruises on Hauptmann Jäger's face had now faded into pale ghosts, but the small cut over his right eyebrow had persisted; an unwanted memento of an encounter the man would have rather forgotten entirely. A dark shadow of a stubble lined the man's distinct jaw and his grey eyes were narrowed, flames of irritation flickering within as he strode along in long, determined strides. Oberleutnant Wahler was concentrating on keeping up the pace and the dark-haired man, appearing slightly older than the Hauptmann, furrowed his thick eyebrows in a mixture of frustration and confusion. Both of the officers sported dusty uniforms after having spent the entire day on the field, making the pilots go through infantry exercises while the majority of the fighter planes belonging to the Gruppe were housed in the safety of the hangar, enjoying a rare spot of thorough maintenance, sheltered from dust and wind. The entire Gruppe had been surviving on scraps for the past few weeks, the dire need for spare parts having raised grumbling from both the mechanics and the pilots. A shipment of parts had finally arrived just a day ago, but Rolf wasn't going to allow his Gruppe a moment of rest and had assigned them to various exercises instead. Oberleutnant Wahler had carefully warned the officer that the men were longing to have a night off some time soon, but Rolf could not allow them that luxury; they could hardly claim the status of the best Gruppe by lounging around and stuffing themselves with beer.

Now the Oberleutnant had a different problem and he scratched dust from his neck as he tried to come up with words that would convince the Hauptmann to let go of the mechanic. "Die Übertragung war die spezifische Bitte des Majors, ich kann nicht wirklich gerade gehen-" the man was interrupted by the Hauptmann that had skidded to a sudden stop, his teeth flashing with an open sneer. "Oberleutnant, der genau ist, was Sie dabei sind zu tun. Sie gehen zum Major und sagen ihm, dass ich meinen Gruppe behalten will, wie es ist. Kreutzer ist mein Mechaniker seit einem Jahr, sieben Monaten und fünfzehn Tagen gewesen. Ich vertraue niemandem anderem mit dem Aufpassen von Lola, aber ihm und den Männern, die er für passend gehalten hat, um unter ihm zu arbeiten," Rolf rasped and his stern gaze bore into the Oberleutnant, who now seemed to be weighing his options; was it better to succumb to the wolves or walk into the bear's lair? The man stifled a sigh and decided he would try once more and his voice was even and diplomatic when he spoke. "Ja, Herr Hauptmann, aber der Major sandte wirklich über einen Ersatz, ich habe nur gute Dinge über diesen Langhorst gehört, sie sagen, dass er sehr-" the Oberleutnant was robbed of the privilege of finishing his sentence once more, as Rolf's eyes flared with renewed anger and his harsh growl interrupted his adjutant once more. "Du verstehst einen Scheißdreck, Oberleutnant. Ich will Kreutzer zurück in diesen Gruppe, an Lola heute arbeitend, und Sie sind dabei zu kommen sorgen dafür. Jetzt... gehen Sie zum Major und sagen Sie ihm, dass ich der Parteien bewusst bin, die er in Tripoli genossen hat, und wenn ich meinen eigenen Mechaniker zurück nicht habe, werde ich sicherstellen, dass viele Finger auf ihn bald hinweisen werden. Verstanden?"

The other man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and frowned. "Er geht zu ähnlich das nicht," the Oberleutnant commented, feeling nothing but discomfort over having to deliver such threats to someone of higher rank. A mocking smirk appeared on Rolf's lips and he arched an eyebrow at Wahler. "Ich bin sicher, dass er nicht," the Hauptmann growled in a low voice, suddenly straightening up and patting the Oberleutnant all too forcefully on his shoulder. "Vertrau mir. Ich bin ein Anwalt," Rolf comforted the Oberleutnant, wheeling around and continuing towards the doors of the hangar, leaving his adjutant with these rather contradicting words, the Hauptmann's mind already set on other tasks now that he was confident on having solved the most recent problem. He allowed his gait to become more relaxed and slower as he stepped inside the hangar, the sight of sleek German fighters putting his mind to some extent of ease. The large building felt silent after a day dominated by shouting commands, only the metallic sounds of tools clinking and words exchanged between the mechanics echoing from the walls.

