No, I'm Alpha Male

[Dirk Riedel]

Country: Libya, Africa
Current Time: 11:45 p.m., April 1941
Weather Conditions: Smokin’ hot!


The African wilderness lay open and unconquered through the mists of time, devouring all savagery in her insatiable mouth, drying the blood of hundreds of warriors across the centuries through her endless sands and, through the ultimate call of gravity, siphoned the red liquid deep in the ground so that the platonic plates could drink from it in the same way that gods savoured ambrosia and nectar, to be eventually washed out in the Mediterranean sea. And as the moon would cascade down and meet the waters in what appeared a most uncommon union, she would wear the gown of blood upon her silver livery and travel the skies with it, in what people assumed was only the moon changing into magnificent shade of deep orange and magenta in the evening as it touched low onto the sea. And then silence. Circles of grey smoke enveloped the figure sat upon the edge of a pile of old, overused tires laying a few metres away from the nearest tent in the makeshift barracks, white fingers loosely curled around the burning cigarette as the soldier stared at the light blue firmament, dusk enshrouding him and loneliness, as he stood in his position with his body slightly bent forwards and his elbow resting on his lap, jackboots sank lower in the sand, silently smoking in reverie. A crescent moon could only barely be observed hanging overhead, ever pale and shy making a feeble appearance early that April’s warm evening. It was quiet, as most soldiers had either retreated into their tents to rest after a hard day’s worth of training or lay around in the other side of the region on the ground and the bushes, eating from canned meat and talking, reading letters, or simply quietly watching the darkening sky. But Dirk could not sleep. As weary, bloodshot eyes stared at the horizon, his fingers instinctively pushed up the sleeves slightly upwards and rubbed the skin of his wrists, across which the thin line of his recent bruises still felt sore and raw.

Even a week later, he could not forget the words equally bruised into his brain, words which left him secretly restless and tense whenever the occasion came to sit by himself or rest in the night, otherwise he was too pre-occupied with offensive plans and attacks over in the frontlines to give a second thought to the unpredictable encounter; but when the moment came and the soldiers of the 21st division were given some time to breathe at ease, these very thoughts consumed his being and almost claimed a minimal part of his rationality and prudence for which he had always been commended for, and still, the distinct words echoed around his brain in monotonous repetition, as though to corner and eventually conquer him. No more can you command a hunter to cease hunting, Riedel. There had been something particular to the tone of voice and the prominent sound with which these words had been uttered, and most upsetting of all was the lingering promise hanging in the air, surrounding him and still threatening to dissolve everything he had worked for thus far into a state of utter chaos and disorder, leading up to the discovery of the true identity behind such falsehood at this time presented; the tone with which he had pronounced the name ‘Riedel’, foretokening the fatal familiarity with which he was soon to address the Leutnant, the final breaking of the code name, the answer to the enigma. And then, there had been something odd glistening dangerously in the arrogant Hauptmann’s steely eyes – a solemn glint of foreboding – as though to suggest the man’s days as a Leutnant were bleak and numbered, as though to warn him that, disguise under the appearance of a male though he may for a period of almost three years, his double nature would be finally revealed, and the unfortunate prey ultimately subjugated – by a vain, selfish hunter no less. The Leutnant’s inscrutable eyes looked down upon his wrists at the thought, considering what a shame it should have been to be made to submit to an arrogant aristocrat when he suddenly heard his name being called by one of his soldiers; the Sergeant had come out from the tent and, standing a few metres away from him, informed his superior they had received intelligence of an incoming sandstorm and suggested the Leutnant enter the tent with the rest of them – words distantly absorbed by the Leutnant as he was consumed in meditation, and he merely nodded his head without turning over to look at him or making any further signal of recognition. The Sergeant returned to his tent and Dirk finished his cigarette in peace.

The noise from the sandstorm, lasting throughout the entire night, did not suffice to inconvenience or annoy the soldiers as they slept inside the quickly placed tents – so exhausted were they from their most recent trip up to the front lines, and yet one of them was still lying awake in the darkness, for she, a spirit of nature, stayed to listen to the sound of the sandstorm sweeping everything at its way, eyes fixed at the old photograph tightly held within his hands. And through the darkness the man was still able to discern the figure’s outline if only from memory, and though his body was perfectly still and unmoving, his heart was beating fast against his ribcage – and something gripped tightly onto his chest, something heavy and strong he found himself incapacitated of ridding. Please, give me strength, she pleaded, eyes absorbed into her father’s face in the photograph for moments on end before she carefully stowed it back into her pocket and, with her arm resting on the side of her face, fell into a dreamless sleep.

“Albrecht! Kampfer! Menner? Menner! Sturman?”

The commotion in the division’s barracks the following morning from the organized movement was constant and blaring, vehicles moving in order and the sounds of mechanics fixing up any faulty half-tracks overfilling the hot and humid air; in vain did Leutnant Riedel call after his soldiers and stride around the barracks in an attempt to find them, for they were, quite simply, nowhere to be found. Dirk could not tolerate this for the training would commence early that morning within a few minutes, as the soldiers were to be accustomed to the newly introduced heavy mortar that was to replace the 10 cm Nebelwerfer 35: the Nebelwerfer 40, an innovative longer-ranged mortar that need not be disassembled in transport. The Leutnant had been looking quite forward to meeting the beautiful piece of weaponry in person but at the present moment his eyebrows were fiercely curved over his tired eyes and his face adopted the sharpness of a hawk as he passed through the area, searched through tents, looked inside vehicles – but the chances of seeing the missing soldiers anywhere were as high as a decapitated hedgehog.

“Herr Leutnant,” a young Unteroffizier spoke, running after the Leutnant until he finally reached him, “die Soldaten des 4. Zugs sind auf dem Lehrhof, nicht fünfzig Metern weg von hier, gerade als Sie bestellten.”

“Nein, vier werden vermisst,” the Leutnant responded curtly, looking at the younger man importunately. “Obergefreiter Albrecht, Schütze Kampfer, Schütze Menner und Schütze Sturman. Wo sind sie?”

“Ich … habe keine Idee, Herr Leutnant,” the Unteroffizier said, slightly frowning.

“Was meinen Sie, dass Sie keine Idee haben, Alfred, wo im Namen des Teufels konnten sie sein?” the Leutnant impatiently demanded, and looked around him as both men strode across the sand, Riedel leading the way and Alfred Gartman following suit.

“Sprechen wir über Friedrich und seine Jungen?” an Unterfeldwebel suddenly interrupted them as he came right in front of the two men, biting leisurely on his green apple and accompanied by a close friend of his. “Sie wurden durch einen Fantasiedummkopf herbeigerufen, was für sein Name, Kronberg oder etwas war, erinnere ich mich nicht.”

Dirk frowned. “Wer zum Teufel ist Kronberg?”

“Ich weiß nicht,” the Unterfeldwebel simply said, and shrugged, but at this point the Leutnant felt quite frustrated and irritated still.

“Ein Mann kommt und nimmt meine Soldaten irgendwo, und niemand weiß, wo er sie genommen hat, oder wer zum Teufel er ist?” he demanded bitingly, glaring at him even if such an action, known by the soldiers now, was never to be seen as hostile but more so as a trait of the Leutnant’s self-controlled personality which wanted anything military to be in perfect order.

“Oh, ich weiß wo er sie genommen hat, Herr Leutnant, warum nicht tat fragen Sie – zum Flugplatz!” he announced almost in a merry tone, and took a large chunk from his apple.

Suffice it to say, the Leutnant was not impressed.

“Sagen Sie das wieder.”

“Zu … der Flugplatz, Herr Leutnant?” the Unterfeldwebel hesitated, his mouth slowly pulled away from his apple as he glanced at his superior, his face unconfident and anticipating a negative reaction any given moment now as the Leutnant’s vein popped in his neck at the sound of that very last word – the airfield.

“Und was zum Teufel ist ein dicker flieger mit einem Trupp von Infanteristen verbunden, Mathias?” he spoke in a dangerously calm, slow voice as he eyed the man expectantly.

“Er sagte, dass er etwas Arbeit für sie hatte … Herr Leutnant.”

“Arbeit.”

“Ja, Herr Leutnant.”

“Welcher Arbeit?”

“Er sagte nicht, Herr Leutnant.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Alfred, vertreten Sie mich, während ich weg bin,” the Leutnant finally spoke in a quick, brisk tone as he turned around and strode across the hot sand in the opposite direction without another word of explanation – the rest of the soldiers immediately alerted as they glanced at one another briefly before Alfred hastened to call after, “Wann werden Sie zurück sein, Herr Leutnant?”

“Wenn ich einige Köpfe vergipst auf einem Teller wie Pilatus habe,” the distant voice came as sharp as a razorblade and as intolerant as the Führer’s attitude towards the Jewish population. Soon enough, the man had vanished in the crowd.

“Warum taten Sie nichts?” Alfred demanded from Mathias in an annoyed tone, and shoved him with his elbow.

“Sind Sie ernst, ich war erschrocken, dass Ding dabei war, auf mir zu sitzen!” the other man complained in self-defense, and then they all laughed.

“Ein Paket von Zigaretten und einem kalten Glas von Bier, dass die Rinden von Leutnant von hier den ganzen Weg nach Deutschland gehört werden.”

Alfred turned to look at Mathias with interest.

“Machen Sie es zwei Glas Bier den ganzen Weg nach Rio.”

“Geschäft.”

