When The Levee Breaks

[Dirk Riedel]

It was in the next instant that she recognized the familiar glint of raw savagery in his silver eyes, even if it cherished the lines of his face for such brief moments, that genuine, unfabricate expression which had once seized hold of him at yet another time after which had followed rage overpowering any other sentiment and bringing them both down to their declivity of darkness, as they fell against the ground, she a plaything of his own, he a mask of almost beastly ire prepared to devour that which he selfishly assumed was his to consume. That moment flashed briefly through the fleeting glint of his eyes, and she only remained unmoving, her back leaned against the fighter’s metallic form as she glared back at him with a frown, observing his expression change from that of unsullied rage to confusion, to plain contempt. She graciously returned the warm sentiment and could only think how offended he must have felt by her own insults, not least because she had dared humiliate something which belonged to him rather than owing to the fact the aircraft meant anything to the man. That thought never crossed her mind, for the young woman simply assumed, slave of the prejudice she personally held, that the selfish baron did not wish to have others question the superiority and importance of his belongings, which were always designed to be the best, the most efficient, the most honourable. That was the only reason he had been affected by her words to such an extent as his outward appearance suggested, for nothing remotely more profound than this was his hopeless, simplistic soul capable of experiencing, him who had treasured all the comfort of the world, the luxurious equipment, the damask upholstery, the finest displays of china decorating the old oak side tables against the wall, across whose richly painted, mahogany-coloured tapestry proudly stood animals’ relics to remind of the glory and eminence their name professed, and which were to be carried down the line. He had been raised to believe how everything he possessed was of the best quality, the most highly sought after, and how ridiculous would it be of anyone to even suggest otherwise! This was precisely the reason, the woman believed, that the pilot must have considered her words so offensive.

And this was why his hand rose to slap her across the left side of the face. Her head was swiftly thrown halfway at the side, and only slowly did she move it back to face him. Her eyes were cold and glassy, the line of her lips stiff to this moment, and her countenance revealed only a disaffected reaction to his decision of violence when she looked back at him with nothing but disinterest and pride shown through the sharp angles of her face. He continued to put particular emphasis on the fact she could not overpower him, that he was neither her toy to play with or servant to submit to her, and yet how she had never professed neither of which to be her objective. He was living through his own paranoia, believing someone wished to subdue him simply on the grounds that he had never before been presented with a relationship remotely human, immediately thinking the other person wanted nothing more but to humiliate and dominate him, ridicule and slander him, use and abuse him with means of unspeakable strength and malevolence, control and restrain him despite the fact he was already chained by the glowing bars of that which he could not consider as a form of slavery, plague him, and unregrettably exploit and forsake him with a sentiment as powerful as the steel of Hephaestus: use affection and understanding as a façade of forbearance, enough to infiltrate through his carefully built wall of defense, grasp at the battle treasures that were his soul and eventually crush him like the smallest piece of lettuce. There were, however, two problems in this theory. The first one was, this was hardly the woman’s nature; far was it from her to resort to any form of cruelty to maltreat another person. The second and, perhaps most significant, was that – she simply did not care. She was not interested enough at him to forward such a cunning plan in order to deceive him; she was not concerned in the slightest about something as common as his well-being, neither did she show the remotest weight whether he would be alive or not, so much more to actually go through the trouble of using his acquaintance in such a shameful, despicable manner as he had her capable of. And what were to come out of such exploitation, if indeed it were to happen? Absolutely nothing. He did not know, through his severe blindness, his bloated egotism and inability to understand, he could not tell apart the one he should protect himself from the one he could trust, believing all people were to be condemned and battled against in a most dreadful oversimplification, an infantile, facile method of comprehension.

Still, only a moment had passed – a most significant moment – from the time he had uttered such nonsense, to the time his lips formed three simple words which only froze her to her place, numbed her mind and sent what felt like an electrical current through her insides, chilling her on the spot while on the same time embracing her entire length with an inflaming rush of febrility. Julian. Lara. Friederike. Names which pierced at her heart with a stinging force, cut through the ice of her cold glare and caused the tidal waves to crush against the rocks in a thunderstorm of racing thoughts and sentiments. Something strange glinted in his eyes, and for yet another time the night of their first meeting flashed before her eyes, for in the same manner had he made a similar promise to her, and though the moonlight glow had brought a threatening glimmer of the eyes, now the sun’s scorching light did not reach those same eyes, which, alight with a dark promise they had pledged, appeared just as psychotically demanding, just as unyielding as they once were. Only now was she able to fully recognize the danger and understand the extent of his tireless commitment, as though so overflowing with natural resources to sustain him were he, despite the human tendency for fatigue and malnourishment, that were able to feed from her emotions alone. Her heart’s pace against her ribcage had quickened at his words, and she stared back at him with faintly widened irises, her stare frigid and forbidding, her posture austere and unforgivable, until she suddenly shot forwards and snatched his collar, creasing the material within her fist as she looked up at him, eyes now brutal and belligerent, with her jaw hardened and the muscles in her face tautened, the all-piercing glare burning through his grey irises as she held him tightly, the breath coming out of her nose in a harsh, laborious way and tingling the edge of his nose, as her chest heaved from the burden which had shifted within.

“Jetzt hören Sie mir, Sie wertloses Stück des Mülls zu,” she spat at him in a rough whisper, low enough as not to be overheard by anyone who chanced to be working around the hangar, yet strong enough to get a point cross and emphasize how deadly serious she was in regard with this issue. “Sie stoßen Ihre schmutzige Nase an meinen Angelegenheiten nicht mehr, und ich werde Sie mit meinen eigenen Händen stückweise abreißen,” she said through gritted teeth, slowly, genuinely, as she, with a sudden, fleeting glint of the eyes, almost adopted a feral quality about her features, as though she were a wild, undomesticated carnivore which humans had attempted to tame, which was presently showing its teeth towards such attempts, and which would in due course eventually return to its natural state of unprecedented savagery, into the forest, but not without having completed its massacre first. “Ich bin nicht sicher weil ich jede Macht über Sie habe, bin ich sicher weil ich weiß – und Sie wissen – dass wenn ich einen einzelnen Finger dann bewege, Ihr Gesicht in vielen Schatten purpurrot noch einmal mühelos geschmückt wird.”

Her strong, unyielding hand moved to clutch at his jaw, her fingers encircling and pressing aggressively against the jaw bones, staring up at him with an relentless glare, eyebrows viciously curved above the gleaming bright eyes of celadon green. “Sie hatten besseren Aufenthalt das Bumsen aus meinem Leben, oder ich schwöre, Jäger – schauen auf mich – ich schwöre, nichts wird mich jemals verhindern, Sie aufzuhören. Wenn das ein Spiel zu Ihnen ist, ist es nicht für mich. Sie haben Ihre Spielsachen hier Spiel zusammen mit ihnen, aber lassen diejenigen allein, die hier zu einem ernsten Zweck außer dem Herumgammeln und das Schreien über die Portion dem Heimatland wie die Idioten gekommen sind, die sie sind. Was dafür Sie ist, sind, nachdem Sie hatten, besser vergessen und konzentrieren sich auf das Steuern, das einzige Ding, an dem Sie jemals gemäßigt gut sein konnten,” she rasped.

The rage inside her had accumulated into one ultimate tide of unspeakable force, liable to destroy everything at its rushing wake, and yet how controlled – how barely controlled – her outward appearance was, and with what strength of character did she discipline herself not to simply strangle him on the spot, or violently lash out at him, strike him down and crushing his head against the Messerschmidt’s metallic surface, paint the fighter aircraft a glorious shade of red-hot crimson with the blood oozing from his open head, the wounds soon to be infected with the poison of his own heart, the rotting cadaver decomposing down upon the ground, right next to such display of craftsmanship as he was undeserving to call his own. “Ich bin Ernst, Jäger,” she said hoarsely, her lips stiff and her teeth gritted as she held on to his mouth, her face only a short breath away from his, and yet it hardly resembled the calm countenance it had cherished two weeks ago at such same distance, for only rage and disgust were perceptible all around that statuesque display of hostility. But, also, there was another sentiment which had surfaced, a new one he had never come to see until this point: intolerance. It was clear from her words that, unlike other times when fury and contempt coated her words as she assured him she were not to be used as his plaything, now intolerance was attacking him from left, right and centre, biting at him from all corners and simply assuring him that, at least when it came to this issue, he could not even hope to speak of it in such an abusive manner. He could speak ill of her as much as he desired, draw irritation and derision out of her from such conduct, but at present this is where she drew the line for him. Overstepping the boundaries meant only one and only consequence: intolerance. “Ich will nie Ihr widerliches Gesicht wieder von jetzt an bis zum Tag sehen ich nehme Scheißbombensplitter in meinem Kopf. Ist das klar?” she said with a biting force. “Ist das klar? Ich habe nichts um mit jemandem wie Sie zu tun, und das ist meine eigene Versprechung, und ich werde es nur einmal sagen: Sie wagen, mir wieder zu drohen, indem Sie diese Namen verwenden, und ich werde meine eigenen Experimente beginnen um dafür zu sehen wie lange ein menschlicher Kopf sich unter dem Sand stützen kann. Sie haben keine Idee – keine Idee – was ich tun würde ...” Her throat constricted, and she breathed out heavily as she gazed at him with her glaring, piercing irises. How could she ever say she would do anything for those closest to her? For those she held most dear, for those most important to her?

Her frown intensified. “Stoßen Sie mich zur Grenze nicht, Sie wollen nicht sehen was ich wie bin wenn ich meine Grenzen erreiche,” she warned him slowly, and her hand slowly moved downwards, across the jaw line, until it rested in his neck, strong fingers circled around and pressing against his carotid. “Ich werde Sie persönlich zerstören Sie zerquetschen und Sie mit diesen wirklichen Händen begraben,” she spoke very clearly, and her eyes widened from the promise she took, to her as sacred as the soldier’s oath she had taken to always serve the Fatherland, to serve the Führer. She let her eyes rest upon him, allowing the silence to be absorbed thoroughly, before she sharply pulled her hand away, and, with a final glance of utter and absolute disgust, she turned around and began to walk away in her fury.

It was then that she felt a strong arm pulling her back and an unintentional groan escaped her throat as she wheeled straight back around to face him, shoving his hand away – the very hand which had snatched her from the arm that had been wounded not so long ago – as she glared at him furiously, the hand of the other arm instinctively rushing to rub the spot in a soothing manner, all the while her eyes fixed upon his countenance. He seemed adamant to prevent her from leaving, pulling her back a second time – but she was only able to discipline herself to a certain extent, and as she raised her hand again the quick slap echoed around the hangar. “Schund,” she muttered in exhaustive contempt, and stormed away towards the large front door that led outside.

She had almost stepped outside when, all of a sudden, her eyes widened in genuine surprise, and, with a distinct frown, she stopped dead in her tracks, immediately turning around and rushing straight back to the Hauptmann; it did not require that many steps to reach him for, apparently, the pilot had been following after her despite her otherwise demands and, thus, without any warning or explanation, she buried her face into his chest, hands grasping at his arms as she remained in that position. The next moment, the very outline of Jürgen Kampfer appeared in front of the door, casually walking across the hangar and in a short while came next to them. “Mein schlechter Gerd … kämpfte er so tapfer. Er wird ganz richtig sein, stimmt dass?” she said, her voice muffled against the man’s tropical uniform, while the soldier nodded at the superior-ranked pilot. He immediately saluted the Hauptmann and his jackboots clicked against the ground in most appropriate military conduct – but not without a faintest trace of confusion once he did so, as though attempting to figure out where he had seen the man’s face before. Nevertheless, he only ever stood by their spot for no longer than a few seconds, with a brisk nod of his head walking past them and into the building.