For once he would have rather been in his office, for he knew well what enticing information lay upon his desk, papers delivered to him straight from Germany after he had pulled some strings back home. So far he had not possessed enough time to delve into the information properly and this knowledge pained him, for he was sure that the key to Riedel's secrets lay within those folders. He could not just fathom what importance a young man from Hannover had to do with Riedel from Hamburg - he was merely assuming that the woman had been born there, since he had managed to procure the basic information only on her brother, but it did not seem too far-fetched to assume that they both had been born in the same city. His fingers were itching to go through those papers and he felt an almost wild sense of exhilaration running through his mind as he imagined the riddle untangling before him and just how satisfying it would feel seeing the pieces of the puzzle coming together. There were other duties he was to take care of first, however, and the man growled low in his throat as he stole past the lines of fighters, paying little mind to his surroundings or the mechanics focused on their tasks.

A sensation similar to that of suddenly being watched suddenly disturbed Rolf's inner reflections and the man slowed down, his eyebrows drawing together into an irritated frown after he failed to shake the feeling off. The man's dusty boots came to a contemplative stop and his grey eyes merely stared in front of him as he invited the curious feeling to invade his senses so that he could track it to its source and his head tilted slowly to the side, grey eyes locking on to a familiar figure walking past the rows of fighters and his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected sight. He had to blink and focus his gaze upon her, just to make sure that she was really there and that he was not seeing apparitions after remaining in the heat of the scorching sun for the entire day. He did not need to see her face to recognize her, so vivid were the memories of her etched within his mind and so unmistakable was her figure clad in black, the mass of golden hair falling down her shoulders. Riedel had not spotted him and had now stopped in front of one of the fighters instead, her attention drawn by the metallic bird of prey as she stepped closer to it and her hand rose up carefully to touch the form of the black, rearing horse painted upon the aircraft's side. Wasn't that a sight, seeing Lola and Riedel together? It certainly made the man's blood rush slightly wilder and he growled at the imagery, his gaze adopting a brief, feverish glint.

A lopsided smirk drew to the Hauptmann's lips and he attempted to brush off the dust clinging to his sand-coloured tunic before starting towards the woman, adjusting his brown leather belt as he was walking. His steps were now calculated and as silent as possible, his silver irises fixated upon the woman's form as he came up from behind her and suddenly settled his own hand upon the metal, staring at the black horse instead of looking at the woman, standing only a few steps away from her. "Der Holsteiner. Großartig, nicht wahr?" the man asked, his expression serious as if he was experiencing some moment of hallowed devotion, before his eyes skipped to regard the woman and a smile formed in the corner of his mouth. "Sie reisten in solch einer Hast letztes Mal ab, sogar nie bedankte sich bei mir für meine Hilfe, wa?" the man's voice was low and hoarse, and even though the bruises on his face had now faded, the man had once more taken on a rather unkempt appearance with the light shadow of a stubble and the dust covering both parts of his uniform and his skin. The field cap lay stuffed under the man's belt and the smell of sweat was evident around him; something that went easily unnoticed by all the soldiers having to endure the conditions in Africa, for washing up was a rare luxury.

The man allowed his hand to slide down from the side of the fighter and he turned around to regard the woman better, his chin tilting to the side and his grey eyes narrowing with a curious sense of contentedness, like a predator certain of the kill - or even more so one that had already devoured an ample share of the victim and was allowing the food to settle so it could consume even more fresh meat. "Ich kam nie um zu fragen, wie Sie Ihren Anruf genossen, weder," Rolf shrugged briefly and all too languidly, his grey eyes glinting with barely contained excitement. They widened as he announced his next words and the smile lingered in the corner of his mouth as he watched her closely, just so that he could better drink in her reaction and enjoy it. "Oder vielleicht sollte ich fragen, ob Julian Woltermann Ihre Anruf Befriedigung fand. Ich bin sicher, dass es eine seltene Gelegenheit ist, um einen Anruf zu Madgeburg von solch einer entfernten Position zu haben, nicht wahr?" Rolf asked in a low, husky voice, the smile on his lips widening as he hooked a thumb under his belt and regarded Riedel, his head tilting to the side and his eyebrows arching in nothing but complete enjoyment.