It did not take a long time – in fact, less than a quarter – to reach the barracks of the Luftwaffe forces as the man strode through the sand and amidst the overwhelming heat, feeling the sweat form underneath his military uniform and still, due to the situation, completely oblivious to any such inconvenience, his mind racing in flames and his fists clenched as he arrived at the tents in the camp. Walking around he asked a Flieger passing by where a Luftwaffe officer by the name of Kronberg was and, after experiencing a second dose of irritation upon discovering the flyboy had not only borrowed some of his men in the spur of the moment but he had not even cherished the rank of an officer to excuse such an action, he was directed at the place Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg was to be found and, soon enough, the Leutnant was standing right behind him, his arms crossed and his face bearing controlled fury and intolerance such as to suggest, perhaps, it would be a good idea not to cross paths with the soldier in question throughout that day. Dirk immediately noticed – with a sneer, no less – the short, stocky appearance of a man in his tropical Luftwaffe uniform and was furthermore infuriated at the fact someone like him had the audacity to claim the tall, well-built soldiers of the Wehrmacht in such a shameless way.

“Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg,” Dirk demanded in a loud, firm and crystal clear tone that rang through the other man’s ears as he turned around to face the Wehrmacht officer, “wo die Soldaten des 4. Zugs sind – ” he started to ask when suddenly the painful image of his men in the near distance pushing up the planes from the soft sand unto harder ground hit him right in the head; he blinked, perhaps thinking it was a hallucination from the hot temperatures but, alas – “ Sind Sie, um echt zu bumsen!” he roared, eyes open wide in disbelief staring at the spectacle before him. He instantly turned around and his eyes burned deeply into the short man’s face with striking force. “Sie nahmen einen Trupp von Infanteristen im Flugplatz gerade, so können sie weg für Sie schuften? Sie denken, dass sie nichts besser haben, um zu tun? Werden Sie im Kopf, Flieger vergeudet? Vielleicht hat zu viel Luft dort Ihr Gehirn nebelig gemacht - Sie haben das Recht nicht, solche Anrufe zu machen, Sie haben meine Erlaubnis auch nicht! Wer ist Ihr Vorgesetzter? Ich bin dabei, Sie anzuzeigen, wegen die Soldaten des Reichs von ihrer Ausbildung zu versperren, dann werde ich sicherstellen, dass Sie die Ruhe Ihres verdammten Lebens ausgeben werden, das Kartoffeln schält und Pisse von Gefängnistoiletten schrubbt, Sie hören mich?” he bellowed, towering over the other man.

And so, the barks were heard all the way to Rio.



Translation

Herr Leutnant, the soldiers of the 4th platoon are on the training yard, not fifty metres away from here, just as you ordered.

No, four are missing. Obergefreiter Albrecht, Schütze Kampfer, Schütze Menner and Schütze Sturman. Where are they?

I … have no idea, Herr Leutnant.

What do you mean you have no idea, Alfred, where in the devil’s name could they be?

Are we talking about Friedrich and his boys? They were called in by some fancy fathead, whatever his name was, Kronberg or something, I don’t remember.

Who the hell is Kronberg?

I don’t know.

A man comes and takes my soldiers somewhere and nobody knows where he’s taken them or who the hell he is?

Oh, I know where he’s taken them, Herr Leutnant, why didn’t you ask – to the airfield!

Say that again.

To … the airfield, Herr Leutnant?

And what the hell does a thick flyboy have to do with a squad of infantrymen, Mathias?

He said he had some work for them … Herr Leutnant.

Work.

Yes, Herr Leutnant.

What kind of work?

He didn’t say, Herr Leutnant.

Alfred, cover for me while I’m gone.

When will you be back, Herr Leutnant?

When I have some heads plastered on a plate like Pilatus.

Why didn’t you do anything?

Are you serious, I was afraid that thing was going to sit on me!

A packet of cigarettes and a cold glass of beer that the Leutnant’s barks will be heard from here all the way to Germany.

Make it two beers all the way to Rio.

Deal.

Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg, where are the soldiers of the 4th platoon – Are you for fucking real! You took a squad of infantrymen in the airfield just so they can slave away for you? You think they don’t have anything better to do? Are you wasted in the head, flyboy? Maybe too much air up there has made your brain hazy – you don’t have the right to make such calls, you don’t have my permission, either! Who’s your superior? I am going to report you for obstructing the Reich’s soldiers from their training, then I’ll make sure you’ll spend the rest of your damn life peeling potatoes and scrubbing piss from prison toilets, you hear me?

[Rolf Jäger]

Several hands grasped at the wings and sides of a Messerschmitt Bf 109 and muscles were strained as the wheels, having dug into the soft sand, slowly started moving, the combined efforts of the fine German soldiers finally freeing the metallic raptor from its dusty trap. Accompanied by groans and curses from the men pushing the aircraft upon harder ground, the fighter was slowly maneuvered to accompany other ones of its kind in a neat, straight line of German fighters and the soldiers, sweating profusely under the harsh Libyan sun, rested their hands against the desert camouflaged bulk of the Messerschmitt, momentarily exhausted by the effort. The makeshift airstrip was full of action, with some of the fighters being revealed from under protective tarpaulins after the nightly sandstorm, while some were freed from the loose sand and others were under close scrutiny by the members of the ground crew. As if it wasn't enough that in Libya, sand tended to naturally find its way everywhere from food rations to one's underwear, it also had the habit of making a fine mess out of the machinery designed to rain death and destruction upon the enemies of the Fatherland. After having received the warning of an incoming sandstorm, the ground crew, assisted by the pilots themselves, had rushed in to try and protect the machinery in any ways they could, but the mechanics weren't going to leave anything to chance and they had been busy with checking and double-checking everything since the first rays of sunlight had stretched over the vast expanses of the desert.

Hauptfeldwebel Walter Kronberg adjusted his Luftwaffe field cap and used the opportunity to wipe the annoying beads of sweat from his brow before they reached his eyes. He glanced at the sun, checking its position to discern the approximate time from the sun, never mind the fact that he owned a perfectly good wrist watch. He felt that his entire morning had consisted of nothing but rushing around in the sand and dust and yelling orders until his voice had turned into a harsh croak. He had managed to return it only with drinking ample amounts of water, just in order to continue barking more commands. Kronberg might have not appeared like the ideal German soldier, what with his slightly stocky and short build, but he had proved himself an able and precise pilot with nerves of steel and an ability to both understand and issue orders, earning him a place on his commanding officer's better side... as far as there was a better side to Hauptmann Rolf Jäger to begin with.

Kronberg cast a quick look towards the small cluster of tents and the group of pilots gathered around into a semi-circle, all of them listening to the briefing concerning their next mission. The Hauptmann had trusted Kronberg with overseeing to the task of getting the fighters free from the soft sand and as much as it showed that he trusted that Kronberg already knew their next mission inside out, Kronberg would have much rather been sitting on one of the crates with all the other pilots instead of trudging in the burning sand. He was sure the Wehrmacht soldiers he had "borrowed" as per the orders of the Hauptmann, weren't too happy with their current tasks either, and he just wanted to get things finished as soon as possible so he could sit down and enjoy a late breakfast before leaving for their sortie.

Life had offered only misery and suffering to Kronberg for the past week, starting from the night when Hauptmann Jäger had returned from some fancy party of military officials. The man had left for the party in a fine mood, sporting the most expensive uniform one could possibly wear for such an occasion and with his boots shined to an immaculate condition, but had returned stumbling, having lost his mess jacket and his bow tie, all of his clothes in a severe state of disarray and appearing as if he had rolled down a very steep, dusty hill. At that time the members of the Gruppe had still been residing in the comfort of four sturdy walls, in an old, white-walled building modified suitable for army use and somewhere in the hours of the early morning, Kronberg had been rudely awoken by a loud thud from the corridor. The source of the sound had been no one else but the Hauptmann himself, flying flat on his face on the wooden floor of the dark corridor, mumbling incoherencies. Kronberg had been certain that the Hauptmann had merely been on one of his more severe drinking binges, but had soon witnessed the small trickle of dried blood on the man's chin, further decorated by the multitude of slowly appearing bruises over his face. Only after Kronberg had mentioned fetching a medic to his aid, had the Hauptmann promptly snapped into some sense of lucidity and he had growled his objections at his wingman, telling Kronberg that should he do so, the Hauptmann would use Kronberg as a makeshift anchor after a Heinkel He 111 and have him dragged in low altitude over some of the rockier wastes of Libya.

It had been enough of persuasion to Kronberg and he had merely assisted the Hauptmann to his quarters, hovering nervously the soon unconscious man, wondering if he still should have acted against his commanding officer's orders. In the end, he had not, and the next morning Hauptmann Jäger had emerged from his quarters, appearing as if he had been trampled by an entire herd of angry camels. He had refused to elaborate on the details of the evening, only stating that he had taken part in a fight, which Kronberg could plainly see himself, anyway. Since then Hauptmann Jäger had been as easily irritable as a bag of wasps, snapping and growling at Kronberg every chance he got, suffering from severe headaches as he was. Even the painkillers Kronberg had kindly procured for the Luftwaffe officer had done little to change the man's mood and after he had further been stricken by randomly appearing dizzy spells, he had been forced to stay on the ground instead of taking part in the sorties. This had only worked to make him all the more intolerable and only this morning had the Hauptmann's mood finally taken a small change to positive, no doubt owing to the fact that he had deemed himself recuperated enough to take part in a mission with his Gruppe again. Even if he still sported the obvious signs of the mysterious incident he had suffered that night, Hauptmann Jäger had been in a much more agreeable mood that morning and not even the nightly sandstorm had managed to bring his spirits down. Of course, Kronberg had been the one bearing the brunt of the man's anger all week and now that the Hauptmann was happily explaining away the details of the next sortie, Kronberg found himself with the task of having to stand in the scorching sun, trying to manage a group of irritated, sleep- and food-deprived soldiers.