She slightly raised her head at the height of Jäger’s shoulder and carefully peeked in front of her and at the direction the man’s back was turned to, making certain the soldier had indeed left the hangar. Reassuring herself, she pulled away from him, not without the grimace of disgust resurfacing in her face. Without speaking a single word, she dusted off her dress with a sharp movement of her hand, perhaps to emphasize an action taken to rid herself of the revolting filth which the brief contact had infected her with, and turned around in a disaffected manner, as though nothing had happened, walking towards the door, whence she vanished outside.

Another surprise met her there, though gratefully it was nothing short of pleasant. The dog barked loudly and wagged its tail around happily when he saw her, jumping up and down, its tongue sticking out of the mouth as he greeted her in a most enthusiastic manner, and continued barking. She quickly ran her fingers across its obedient head as it, for a moment, stopped moving and contentedly received her affectionate response. With the burden on her chest slightly shifted on the lighter side, she walked away in the sun, the dog devotedly following suit.


Translation

Now you listen to me, you worthless piece of garbage. You poke your filthy nose at my affairs any more, and I will tear you apart with my own hands, piece by piece. I’m not safe because I have any power over you, I am safe because I know – and you know – that if I move a single finger then your face will be effortlessly decorated in many shades of purple once again. You had better stay the fuck out of my life, or I swear, Jäger – look at me – I swear, nothing will ever stop me from stopping you. If this is a game to you, it isn’t for me. You have your toys here, play along with them, but leave alone those who have come here for a serious purpose other than fucking around and squealing about serving the Fatherland like the idiots they are. Whatever it is you are after you had better forget and focus on piloting, the only thing you could ever be moderately good at.

I am serious, Jäger. I never want to see your disgusting face again, from now until the day I take fucking shrapnel in my head. Is that clear? Is that clear? I have nothing to do with someone like you, and this is my own promise, and I will say it only once: you dare threaten me again by using these names, and I will begin my own experiments to see for how long a human head can sustain itself under the sand. You have no idea – no idea – what I would do ... Don’t push me to the limit, you don’t want to see what I am like when I reach my limits. I will personally destroy you, crush you and bury you with these very hands.

Filth.

My poor Gerd … he fought so bravely. He will be all right, won’t he?

[Rolf Jäger]

Like a match being lit in the embrace of complete darkness, something glinted within the woman's eyes upon Rolf's mention of the three names, her reaction waking up a warm and satisfying feeling of triumph inside the man. He knew he had found something that would affect her, something he could use to make sure he had her interest and the best part was, that he had not even fully tapped into this source of information quite yet, the files still sitting upon his desk and just waiting for him to further delve into their secrets. It was as if he had thought he had lost the trail of his quarry, just to find a fresh, clear set of tracks mere steps away from him and the thought reflected through his grey irises, a sense of renewed vehemence and excitement lighting up his features. This expression was soon changed into that of brief surprise when the woman's hand suddenly shot up at him, strong fingers curling around his collar and creasing the canvas of the uniform while she stared at him, green eyes blazing with wild ferocity over his affront.

The man breathed out evenly, his sneer only strengthening when the woman finally manifested her true sentiments, the flames of her anger burning bright, yet strangely controlled even when their primal force rang through the tone of her voice. He allowed her to hold him by his collar, his silver eyes staring defiant back at her, drinking in her anger and savoring its taste, as if he had chanced upon the finest wine the world had to offer. She warned him, of course, of the consequences of his meddling, telling him how she would punish him with little effort should he choose to continue on his current path and Rolf would have laughed at her had he not been so interested in hearing what more she had to offer him. Obviously she thought that just because he had been careless with her once, he would have been easily defeated - or maybe she was merely referring to calling out for her brother to assist her, but Rolf did not think this was the case. She would have not moved the responsibility to anyone else and even if she had been the kind of woman to appeal for a male to help her, Riedel's brother worried the Hauptmann little. He would have not caused such extensive damage to him the last time, had it not been for his little assistants who had held Rolf still and left him defenseless against the Leutnant's strikes. Even then he did not doubt for a moment that Riedel would have not meant what she said, a quality which the man could fully admire, and the sentiment was only strengthened when the woman released her hold of his collar and curled her dominant fingers around his jaw instead.

Her grasp was strong and Rolf's winced briefly, his eyes flashing with a curious mixture of anger and amusement. He relished her rage in all of its raw savagery and he felt like he had been pulled into the middle of a thunderstorm, the electricity crackling wildly all around him while the woman's eyes had become violent torrents of hatred. Had he been a man of reason, he would have stepped back and acknowledged the boundaries she was drawing for him, but her emotions were making him feel alive, each breath a more precious one as long as it was filled with her tantalizing scent and he wanted to rush in the middle of the storm instead, just to brave its dangers. Even knowing the perils of his current situation, the man could not help but enjoying the steady grasp of hers and feeling her fingertips pressing against his skin violently, and he remained silent and attentive as he stared back into her green irises of poisonous scorn and listened to her promising nothing but utter destruction for him if he refused to step away. How the flames of her rage burned him, yet also beckoned to him and so ferocious was her nature that the man could only stand still and stare, his lips slightly parted and his eyes gleaming with a feverish glint as he listened to her. Her insults were lost on him and raised no reaction, the man's attention stolen by her powerful presence alone and his mind made only a lazy note of her mention of his piloting skills, mediocre as she deemed them. For all he cared, she could have told him anything right now, just as long as she'd remain standing close to him and growling the words with the same severe force as she was right now.

The woman's face was so close to his he could feel her breath upon his skin and her next words rang with even stronger promise as she stared back at him, the continued threats raising little interest within the Hauptmann; yet once she warned him off from threatening her with the names he had dug up, a sharper glint visited the man's eyes. Was she worried that he was threatening her or the people he had mentioned? Was the reaction so very strong only because she was protecting someone other than herself, worrying that the man would cause harm to the Woltermann's, however they might have been connected to her? The lingering thought only further proved the importance these people must have carried for her and Rolf already knew he could not stop there and that he would be unable to drop the lead and take a step back. The man met her gaze blankly, his chin tilted up ever so slightly and the lingering sneer still remaining upon his lips, yet his muscles tightened with apprehension when he felt her fingers releasing their hold of his jaw, slithering to the back of his neck instead. Her voice was clear when she promised that she would destroy and bury him with her own hands if necessary and Rolf's grey eyes narrowed at the threat; he knew she was not a person of empty promises and that she would fight to fulfill her words, should Rolf choose to drive his cause. Yet... How could he stop now?

Rolf gazed back into the deadly storm, his gaze unflinching and unreadable, when the woman suddenly moved away from him and allowed the Hauptmann one more glance of utter disgust before turning around. The moment she had taken the few necessary steps to get away from him Rolf felt the electrified mood shattering into tiny pieces, waking up the irritation and anger within him once more. He was not going to let her leave without letting her know that she had no room for making threats, that she should have been trembling in fear instead of making such bold statements and he wanted her to experience that hopelessness and to force her to look at him in a different light, entirely. A low growl formed within his throat as he strode after her, his fingers curling decisively around her arm to pull her to a stop and he could immediately see her flinching, even when the man knew that his grasp had not been as strong as to hurt someone like her. It might have been a mere surprised reaction, but the moment she had pushed his hand away, she raised a hand to rub her arm and Rolf frowned, staring the spot that had apparently been injured earlier. The man opened his mouth, ready to confront the woman with threats of his own, his hand grasping Riedel by her arm once more, but this time he was countered by a sharp slap cutting forcefully across his cheek. The power of the strike left the man wincing, a hand instinctively rising to cup the side of his face while the woman spat only one word at him, calling him filth before wheeling around and continuing towards the door at the other end of the hangar. The slap stung uncomfortably on Rolf's face and his eyes flashed with renewed anger when he realized that he had allowed this brief spot of pain to render him stationary, the woman having already managed to grow the distance between them.

With a low growl, the man resumed his chase, his dusty boots hitting the floor at a rapid pace and his gaze fixated upon the golden mass of the woman's hair. She had already reached the door and Rolf was ready to shout out her name, when she suddenly seemed to change her mind, the woman pivoting around and starting back towards the Hauptmann, her steps brisk and decisive. Rolf stopped dead in his tracks and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, while his hands were raised into a defensive posture as he expected the woman to retaliate to his perseverance with violence. Instead her head thumped against his chest, the woman burying her face into the canvas of his uniform while she grasped him by the arms. Rolf's hands remained slightly raised, his mouth hanging open and all traces of anger now erased, giving way to confusion instead. What the hell was she doing?

He had no time to inquire this from Riedel, as a soldier had suddenly appeared in the doorway, the man making way across the floor towards the other side of the hangar. The amazed Hauptmann still stood frozen in his place and his eyes flicked to regard the woman when he heard her muttering something about a "poor Gerd", her face still insistently resting against his chest. It wasn't until the soldier had advanced slightly closer and clicked his heels together to salute him that a distant thought prodded the corners of Rolf's mind. Of course, she was hiding from the man, for whatever reason she might have possessed the need to do so and in the same confusing realization he stared at the Wehrmacht soldier, not quite knowing why a sudden hatred churned within him upon witnessing his features. The moment was far too outlandish for him to even begin arranging all of these thoughts into any order and while the soldier stood at attention for those brief seconds, Rolf only placed his hands upon the woman's arms and nodded at the soldier, arching an eyebrow briefly to communicate that he had seen him, yet currently found his attention occupied by the very unfortunate accident that had chanced upon this young woman's dearest Gerd.

The moment the soldier had continued towards the main building Riedel shifted her position and glanced after him over the Hauptmann's shoulder to make sure she was safe once more. Rolf, still holding his hands over her arms, tilted his head to the side and regarded the woman with a questioning look while a crooked smile formed in the corner of his mouth, amused words already waiting upon his tongue. Instead of gracing the man with an explanation, an insult or another warning, Riedel merely brushed off her clothes and glanced at the Hauptmann, obviously disgusted over having been forced to rely on him to hide herself. But to hide herself, why? From whom? The tall man frowned and opened his mouth to demand answers, but she cared not to offer those to him and had already turned around, continuing towards the door. Rolf was too consumed by his confusion to even will his feet to move and the moment Riedel's form had vanished behind the wall, he could hear the distinct, delighted barks of a dog carrying inside the hangar. A cold hand grasped at the Hauptmann's heart and he took an uneasy step back, his grey eyes flashing with apprehension before he quickly turned around and started briskly back towards the comforting presence of the fighters. Even when his fingers settled to rest on the painted form of the black horse and traced its outlines in an effort to draw reassurance from the strong shape, his eyebrows remained in a worried curve above his silver irises and his lips pressed together into a tight, grim line.

****

The night had long since drawn her dark veil over the desert and the normal, steady bustle within the office building had quieted down, the corridors now echoing with only the occasional footsteps of someone still working within. Most of the people were already deep in slumber, their minds blissfully unaware of the hours of their rest drawing shorter and shorter, but some were still caught in their duties, the thought of sleeping appearing mere distant fantasy to them. A sliver of light escaped through the narrow crack of the open door from Hauptmann Jäger's office, while within the room the officer himself was sitting behind his desk, accompanied by nothing but messy stacks of papers and open folders, all of them hastily discarded to the sides to make room for the task at hand. His eyelids felt heavy and his neck and upper back were aching profusely over the various hours of hunching over the desk, yet he had been far too absorbed by his investigation to so much as to enjoy a brief walk around the office to refresh himself.