Translations:

"Nein, ich will einen anderen Mechaniker nicht, ich will Kreutzer!"
"No, I do not want another mechanic, I want Kreutzer!"

"Die Übertragung war die spezifische Bitte des Majors, ich kann nicht wirklich gerade gehen-"
"The transfer was the Major's specific request, I can't really just go-"

"Oberleutnant, der genau ist, was Sie dabei sind zu tun..."
"Oberleutnant, that is precisely what you are going to do. You go to the Major and tell him that I want to retain my Gruppe as it is. Kreutzer has been my mechanic for one year, seven months and fifteen days. I do not trust anyone else with taking care of Lola but him and the men he has deemed fit to work under him."

"Ja, Herr Hauptmann, aber der Major sandte wirklich über einen Ersatz..."
"Yes, Herr Hauptmann, but the Major did send over a replacement, I've heard only good things about this Langhorst, they say he is very-"

"Du verstehst einen Scheißdreck, Oberleutnant..."
"You don't understand fuck-all, Oberleutnant. I want Kreutzer back into this Gruppe, working on Lola, today, and you are going to see to it. Now... go to the Major and tell him that I'm aware of the parties he has enjoyed in Tripoli and if I don't have my own mechanic back, I will make sure that a lot of fingers will be pointing at him soon. Understood?"

"Er geht zu ähnlich das nicht."
"He's not going to like that."

"Ich bin sicher, dass er nicht. Vertrau mir. Ich bin ein Anwalt."
"I'm sure he won't. Trust me. I'm a lawyer."

"Der Holsteiner. Großartig, nicht wahr?"
"The Holsteiner. Magnificent, isn't it?"

"Sie reisten in solch einer Hast letztes Mal ab, sogar nie bedankte sich bei mir für meine Hilfe, wa?"
"You left in such a hurry last time, never even thanked me for my help, now did you?"

"Ich kam nie um zu fragen, wie Sie Ihren Anruf genossen..."
"I never got to ask how you enjoyed your phone call, either. Or maybe I should ask whether Julian Woltermann found your call gratifying. I'm sure it's a rare occasion to have a call to Madgeburg from such a distant location, isn't it?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Her fingers slowly traced the horse’s dark outline, for suddenly mesmerized she was by its surprising and unpredictable appearance, memories of her childhood years in Germany soaring through her mind in a soft harmony of long-lost melodies as she, in short-lived reverie, stared at the beautiful creature in all of its glory, the small smile widening to reach the length of her unpainted lips as she wondered about the nature of the pilot who would have the sensitivity and nobility to embrace a creature symbolizing strength, untameness, grace and agility, honour it in such a way as engraving its magnificent, timeless form upon the fighter aircraft to escort the pilot through the torment of battle, the fiery clouds of mass destruction and, eventually, lead him to victory, with a proud, undomesticated gait walking away from the front line, carrying along its elegant coal-black mane the treasures from the fight, the honour, the eminence. Her fingers affectionately moved alongside the ebony form, almost able to feel the velvety texture of the animal’s silken skin were she to touch alongside the hair of its mane, across its long face and underneath its kind, beautiful chestnut brown eyes. She nearly drowned along that feeling and faintly narrowed her eyes as she did so, her forefinger touching against the horse’s strong legs as she could not help but unconsciously admire the very person who had ordered the painting of the horse; to what greatness the pilot commanding this aircraft must have opted for, what unprecedented elegance of manner, a passionate spirit, an unyielding soul which, wild and hardwearing, pursued glory for the Fatherland, a most curious and unforeseen assortment of a powerful character fueled with enough gentleness and good-natured authority and domination, and, with the smile etched in the corner of her lips and her face a painting of calm lucidity, as the hand moved and the fingers further explored the fine lines of the painting, across its stomach and alongside its sable mane, she felt herself falling, falling into a river of a secluded forest, whose waters were ever warm and called for her to throw herself into its depths and be embraced by the very element that brought her only warmth and affection, the forest secluded, the firmament a clearest blue, and along with the touch she fell, without ever seeing the eyes of the daring chevalier who rode through the forest in his glorious black stallion, the skin shining a palest blue in the midnight blackness underneath the glowing moonlight, whence all the shadows rose, febrile fingers clutching her heart as they inflicted her with the impatience to stare at the figure who possessed such a singular spirit as she would have liked to meet him, see for herself that the painting on the aircraft matched what she assumed of him to be like, traces of warm, curious fascination slowly manifesting through her calm facial features as her fingers touched along the horse’s mane –