The man frowned at his own thoughts, observing as one of the men of the Luftwaffe ground crew sat down on the scorching sand, obviously having decided that he wasn't going to push any more planes free from sand today. Kronberg pointed at him and his voice, as friendly and soft as it naturally was, now carried a polished tone of military strictness to it. "Noch drei gelassen. Auf, soldaten! Sie sind die letzten, beweg dich! Sie auch!" Kronberg pointed at another man who was obviously planning on mimicking his friend and with reluctant growls and mutters, the men set to their task once again. Kronberg nodded, feeling at least somewhat pleased that they would be done soon, but his smug thoughts were interfered by the sudden sense of someone staring at him. He frowned, eyeing the men busy with their tasks and trying to spot the source of this almost supernatural disturbance, when a sharp, angry voice barked his name close enough to make the Hauptfeldwebel jump. Kronberg pivoted around, his expression full of surprise and confusion as he found himself facing a tall Wehrmacht Leutnant and he had to tilt his head up slightly in order to see his face, just to witness the scorching fury in the officer's eyes. The Leutnant had very sharp features that made his harsh expression appear all the more intimidating and, accompanied by the steely edge that dominated his voice, he appeared like the kind of man you didn't want to piss off. Worryingly enough, Kronberg felt as if it was far too late to prevent that from happening and he struggled against the desire to take a few steps back, just to keep the man at a safer distance. The Leutnant went into asking the whereabouts of soldiers of the 4th platoon and by this time Kronberg had snapped into a hasty salute while his mouth opened in order to answer the officer's question, but by then the Leutnant had already spotted his "borrowed" soldiers and the sight made the man explode into a torrent of even sharper words, giving the Hauptfeldwebel no time to defend himself.

Kronberg grimaced slightly and although he held his salute through the Leutnant's entire speech, his eyebrows were now constantly furrowed and the left corner of his mouth drew back at the officer's biting remarks. Working with someone such as Rolf Jäger, Kronberg was used to being yelled at, but the severity and suddenness of the verbal assault from the Leutnant had taken him completely by surprise and he merely stood there, cringing when the man asked about his commanding officers, promising that he would arrange Kronberg peeling potatoes and cleaning toilets for the rest of his life. A small moment of silence passed between them as the Hauptfeldwebel expected the lecture to continue, but then he slowly dropped his salute and cleared his throat in an effort to find his own voice once again. "Herr Leutnant, ich bitten um Verständnis, aber es war mein kommandierender Offizier, der mir sagte, dass ich einige Ihrer Männer leihen konnte, um uns zu helfen, die Jagdflugzeuge vom Sand zu befreien," his excuse sounded pitiful, but it was the only one Kronberg had to offer, although not the entire truth, either. Hauptmann Jäger had not specified Kronberg could borrow this particular Leutnants men and had merely told him that he should go and find "a few of those Wehrmacht soldiers for half an hour or so". Kronberg had merely followed the order and chosen a group of soldiers randomly, after figuring that they had not appeared busy at the time. Still, he realized that the explanation wouldn't be enough to soothe the imposing and alarmingly tall Leutnant and the options of getting out of the mess seemed to be currently slimmed down to one single option.

The Luftwaffe NCO licked his lips and threw a sideways glance towards the briefing that was still in process, returning his eyes promptly back at the seething Leutnant. "Wenn Sie gerade hier für einen Moment, Herr Leutnant warten konnten, werde ich meinen kommandierender Offizier herbeiholen, und ich bin sicher, dass er ... gerade diese Verwirrung sofort erledigen kann. Herr Leutnant," Kronberg tried to appease the officer with another quick salute, before nimbly hurrying towards the group of pilots gathered to observe the tactical map set upon a wooden stand and the constant references the Hauptmann was making on it. Kronberg felt a very strong desire to steal a glance behind him, feeling as if he was running from the jaws of death itself, but he knew it would have appeared stupid and he merely hurried along, his boots kicking up sand as he forced his feet to move even faster. He wasn't sure just what would happen once Hauptmann Jäger would clash with the obviously stern and spirited Wehrmacht Leutnant and for some reason he felt as if he was putting two wolves in one cage, just to see which one would tear open the other one's throat first. Still, it was too late for him to affect any of that now and he could only wince at the thought before coming to a stop near his fellow pilots, feeling the eyes of the Leutnant burning holes into his back.

"...und für die zweite Gruppe teile ich 1. Schwarm des 2. Staffel zu, ich brauche nicht die Details zu Ihnen, dieselben Routinen zu erklären, wie ich gerade vorher durchging. Machen Sie gerade Zeichen, dass die Bomber relativ niedrig fliegen werden, so- Was ist, Kronberg?" the steady, hoarse voice of Hauptmann Jäger took on a sharper tone as the man spotted Kronberg standing at attention behind the group of pilots and everyone's eyes promptly moved to regard the nervous Hauptfeldwebel. The Hauptmann was standing next to his map, a telescopic pointer stick in his hand, his eyes hidden behind a pair of round sunglasses and his face further shadowed by his sand-coloured M43 field cap. He had made an effort of hiding the bruises on his skin by allowing a stubble to grow over them, but his one-week stubble wasn't enough to hide the colourful reminders of the mysterious fight he had allegedly taken part in. As much as the Hauptmann had appeared to be in a better mood this morning, Kronberg found himself hesitating and he cleared his throat once more, nodding his head to the side. "Herr Hauptmann, es gibt einen Wehrmacht Leutnant hier, nach seinen Männern fragend. Die... uns mit den Jagdflugzeugen helfen," Kronberg said almost sheepishly, knowing that in a situation such as this, his tone would only irritate the Hauptmann and he would consider it a sign of weakness, but he was still somewhat shaken by the recent confrontation and just couldn't help it.

A sneer appeared over Rolf Jäger's lips and he growled low in his throat like a hungry canine, considering whether he should tell Kronberg to return to this Leutnant and simply tell him to piss off, or if he should take matters into his own hands. The eyes of the pilots returned back to the Hauptmann, no doubt wondering the same thing. The Hauptmann's injuries had not gone unnoticed by his pilots and everyone had been acting even more carefully around the officer than usually, not one of them even daring to voice out questions or speculations concerning the source of his bruises in situations where there might have been a chance of the Hauptmann overhearing them. Numerous bets and jokes about the bruises had still been made in the man's absence and it had provided the men with a welcome source of amusement and intrigue for the entire week. Rolf's steel-grey eyes narrowed behind the sunglasses for a moment as he considered his choices, the pilots staring at him, Kronberg not even daring to shift his weight from one foot to another as he waited, but then the Hauptmann offered the pointer at the Oberleutnant sitting on one of the wooden crates acting as makeshift seats. "Oberleutnant Wahler, Sie sind mit der Taktik vertraut, beenden die Anweisung für mich, während ich mich mit diesem Leutnant befasse. Danach ergreift jeder etwas, um zu essen, aber sicherzustellen, dass jeder bereit und durch 12.45 versammelt ist," Rolf spoke almost absentmindedly and even though his eyes were hidden by the dark, round lenses of the sunglasses, it was clear that his gaze was locked towards the direction of his latest challenger.

"Kronberg, mit mir," Rolf snapped when he walked past his wingman and the Hauptfeldwebel furrowed his eyebrows as he followed the Hauptmann, easily reading the man's obvious irritation from his swift, purposeful steps - he wasn't sure how the Leutnant would deal with the bruised and easily irritable Hauptmann, but he was sure that whatever would happen next, would certainly be a sight to see and his anxiety was now mixed with some sense of curiosity. Rolf's black boots kicked up clouds of dust and sand and the fingers in his right hand curled into a loose fist as he got closer to the Leutnant, angry words already finding their way upon his tongue. Kronberg could almost sense the dark storm brewing inside the man, gathering force, the first angry streaks of lightning already crisscrossing across the murky skies and he instinctively took a few steps away from the Hauptmann as they walked, the Hautpfeldwebel now trailing slightly behind and to the side of the other man. Rolf had not even quite reached the Leutnant yet before his raspy voice already broke the silence, no small amount of pride and confidence dominating his sharp words. "Leutnant. Wo liegt das Problem? Ich habe Zeit dafür nicht, es gibt..." the man's voice suddenly trailed off and Kronberg glanced at the man, not even bothering to hide the confusion he was feeling over the sudden change of the man's words and really, not that his observed it, in his entire demeanor. He had not been expecting anything else other than a fearsome tongue-lashing from the officer, yet he could now see the man coming to a slow stop in front of the Leutnant. The Hauptmann's hand went for his sunglasses as he slowly removed them, his mouth hanging slightly open as he stared at the Wehrmacht officer, his expression now dominated by pure disbelief instead of the impending doom that had been lurking under his gruff exterior just mere moments ago.

Kronberg merely stared at the scene in disbelief, watching as the Hauptmann tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed, the hand holding the sunglasses now frozen in mid-movement. Kronberg could have sworn that even in the scorching heat of the Libyan sun the air suddenly ran ice-cold as Rolf's slowly rasped out one single word, his previously strong voice now reduced to a soft, low growl.

"Riedel."


Translations:

"Noch drei gelassen. Auf, soldaten! Sie sind die letzten, beweg dich!! Sie auch!"
"Three more to go. Get up, soldier! They are the last ones, get moving! You too!"