His first task, of course, had been contacting the local administration in charge of the auxiliaries, from whom he had inquired for information regarding Erika Riedel, but this search had been cut short by a very tired female voice informing him that nobody under that name could be found in the records. It had been a surprising piece of information and Rolf had asked them to check and double-check for anyone under the surname of Riedel, but again, the answer had remained unchanged. Rolf had already asked to see the files for Riedel's brother, but the information had offered him little to go with and for any further details he would have been forced to request for the files at a Company level. He had, however, acquired the files on Julian Woltermann and those related to him through law contacts in Germany and had spent most of his time delving into these folders instead; he had felt that important tidbits would be found within and Riedel's reaction to the three names had only further confirmed the gut instinct. At first he had settled into studying the information on Julian, only finding that he had been born in Hannover in 1920, making him the age of twenty-one. There seemed to be nothing truly remarkable about him and Rolf had moved on, briefly browsing through his mother's information, finding out that she had been widowed and that his husband had suffered from Alzheimer's. Still, he had not been able to find anything substantial within her folder, either, his attention next focusing on Julian's sister, one Friederike Woltermann, also born in Hannover in 31st January, 1915. Rolf's eyes had skipped through the lines of text and he lit a cigarette as he absorbed each line of the text carefully, as if just looking at them hard enough would provide him with some sudden realization. She had studied mechanical engineering, which was quite an unseemly choice for a woman and caused Rolf to raise his eyebrows as he allowed the ember of the cigarette to burn between his fingers, his attention now drawn to the story of Friederike. Somehow there was something very familiar about her, something that rang with a distinct force within Rolf's mind and he merely held the papers in front of him, his eyes remaining upon her name while his thoughts ran at an overdrive, furiously trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

He could not understand why a woman like Riedel would have anything to do with something like Julian, but Friederike... well, she certainly seemed like a kindred soul, having possessed the will and strength to choose such an unusual and unfeminine career. He could not see what appeal Riedel would have in conversing with Julian Woltermann, the man having studied German literature and philosophy, as opposed to his older sister, Friederike, a female possessing knowledge in mechanical engineering. Rolf placed the two files upon the table, one next to another, staring at them, the cigarette still burning between his fingers until he released a low groan and brought a hand up to rub his tired eyes. They were almost the same, yet they were obviously not, so what was the connection, then? He had sorely hoped he would have been able to track down Erika Riedel's file, yet it seemed as if the woman simply did not exist in any official records in Africa and her brother's file had helped him little.

Rolf's hand brushed briefly against the scar over his eyebrow and his hand froze in place, one finger slowly tracing over the cut and his eyes narrowed at the sudden influx of thoughts that attacked him, a tidal wave of memories washing over his entire frame.

He now distinctly remembered a dog barking in the darkness. A warm hand pressing against his heart. The hoarse, low voice snaking through the shadows and warning him off. Rolf's eyes snapped wide open and he held his breath, as not to lose that faintly glimmering path of seemingly distant memories, all of them suddenly overlapping with each other and fitting together with perfect preciseness. He could hear her calling him Hauptmann, yet the voice was not one belonging to the woman, but Leutnant Riedel instead, while they were both the same voice, down to the smallest changes in the emphasis and to the guttural texture of the tone. He could see a set of green eyes looking back at him and he blinked, the face changing from that of the Leutnant's to one of his sister, but of course... They were ever the same face, were they not? The same appearance, the same voice, similar stern nature and even shared manners that now seemed so obvious to him when he looked back at them, down to the way she and the Leutnant smoked their cigarettes. Was there any difference other than the clothing and the hair?

The man pushed some of the papers aside, just to grasp at Leutnant Riedel's file once more and Rolf discarded the remains of cigarette hastily just so that he could bring Friederike Woltermann's file next to it, his grey eyes shooting from one name to another while his heart pounded fast within his ribcage. What if he had been approaching the riddle from a wrong angle, entirely? What if he shouldn't have been so desperately trying to find connections between all the different persons and should have, instead, just been putting together the information he had? He could suddenly remember how Riedel had hidden her face from the Wehrmacht soldier just earlier in the hangar, how agitated she had become over the names he had dug out and how fondly she had spoken of her family and the devotion she held for them. What other phone call could have then been more important than the one she had made to her family, or more namely... to her brother? Rolf's mouth hang open and he stared at the two folders in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in nothing but complete disbelief as he slowly pushed the folders together until they were on top of one another, the name of Friederike Woltermann staring back at him with the clearest eyes of green.

Rolf wanted to shake off the idea, find something else that would have provided him with a more earthly, plain explanation, yet the evidence was right there, etched within his memories. Riedel's brother had not attacked him out of protectiveness; it had ever been the woman herself, attacking him for his slights, for the injustice she felt she had suffered upon their first meeting. She had placed her hand upon his heart then, replicating the same gesture later in the hospital and icy talons grasped at Rolf's heart upon the realization that she had been there all along, laughing at him, kicking him. Of course she would have threatened her with something as gruesome as castration, as it had ever been Riedel herself acting upon this desire of punishing him for his earlier intentions. A faint line of a cut still remained traced on the skin of his lower stomach and Rolf's fingers twitched at the memories as he, for once, allowed them to flood his mind with their dark and malicious force, repressed memories of those humiliating moments causing the corners of his eyes to feel strange and prickly. The recollections raked their claws along his mind, merciless and hurtful, yet he forced himself to watch them, just so that he could see the Leutnant more clearly and confirm to himself that which he already knew. He remembered her hand, grasping at his, ever the same one he remembered from a different time, the images and feelings twisting a knife within his insides, resulting in the man gritting his teeth in shame and anger. Rolf could recall her words now, Riedel telling him how she had attempted to forget his slights, yet how he had insisted in ripping open the scabs, bringing upon only his own misfortune. He could once more hear the gunshot ringing through the desert, the next image changing to that of the woman resting in the hospital and the doctor talking about a gunshot wound. The memory twisted further, the hospital room changing into a nightly landscape outside the building, where Riedel had told him about her dedication and love for her family, how diligently she had worked for them and how deep these sentiments ran within her. Riedel's reaction in the hangar had been so strong because she had been protecting her own family and not that of someone else.

A constricting feeling had taken over Rolf's throat and he had to swallow hard to drive the sensation away, his eyes having closed without him even registering it and he forced them open, a weak sigh escaping from his lips as he stared at the name written upon the file, his eyebrows now furrowed in deep confusion and inner pain. Riedel had hidden her face from the Wehrmacht soldier, because he would have recognized her. There were no files on Erika Riedel, because no such person existed. There had ever been only one person and Rolf's allowed his fingers to trace over her name, slowly, gently.

"Friederike," the raspy voice faded slowly into the shadows and melded into them while the Hauptmann allowed his fingers to rest upon the name, his silver eyes staring into nothingness.

****

The light of the mid-day sun attacked the Hauptmann's eyes with vicious force, causing him to wince and growl under his breath. His recent lack of sleep was certainly not helping him any and it was with automatic motions that his feet were bringing him towards the Wehrmacht barracks, the man stealing past the tents and various vehicles with decisive steps. The man's face was set into a grim mask of determination and he paid little attention to the soldiers toiling away in their daily duties, his attention focused on tracking down one person only. He had driven down to the barracks himself, leaving Oberleutnant Wahler in charge of the Gruppe details while he was gone, the Hauptmann himself wanting to suffer from no intrusions as he'd sort out the matter at hand. He had taken one full day to contemplate on his findings, delving through the papers time and time again and further allowing his mind to be consumed the memories that, painful as they might have been, were integral in digging out the truth. The realizations had only brought out new questions, all of them demanding answers the man simply could not uncover from within his own mind or the files he had received; only Riedel could provide him with clarification and with this knowledge, he had set to the task of finding the woman.

He was surprised by the strange torrent of emotions that ran through him the moment he spotted her, Leutnant Riedel having concentrated upon the task of working on a motorcycle in front of the barracks. Rolf felt both a sense of exhilaration and triumph, but these feelings were mixed with a strange sense of anticipation and something he could only discern as being shame. Shady memories of the humiliation he had suffered in the hands of Leutnant Riedel had tormented him as much as the various questions had and something steeled within the man's grey eyes as they remained on the figure of the Leutnant. Could nobody not see through her lies? Was it just some basic part within the human mind that prevented everyone from seeing through her disguise, the primal need of making as simple deductions as possible having rendered them blind to the truth? He had not seen it, either, and he had wanted to refuse the knowledge, even when the evidence had been straight in front of him, yet now it all seemed as plain as the day to him. She would know it soon, too, and feel nothing but utter remorse while she was getting throttled by the throat by him.

Rolf's black boots came to a prompt stop at the other side of the motorcycle, the man standing tall and proud next to the vehicle for a small while, as if merely wanting to defy the warnings she had pushed upon him in the hangar. He wanted to see whether that anger would glint within her eyes or if she was skilled enough to hide even such a strong emotion, if she truly had become so accustomed to playing out her two roles in front of him. The moment she looked up at him, Rolf's eyes glinted with malice and a cold, foreboding smile appeared on his lips. "Leutnant Riedel," the man announced in a slow, mocking tone and his eyes widened as he pronounced the rank, as if he somehow would have found it amusing. "So schön, dich wieder zu sehen."

The same smile lingered still on the Hauptmann's lips as he brought his hands down to rest on the saddle of the motorcycle, so he could lean in closer to the Leutnant and make sure his quietly spoken words were heard in perfect clarity. "Sie reisten in solch einer Hast vom Hangar neulich ab, das war ziemlich unhöflich. Aber ich denke, dass Sie mit mir dieses Mal werden sprechen wollen, ich denke, dass Sie wirklich tun. Warum finden wir irgendwo mehr geschützt nicht, wo wir unsere Sachen weg davon besprechen können Ohren aufzubrechen, Leutnant Riedel?" Rolf allowed the force of his brutal words to sink in, his gaze remaining on her green irises, that one severe look communicating more than his words ever could. "Oder würde Sie bevorzugen, dass ich Sie durch Ihren echten Namen nenne... Friederike Woltermann?" the man asked hoarsely and the smile upon his lips suddenly died down, his eyes glazing over with new-found harshness.


Translations:

"So schön, dich wieder zu sehen."
"So very good to see you again."

"Sie reisten in solch einer Hast vom Hangar neulich ab, das war ziemlich unhöflich. Aber ich denke, dass Sie mit mir dieses Mal..."
"You left in such a hurry from the hangar the other day, it was quite unpolite. But I think you will want to talk to me this time, I think you really do. Why don't we find somewhere more sheltered where we can discuss our matters away from prying ears, Leutnant Riedel?"

"Oder würde Sie bevorzugen, dass ich Sie durch Ihren echten Namen nenne... Friederike Woltermann?"
"Or would you prefer I call you by your real name... Friederike Woltermann?"

[Dirk Riedel]

“Schießen Sie!”