A strong hand reached out to touch the metallic form, resting in the short distance next to her, and the woman’s head jerked suddenly to the side, blinking for a fleeting moment as her senses were abruptly brought back to earth, the portrait of unbroken calmness permanently disrupted into an expression of utter confusion, disbelief and irritation, her eyebrows curved fiercely as her mouth formed something which most likely resembled a grimace. The initial thought that he was a mere passing figure who chanced to come across her and decided to strike up a greeting, even if only for the purpose of causing her vexation, soon vanished as he treated the aircraft almost … as if it were his own. Her irritated perplexity was further aggravated, and she could only turn her eyes to the fighter in confusion, and back to him, perhaps even demanding a sound explanation as to why someone like him could ever possess an aircraft like this; how something as remarkable in craftsmanship and decoration could ever recognize as an owner a ridiculous, spoiled, arrogant and self-adoring idiot. She felt the daggers of fury as she quietly stared back at him, her forehead wrinkled in her frown, and everything suddenly took a feeling of otherworldly texture to it, as though she were only having a rather unpleasant dream, as though he possessed the power to disrupt her inner world just so he could laugh at her reaction. His first words, which only proved to her the undesirable truth over his ownership of the aircraft, rang through her ears with a stinging force despite the self-esteemed composure they had been voiced in, her mind absorbing the implied information such words asserted – that this was his very own fighter, that he indeed admired the painting across its metallic form – slowly, almost achingly, looking at him with a blank stare as he went on to mention her inability to express her gratefulness over his provision of the phone call, somewhere in her heart having the impression this was not going to end well, and it was not until he spoke the next words that her confused, aggravated state was really stirred up.

She froze in place, her eyes glassy and unmoving, the line of her lips stiff and with her jaw hardened, as she stared back at him with an unyielding, fierce gaze, unable to move, unable to speak, her expression inscrutable but evidently affected by the poison with which he had infected the atmosphere. For a moment her mind went rigid, the silence between them almost suffocating and toxic, green, unassuming eyes looking back at him.

She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to slap him.

She could not even begin to understand why he would go through the trouble to poke his nose at this personal information, but such thoughts at present had been pushed aside for only one and only thought presently dwelled within the corners of her mind: control. Discipline her reaction, calm down her slowly progressive agony, and relax her stretched nerve system. Breathe slowly. Arouse no suspicion. Hinder any signs that would only deteriorate the situation and pronounce him with an additional advantage than he already possessed. Breathe. Slowly, her chest heaved high as she deeply inhaled, and her lips parted for a mere second to breathe in the air before she closed them again, resolving to appear perfectly in control of the situation, supremely calm and unaffected.