"Herr Leutnant, ich bitten um Verständnis, aber es war mein kommandierender Offizier, der mir sagte, dass ich einige Ihrer Männer leihen konnte, um uns zu helfen, die Jagdflugzeuge vom Sand zu befreien."
"Herr Leutnant, I apologize for the inconvenience, but it was my commanding officer who told me I could loan a few of your men to help us to free the fighters from the sand."

"Wenn Sie gerade hier für einen Moment, Herr Leutnant warten konnten, werde ich meinen kommandierender Offizier herbeiholen, und ich bin sicher, dass er ... gerade diese Verwirrung sofort erledigen kann. Herr Leutnant."
"If you could just wait here for a moment, Herr Leutnant, I shall fetch my commanding officer and I'm sure he can... just sort out this mess right away. Herr Leutnant."

"Und für die zweite Gruppe teile ich 1. Schwarm des 2. Staffel zu, ich brauche nicht die Details zu Ihnen, dieselben Routinen zu erklären, wie ich gerade vorher durchging. Machen Sie gerade Zeichen, dass die Bomber relativ niedrig fliegen werden, so- Was ist, Kronberg?"
"..and for the second group, I'm assigning 1st Schwarm of the 2nd Staffel, I do not need to explain the details to you, same routines as I just went through previously. Just make note that the bombers will be flying relatively low, so- What is it, Kronberg?"

"Herr Hauptmann, es gibt einen Wehrmacht Leutnant hier, nach seinen Männern fragend. Die... uns mit den Jagdflugzeugen helfen."
"Herr Hauptmann, there is a Wehrmacht Leutnant here, asking about his men. The... ones that are helping us with the fighters."

"Oberleutnant Wahler, Sie sind mit der Taktik vertraut, beenden die Anweisung für mich, während ich mich mit diesem Leutnant befasse. Danach ergreift jeder etwas, um zu essen, aber sicherzustellen, dass jeder bereit und durch 12.45 versammelt ist."
"Oberleutnant Wahler, you are familiar with the tactics, finish the briefing for me while I deal with this Leutnant. After that, everyone grab something to eat, but make sure everyone is ready and assembled by 12.45."

"Kronberg, mit mir."
"Kronberg, with me."

"Leutnant. Wo liegt das Problem? Ich habe Zeit dafür nicht, es gibt..."
"Leutnant. What seems to be the problem? I do not have time for this, there are..."

[Dirk Riedel]

Dirk breathed an exasperated grumble under his throat without another word as the Hauptfeldwebel sheepishly excused his actions and hurried along to fetch his commanding officer and eventually have this disorder sorted out; the Leutnant slightly shook his head in fervent intolerance as he watched the stocky man walk away in the scorching sun, before he turned around to face the infuriating sight before him. Under other circumstances, he would have not objected to the Luftwaffe forces being aided by a few of the men of the Wehrmacht, for, after all, they were all fighting in one entity, for the same purpose, a fist of steel altogether warring against those who deserved to be dominated – and yet to do so without the knowledge or permission of the platoon’s commander, in a disorderly manner and during a day of organised training was condemnable and constituted an intolerable behaviour the Leutnant would not forgive any time soon; and, perhaps, the Leutnant was at present a little sensitive as to the Luftwaffe due to recent occurrences, but nevertheless, he would most certainly have shoved aside any prejudice felt at the time and placed the Fatherland’s mission ahead of any such inappropriate emotions, but first he demanded order and discipline. Once he turned around he immediately whistled at his soldiers as they were pushing up the second to last fighter from the soft sand in grumbling sounds and low mutterings of complaint; curiously, they looked up from the cockpit and even cracked a smile upon observing their leader standing several metres in the near distance, rubbing the hands together from the dust and sitting down on the sand when the Leutnant cut the humid air sharply as he raised his hand upwards to the full extent of his arm with his palm to the front, signalling discharge from their task.

Dirk stood there in his position, unmoving, tall and imposing in his dominant posture while closely observing the task which had been almost seen through, most of the aircraft propelled upwards and lined onto the hard ground in rows, and on another occasion he would have admired the fine machinery of the Reich – a true work of art – but for the moment he was too pre-occupied raging after that morning’s incident to even appreciate remotely anything concerning the air forces and the misfortunate position in which they had found themselves after the sandstorm. With his hands hanging down by his sides, the right one loosely curled into a fist, the Leutnant awaited for the commanding officer to appear and explain himself thoroughly, expecting a full apology to be in order and accompanied with his word that no such circumstance will arise again – not that Dirk would be satisfied with these mere actions of course, as he intended to bark a fine stream of invective at the irresponsible commander and remind him of his wrath lest the officer wish to deviate from his words in the future. The Leutnant was additionally frustrated by the sweat profusely running down across his skin underneath the military uniform, or glued in the corners of his ears and lips, the back of his neck and around his nose, the sweltering sun directly hitting down on his face as he had left his field cap back in the barracks during his aggravated hunt for the missing soldiers – with the twinge of pain from the thin layer of metallic plate sticking against his chest being no less a source of aggravation, to such an extent in fact as almost provoked the Leutnant to snatch it off from his flesh and throw it away in the sand, kicking it in unremitting irate rhythms until the wretched plate would sink low into the ground and vanish. Such an action, however, would have been foolish, and the Leutnant was not a foolish man. He simply stood upright, overlooking at his soldiers, and waited.

Though it wasn’t the distant footsteps approaching his direction that made the Leutnant’s heart skip a beat as he turned around, momentarily frozen, but the voice that rang through the humid air between them.

The strong, gravelly voice trailed off as the Leutnant stood facing the man with a hardened, inscrutable face, rigid and unmoving in his position as he stared after the Hauptmann – and at another time may have laughed at the state he had found him in, wearing sunglasses and sporting a stubble in a vain attempt to cowardly conceal the bruises from their fight, but at present the astonishment obscured under an expression as hard as rock and a pair of steel-green eyes came at such wavelengths as surpassed any other feeling. And why did it feel as if a bombshell had just gone off in the empty space between them? Dirk merely watched as the man slowly pulled his sunglasses from his eyes and curiously tilted his head to the side – no good signs at all, and in vain did he hope (though his heart knew the bitter truth) that perhaps the Hauptmann would not be able to realize – alas, slowly he spoke the name in that single, cancerous word that sneaked into the Leutnant’s mind, pierced through his cerebral cortex through the nerves and caused a tumult within such as his face was never able to register.

Jäger.

Recognition; that wretched rascal of misfortune. The man stared at the Wehrmacht soldier, and for a moment, ironically enough, the air felt arctic as they glanced at one another. Dirk did not hesitate and instantly raised his hand up to flatly cover his forehead with it as though it were a makeshift field cap, thus excusing the instinctively narrowed eyes and curved eyebrows as a reaction to the sun poking down at him mercilessly. “Leutnant Dirk Riedel, Kommandant des 4. Zugs, 3. Panzergrenadier Kompanie,” he properly introduced himself, not bothering to ask how come the Hauptmann knew of his name, for it was certainly not uncommon of the armed forces to know other soldiers’ names despite a lack of acquaintance – the Hauptmann might have as well heard of him from his subordinates or perhaps seen him around and asked his name from any other soldier who may have been familiarized with him … At any rate, the Leutnant even kicked his jackboots against the sand in a small, quick salute, which, the Hauptmann could not know was not given as a sign of respect but an instinctual call of military conduct – the force of habit was, alas, very strong. Dirk, however, the current unfortunate circumstance notwithstanding, was not going to avoid giving an answer to the other man’s question, intending to put an end to this farce.

“Das Problem, Hauptmann, liegt in der Ordnung die Sie dem Hauptfeldwebel gaben, um einige von den Soldaten meines Zugs ‘zu leihen’ um lästige Arbeiten für Sie zu vollenden. Die Problem-Lügen in der Tatsache diese Soldaten wurden ohne meine Erlaubnis – ohne irgendwelche Benachrichtigung gegeben mir oder einigen ihrer Kameraden betreffs ihres Verbleibs ‘geliehen’, der erhob Sorge und verpfuschte heutiges Programm, und wissen Sie wo das Problem wirklich liegt?” he said, his voice at first firm and strong, but never rising to a dangerous or threatening level, instead the Leutnant knew how to control himself and speak in an imposing tone which was not tainted with disrespect, even if such a task was severely demanding from the soldier at the moment considering the man he was facing. “Die Problem-Lügen in diesem Ihrem Hauptfeldwebel in seiner gedankenlosen Handlung haben die Ausbildung eines Teils des Wehrmacht verschoben und eine große Vorbereitung versperrt, um gerade sie Stoß einige Kämpfer vom Sand zu haben. Ich erwarte, dass Sie die Streitkräfte-Funktion des Reichs unter der strengen Ordnung und Disziplin wissen!” he spoke in a ringing force, and others may have thought he had raised his voice but the truth lay in the fact the Leutnant’s hoarse, gruff voice was from nature as loud and strong as it was heard, unbroken and proud, speaking with coherence and purpose, as no unnecessary word was uttered and no verb had gone to waste. And yet Dirk found it progressively difficult to control an erupting temper that had blocked the way to her throat and threatened to utterly cause a rain of invective stream from his lips the more recent memories consumed his mind. “Das nicht geschehe wieder in der Zukunft, und wenn Wehrmacht Soldaten für die Hilfe jeder Art gefragt sind, wird die Erlaubnis des Kommandanten in erster Linie gebeten, ob er zu dieser Bitte vorträgt oder nicht! Das ist eine organisierte Armee, die gebaut ist, um mit der Präzision eines MP40, nicht eines Dschungels von Streutieren zu fungieren – und ich werde einen Zustand der Verwirrung in meinem Zug ein zweites Mal nicht dulden!” he stressed out in a clear, firm voice, eyes burning with fierce determination and controlled perseverance as the man felt close to the brink, ready to verbally assault that arrogant aristocrat befouling the armed forces with his worthless – no, Dirk could not think like this, it was too dangerous at present and the Hauptmann had already recognized him. Losing his temper was losing the argument, and the chances of proving he was not whom the Hauptmann assumed he might be, as well. If he reacted in the same way he had as Friederike, the other man would know, he would realize …