The soldier fired the weapon through the heavy mortar, the tube pivoting about its trunnions as the Leutnant, with a face of extreme austerity and strict anticipation, looked at the horizon expectantly, arms stiffly hanging down by the sides of his body, and with the eyebrows permanently curved above eyes darkly gleaming with harsh, albeit disciplined, calculations. The small group of soldiers had been dispatched during the early hours of the morning along the frontline in a deserted area on which only the endless sand was visible on the horizon, in order to test a problematic Nebelwerfer 40 for its effective range and eventually solve the glitches that hindered the heavy mortar from its greatest range. Leutnant Riedel drove his hands behind his back, whence they interlocked, his chest rising and falling calmly throughout this task. He desired nothing else but perfect order, and thus to ensure that each weapon’s operational use would allow for maximum performance felt like a personal task he needed to see through, and one which he would have tended to even in the unlikely occasion they should not have received particular orders from the German high command. The engineer stood close by, observing the machine’s performance with speculation, as a Schütze walked towards the Leutnant’s direction, jackboots storming through the large grains of the coarse sand, before he stopped directly in front of the Leutnant.

“6.284 Meter, Herr Leutnant,” he announced, and his superior could only look back at him with a brisk nod.

“Sie kann lieber als das tun. Weiter,” he ordered sharply, and the mechanic continued with his work.

Having risen no later than five in the morning and dispatched to the border by the time it was dawn, the group returned to the Wehrmacht barracks, carrying the Nebelwerfer with them, at no sooner than one o’clock in the afternoon, by which time the platoon were to enjoy a quick meal before they returned to their duties. Feeling his stomach stiff (such as many times happened to the Leutnant whenever there was something in a problematic condition to further work on) and lacking much of an appetite, Dirk grabbed an apple he had purchased from one of the locals on the way to the barracks and, instead, found himself spending his free time with the Zündapp, pulling himself down with his knees bent to check on the tires. He had left the motorcycle lying upon the sand and out on the sun during all these hours which, in addition to this happening several times already in the past few days as a result of heavily significant planned offensives which offered hardly any time at all to take care of the machinery and prevent the ongoing deterioration of its state, had thus caused ozone cracks beginning to show in the sidewalls. With a weary sigh (which was weary on account of the Leutnant feeling, to a certain extent, quite guilty at his own conduct rather than genuine fatigue), he proceeded to replace the tires with stock the military provided and, upon completion, went on to clean its metallic surface with terry-cloth towel and his very own toothbrush. He could still distinctly hear the comrades’ voices from the near distance as they relished on the canned food, others walking across the area to simply remove the upper part of their uniform and, with groans of either fatigue or relief, allowed their bodies to fall down on the sand for a short rest. How fortunate they were to be able to enjoy such an inconsequential – to them – and irrelevant thing as unbuttoning their uniforms.

The Libyan sun was poking harshly down upon his figure, sending large rays of burning flames spreading throughout his body; it had been demanding to become accustomed to these weather conditions at first, at least up to an extent, although his devotion to the Fatherland had been so strong in nature as he had learned to quickly ignore the temperature and best focus at the task at hand. The weather was such an immaterial concern to worry about when such great plans lay on the horizon, and the Leutnant was, if anything, hardly the kind of person whose performance, military or otherwise, were to be easily affected by something which, however irrelevant to him, often proved critical in many aspects during the war. With his knees bent down low and his back crouching as he leaned closer to the motorcycle, the soldier continued with his work in a most dedicated manner, the strong hand tightly holding the toothbrush creating strict, sharp patterns alongside the metallic form, and so devoted was he to this task at hand that he hardly ever heard the distant footsteps grow nearer. It was only when he suddenly felt a shadow moving over him that he raised his head to look up at the person.

His expression remained as stern and unreadable as it formerly was when his green eyes glanced up to meet the familiar form of the Luftwaffe Hauptmann, the Wehrmacht soldier’s hand resting upon the motorcycle’s side as he quietly stared at him, his lips drawn in a perfect straight line of strict calmness even though the eyebrows had instinctively moved with a faint curve over his eyes at the unpredictable appearance; half-concealed surprise was there, but also meditation. The pilot’s voice was, as always, mocking and deceitfully friendly, while the Leutnant could perfectly see the overflowing hostility gleaming in the man’s cold eyes. The Leutnant had warned him off another meeting between the two of them, yet the pilot should have naturally interpreted that such a hostile statement was only directed at him and the woman; the man must have felt he still possessed the right to find the Leutnant who had not expressed the same demands as the woman. It made sense, and Dirk merely looked at back at him, his face tilted upwards in that unmoving posture, expecting him to simply state the purpose of his rather unorthodox visit, but, perhaps, he should have desired something else, for what the Hauptmann said only brought him a case of utter confusion and disbelief. His eyebrows now properly furrowed over his eyes when the Hauptmann spoke next, even bending low to meet the Leutnant at a closer distance as though they were sharing secrets or brewing conspiracies, and Dirk’s face vaguely tilted to the side as he stared up at the pilot’s arrogant and domineering outline. Had the man mistaken his words and, perhaps due to the exposure at high temperature, confused the pronouns, ‘you’ instead of ‘she’? Certainly he was not as much of a fool as to be able to recognize which of the two Riedels he had chanced across in the hangar, but these thoughts immediately vanished into the grim area of nothingness once the Hauptmann’s eyes glistened with something as unmistakable as carefully held knowledge. That glance – its severity of appearance, the harsh quality, the stark briskness of that gleam – spoke to her, began whispering inside her words which she did not wish to hear. Any assumptions that the Hauptmann knew the truth were utterly ridiculous, and Dirk hardly believed he possessed that knowledge, instead considering – although it was, in fact, more of a desperate desire – that the sun had messed with his head, that he was drunk, that this was nothing but one of his usual arrogant antics, that he wanted to play along like the child he was, that he had been drugged up, that he had accidentally received a blow in the head – anything to explain his words. Anything except for that one.

Yet there was nothing mocking or humiliating about his words, and his gaze communicated that which she refused to enter her mind as a thought. There was an unmistakable aura of stern confidence and harsh contemplation about him, the lines of his face hardened, and it was in a similar fashion that her jaw hardened and the muscles tautened upon the words he so carelessly pronounced. Friederike Woltermann. The words broke through her defenses and carved a path of destruction along her insides with a ringing force that stung in her entire length, a knife suddenly cutting through her viscera, hostile fingers creating dough out of her intestines as coldness suddenly veiled her heart, and she momentarily froze. Her eyes remained glassy and cold, her lips unmoving and the face stiff, as the blood flow may have as well stopped circulating throughout her veins. She stared at him without a word, her hand upon the motorcycle still, with the only difference that the numbness disabled her from being able to feel the touch of the toothbrush against her rigid fingers. Her breathing went slow and quiet, although the heart rate beat at a higher speed against her ribcage, as it was. No, he could not know. He had simply received information on the Woltermann family and had learned of the names, now creating sordid assumptions which he may or may not have believed himself. How he had received this information or even thought of these assumptions she had no idea of, as her racing mind was only thinking of one thing alone: do not take the bait and react in a way that would only affirm his knowledge.

And, still, she knew not what unknown force now shoved in the corner of her mind whispered to her how useless this was, how inevitable the knowledge – how lost her attempts were. A gunshot, a bullet flying through the air, and her mind was bleeding.

It was moments later that she finally scoffed with a genuine frown, confusion and disbelief still etched across her face. Through the numbness she rose and placed the toothbrush on the saddle, coming face to face with him at her full height. “Nahmen Sie einen Schlag im Kopf, Hauptmann?” she told him, her voice hoarser than the one she possessed those times she had been Erika, and the tone strict but also with mocking disbelief surfacing through. She frowned. “Sie nahmen einige, stimmt dass?” she asked, and a cold smile of sheer incredulity etched across the corner of her lips, only ever lasting a short while before she came a step closer to him, her facial features rigid and austere. “Ich habe Arbeit um, und keine Zeit für Ihr lächerliches zu vollenden – ” she began with her teeth gritted, but at that moment one of the soldiers in her platoon came storming towards their direction.

“Herr Leutnant!” Albrecht Kord called out to his superior, and stopped a short distance away from them, not without briskly saluting in proper military conduct the Hauptmann of the Luftwaffe standing next to his superior. “Herr Leutnant, Ulhmann fragt ob wir den Nebelwerfer am Abend wieder prüfen sollen? Er will die wirksame Reihe zu mindestens 6.345 Metern vergrößern.”

Dirk slightly frowned at him, her mind too pre-occupied at the time with other issues to be able to fully concentrate on what Kord was telling her, and she needed at least a moment or two during which she appeared austere and forbidding to clear a small space in her mind and think over at what she had been asked. With a sudden brisk nod of her head, Kord stole a quick, confused glance at the Hauptmann and immediately turned away, walking at the opposite direction towards the garage. Upon realizing the danger of having this discussion in the open, the Leutnant could do nothing more but look back at the pilot and, without a single word, storm off towards the tents.

She brutally pulled aside the tent's canvas she shared with her soldiers and rushed in, turning over to look at the man’s figure as he entered the deserted space. The soldiers were either enjoying their rest or had busied themselves with other matters, so as not to interrupt them during this rather unseemly conversation. Her face was cold and stiff, as she looked back at him in her tall, proud posture, her stare demanding and unemotional.

“Wie ist dieser Abfall?” she demanded and crossed her arms, eyes gleaming with anticipation.



Translation

Fire!

6.294 metres, Herr Leutnant.

She can do better than that. Continue.

Did you take a blow in the head, Hauptmann? You did take some, didn’t you?

I have work to complete, and no time for your ridiculous –

Herr Leutnant, Ulhmann asks if we are to test the Nebelwerfer in the evening again? He wants to increase the effective range to at least 6.345 metres.

What is this rubbish?

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf felt as if he was standing at the edge of a deep cliff, looking down at the rough, green waves of a raging sea below him, knowing that secrets lay hidden beneath the waters, so very close to him, yet all the same time, they remained completely unreachable. He would have enjoyed being able to decipher the sentiments behind Riedel's reaction and just what kind of force was required to hide the hatred he knew must have been seething within her strong frame upon seeing him once again. Rolf stood in his place, his tropical uniform only slightly less dustier than on their last meeting, his sandy hair now covered by the field cap he often kept tucked under his belt. The lines of forgotten sleep lingered under his grey eyes, but the stubble had at least been shaved just a day ago, making the man look more presentable than usually and he held his proud stance, openly defying her anger. Instead of acting out on her hatred, Riedel merely stared up at him, still crouching next to the motorcycle and only furrowing her eyebrows in something akin to confusion the moment the Hauptmann implied that he had met the Leutnant earlier in the hangar. He was not sure if it was merely an act from her part, or an expression of genuine confusion she was feeling when he was talking about the Leutnant in such an unexpected manner, the woman not quite realizing the extent of Rolf's knowledge yet. It mattered very little, for Rolf was just getting to the best part and his eyes pierced through hers hungrily the moment he dropped Friederike Woltermann's name. Her name.