“Er tat,” she said dryly, vaguely parting her lips to speak as her gaze unto his eyes remained piercing and faintly stern, wordlessly criticizing him for his impertinent intrusion; she should have expected it, but at present it was not worth cursing herself for an irreversible act. And as he came around to stand in front of her she could only gaze back at him, trapped but as ever unconquered, her chin held up high in her proud posture, her eyes examining him carefully, the small details in his face, the tremendous arrogance that formed across the lines of his mouth, the mockery gleaming in his silvery eyes, before a faint smirk suddenly etched in the corner of her lips at the thought. “Wie steht’s mit Ihnen?” she asked him in a quiet, slow voice as she looked at him with clear derision through her smiling figure. “Fanden Sie die Befriedigung die Ihr Fliege-Spielzeug nach einer Hure nennt? Besonders ein porträtiert von einer Frau die ist ein Verräter von der Regierung erklärt worden?” she said, and leaned against the aircraft, the golden fleece of hair falling down upon her shoulders in a careless manner, upon the dark texture of the garment he had desired to rip apart what seemed to be several centuries past, her arms crossed and her green eyes shining in what appeared to have been unadulterated scorn. Her chest faintly heaved with the laugh that was suppressed in her throat and which only ever came as a mocking snicker. Her eyes glinted. “Sie kleinen Verräter bumsend,” she spoke slowly, and slightly shook her head in amused disbelief, but such amusement was not enough to drown out her irritation at such display of carelessness from his part, and, without a warning, raised her hand to strike him across the side of his face, the slap strong enough to create a forceful impact, and nevertheless, controlled enough as to be brief and, perhaps, even instructive.

Her eyebrows curved and the smile on her face had vanished as she gazed back at him with a distinct frown, leaning her head against the metallic surface, her arms hanging down by her sides, the renewed waves of fury rushing through her blood with a clear, unyielding force.



Translation

He did. What about you? Did you find gratifying naming your fly toy after a whore? Especially one portrayed by a woman who has been declared a traitor by the government?

You fucking little traitor.

[Rolf Jäger]

For the smallest moment Rolf could discern the serene bliss and calmness governing over the woman's features, her green eyes glinting with something the man could recognize as remembrance, her gaze studying sights existing in another reality and her soul drawn to a different landscape. He could not even begin guessing what Riedel saw in the black horse painted upon the Messerschmitt's metallic side and what ethereal paths her mind was wandering along, but he would have liked to see what she was seeing, so very profound the sentiment seemed within her eyes, granting her serenity not fitting for an environment filled with machines that had been built for the sole purpose of killing and destroying. The placidity within the woman's viridian irises was lost the moment she turned her head to regard the Hauptmann, her features immediately distorting to a silent grimace. Even though Rolf had hardly been expecting the woman to be pleased with meeting him once more, her face had adopted such an unmistakable look of disgust the man might have felt compelled to even take a step back to create more distance between himself and the coldly staring female - yet his current feeling of superiority was far too strong for such a sentiment to override it and his grey eyes merely sparked with amusement as he watched her moods unfold.

He could see the woman's gaze darting from the aircraft to the Hauptmann and then back again, as if she was trying to decide whether the aircraft belonged to Rolf or not. Whatever her final decision was, it seemed to aggravate her greatly and the small smirk in the corner of the man's mouth only strengthened while his eyes remained upon hers, the man feeding from her emotions like some starving beast. He knew not what kind of sustenance her emotions provided him with, but he realized he needed to have them and that they sent fast, electrical currents running through his frame, the more distinct feelings creating a burning feeling within while the indiscernible ones merely left behind an annoying emptiness that needed to be filled with answers. She stared at him, her green eyes of poison churning with contempt and her lips pressing together into a thin line while Rolf poked and prodded at her for a reaction, like an overly curious canine circling around a dangerous viper. He could catch the brief glint within her eyes as he mentioned the phone call, conveniently dropping Julian Woltermann's name in the process, but the torrent of emotions that might have sparked within the woman was quickly repressed, providing Rolf with no real information on the nature of her reaction.