That should never happen, and that was the only reason and foundation upon which the Leutnant’s controlled state and voice was based as he cleared himself. “Das ist Luftwaffe-Gebiet, aber dass es Wehrmacht Territorium gibt!” he strongly enforced, his hand gesturing on his right where their barracks were situated. “Unser Territorium. Sie können nicht diese zwei wie Sie wünschen mischen … Hauptmann.” And as he turned around he made sure he was not staring the man in the eyes as he had done that night, lest the unyielding eye contact should be fatal, lest the Hauptmann saw Friederike lying behind the black pupils of those pale green eyes – and the Leutnant signalled to his soldiers to approach. “Und wenn die Flieger zu fein sind, um einige Kämpfer vom Grund zu erziehen, könnte eine Übung jene guten Muskeln tun,” he added in a mutter, the contempt in his voice barely held for those few moments he had spoken the words. Then he took a few steps backwards and, without another glance, faced the direction of his soldiers as they were standing up from the sand and rubbing the dust off their uniforms.

“Kommen Sie Jungen heran, wir reisen ab,” Dirk shouted over at them, and with his back turned against the man he could not help but let the frown finally dominate upon his face, irritated that somewhere hiding behind the tents fate was having a major laugh at him.



Translation

Leutnant Dirk Riedel, commander of the 4th platoon, 3rd Panzergrenadier Company.

The problem, Hauptmann, lies in the order you gave the Hauptfeldwebel to ‘borrow’ some of my platoon’s soldiers to complete chores for you. The problem lies in the fact these soldiers were ‘borrowed’ without my permission – without any notice given to me or any of their comrades as to their whereabouts that raised concern and botched today’s program, and you know where the problem really lies? The problem lies in that your Hauptfeldwebel in his thoughtless action has postponed the training of a part of the Wehrmacht and obstructed a large preparation just to have them shove up a couple of fighters from the sand. I expect you know the Reich’s armed forces function under severe order and discipline! This will not happen again in the future and when Wehrmacht soldiers are needed for assistance of any kind, the commander’s permission will first and foremost be requested, whether he obliges to that request or not! This is an organized army built to function with the precision of an MP40, not a jungle of stray animals – and I will not tolerate a state of chaos in my platoon a second time!

This is Luftwaffe area, but that there is Wehrmacht territory! Our territory. You cannot mix these two as you please … Hauptmann.

And if the flyboys are too delicate to raise some fighters from the ground, an exercise might do those muscles good.

Come on, boys, we’re leaving.

[Rolf Jäger]

A sudden wave of powerful images washed over Rolf Jäger as his eyes fell upon the Leutnant and the man could only stand frozen in his place as his lips instinctively formed the name he had first heard a week ago, but which after then had grown enough in importance to occupy nearly every waking minute of his thoughts. Once again he could feel the strong knuckles pushing against his chest, the woman's breath upon his skin, the brief touch of her hair upon his cheek, the merciless fist connecting with the side of his face and the sharp heel of her shoe grating up across his chest and pushing into his sore jaw. The man held his breath for a moment as the vivid memories of pain and pleasure flooded into his mind with the brutality of a violent flood crashing through all obstacles, momentarily drowning out any other sentiments that might have dwelled within. As if observing filmed footage, he could distinctly see his fingers leisurely tracing paths upon the woman's pale skin while the wind whipped her blond hair around and she lay on the dusty ground conquered, submitting. Rolf's silver eyes narrowed as he savored the memory - never mind the fact that it also made the bruises on his face suddenly feel strangely painful even though he had not touched them - but the recollection of the beating he had taken after his brief moment of victory was still quite aptly remembered by his body. Despite the pain, he would have given almost anything to return back to that moment, to face those burning eyes again... yet in a way he felt as if he really was, for what else was he staring at if not those very same viridian eyes he remembered from that windy, moonlit night?

Rolf forced himself to snap out of his thoughts and he allowed his hand to slowly go down as he flicked the arms of the sunglasses shut with his fingers, all the while he kept his gaze on the Leutnant. He looked so much like the woman he had met that fateful evening - the same eyes, the same sharp features, the same stern decisiveness that dominated both voice and demeanor... yet, of course, they clearly could not be the same person, even if Rolf could see the similarities as plainly as he could see the sun that scorched down on them. It was the most confusing thing he had ever come upon and Rolf blinked, trying to imagine the woman standing next to the Leutnant, as if in a children's puzzle of trying to spot the differences in two images. There wasn't anything feminine to this man, yet he carried the same features Rolf had obsessively memorized, down to the tiniest detail he could recall. How could two people look so much alike, yet appear so completely different from each other at the same time? He simply could not understand it.

His attention was drawn to the man's words next as he introduced himself as Leutnant Dirk Riedel of the 3rd Panzergrenadiers, snapping into a quick, practiced salute after. His name hardly came as a surprise to Rolf at this point, as he had already started thinking of the only possible reason for the striking similarities between this Leutnant and the blonde female. The only sensible explanation was a relation between the two, most likely that of a brother and sister, seeing as how much they looked like each other. Rolf brought his chin up slightly and more on trained instinct than anything else, returned to the salute and brought his hand to his brow briefly while his gaze still remained as puzzled and curious as previously. "Hauptmann Rolf Jäger, Gruppenkommandeur des 3. Gruppe von Jagdgeschwader 27," the man returned, sounding more than just slightly absentminded as he spoke, as if he had been woken mid-dream and was still trying to come to grasps with reality.

If it had seemed that the Hauptmann would merely dwell in his memories and confusion, he was quickly snapped back to full alertness as the Leutnant's next words slapped him directly in the face. The confusion vanished from his steel-grey eyes in a flash and was replaced with disbelief and ever growing irritation as he listened to the Leutnant, finding fuel for his anger even from his very first words. He was treating Rolf as if they were of equal ranks, or as it appeared when he went on, as if Rolf was the lower ranking officer of them two. The Leutnant had completely forgotten to address the Hauptmann as a "Herr" and his words, as measuredly as they were voiced, were words that one might have spouted at a disobedient soldier, but certainly not to a higher ranking officer. Leutnant Riedel was simply scolding him, the insolence never dropping from his tone as he went on, even addressing the Hauptmann with what seemed like direct orders. Rolf Jäger's eyes narrowed dangerously and a low growl vibrated within his chest as he allowed the man to go on, simply due to the fact that whatever the Leutnant said next, was only more obnoxious than what he had just said before, down to the fact of leaving out the proper form of addressing him multiple times, to his direct orders, to him assuming that he was knowledgeable enough to chastise a man of superior rank and finally, even evaluating the condition of his pilots, as if he could have had any idea of the state of his Gruppe. But did he stop there, even after calling Rolf's fine pilots delicate flyboys? Of course not.

He didn't even allow the Hauptmann the proper chance to answer and instead, took a few steps back before calling to his men, even turning his back to the Luftwaffe officer, as if he had at some point dismissed him. A feral, almost blinding fire burned within Rolf and his teeth gritted together in an effort to somehow contain the anger that bubbled wildly in his chest, urging him to attack the man and to throw him down on the sand and to kick his teeth in with the heel of his boot. The man nearly crushed the sunglasses that were now held in his fist as his voice rang sharply through the hot desert air, loud enough to make everyone nearby to direct their gazes towards the source of the savage roar. "Leutnant Riedel! Stillgestanden!" Rolf barked sharply, his features now distorted by a a bestial sneer as he waited for the man to comply to his direct order. "Sind Sie zum Konzept der Weisungslinie völlig vergesslich?! Sie haben keine Kenntnisse an, wie man einen höheren Offizier anredet? Sie werden mich Herr Hauptmann nennen, als die richtige Form ist! Vielleicht haben Sie die Reihe-Struktur der deutschen Armee, aber den Letzten völlig vergessen, den ich überprüfte, ein Leutnant reiht sich noch unter Hauptmann auf, und wir respektieren noch jene Reihen, egal was die Situation!"

Even though Rolf had now raised his voice, it still retained some of its raspiness and the angry words the Hauptmann was aiming at the Leutnant bore a striking similarity to the growls and barks of a fierce hound. The initial yelling seemed to have helped the man's anger somewhat and he took a step towards the Leutnant, burning silver eyes ever remaining on the eyes of the Wehrmacht officer. "Es gibt zwei Weisen, Ihr Missfallen über das Ereignis auszudrücken, und Sie, guter Leutnant, haben das einzige Lehrbuchbeispiel aus des ganzen Prozesses Scheißebauen gewählt!" Rolf snapped sharply. "Sie geben mir Ordnungen nicht, noch Sie kommen, um irgendetwas von mir zu fordern! Wer sollen Sie von der Disziplin und Ordnung sprechen, wenn Sie keine Andeutung von jedem jener Dinge haben? Sie könnten Ihre eigene Weise haben, Sachen im Wehrmacht zu machen, aber ich werde solches Verhalten, egal was die Verhältnisse nicht dulden. Lasse ich mich genug für Sie, Leutnant klären, oder sollte ich Sie ein Bild ausmalen?" Rolf's last words were expressed with the same acute sharpness as earlier, although the volume of his voice had by now gone down slightly and even though a cold fire still burned in his steely eyes, he had managed to satiate some of the most scorching flames of his anger with his yelling.