There was little for him to grasp at besides the sudden coldness that seemed to emanate from her and the look in her eyes turned harsher while she stared at him, Rolf only watching back at her, his face ever the unchanging mask of grim determination. They glared at each other in this severe manner for a small while, before Riedel stopped crouching and stood up in her full height instead. The hoarseness of her voice surprised Rolf, even though he had heard the very same voice before. The change, down to the voice, the mannerisms and expressions, was startlingly convincing and only because Rolf never allowed his eyes to leave hers, could he be sure that she was the ever same person he had met in the hangar earlier. Her guttural tone was coated with disbelief as she asked whether the Hauptmann had taken a blow to his head to come up with such outlandish prattle and she smiled in amusement at the notion, going on to inform Rolf that she had no time for his-

The sentence was interrupted by a Wehrmacht soldier approaching them, giving the Hauptmann a brief salute, before addressing his own superior. Rolf's grey eyes shot towards the man and narrowed at his sudden intrusion, but he allowed the soldier to take care of his duties, feeling that telling him to wait would have only complicated the situation. A Captain as he might have been, he was still in a different branch of the army and felt it was not his place to meddle in the business of the Wehrmacht. The man merely stood silent and serious next to the motorcycle and allowed the exchange between him and Riedel to pass uninterrupted. His insides churned with the knowledge he carried, yet the small, confused moment of silence the woman had experienced upon the soldier's interruption had not gone unnoticed by him. She was good - she was so very good at maintaining her role, Rolf could not quite understand how she managed to do it, and the man's keen eyes flicked towards the soldier as the man waited for the Leutnant's answer, never realizing the deception that lay just before his very eyes. After the soldier had been offered a brief nod as an answer, he turned around and Riedel started in another direction instead, the Hauptmann falling into a more leisurely step after her.

Rolf raised a hand to push aside the flap of the tent as he stepped inside it, Riedel immediately turning around to regard him and her expression frozen into that of cold determination. With her arms crossed in front of her chest, the woman inquired to know what the man was talking about and Rolf's eyes flashed with both amusement and irritation at her stubborn desire to maintain her act. Did she think she'd succeed in convincing him otherwise or had she simply not realized the full extent of her situation quite yet? Rolf tilted his head to the side, remaining silent for a brief moment just for the mere purpose of studying her. His gaze remained on her viridian eyes at first, moving down to her jaw where dust and dirt lingered and he could see it now, the same strong structure of bones beneath the pale skin and the distinct curve at the corner of her lips, images of different and seemingly distant times drawn in front of him in perfect clarity. It was ever the same visage he remembered, yet at the same time, a completely different one, her frame now covered by a tropical uniform that made her appear strangely masculine. He could understand why everyone had been so easily fooled by this appearance, for had it not been for the knowledge he had uncovered, he could have only seen an officer of the Wehrmacht standing before him. For the briefest moment he hesitated, wondering whether he had figured everything correctly or if his mind was playing tricks on him, his obsession for the woman having driven him to the edge of insanity, but he drove away such notions with a nudge of his head. Even though the light filtering through the canvas of the tent had painted her skin with a strange yellowish tint, even when her continued act was such a convincing one, inside his heart Rolf knew that the person before him was none other than Friederike Woltermann from Hannover.

After the Hauptmann had completed his initial staring, he furrowed his eyebrows at the woman and shook his head at her. "Niemand sieht zu," the man remarked. "Das Theater kannst du dir sparen," the man whispered hoarsely and scoffed, almost insulted by the fact that the woman refused to acknowledge the extent of his intelligence and his abilities in doing his research, yet on a further thought he could easily understand that this was the only course of action she could take - that she should take - in a situation such as this. It was her last flicker of hope still glinting amidst the darkness, the one faint reflection of an oasis in the middle of a vast desert of despair. She hoped that her defiant act would arouse hesitation within the Hauptmann and drive him away, but he was the trained hound that had already etched his teeth around the throat of his prey, stubbornly refusing to let go. "Ich dachte wirklich, dass Erika ein schrecklicher Name für Sie war. Friederike hält so viel mehr Macht dazu, ein bestimmter sind ... stolz, stimmt das?" Rolf asked with an almost admiring smile, but the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a small sneer. "Und verschonen Sie mich von noch weiter Falschheiten, sie werden Sie aus diesem nicht bekommen, ich kenne Sie. Ich weiß, wer Sie sind und ich die Lügen weiß, die Sie gewebt haben. Was für Sie tun, werden Sie mich sonst nicht überzeugen," the man's tone had turned dangerous somewhere in the middle of his speech, as if her deceit had been something personal pushed upon the Hauptmann and for a moment nothing but cruel coldness inhabited the man's silver irises.

Rolf breathed out deeply, allowing the irritation to leave his system and he started tracing a lazy half-circle around her instead, his eyes measuring her more carefully once again, travelling from head to toe in an almost astonished manner while he allowed his thumb to hook under the belt, the other hand hanging lazily by his side. "Wie tun Sie es? Wie verhindern Sie sie zu bemerken? Ich meine... dass Sie Zeit mit Ihren Soldaten sehr irgendwie verbringen müssen, wie können sie nicht es... sehen?" Rolf narrowed his eyes, eyebrows drawing into a slight frown as he tried to imagine what it was like for her to maintain such a disguise all the time and under such harsh circumstances, no less. He knew what will and strength of character she possessed, but to pull off something like this only emphasized this fact. Suddenly he felt the strong desire to further delve into that mind of hers to see just what force had wrought such a mind of iron, while several questions desired to voice themselves. As he had set upon the task of confronting Riedel, his mind had only been occupied by various thoughts of vengeance and of the possibilities his knowledge opened, but for the moment these sentiments had been replaced by nothing but almost childish curiosity. He could have never imagined that such a thing might come to pass in the real life and the story seemed something ripped from the pages of a book and watching her, it was as if he was actually witnessing a creature of a legend instead; a notion not very foreign to him, as he had admired her in a similar manner before.

Rolf came to a stop a few steps away from her, halting by her side and tilting his head, his eyes narrowing and the other one drawing shut as he tried to see the two people inhabiting that one frame; the stern Leutnant of Wehrmacht and the spirited Valkyrie. He had to spend quite a bit of effort in imagining how the change happened and what kind of efforts were required to create that difference between the two characters and still, was either one the right one? Had the real Friederike been the one he had heard, but not seen, when he had been eavesdropping on the discussion she had shared with her brother? Or maybe it was the mixture of these three personalities that was the real person behind all these masks; the stern soldier, the proud and untamed female and the protective, caring sister, all of these qualities coming together to form the one person beneath. The man's head snapped up straight and he returned his gaze back to her eyes, tracing a slow path back in front of her. "Wie steht's mit Schauern? Besuche im Arzt? Und ... wie steht's mit diesen?" the man's eyes dropped to the level of Riedel's chest and his hand reached out promptly to touch her chest, his fingers meeting only something that felt strangely... metallic.

"Was ist das?" the man frowned, an open expression of confusion mixing with that of curiosity, while his fingertips attempted to explore the material through the canvas of the tunic.


Translations:

"Niemand sieht zu. Das Theater kannst du dir sparen."
"Nobody is watching. You can drop the act."

"Ich dachte wirklich, dass Erika ein schrecklicher Name für Sie war..."
"I did think that Erika was a terrible name for you. Friederike holds so much more power to it, a certain... pride, doesn't it?"

"Und verschonen Sie mich von noch weiter Falschheiten..."
"And spare me from any further falsehoods, they will not get you out of this one, I know you. I know who you are and I know the lies you have been weaving. Whatever you do, you will not convince me otherwise."

"Wie tun Sie es..?"
"How do you do it? How do you stop them from noticing? I mean... you must spend time with your soldiers a lot, anyway, how can they not... see it?"

"Wie steht's mit Schauern? Besuche im Arzt? Und ... wie steht's mit diesen?"
"What about showers? Visits to the doctor? And... what about these?"

"Was ist das?"
"What is that?"

[Dirk Riedel]

What else was there to do, what more to say and how to counteract his words when she saw that his heart knew the truth, the very truth she had always been too careful and adamant to conceal. Her glassy eyes widened, her lips parted faintly to allow the smallest crack from which she could breathe in additional air, as though suddenly she felt the atmosphere becoming thick, suffocating her, and drawing a veil of poison around her face, threatening her very existence, the purpose of her good-natured deception, everything she had come to built so far with her own sweat, blood and toil. More than once she narrowed her eyes distinctly in confusion, wrinkled her forehead at his arrogant pronouncement of holding the truth within his very own hands, and parted her lips to speak, to object, to declare his statement as false and ridiculous, to proclaim him insane and absurd, to laugh at his face for ever assuming he could have the intelligence and cunning to discover that which she had made undiscoverable, trace that which could not be traced, and make his own that which she had obstinately kept for herself. She knew not how or why he had reached this point at which it was apparently so effortless for him to discern the truth, but the undeniable fact remained: it was useless to pretend otherwise, useless to create a false reasoning upon which to buttress all of her attempts to prove to him how bitterly wrong he was – useless to persuade herself there was any possibility she could harass his present tenaciously knowledgeable state.

Regardless, she allowed her mind to swim through the dark and ominous waters of denial, slowly but inefficiently coercing herself to believe that all was wrong, that with a single nudge of her head and word she spoke he would realize the absurdity of his beliefs, and turn away to leave, defeated and humiliated. And still, however much she attempted to do so, reality struck upon her with great severity as he continued speaking, meticulously staring at her with such a thorough, profound gaze, as though he were too focused upon determining the differences of one form to the other, grey eyes examining her outline with an unwavering, almost dedicated fashion, sheer curiosity and traces of what could best be described as amazed disbelief surfacing through the calm, knowing tone of his gravelly voice. And it was precisely this composed lucidity of his features which further prodded her to the edges of her sanity, for it only produced sound evidence of his confidence, his posture tireless and unremitting, circling her like an owner did a newly purchased animal that had been caught and brought from the wild for him to enjoy. He asked her what only felt as a line of questions following other questions, endlessly, inexhaustibly, and they only ever pierced through her entire length, infiltrated the walls of her mind without being clearly deciphered in their true content, for numbness had all of a sudden grasped its firm hold throughout her body, spreading out onto her mind and reaching through every fibre of her skin. He spoke, she could see this, and how his lips parted to voice words that entered her ears without ever making their messages known, frozen to the spot as she was and unable to voice anything even if she knew not what else was left to be said, unable to move even if there was nowhere else to go. Unable to think even if there was anything else to contemplate on.

That he asked how the other soldiers did not see it was one of the few messages that reached her level of perception at the time, but the only thing she could think of at this very moment was only … how had he seen it? Where, where had she been wrong, and what in the devil’s name had she done, had she forgot to do in order to prevent this from happening? In what time had she acted in a way that had jeopardized her identity, when had she said anything personal enough to arouse suspicion? She had always been too cautious, too meticulous to ascertain that no problems would arise – since the days back in Germany during which she was forging forfeit papers up to the moment she boarded the ship to be transported to this godforsaken continent she had acted in a most vigilant manner, taking care of the slightest detail and down to the smallest window that would make the grounds for dubiousness and suspicion. She had appeared in her feminine form before in France, and yet no one had even suspected the damn thing, just so some mindless, idiotic scum of a baron would all of a sudden need only a few weeks to uncover what lay beneath the surface? Her pride refused to let her swallow this fact, but slowly, with a ringing force to them, minor cracks began to show right in front of her vision, whispering to her with a vicious austerity of every tiny little wrongness she had performed in her anger, in her blind rage, in her open, undomesticated derision. She had never thought him significant, never gave his ridiculous form any other importance apart from being a clear incentive to her temper, and how suddenly he had elevated himself to, without a question, the most significant person to be around her, simply because of the fact that he possessed the truth – the truth which held her hostage of his actions.