Had it been surprise or horror? Irritation or anger? The man narrowed his eyes as he stared at her, trying to catch any further signs that might have answered his questions, yet she stood in front of him as unyielding and proud as always, a small sensation of both irritation and admiration lighting within the man. It was this very pride that made him feel so conflicted about her and he was still not sure whether he truly wished to break her seemingly unshakable nature or not, yet he also found it too troublesome to even contemplate on. It was just one of the questions he found easier to discard, as he had also attempted to do with the memories of the words she had graced him with when they had been standing surrounded by the shadows of the Libyan night. Her message had been painful, yet also too estranged for him to comprehend and he had pushed it away into the darkest reaches of his mind, covering it with more familiar things he would have rather concentrated on, where it could remain hidden and hopefully, forgotten. Still, whenever he was left on his own and the quiet of the deepest night reached him, the memories were suddenly digging their way through the barriers and stalking around him like a pack of wolves would circle around a fading campfire, patiently waiting for the flames to die down. Those moments seemed distant now when he was standing in the brightness of the daylight, surrounded by the familiar smell of petrol and machine grease and by the rows of fighters belonging to his Gruppe, yet he could already visualize a set of black claws reaching out towards his heart. He drove the sentiment away with angry force, not allowing the brief moment of creeping horror to ruin this confrontation for him. He wanted to coax at least some reaction from the woman and needed to focus on the task at hand, no matter how impossible it seemed now that he gazed into her stern, relentless eyes, communicating only her endless willpower.

She answered his question about the phone call briefly, offering him little sense of achievement and a brief glint of irritation visited the Hauptmann's gaze as he had expected at least some mildly satisfying words to escape from her lips. Rolf narrowed his eyes and stepped away from the aircraft, the sound of his boots decisively loud upon the floor of the hangar as he drew a half-circle around her, coming to a stop in front of the woman and standing there assuredly, his back rigid and his gaze dominating. The smile that had lingered upon the man's lips all this time had now adopted a more scornful nature and his expression only hardened the moment he saw the first hints of a smile appearing on the woman's features. A smirk such as the one that now adorned the woman's lips could only mean she was about to say something he would not like and Rolf's eyes glazed over with cold harshness as he waited for her biting words to manifest. The teasingly calm tone of her voice alone was enough to send fast flames of irritation shooting down Rolf's spine, but the words that poured out of her mouth worked like gasoline, transforming those tiny flames into a raging hellfire. A sneer drew upon the Hauptmann's lips and his hateful gaze pierced through the woman as she casually leaned against the fighter's side, the suppressed laughter rising within her chest coming out only as a small snicker. It wasn't enough that she had dared call this fine display of German craftsmanship a 'toy", but that she should choose to insult the name Rolf had chosen for his fighter was simply too much to bear!

He had never placed too much stock on people, regarding them as deceitful and self-serving beings, but he had always considered his fighter more as a living, breathing being than just a mere thing fashioned from metal. Lola was not just an aircraft, she was a being with soul, an ever faithful companion that would not betray him for the sake of worldly goods or work against him for the sole purpose of bringing him harm. Not many people were able to understand the bond the Hauptmann had created with his fighter and even when the entire staff of the Gruppe knew just how precise the officer was when it came to anything having to do with the aircraft, they could have never known just how deep the sentiment ran within the man. A similar bond had resulted in the man's youth upon having been gifted a dark bay foal by his father. He had given the mare a name, raised her, broken and trained her and shared most of his time with the animal upon having no other friends to accompany him. Lotti had listened to his troubles, never forsaking or deriding him, a companion that asked for nothing more but food and shelter, yet one that had offered him with a friend and a confidant in a world filled with human treachery. Lola was no different and she always comforted him with the rumble of her engines, her sleek metallic hide sheltering him from bullets as they soared upon the sky and Rolf harnessed her power into a deadly dance among the clouds, his skills complementing the raw strength of the beating heart of the aircraft. To have her deride something as important as Lola was worse than any words she might have aimed at the Hauptmann and he felt his insides burning with wrath, his skin crawling from the realization that despite her insulting words she still opted to lean her back against his precious aircraft.

His outraged mind managed to process the rest of her words only barely, her poisonous voice circling around his head as she called him a traitor, while her green eyes kept laughing at him and Rolf felt the a growing desire to bite his teeth upon her throat, ripping it open like a savage beast and howling his triumph for all to hear. A crimson veil had covered his vision and the man's chest heaved with long, heavy breaths, his lips drawing upwards to reveal the rows of his teeth while his eyes communicated nothing but utter anger. A sudden, sharp slap connected with the side of his face and the sound echoed from the walls of the hangar while Rolf blinked, faltering back half-a-step while he grimaced at the strong, stinging sensation that now seemed to dominate his entire head. The strike had come without a warning, unexpected, throwing the man's thoughts off-balance even through the heavy clouds of his hatred. The surprise was evident in the man's eyes as he glanced at the floor, then at the woman, eyes still blinking in confusion, while she stood next to the aircraft and looked back at him, her expression having now drawn into a mask of sternness.