The man raised his chin up as he regarded the Leutnant and he moved his hands behind his back, grasping his wrist, standing rigid in his place, proud even despite the extensive bruises that decorated his face. "Und wenn es zu Ihnen kommt, unsere zwei kleinen Territorien von einander trennend, lassen Sie mich Sie, Leutnant, das schließlich erinnern, worauf wir Stehen jetzt sind, ist deutsches Territorium. Deutsche Soldaten, ganzer hier, meine Mechanik, meine Piloten... Ihre Soldaten, Leutnant," Rolf sneered, arching an eyebrow as he simply looked down on the arrogant officer. As much as he lived for the Luftwaffe, he wasn't a foolish man and knew that both the Luftwaffe and the Wehrmacht were needed to achieve the final victory over their enemies. He had always thought that the Luftwaffe was the proudest arm of the German military and like in the ancient times, they were the gallant knights charging into a battle upon their frothing steeds, where as the Wehrmacht where the foot soldiers, wielding their spears and swords, shields and bows. No matter how different these two parties were from each other, they had to rely on each other and Rolf had accepted the fact, giving credit to the Wehrmacht where it was due.

He would have been in good enough mood to even make amends with the Leutnant, but then the man's insolent mannerism had driven Rolf blind with hatred and any thoughts of dealing with the situation in a more low-key manner had been quickly forgotten. Had the situation concerned someone else other than Riedel, Rolf would have already been demanding the man's head on a plate, but he found his anger subsiding quickly - efficiently enough to even surprise Rolf himself - but then he really knew why he suddenly found it easier to push the wrathful thoughts back. This Leutnant was a relative of the mysterious female and the flames of his anger flickered much lower now as curiousness and various questions soothed them, demanding for answers over amends. Still, Rolf refused to drop his arrogant act and he turned his head sideways ever so slightly as he observed the Leutnant from the corners of his eyes, traces of scorn still evident in his voice. "Ich würde auch Rat Sie, um Urteil auf meinen Männern oder meinen Methoden, für Sie nicht zu passieren, haben völlig an den Kenntnissen bezüglich ihrer Mangel. Noch... Ich werde Sie, Leutnant, das kennen lassen sogar meine Piloten haben neben der Grundmannschaft wegen des Sandsturms gearbeitet, der das Gebiet übertrug. Ich bin aller Probleme nicht bewusst, die es zu Wehrmacht verursacht haben könnte, aber das Bekommen der Kämpfer überprüft, repariert und angetrieben ist davon sehr verschieden, gerade Ihre Soldaten wach am Morgen zu kicken," the man flashed the Leutnant an almost invisible, amused smile that was clearly only meant to irritate the other man. "Der Grund ich bin nicht im Stande gewesen, unten meine Piloten mit der Arbeit länger zu binden, ist, dass ich meine Jagdflugzeuge in der fliegenden Bedingung haben soll, wiesen meine Männer ein und fraßen, und durchgehend Vorflugs meldet vierzig Minuten an. Natürlich haben Sie Ihren ... Ausbildung, um sich zu kümmern, ich bin sicher, dass das alles sehr wichtig ist, und wenn Sie Sie fühlen arg benachteiligt worden sein, können Sie sich immer mit Ihren Vorgesetzten in Verbindung setzen und eine Beschwerde ablegen. Und weil Sie so tun, werde ich eine Beschwerde meines eigenen ablegen und mich überzeugen, um zu erwähnen, dass wegen Ihrer Handlungen, Leutnant, wir zwei Bomber gerade verloren haben, weil sie durch die entsprechende Jäger Unterstützung nicht begleitet wurden und Sie glaubten, dass es ein größeres Unrecht ist, um vier Ihrer Männer spät von der Ausbildung durch masernkrank eine halbe Stunde zu haben," Rolf had lowered his voice by now and it had retained its hoarse, almost offensive texture. If it would come to having to actually report the incident, Rolf had all the confidence in his own ability to make the Leutnant appear as bad as possible - he was a lawyer by trade, anyway, and very experienced at presenting his case as skillfully and efficiently as possible. A small, almost languid smile appeared on the Hauptmann's lips and he raised his eyebrow at the man.

"Aber ich bin nicht ein unvernünftiger Mann, wir sind alle in demselben Boot hier, sozusagen. Ich verstehe, dass Sie bessere Dinge haben, zu tun, als mich zu haben. Das wird alles über viel schneller sein, wenn wir gerade die Kämpfer frei vom Sand einordnen, kann die Grundmannschaft zur Überprüfung von ihnen schneller kommen, ich bekomme meine Kämpfer in der Luft rechtzeitig, und Sie und Ihre Männer können... gerade vorwärts zu Ihren netten kleinen Lehrübungen laufen," the man noted, swiftly slipping the sunglasses inside the front pocket of his uniform, proceeding to grasp the field cap from his head and tucking it under his belt. It was clear that the Hauptmann was planning to take part in the task himself, just to demonstrate that they were anything but delicate flyboys and that if the Leutnant backed out, he would not only have the trouble of getting reported, but would also be obviously turning down a direct challenge concerning the strength and abilities of the Wehrmacht.

Rolf was very conscious of this all and the man, now bearing his bruises as if they were trophies from a glorious fight, even rolled his sleeves slightly, flashing a lopsided smirk at the other officer. "So... Haben wir eine Abmachung oder nicht, Leutnant Riedel?"


Translations:

"Hauptmann Rolf Jäger, Gruppenkommandeur des 3. Gruppe von Jagdgeschwader 27."
"Hauptmann Rolf Jäger, Group Commander of the 3rd Gruppe of Jagdgeschwader 27."

"Leutnant Riedel! Stillgestanden!"
"Leutnant Riedel! Stand at attention!"

"Sind Sie zum Konzept der Weisungslinie völlig vergesslich?! Sie haben keine Kenntnisse an, wie man einen höheren Offizier anredet..?"
"Are you completely oblivious to the concept of chain of command?! Do you have no knowledge on how to address a superior officer? You will call me Herr Hauptmann, as is the proper form! Maybe you have completely forgotten the rank structure of the German army, but the last I checked, a Leutnant still ranks below Hauptmann and we still respect those ranks, no matter what the situation!"

"Es gibt zwei Weisen, Ihr Missfallen über das Ereignis auszudrücken, und Sie, guter Leutnant, haben das einzige Lehrbuchbeispiel aus des ganzen Prozesses Scheißebauen gewählt...!"
"There are two ways to go about expressing your displeasure over the incident and you, good Leutnant, have simply chosen the textbook example of a completely fucking the whole process up! You do not give me orders nor do you get to demand anything from me! Who are you to speak of discipline and order if you have no inkling of either of those things? You might have your own way of doing things in the Wehrmacht, but I will not tolerate such behaviour, no matter what the circumstances. Am I making myself clear enough for you, Leutnant, or should I paint you a picture?"

"Und wenn es zu Ihnen kommt, unsere zwei kleinen Territorien von einander trennend, lassen Sie mich Sie, Leutnant, das schließlich erinnern, worauf wir Stehen jetzt sind, ist deutsches Territorium. Deutsche Soldaten, ganzer hier, meine Mechanik, meine Piloten... Ihre Soldaten, Leutnant."
"And when it comes to you separating our two little territories from each other, let me remind you, Leutnant, that ultimately what we are standing on now, is German territory. German soldiers, all of here, my mechanics, my pilots... your soldiers, Leutnant."

"Ich würde auch Rat Sie, um Urteil auf meinen Männern oder meinen Methoden, für Sie nicht zu passieren, haben völlig an den Kenntnissen bezüglich ihrer Mangel..."
"I would also advice you not to pass judgement on my men or my methods, for you completely lack the knowledge concerning them. Still... I will have you know, Leutnant, that even my pilots have worked alongside the ground crew due to the sandstorm that passed over the area. I am not aware of all the problems that it might have caused to Wehrmacht, but getting the fighters checked, repaired and fueled is very different from just kicking your soldiers awake in the morning."

"Der Grund ich bin nicht im Stande gewesen, unten meine Piloten mit der Arbeit länger zu binden, ist, dass ich meine Jagdflugzeuge in der fliegenden Bedingung haben soll, wiesen meine Männer ein und fraßen, und durchgehend Vorflugs meldet vierzig Minuten an...."
"The reason I have not been able to tie down my pilots with the work any longer is that I am to have my fighters in flying condition, my men briefed and fed and going through pre-flight checks in forty minutes. Of course, you have your... training to attend to, I'm sure it is all very important and if you feel you have been sorely wronged, you can always contact your superiors and file a complaint. And as you do so, I shall file a complaint of my own and make sure to mention that due to your actions, Leutnant, we have lost two bombers just because they were not accompanied by adequate fighter support and you figured it is a greater wrong to have four of your men late from training by measly half an hour."

"Aber ich bin nicht ein unvernünftiger Mann, wir sind alle in demselben Boot hier, sozusagen. Ich verstehe, dass Sie bessere Dinge haben, zu tun, als mich zu haben..."
"But I'm not an unreasonable man, we are all in the same boat here, so to speak. I understand you have better things to do, as have I. This will all be over much faster if we just arrange the fighters free of the sand, the ground crew can get to checking them faster, I get my fighters in the air in time, and you and your men can... just run along to your nice little training exercises."