She remained unmoving, her eyes unresponsive and her face having completely shed the skin of the austere determination formerly presented to that of utter and quiet disbelief, although there was something else slowly making its way towards her facial features, something akin to … despair. Her heart was pacing with a swift cadence against her ribcage all the while as her arms now hang down by her sides, incapacitated at her current state to sense the tips of her fingers or clear out her mind. She knew she needed to react quickly, that she should speak, if not to declare how absurd he was being then at least to say anything at all, but her throat had long since constricted and any words she might have wished to voice were left into the pit of her tightened stomach, a monstrous raving parasite having moved over her chest and bringing her down with this new burden she had to come to terms with. How – how could he know? How had he found out? And why did he even pursue it? Her eyebrows curved once more but not to express anger or contempt, unlike all those times – now to her faded into what seemed to have been traces in the past – but disheartenment. Everything she had been structuring with great care and meticulous thought for all these years now unexpectedly came crumbling down, washed down by the thunderstorm that was sweeping everything at its wake, the pebbles and rocks along the street, the deserted tree leaves severed from the branches, stomped flower buds that were never to blossom, and children wailing. They had all just crumbled down and perished.

He knew her. He did not know her, he did not know the remotest thing about her and yet … he knew her. She could understand this strange contradiction, ironically enough, only at this particular moment of absolute numbness, motionless even as he suddenly outstretched his hand and touched against the upper part of her body, and how little did she care, how insignificant any objection would be, and how foolish. How absolutely useless. There was nothing she could do to persuade him that the truth was not the truth, and any will to slap his hand away in that last effort was completely drained from her being as she gazed back at him, hardly blinking, her irises glassy still and hopeless. What did it matter? He knew already, it would make no difference. His fingers traced alongside the length of the canvas through which he could clearly feel the metallic surface pressing against her chest, and during another time she would have cursed over this fact but right now all seemed so pointless and irrelevant that she could not care less of how she had wore less clothing from within the tunic to minimize the possibility of another soldier patting her against the chest cordially and instead of a muscular thorax meeting an unnaturally stiff torso, enough to arouse suspicions – she had planned to drive along the city in her motorcycle up in the Mediterranean Sea during her free time for a swim, considering how she had had no leisure in finding the baths deserted for her to secretly use, which, indeed, was something she usually avoided altogether and preferred swimming in the sea, for at least there she was guaranteed of privacy and need not be concerned lest a soldier stepped into the showers every other second. For this reason, and due to the fact no offensive had been planned for the day (hence less physical interaction with her subordinates which made rudimentary the use of all clothing to support the plating), she had settled into wearing only a thin layer of clothing underneath to better facilitate her trip at the sea, and which explicated how the Hauptmann was able to feel the metallic strap even against the canvas.

She did not move as his fingers explored the material, perplexed but also curious to know what it was. What could it have been? It was moments later that she found the minimal strength required to raise her right hand and bring it closer to his, against the canvas, moving to circle around his fingers and hold them tightly, keeping them rooted to the spot upon the tunic and disabling them from any other movement they would have liked to make, rising up and then falling down along with her chest as she heaved the burden, but hoping not to throw it away, for she very well knew as much was doomed to failure. Her grasp was neither forceful nor determined, but merely efficient as to its purpose. Her eyes stared back at him with something that very closely resembled almost unhappiness, her face infected by a pained expression as the sweat drops trickled from her hand across his fingertips. Slowly, she pulled his hand downwards and let it slide away from her tunic, her fingers moving to unbuckle the belt across her waist, each move drawn-out but steady, her head slightly tilted to the side as she only watched him, the curves at the corner of her lips turned southwards and her throat still constricted. It suddenly appeared that time had frozen, and was very slowly passing from one second to the other, as the tips of her fingers still held the belt from the rim as it was hanging down, ready to fall down on the ground, but for her grasp.

For a moment she refused to let it go, as though a far distant corner in the back of her mind still believed this could be saved, that the tables could be turned and how she was giving her self away whereas she could work against it, prove him wrong – but the next moment such a passing, desperate thought died down forever when her fingers opened and the strip of leather was dropped. Without speaking, she brought her fingers up again as they began to unbutton the tunic, her gaze transfixed upon his countenance, her expression bitter and almost desolate, when each button was unfastened at a leisurely motion, not least on account of how drained from any strength she felt, until she opened the tunic and continued to unbutton the shirt underneath – when, suddenly, with a large heaving, her moves became fierce, they turned vicious, and unfastened button after button with an almost brutal hatred as her lips distorted into a grimace of fury and her eyes narrowed at the same sentiment, eyebrows curved poignantly with a feral touch, prepared to rip out the knobs from the garment with each motion she took, until she tore the shirt open and hatefully revealed that which she had kept a secret all these years: a thin layer of white linen was tightly pulled around the thorax, underneath which a thin, flat strip of metal was supported, pressing forcefully against the chest as she breathed quickly, her head loosening the vicious hatred to a more hopeless appearance once more, her facial features pained, through which the sharp angles of her face and the hardened jaw only accentuated the stark contradiction of her otherwise strong, unyielding nature. She had no other choice but crumble a little; it had come unpredictably, this misfortune of immeasurable consequences, to break through her walls of defense and force her to yield.

And she yielded.

“Warum?” she said slowly, her voice drained of any strength as she stared at him, her face wholly enshrouded by a veil of hopelessness and pain, the lines of her parted lips drawn backwards as she breathed in with more difficulty. “Warum hatten Sie zum Schorf Ihre Hände in mein Leben?” she asked hoarsely, her tone almost desperate, almost demanding - but always unforgiving - and barely managing to speak despite her constricted throat, feeling as though a large knot had been tied and blocking any speech of being formed. “Warum? Was wollen Sie?” she cried out, her mind numb and her arms uselessly hanging down by her sides as she, for the first time, truly stared into the whole extent that bore the fangs of the abyss.



Translation

Why? Why did you have to scab your hands into my life? Why? What do you want?

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf's heart was beating faster within his ribcage, a curious injection of exhilaration travelling through his veins and making him feel both strong and weak at the same time. He was expecting for the woman to respond to his touch with violence, his muscles already readying themselves for a confrontation even through his curiosity, but instead the woman stood passive in her place, allowing the man's fingertips to scrawl paths over the material of her tunic. Pure fascination dominated his senses at the current moment and his gaze remained upon her chest, while his mind was finally starting to grasp the full extent of the measures the woman must have undertaken in order to conceal her true identity and the man blinked, his lips slightly parted as he breathed out slowly. He might have possessed the files on Friederike Woltermann, but they were only filled with lifeless words that in no way reflected the woman's true nature; no amount of text would have been enough to describe the complexity and ferocity that dwelled within and Rolf needed to know, he simply needed to understand how she worked, and the sentiment burned in his eyes like wildfire as he gazed at her, his fingers still carefully tracing over the canvas.

His elbow pulled back ever so slightly when he felt her fingers upon his and Rolf narrowed his eyes in confusion when the touch remained light, any hints of violence remaining absent. Instead of pulling his hand away, the woman simply allowed his hand to remain where it was, her chest rising in steady rhythm with her breathing. Rolf allowed his gaze to move up and regard the viridian eyes once more and his head tilted to the side in confusion when he attempted to read the sentiments confined within, but failed to discover the things he was expecting to find. He had seen fury burning in those irises, along with utter contempt, jeering amusement and forlorn sadness, but he had never witnessed the look that now dominated Riedel's eyes and it caused something foreign flicker within the man's chest for a moment. He did not enjoy seeing such an expression on the woman's face and he had no inkling why he should have felt that way; he could not even identify the emotional state the woman was going through and still it was somehow managing to make him feel almost uncomfortable. He shook the feeling off, focusing his thoughts on the small drops of the woman's sweat snaking over his fingers instead and when he felt her pushing his hand away, he complied silently, allowing his hand drop to his side while his gaze remained on her.

Much to his surprise, he saw Riedel's hand going for her belt and she unbuckled it in complete silence, the woman's face frozen into an expression of cold gravity and Rolf's intense curiosity now switched places with confusion. He watched the woman dangling the belt between her fingers, as if she was hesitating to allow it drop and as if this simple action would have initiated some dangerous chain reaction that would have been impossible to stop. The silver eyes of the hunter narrowed and the corner of the man's mouth drew into an almost invisible sneer, yet he did not want to break the moment with words and instead, merely stood in front of her and observed the events as they unfolded. The belt fell upon the ground with a faint metallic clink and Rolf could see that something was lost within the woman the moment she released her hold of that belt, her fingers moving decisively upon her tunic to unfasten the buttons. Rolf had not been expecting quite as detailed answer to his question as the woman was offering him, yet he could not claim that it wasn't a pleasant surprise, even in all of its esoterism. He watched as her fingers pried open the buttons nimbly, first opening up the tunic and then moving on to unbutton the shirt she wore beneath it and Rolf's eyes remained on the sight, hungry and attentive, not wanting to miss any aspect of the unexpected presentation. A more familiar flicker of flames visited the woman's viridian eyes for a brief moment, fueling the woman with renewed strength and the movements of her fingers became more decisive, ferociously ripping open the buttons and moving the canvas of the opened shirt away to reveal a layer of linen that lay beneath. Rolf's breathing had become faster and he stared at the sight, the man swallowing hard as his eyes flicked from the white canvas to her eyes.

It was obvious that she had realized the futility of her situation, dropping any further games in the simple knowledge that the man would not be turned away by them. The sudden hatred that emanated within her was now melding away, her facial features touched by something else instead. Her eyebrows curved above her eyes in an almost desperate manner, the irises gleaming with something Rolf could only hazily remember seeing once before. It had been that moment in the hospital when she had been suffering from nightmares and suddenly awoken, gasping out her brother's name as she had jolted up on her bed, and for a brief moment there had been something more vulnerable within, something that was related to the emotional state she was going through right now. It was similar, yet not the same, and Rolf's gaze travelled over her facial features almost desperately in an effort to find out what she was feeling. Even her voice sounded foreign when she spoke, drained of the proud strength he was so used to hearing in her tone, and she asked him why he had meddled into her life and what he wanted with her. Rolf's face was set into an serious expression, his lips slightly parted and only his eyes carrying a sentiment clear enough to be deciphered; his grey eyes gleamed with that continuous curiosity that had dominated his actions since the moment he had decided to trace her origins and it was an almost childish inquisitiveness void of any malice or treachery.

The sentiment lasted for a small while as Rolf stared at her, but then the man's lips curved into a slanted smile and his eyes sparked with mirth at her question. She had asked the same thing before and Rolf had answered that he did not know the answer any better than the woman herself did, but now... Things were quite different, weren't they? What could he possibly want wasn't the actual question and it was what he could possess that he should have been contemplating on. His mind had been so occupied in solving the mystery behind Riedel that he had not really contributed time to consider how he would use the knowledge to his advantage and this was the first time he realized what horizons now lay wide open before him. He wished to possess her, in ways he could not even begin understanding and what could have possibly given him a better chance to fulfill this desire than the power he held over her now? Several enticing scenarios were running through his mind now, all of them the woman would have most likely found quite uncomfortable, indeed, but something within his mind soothed him, telling him it was better not to hurry instead of rushing into any decisions quite yet. He had time.