The sneer appeared slowly, almost apprehensively on Rolf's lips at first, until it had regained the full extent of its strength, bringing upon its wake a low, hoarse growl. For a moment it seemed as if the man was merely going to stare the woman down and bark angry words at her, but then his hand shot up, a sharp slap connecting with the left side of the woman's face in a violent imitation of the first strike. The slap was swift and meaningful, more controlled than it would have been just mere moments ago when the man had been dwelling in nothing but the purest wrath. Her strike had woken him up from that stupor and his mind was now dominated by a lesser extent of the anger, his attention focused on driving home a point; there were lines she was better off not crossing and she was not as safe from repercussions as she seemed to think she was. You could harass a sneering dog just for the mere purpose to hear it growl, but a sharp bite could follow the warning, a painful reminder of the wild nature that still lurked within and that was better left undisturbed. The man's chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eyebrows curved over the coldly gleaming eyes of silver as he stared at her. "Sie werden wollen, dass Sie solche Anmerkungen zu sich selbst, Riedel verlassen hatten. Ich bin nicht Ihr Haustier oder Diener. Sie sind nicht ewig geschützt, und Sie halten sicher kein Maß der Macht über mich," the man rasped, his voice reduced to a low growl while his gaze remained stern and decisive.

"Was für Ihre Verbindung mit Julian Woltermann oder dem Rest seiner Familie ist, bin ich dabei, es herauszufinden," the man promised almost feverishly, eyes glinting with vehement guarantee. "Julian. Lara. Friederike. Irgendwie sind diese Namen für Sie wichtig, und bald genug werde ich gerade wie wissen," Rolf allowed the words to drop from his tongue in a tone coloured with both anger and derision, only this time his voice was reined by a measure of strict control, which only worked to put more weight to his message. His gaze never left Riedel's viridian eyes when he spoke, the man's entire being set to the sole task of communicating the authenticity behind his promise instead of the blind anger that had controlled his actions mere seconds ago. A fleeting glint of amusement visited the man's eyes and he tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows curving mockingly while his lips drew into a cold, lopsided sneer. "Sie erzählten mir früher, dass ich nichts über Sie weiß. Ich glaube, dass es höchste Zeit ist, die ich mehr lerne, denken Sie nicht?" Rolf asked almost casually, shrugging and allowing the sneer to transform into a smile that did not reach his eyes and he refused to drop it even when the other side of his face still stung with the memories of the slap.

He would have enjoyed telling her about the files he had acquired on the Woltermann's, but he wanted to retain that small piece of knowledge for himself and go through the papers before putting too much weight on them in front of her. They might provide with the smallest of clues, but whatever would provide him with directions towards the right path was more than enough for him. Maybe it was an instinct of a lawyer or merely the obsession he had developed towards Riedel, but he knew there was something about the woman, something he could use to his advantage to harness that pride of hers and force her into noticing him. And later she could apologize from Lola, too.


Translations:

"Sie werden wollen, dass Sie solche Anmerkungen zu sich selbst, Riedel verlassen hatten..."
"You'll be wishing you had left such comments to yourself, Riedel. I'm not your pet or servant. You are not eternally safe and you certainly hold no measure of power over me."

"Was für Ihre Verbindung mit Julian Woltermann oder dem Rest seiner Familie ist, bin ich dabei, es herauszufinden..."
"Whatever your relation to Julian Woltermann or the rest of his family is, I'm going to find it out. Julian. Lara. Friederike. Somehow these names are important to you and soon enough I'll know just how."

"Sie erzählten mir früher, dass ich nichts über Sie weiß..."
"You told me earlier I know nothing about you. I guess it's high time I learn more, don't you think?"