"So... Haben wir eine Abmachung oder nicht, Leutnant Riedel?"
"So... Do we have an agreement or not, Leutnant Riedel?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Dirk turned around with a frown on his hardened, inscrutable face once the Hauptmann’s roaring voice called him to attention, and would have almost appeared offended by such an arrogant call were he not attempting to conceal the inner devils gnawing into his mind, reminding him of the recent happenings as had decorated the other man’s skin with bruises and how he deserved another strike to knock him down a peg or two. With his eyebrows curved over his eyes, the Leutnant stood still and imposing in his full height as he faced the Hauptmann, refusing to stand perfectly at attention in the proper military fashion but merely stood for the purpose of listening to what the selfish flyboy had to say, even though Dirk knew just what condescending, egotistical words would escape the man’s lips for yet another time – and, soon enough, he was not disappointed. The man had the audacity to claim that, despite the difference of branches in the army which both men were assigned to, he was to be referred to as a ‘Heer’: Dirk, who always functioned with utmost discipline and military conduct, would have instinctively addressed any commissioned officer of the Luftwaffe with the proper salute such as this man demanded (and, indeed, hardly could a Wehrmacht Schütze address a Luftwaffe officer otherwise, at any rate) but the Leutnant refused to offer this dross any sign of respect, for he deserved neither recognition nor due regard; thereby Dirk, aided by the position of a commisioned officer which they both shared and the fact he had been right in reacting the way he had, found his claim was nothing short of absurd. He spoke not, and instead allowed the Hauptmann to rant his heated speech at him – concentrating more on exercising control upon himself lest he should suddenly clench his fists a little more than necessary and end up having them creating a most intense acquaintance with the man’s teeth. The sheer arrogance leaking from the man’s mouth, the unprecedented condescension tainting every single word he uttered and the vanity he had unquestionably been bathed in upon birth to think that only his opinion mattered above all others, that he alone possessed such knowledge and wisdom as surpassed anyone else’s, that he alone could think and talk and all other human beings capable of communication were to silently accept such a dominance: in short, he was being childish, precisely as she had known him as.

And though the Leutnant did his best – a commendable feat in itself, indeed – in order to discipline himself into merely playing the part of the listener without resorting to physical violence that was much called for by the other man, it was when the Hauptmann began his next sentence with the controversial ‘and when it comes to …’ that truly cracked a nerve within the Leutnant’s cerebral cortex, spiralling a wave of hatred through his chest; the last time the Hauptmann had used such a phrase, the Leutnant remembered, it had something to do with peasants and deviations, and the Wehrmacht officer felt the burning lava of red-hot blood channelled with manic rapidity throughout his veins and threatening to overturn his prolonged tolerance at any given moment. The jaw hardened, the fist clenched, but he remained still in his position, the mind ordering the body to maintain position in the same way he ordered his subordinates not to move, determined that Unteroffizier Alfred Gartman was still covering for him in the training, which had been delayed for no good cause. Though the Hauptmann’s words at this point started making sense, for, indeed, the difference of army branches notwithstanding, this was still German territory and, ultimately, as Dirk very well knew, they were all fighting for the same purpose – this he respected and followed, but he did not want to hear this from someone as irresponsible as the Hauptmann, and certainly when it came to Wehrmacht soldiers impetuously obstructed from their training for the mere reason of helping a pair of Luftwaffe lassies push up the fighters from the ground because the latter were too fragile they would break a nail, then indeed no, Dirk would make the boundaries perfectly, painfully, undeniably clear.

The Wehrmacht soldiers were listening to the Hauptmann’s hoarse rasp from the near distance with curious expressions on their half-astounded, half-offended faces, having stopped walking midway through the officer’s commanding tone over their Leutnant, demanding of him to stand at attention, insulted on behalf of their Leutnant by the fact a Luftwaffe flyboy (as they also thought of him; it appeared the whole platoon – and more of them – did not think of the aviators as the gallant knights on shining armour as the Luftwaffe often fancied considering themselves as) was ordering their officer at attention. One of them, Kampfer, was staring at both officers with furrowed eyebrows and a worried face, his comrade, Sturman, also reluctant as to what were to follow should the two officers clash, in silence observing the events a few metres away. Dirk did not speak, but was irked at another display of the Hauptmann’s insolence: blackmail. He would have no scruples in reporting the Hauptfeldwebel’s actions but right now what mattered was the training of the Nebelwerfer 40 which was not taking place; everything – from the waking up of the soldiers, to the training exercises, to meals – was planned with such surgical precision as put German doctors’ appointments to shame, and even a minimal deviation from the programme meant the rest of that day’s exercises were to be moved at a different hour, more or less, and such sizeable inconvenience caused for such a comparatively insignificant reason was something Dirk could not easily let pass.

And then the most curiously laughable thing happened – the Hauptmann offered in person to take part in his little muscle showdown, as though doing them all a favour for the much desired and royal involvement with the rest of the plebs, daring to suggest the Luftwaffe boys had any chance against the Wehrmacht beasts of steel and strength. Had it been a completely different circumstance Dirk would have burst out laughing heartily for the following half hour, but the sheer magnitude of his inner restraint orders – the remarkable silent patience he was exhibiting – would not allow him to appreciate the full extent of such a preposterous suggestion. Did a lion need to prove himself to a hyena? Need the Wehrmacht crush the flyboys like a piece of lettuce? Even winning such a bet was by default a most embarrassing feat taking the adversaries into consideration. And in another circumstance Dirk would not have hesitated in committing to such a bet if only to have a major piss at those foolish schoolboys who thought they could challenge the ground forces which had ripped apart the bowels of Poland, France, the Balkans, and soon the entire world – but to have this proposed by the likes of this self-important idiot was completely and utterly ridiculous. Dirk scoffed, and looked at the smirking Hauptmann with such an expression as to wordlessly ask him whether Pablo Picasso had received access to his brain and arranged the internal organs with the same orderly, natural manner he exhibited in his paintings.

The Hauptmann eventually stopped speaking, looking at Dirk expectantly and wearing the same arrogant smirk he had that very night – which only served to further aggravate the man’s insides; with his field cap stowed in-between his belt and his sleeves slightly rolled up, Dirk could not help but momentarily stare at the bruises his own hands had, unknowingly to the other man, administered through a severe beating only days ago. They were shining underneath the scorching Libyan sun provocatively, inviting him to continue what he had started and shove this aristocrat in his proper place – low in the ground, spitting out blood, dirt and saliva – to teach him he was nothing more but a molecule of life in a world of insects, that he was nothing but another form of life in the same way an amoeba was, that he was unimportant, insignificant, worthless; to spit on him, stomp on him, and break his jaw – to strip him off the comfortable safety bubble he had placed himself into, to throw him from his self-desired pedestal until, alone and bared upon the earth, would stand unprotected and exposed to the injustice of the world, slapped, and stomped, and kicked around – just like everyone else. He deserved no favourable treatment, and Dirk wanted to do this precisely; throw a few thorns down his way and alter the path of life he had been treading so far, one strewn with roses and daffodils and red velvet carpets for him to smoothly walk on, a small prince in a world of kings and queens. His inexperience of life’s misfortunes – how Dirk knew them well – was almost offending to the Leutnant, and his fists clenched tightly.

But he did not react. The mocking tone was now clear in his hardened face as he stared after the Hauptmann with obvious dislike. “Obwohl wir um dieselbe Ursache kämpfen, ist die Luftwaffe nicht der Wehrmacht, Hauptmann. Nichts nötigt mich, Sie die Art anzureden, wie Sie abgesondert von der Rücksicht wünschen, die Sie, um schön zu sein, in mir nicht wirklich begeistern,” he spoke, and though his face was stiff and his body language rigid, his voice, as ever strong and commanding, was perfectly controlled to the point when it no longer sounded threatening or infuriated – merely forthright and demanding. “Sie wollen mit mit der Rücksicht gesprochen werden? Verdienen Sie es. Sie können anfangen indem Sie Ihre Untergebenen” – he shot a brisk look at Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg – “durch den Weg behandeln, der unser militärisches Programm nicht bricht: Verantwortung. Zu Ihnen kann eine halbe Stunde masernkrank, aber zur Streitkräfte Folgsamkeit des Fahrplans es Einsatzund und der Treue zeigt. Und Sie die behaupten, verschieden von uns, ein Mann der Ordnung und Disziplin, der beleidigende solch ein Code zu sein, um Ihre jungen Mädchen in der Qual zu haben nehmen einen Imbiss, aber naja …” he scoffed, “… werde ich nicht beeindruckt. Bumsen Sie mit unserem Programm nicht, Hauptmann,” he finally warned him with gritted teeth, voice controlled, eyes blazing, before he turned sideways.

“Und über diese Abmachung … wie steht’s mit nicht?” was all he said, arching his eyebrows, and then turned fully around; the soldiers looked at him, their expressions a combination of curiosity and worry, but with a signal of his face they strode immediately towards his direction as he walked away from the two men; the Wehrmacht comrades, following after the Leutnant like a group of lion cubs running along after their mother, smirked and beamed, and even laughed loudly as they all together left the Luftwaffe barracks, playfully shoving or slapping the back of one another’s heads as they, for yet another time, had not been deserted by a leader they were most loyal and devoted to.