The smile on Rolf's lips widened and he allowed the thick silence between them to continue as he merely raised his hand once more, his fingertips carefully touching the layer of linen around the woman's chest, just to confirm the presence of metal beneath it. A low, almost satisfied growl formed within the man's throat and his eyes moved greedily over the woman's body, concealed as it still was, a gallant conqueror enjoying the fruits of his victory. He withdrew his hand from the thin layer of metal, his eyes languidly rising to meet her gaze once more. "Was will ich...?" the man repeated in a hoarse mockery of the words he had pronounced earlier in another time and place. His eyebrows raised slowly and the man's eyes flashed with malignant force as he continued recalling the discussion from the hospital. "Was soll nicht über Sie dort wollen?" Rolf's smile now appeared nothing short of suggestive and he allowed his expression to remain this way as his hands snaked to grasp the sides of Riedel's open shirt, the man taking a step closer and bringing his face just a few centimeters away from hers. Rolf tilted his head to the side, making sure that the woman could feel his breath upon her skin and hear the raspily whispered words that left his lips. "Ich kann an einige Dinge denken ich könnte unterhaltend finden," the man suggested with a feral sneer, as if he was hoping to brand the woman's mind with nothing but the burning force of his statement. For that moment, he wanted her to feel that desperation his promise must have created within her, the woman trapped like a wild animal within a cage, left to the whims of her captor.

He breathed in her scent deeply, his fingers still curled around the edges of her open shirt and Rolf's eyes closed for a small moment as he relished in her presence, not wanting to see it as much as he wanted to just experience it. Her disguise was throwing him off, even if he still knew the true nature of the person beneath the uniform, but he would have still rather imagined her the way he had become accustomed to. He stood still, bringing his face closer to hers, his lips lingering almost close enough to touch the side of her face and suddenly his heartbeats grew faster. The smell of sweat and dust were evident in her scent, yet he could also discern the more familiar fragrance that lingered beneath, faint, but distinct enough for him to pick up. Rolf's fingers ran down the edges of the shirt and the man opened his eyes slowly, bringing his head away from hers just so that he could witness the look in her eyes for those brief seconds he stood there, silent and strangely mischievous. Something glinted within his gaze, but then the man only smiled more widely and directed his attention towards his fingers instead as they started nimbly buttoning up her shirt, working fast and effective. "Sollten Sie nicht mit diesem Zeug irgendwie sorgfältiger sein?" the man questioned, glancing up at the woman only briefly. "Sie wollen nicht den kompletten 21. Panzer über Ihre kleine Abweichung weiß." The last word was accompanied by a crooked smile and Rolf tilted his head to the side as he concentrated on clasping yet another button upon the woman's shirt. "Muss wirklich beschwerlich sein, etwas wie diese Unterseite Ihre Kleidung in den Temperaturen tragend, die wir hier haben. Ich glaube, dass etwas von Ihrem... Stimmungen erklärt," Rolf suggested, allowing a small chuckle to escape from his lips at the knowledge that such a claim would work only to irritate her, but that she was also chained by her secret.

Clasping the final button on the top of the shirt, Rolf straightened out the collar briefly, finally allowing his arms to move away from the woman, folding them in front of his chest instead. The man tilted his chin down and arched his eyebrows at the woman, silver irises regarding Riedel from under the sharp brows. The smile had by now vanished, expelled to the corners of the man's mouth, where it waited eagerly for another reason to manifest itself, the desire glinting clear within the Hauptmann's gleaming eyes. "Ich denke, dass Sie erfahren sollten, wie man nett zukünftig, Riedel spielt. Alles, was ich tun muss, soll von Ihrer Täuschung andeuten und Ihnen an eine Kontrolluntersuchung senden, um Ihre Verkleidung gekommen zu haben, unten hinsichtlich Minuten zerbröckelnd. Ich weiß, dass Sie hart gearbeitet haben müssen, um das weit zu kommen und sich zu behelfen, so lange Sie haben, so denke ich, dass das Aufrechterhalten Ihrer gegenwärtigen Position für Sie aus beliebigem Grund wichtig ist," the man shrugged casually, yet the look in his eyes sharpened upon the notion and he narrowed them, that unbridled curiosity sparking within once more. "Warum ist es, dass Sie sogar etwas wie das irgendwie tun würden? Werden Sie dem Heimatland so höchst gewidmet, oder ist es gerade - Nein. Wartet, es hat etwas um mit Ihrer Familie zu tun, stimmt das?" the man asked with a hungry force, his silver eyes boring into hers in search of the answers he needed to possess and which were required to satisfy the relentless fires burning within him. She had provided him with the kindlings, but her help in keeping the flames was no longer needed and the inferno had taken a will of its own, devouring each one of her words and actions like purest gasoline.


Translations:

"Was will ich...?"
"What do I want...?"

"Was soll nicht über Sie dort wollen?"
"What isn't there to want about you?"

"Ich kann an einige Dinge denken ich könnte unterhaltend finden."
"I can think of a few things I might find entertaining."

"Sollten Sie nicht mit diesem Zeug irgendwie sorgfältiger sein?"
"Shouldn't you be more careful with this stuff, anyway?"

"Sie wollen nicht den kompletten 21. Panzer über Ihre kleine Abweichung weiß."
"You don't want the entire 21st Panzer knowing about your little deviation."

"Muss wirklich beschwerlich sein, etwas wie diese Unterseite Ihre Kleidung in den Temperaturen tragend, die wir hier haben. Ich glaube, dass etwas von Ihrem... Stimmungen erklärt."
"Must really be cumbersome, wearing something like this underneath your clothes in the temperatures we have here. I guess that explains some of your... moods."

"Ich denke, dass Sie erfahren sollten, wie man nett zukünftig..."
"I think you should learn how to play nice from now on, Riedel. All I need to do is to hint at your deceit and send you to a medical examination to have your disguise come crumbling down in the matter of minutes. I know you must have worked hard to come this far and to manage as long as you have, so I think that maintaining your current position is important to you, for whatever reason."

"Warum ist es, dass Sie sogar etwas wie das irgendwie tun würden..?"
"Why is it that you'd even do something such as this, anyway? Are you so intensely dedicated to the Fatherland, or is it just- No. Wait, it has something to do with your family, doesn't it?"

[Dirk Riedel]

She was too absorbed at the moment by these sentiments that had grasped a firm hold around her heart to observe the keen, infantile curiosity forming in his eyes upon watching her – sentiments she had rarely felt before, as traces of despair and anguish at present overrode any other trail of fury and indignation that still enveloped her mind. Despair and anguish were sentiments the woman had only felt in the battles of the 21. Panzer against the enemy’s troops, when her own soldiers had placed their lives in jeopardy, when she was utterly helpless in defending them despite her attempts to protect and shield them from the foreign artillery, when they, wounded or deceased, lay in her arms as she in silence stood, useless and carrying the weight of tons on her back as she stared back at their spastic or lifeless bodies. Then Dirk Riedel truly felt the pangs of horror and panic beating wildly against her ribcage with the drums of war reminding her, in a crescendo of combating melodies, of how insignificant she was and how empty the promises she would give them were; promises to look after them, promises that allowed the smallest trace of hope to blossom that they would see their country and reunite with their kinsfolk. It was during those times that the woman exhibited an utterly different face to the one others had mostly been accustomed to meeting and, so it were, that whenever they received negative news from the High Command she would swallow down and bury deeply into the sand any feeling of disquiet that came to tremble her thoughts, determined as she was to set an example for the rest of them and be a pillar of strength they could be inspired from. Serving as a commissioned officer was a duty she upheld most honourably and, indeed, she intended to do nothing more or less but meet each and every demand she was expected to fulfill with that rank, in turn having the right to demand this from her subordinates. This was an efficiently well-functional relationship she had established with her soldiers and, despite the hardest of days during which they had to suffer through her temperament, affected as it could have been by the drawbacks brought forward by the enemies, they respected and followed her for what she was when she was with them, rather than the insignificant, good-natured deceit she presented them with every second of the day.

And thus, what mostly mattered to her was hardly a pilot’s antics and his arrogant ways insofar the time outside her military obligations were concerned, for that time was sacred and she would have never allowed to be disrupted – so much less by the likes of someone too self-possessed and thoughtless to consider the extended implications of his present actions: by slowly pulling a rope around her neck – as she now felt he was doing – and threatening to suffocate her he was also threatening to disturb her behaviour in the military due to the psychological pressure he was inflicting upon her, even if his conduct was chiefly aimed at the time of leave. It did not matter that his words – inappropriate and rude as they were from the open blackmail he had so graciously offered her with – meant to aggravate her had they actually possessed any form of significance, had she been able to simply brush them aside as though they were a little less than filth which needed to be disposed of lest the entire residence be infected. As it so had happened all the previous times of their communication. Now, however, and rather unexpectedly so, a change had come to bring tidal waves of disruption to the status quo of their former means of interaction, for, against her will, she could no longer treat him however she wished, she was automatically incapacitated of the benefit of simply ignoring his insolence or punishing him for it, directly and even irreversibly stripped of the leisure to regard him as a mere sphere of existence belonging in some other world aside from her own. At this time she was forced to stare at him and accept him as someone who mattered and, consequently, that this alone had been enough reason to raise him from the rank of an irrelevant bystander to that of the most imperative key factor in her life at the moment. This realization and nothing else – not the touch, the suggestive speech, nor his insolence – was the very reason that distressed her, as her eyes looked back at him with an unblinking gaze, a difficult expression to read, a combination of silent skepticism and indignation, disbelief and mistrust, discontent and bleakness.

Such was the raw power of this realization that she did not move as his fingertips traced the linen clothing in a small, brief form of exploration, neither did she respond when his hands grabbed the edges of her shirt and moved close enough as to make her breathe in from his essence once more, his skin softly tingling the side of her face as he leaned in, speaking to her words that entered her mind with the clarity of his purpose, however indecent and coarse they might have sounded, elucidating the new terms of their future association, for which she had no right to either object or ignore. It was as his voice spoke those same words that had been uttered the other night that her glassy eyes became colder as they stared at the tent at his opposite direction with reflective silence, her mind winding towards another time and place when, even at this moment, she could not begin to understand how he had been able to discover the truth when she had not shared any personal information with him; she had merely spoken of her kinfolk in terms of affection, provided him with a false name, refused to let herself come close enough and simply disregarding him as someone worthless of her time and thought. How had someone as worthless ever achieved to break through the fortress and raise his flag upon the highest standing point for all to see who was the conqueror of the unexplored land? She could remember that night very well, and for a short while time seemed to have frozen as they in stillness stood; perhaps even the air had stopped circulating within the tent, and though her feet stood against the ground she felt as though something had shifted from underneath and she was left unsupported, liable to fall at any given moment, having perhaps forever lost that which had up until now been the guarantee of her deceit: security. The mocking nature of his tone, the lopsided smirk she knew without seeing had adored the corners of his lips, the sheer hunger of power and knowledge he possessed it to a great extent – all she could feel even when she did not look at him, all faintly ringing through her ears but causing her no additional reason of discomfort, as they were to be expected. From the toes of her feet to the tips of her fingers in the hands hanging lifelessly down by her sides numbness reigned, rooting her to the spot, the realization paralyzing her piece by piece.

It was not a tyrant wave of bursting lava rushing through her veins with an invincible force, neither was it a thunderstorm that struck her down with unbefitting misfortune such as the passionate siren calls of savagery, hatred and rage made blossom; rather, it was a slowly spreading disease, infecting her body from one fibre to the other, unhurriedly, painfully, its form ugly and putrid, ravaging every cell at its wake and contaminating the heavy burden she already held on her chest, tinting it with a colour of rotting meat, the movement agonizingly slow until it spread onto her heart, and her eyes gleamed lifelessly. His fierce promise was hanging in the air like a monstrous parasite waiting to infiltrate her body and unite with the disease to complete her plague. Little by little, achingly slow. A small crack formed in her lips as they faintly parted, a rush of coldness chilling the length of her spine which, combined with the extreme weather conditions, for a few moments gave her skin a febrile texture as he stood close still, the dust and sweat mixing to form her essence warming the air within the tent, her insides feeling dry and humid, and the water she needed to dehydrate her mind – to shift the current state of numbness and remobilize her thoughts – was only ever realizing this was nothing else but a dream, finding herself awaking at any moment now. For a second she had even persuaded herself, and waited, for that one second, in her rigid, vacant posture, to wake up. She thought she could discern the surroundings slowly fading, beginning to erase and something pulling her away from the naval in a sudden rush – and yet … all was still the same, and all remained static. Nothing moved, and his very breathing was enough to remind her how real this was – how inescapable.

And the small traces of despair and anguish she had felt were only ever to be small traces at this moment, but little did she know that in due time they would rise in an irrepressible crescendo and fully envelop her once she would come to know the full extent of his promises. How she knew not that the looming days of genuine despair in all of its form were only ever numbered.

She did not feel – and did not show any interest even as she slowly realized – his fingers moving to button up her shirt in ironic imitation of her actions during a time that now seemed to have belonged to ages past, but merely stood there, her green eyes transfixed onto the tent’s surface facing his back, unmoving, unblinking, speaking words, so many words, and yet … not making any sound. Words that did not mean a thing, words that passed through the frozen corners of her mind and which only confirmed what she had already realized. It was when he straightened up her collarbone and eventually pulled his hands away and crossing them in his chest that she began to blink, and only once his lips formed that one wretched little word did her eyes slowly move away from the tent’s canvas to his face, meeting his in a quiet, loathsome union. Her eyes burned unto his, as though suddenly awoken by that simple mention, enough to break through her numbness, profound hatred resurfacing on her face even despite its frozen composure. “Tun Sie nicht Sie wagen jemals von ihnen mit Ihrem schmutzigen Mund zu sprechen,” she said, and when she spoken her voice sounded as though she had not drank water for days, and though the tone had almost lost its strength the seething revulsion underneath was still perceptible.

And without another word or explanation, she quickly buttoned up her tunic and then slowly moved away to bend over and grasp the belt from the ground, her fingers tightly circling around the leather as she looked at it with her head slightly bowed, standing only a few steps away from him in silence, her lips drawn in a stiff, straight line and her breathing coming out quietly, slowly, her chest heaving almost calmly with the burden she carried and her eyes emotionless and yet so very skeptical and bleak, the sweat of her fingers gluing against the belt’s back as she pulled it towards her stomach with the intend to fasten it around her waist – when, precisely at that moment, with a rushing sensation the strip of leather cut through the thickened air between them, razor-sharp, quick and brutal in its wake, and thrashed across his face with a violent force that threw his head to the side, as she unleashed her minimal punishment upon his arrogant figure, and with a second lash she whipped him across the entire length of his neck to bring the air of superiority to an incisive end, the force of life within her suddenly rising from its ashes once more in the form of feral hatred come to right the wrong, until she brought the belt down by her side, her glare ferocious through her curved eyebrows and her lips parted as she breathed in deeply, raising her hand once more to inflict the same pain –

But she only threw him one last hateful glance before she violently brought the belt around her waist and she stormed out of the tent, and into the sun.



Translation

Don’t you ever dare speak of them with your filthy mouth.

[Rolf Jäger]

Passiveness seemed to be the woman's way of coping with the threat and she stood in her place neutral and unmoving, her eyes directed somewhere past the Hauptmann. She had responded to his bold advances in a similar way before and Rolf wondered whether she was paralyzed by either surprise or horror or if she was merely imagining herself in another place and time where the man simply did not exist. Whatever was going on inside her head, it mattered little at the moment, and her entire existence now rested solely on the Hauptmann's shoulders. As much as he was suggesting that he would use the newly gained edge to demean the woman in the worst way imaginable, he did not actually feel like going to such lengths at the time. It would have been far too simple, tempting as it was, and Rolf felt that it would have ruined things for him, even when on further introspection he was not sure what kind of things he was actually referring to. He would have rather taken the time to examine the situation and to get some answers, although he still could not resist pestering the woman with his little lies. It was a shame he could not see her squirm and that Riedel was dampening all of his fun by remaining so very neutral, but he could at least imagine the turmoil writhing inside that strong frame of hers and it provided him with a faint sense of satisfaction.

When Rolf moved to casually button the woman's shirt, she still failed to show any signs of interest towards his words or actions and only when he pulled away from her to regard the woman better, did the gaze of the viridian eyes finally regard him. The stare of those poisonous irises had suddenly grown dangerous and feral, enough to drive away the pleasantly purring thoughts of his enticing little games and causing the man to frown at this disruption of his victory. The hoarsely spoken words dropped from her lips like deadly bullets, warning Rolf even through her precarious and hopeless situation. The man arched an eyebrow at her, wondering whether he had not made his stance clear enough for Riedel and if she needed more convincing of the fact Rolf was ready to walk up to the proper authorities and report her, should she grow unruly. He would have enjoyed proving her just how powerless she was and how deep the newly installed collar could be made to cut into her skin, but he was putting her behaviour on the account of initial shock and decided to let it pass. He wanted to take his time and not rush into things before he had fully explored all of the opportunities available to him. Instead of answering her, the man merely scoffed, tilting his chin up higher to communicate his complete indifference to her threats; she was not in any position to spit such words at him and having him mention something sacred to her was the least of her worries, anyway.

The man stood in the middle of the tent, arms folded in front of his chest, his stature almost over-bearing as he watched the woman button the sand-coloured tunic and bend down to pick up the discarded belt. He wanted to feel as if she was now his possession and he tried to grasp at the notion to make it his own, but something was off about it. No matter how diligently he attempted to shape that thought to his preference, it kept eluding him, as if somewhere in the deep reaches of his mind he knew that something was still... missing. He did not know what exactly needed changing and it was clear that he held all the aces in his hand and he slowly decided that he simply needed more time to get used to his new position of power.

The woman was focusing on putting on her belt while Rolf watched her actions almost absentmindedly, his mind a continuous torrent of questions he needed to ask her, and he was spending this brief silence in trying to separate at least some of his thoughts from the unruly herd. She had left his previous question unanswered, anyway, and he could only guess that his initial guess had then struck its mark. Rolf needed to inquire about it further and he drew breath in preparation of properly voicing out the question, when he heard something cut through the air and the next thing he could make sense of was the burning pain on the other side of his face. The force of the strike threw his head aside and the man grunted, only barely realizing that the woman had lashed at him with the belt. Rolf's hand shot instinctively to his face and he winced, gasping from the pain as it shot fast through his nerves, the agony rendering him unable to register the sound of the belt as it pierced through the air a second time, just to connect with his neck. The man had closed his eyes on a primal instinct to protect them and, without really choosing to do so, raised his hand in front of him in a defensive manner. Pain was travelling through his skin in angry, burning waves and the man gasped at the sensation, cracking his eyes open and glancing at the woman from under his brows, just to see her standing in front of him in a more familiar form, savage and defiant. Rolf blinked, his lips parted and his eyes full of confusion, the man's breathing coming in faster gasps while he was still attempting to come to terms with the turn of events.

A red welt was already forming on the man's left cheek as he stood up straighter, an angry sneer forming quickly in the corner of his mouth while his eyes blazed with new-found fury over the woman's insolence. Was she thinking that Rolf was making empty threats or had she just gone plain out of her mind? She was in no position to even talk back at Rolf and she had even less grounds to met such punishment upon him, as bleak and controlled as her future appeared. The confusion was giving away to anger quickly and Rolf dropped the hand from his cheek, his fingers curling into tights fists and his lips drawing up to reveal a set of angrily gritted teeth. They stared at each other like two hungry beasts of the wild, a savage growl rising from the Hauptmann's throat while Riedel still brandished her makeshift whip, the fury within her green irises matching that of his. It seemed that nothing would have brought them more satisfaction than lunging at each other's throats, to have a final battle of dominance and to separate the follower from the leader, and like an attacking canine, Rolf's posture dropped slightly lower the moment he saw the woman's hand shifting and preparing for another attack.

Instead of attempting to strike him the third time, Riedel's hand moved to clip the belt around her waist instead and the next moment she already turned away from him, walking outside and disappearing into the blinding light of the sun. Rolf stared after her, the feral snarl still frozen on his lips as his mind prodded him towards taking action, demanding for him to return to the pain with equal measures. The man's head snapped to the other side in a fast, angry manner and he brought his hand up to touch the red welt upon his cheek, the injury already starting to flare clearer against his skin. Even the light touch of his fingertips made him wince and Rolf's eyes flicked back towards the entrance of the tent, the man already intent on finding out Riedel's commanding officer and betraying to him the true nature of Leutnant Riedel. He took a decisive step towards the entrance, then another, but on the third step he already hesitated and frowned, as if someone invisible had suddenly tugged him by the sleeve and told him to consider once more.

He would go to the officials and tell them about Riedel, but then what? Everyone would go ballistic, of course. Riedel would be accused of a crime and shipped away from Africa to be judged by the courts in Germany. The game would end and Rolf would be the winner. But what would his victory yield him other than the brief satisfaction of having brought on the woman's demise? Rolf breathed out deeply to steady himself and his eyebrows furrowed when he realized that he did not wish for to have her leave and that he, somewhat begrudgingly, considered such a fate to be unfitting for someone such as Riedel. She was far too special to be ensnared and judged by such cheap means, a quarry too noble to be cornered and shot like some common beast. The man sneered at his own thoughts, trying to catch the traces of his anger to make the easiest decision, but he had already allowed himself to think about her and the true consequences of his actions. He could recall her viridian eyes amidst the pale skin, the soft touch of her fingertips and the proud glint within her irises when that soft touch suddenly turned feral, her punishments swift and precise. How had he expected her to react, anyway? With tears? Pleading? He already knew that those were simply out of the question when it came to her and the anger within him was soothed, involuntarily and unexpectedly. The green eyes glinted in front of his vision, amused, and Rolf held his breath, gritting his teeth together at the infuriating image.

"Scheiße!" the word came in a hoarse rasp and Rolf swayed in his spot, trying to will his boots into moving and putting an end to the farce that was slowly but surely enclosing him into a cage of his own thoughts. He felt as if he had fallen into a wolf pit and no matter how furiously he attempted to claw his way out of it, the rain-drenched walls of black earth around him were far too steep and slippery to climb. He could only gnash his teeth together and howl his rage at the trap, but it stood blind and unresponsive to both threats and violence, only allowing him to glance at his looming salvation from amidst the darkness, never granting it to him.

When the man finally stepped out into the sunlight and felt its warmth through his clothes, the landscape around him felt nothing but a mockery of freedom, a desolate illusion of things he was to never have. The soldiers around him were pale spirits, mindlessly repeating the tasks they knew from their previous existence and the blue sky seemed colourless, the dusty air around him void of both odor and taste. At the bottom of the pit the freshly trapped beast raged on, trashing against the confines of its enclosure, the once proud howl of supremacy dying within its throat and hopelessly lost in the endless labyrinths of its mind.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Rolf Jäger - 16CP

Dirk Riedel - 15CP

-JT