Translation

Though we fight for the same cause, the Luftwaffe is not the Wehrmacht, Hauptmann. Nothing obliges me to address you the way you wish apart from regard, which you, to be fair, don’t really inspire in me. You want to be spoken to with respect? Earn it. You can start by handling your subordinates by way that does not break our military programme: responsibility. To you half an hour may sound measly, but to the armed forces obedience of timetable shows commitment and allegiance. And you, who claim to be, unlike us, a man of order and discipline, disrespecting such a code to have your damsels in distress take a snack, well … I’m not impressed. Don’t fuck with our programme, Hauptmann.

And about that agreement … how about not?

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf was allowed only a momentary feeling of satisfaction as the arrogant Leutnant was forced to stand at attention, sloppy and reluctant as his execution was, and to listen to his torrent of angry words. He was well aware of just how much the Leutnant must have hated being scolded by him and even though the Wehrmacht officer was doing a decent job at remaining calm and still, Rolf could read the hatred behind his stern face, behind those oddly familiar yet foreign features, reminding him once again of the female he had encountered just a week ago. The same fire burned within the Leutnant, fueled by the kindling of pride and hatred and causing Rolf to smirk inwardly - he found it amusing how the brother and sister were not similar only in appearance, but in temperament as well. He had to wonder if the Leutnant was more talented in restraining his hand, though, or if he was inclined to as violent outbursts of anger as his sister was. He saw how the man's face hardened and how his fingers clenched into a fist, filling Rolf with ever growing sense of triumph. He almost hoped that the man would step out of line and attack him, just so that he would have a solid reason to drown the Leutnant in such a deep bureaucratic pit of military discipline, he'd be trying to crawl his way out even after the war. As Rolf's anger lessened with each sharp word, his thoughts returned back to the woman and to his hunt and he took his time observing the features of the unflinching Leutnant, realizing how Leutnant Riedel must have been knowledgeable both on his sister's whereabouts as well as the reasons behind her rather unorthodox presence in Africa.

He was already planning on inquiring about these details further, deciding to wait until they would get to moving the last two fighters to their proper places, and he expected nothing else but an positive answer from the Leutnant, a small, vainglorious smile etched upon his features. Instead he found himself momentarily stunned by the unbridled audacity of the other man's words as the Leutnant failed to drop his disrespecting attitude and if anything, only held on to it even stronger, not realizing just what kind of line he was crossing. It seemed that he had not realized how unnaturally benign the Hauptmann's offer had been and how gracious he had been in dismissing his blind arrogance, only rewarding these gestures with poisonous, rotten words. The Leutnant claimed that he had no reason to address the higher ranking officer with his proper title and that if Rolf wished to hear respectful words, he should earn the respect first. Rolf really did not care if he had the Leutnant's respect or not, as insignificant as he was, but the mere notion that he should earn his respect was so completely outlandish that Rolf would have scoffed, had he not been momentarily incapacitated by his wrath. Who did the Leutnant think this was, what did he think he was? Did he go about inquiring each higher ranking officer's history first to see if they were worthy of being addressed properly by him? Who was Leutnant Riedel but a mere peasant brat, now sporting his rank and uniform and for once feeling important for having achieved something? All of these thoughts were finding their way to his tongue so that he might have assaulted the man with another series of angrily roared remarks, but the Leutnant had not stopped there and instead, went on to call the Hauptmann's pilots "damsels in distress" who were shirking their own duties only because they needed to "enjoy a snack". As short as the extent of Rolf's patience was to begin with, nothing infuriated him more but such ridiculous and offending remarks concerning his Gruppe. He had never figured that something might develop such importance to him as his Gruppe had, but he was ready to defend the rights and reputation of the men in the Gruppe until his last breath. He governed the men with an iron grip and he expected nothing less than perfection from them, but he also worked arduously for the good of his Gruppe, never demanding more of them than he would have demanded of himself. Part of this was due to Rolf's natural thirst for distinction and glory, part of it was due to him treating other people as his possessions, but some of it had to do with just the fact that he felt connected to his Gruppe and responsible for the lives of all of its members. The quickest way to drive Rolf to the edge of berserk rage was to insult his Gruppe and the insolent Leutnant had just crossed that very line.

Rolf's fingers curled into tight fists and a violent sneer, like the threatening snarl of a dog, crept to his features, distorting his bruised face into a mask of uncontrolled wrath. By the time the initial blood haze had cleared from his vision, the Leutnant had already turned around, making his way towards the Wehrmacht barracks and away from the seething Hauptmann. Rolf's muscles had beenlightly tingling as his anger was gathering in force like an upcoming storm, but now he felt the liquid fire of blinding wrath shooting through his veins, drowning out any voices of sense and reason. He wanted to crush the insolent man, to stomp him down on the dusty ground and to see his blood stain the sand with its pure crimson, to hear him gasping for mercy and looking up at him, just to read from his eyes how no quarter would be given. The violent visions were filling his ears with the enticing siren song of bloodshed and savagery and Rolf allowed himself to sink further and further into its ethereal melody, now welcoming the rush of adrenaline instead of fighting it.

Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg had been observing the situation, silently twitching at some of the most offending words from both the Leutnant and the Hauptmann, easily managing to remain invisible in the background - a feat quite effortlessly achieved, for the personalities of both the Hauptmann and the Leutnant were more than enough to draw any attention away from the silent Luftwaffe NCO. As much as he had been keeping to the sidelines, he had been observing the situation keenly and after the Wehrmacht officer was taking his leave, he could see the Hauptmann's fingers curling into fists and his head dipping just slightly downwards as the man instinctively prepared himself for an attack. The Hauptmann had not even managed to take the first step after the Leutnant and his soldiers, when he suddenly felt fingers curling around his arm, pulling him back sternly. The man snarled and the gaze of his blazing grey eyes locked on to the source of the disruption, ready to obliterate the person so foolishly trying to stop him from delivering justice, but he stopped for a moment when he was, quite unexpectedly, met by the worried and scared face of his wingman. Rolf was ready to push the man away, but Kronberg spoke quickly, knowing that there was little time to try and speak sense to his CO.

"Herr Hauptmann, es lohnt sich nicht. Wir müssen uns in weniger als einer Stunde entfernen, wir müssen uns an die Mission erinnern. Sie können sich mit dem Leutnant später, aber... der Mission befassen ist das wichtigste Ding in diesem Augenblick... nicht?" Kronberg placed each one of his words carefully after he had the Hauptmann's attention, readying himself for an violent outburst of wrath, yet hoping that the officer would still have enough senses left to listen to him. Rolf sneered at the man and his right hand raised up, as if to strike the Hauptfeldwebel for his uncalled intervention and the other man winced, still hoping for the best. Still, very slowly and quite visibly, something shifted in Rolf's demeanor and he narrowed his silver eyes, his adrenaline-drenched mind trying to make sense of the Hauptfeldwebel's argument. As much as he wanted to chase down the Leutnant and kick his teeth in, a small remainder of responsibility and duty tugged at his insides until the force of these sentiments finally became a pull that was gradually dragging him from the depths of his demonic anger. The man glanced at the fighters that still needed checking and maintenancing by the ground crew, and then after the insolent Leutnant and his men, who by now had made good distance from the Hauptmann. Rolf growled low in his throat and shot Kronberg an irritated look before pulling his arm free in one swift move, his eyes now ominously locking on to this fresh source of disturbance. Kronberg stood rigid in his place, only barely preventing himself from wincing as he expected something akin to the gates of Hell unleashing all of their horrible torments upon him. Instead, Rolf merely stared at the man for a moment, before his hand moved towards the Hauptfeldwebel and with the swiftness of a striking serpent, flipped the field cap from the NCO's head. Kronberg stared at the irritated Hauptmann with no small amount of incredulity, blinking and not daring to even glance at the field cap that had now landed on the sand next to him.

The Luftwaffe officer turned around sharply, his angry steps rapidly taking him towards the fighters, and the ground crew promptly sharpened up, having spied on the confrontation the entire time. Kronberg shifted his left foot carefully and his hand etched up slowly to touch his hair, as if his mind was still gradually attempting to make sense of the events and he was at the part of assessing the damage. "Beweg dich, Kronberg! Wir haben nicht den ganzen Tag Zeit!" Rolf's hoarse voice rang through the dry air and awakened the Hauptfeldwebel back into reality, the man nimbly snatching his field cap from the ground before heading after the Hauptmann, trying to fit the dusty cap back on his head correctly as he hastened his steps.

*********

The night was quickly falling over the merciless desert, changing the sandy slopes of gold into curious waves of deep blue and black after the sun had finally sunken behind the horizon. A silky, silent darkness had cast its blanket over the arid wastes and while some of the soldiers still toiled away on their last duties, or at least whatever could be managed in the darkness of the evening, some had settled into writing letters for their loved ones, playing cards or just discussing various subjects among their comrades - most of which often ended up having something to do with the weather conditions, for this was a subject everyone could relate to. Rows of tents had been set up in a precise order, roads and pathways having formed in the midst of them and towards the left side of the camp, a group of larger tents stood dark against the azure sky and the stars. The canvas of the tents flapped lazily in the small breeze and even though the there was a certain serenity to the nightly desert, the presence of the trained German soldiers, the mere knowledge of the merciless death and destruction this currently peaceful camp could unleash, was enough to make the air feel electric. Even the languid wind seemed to carry a sense of foreboding in it, whispering promises of eternal sleep.

A hand grasped at the metallic door of the Kubelwagen, but then hesitated, fingers slowly releasing their hold as the man stepped away from the vehicle. The rather beaten, desert-camouflaged vehicle was standing near the collection of the large command tents, its canvas top pulled down, Luftwaffe-plates denoting the branch of the army the vehicle belonged to. Rolf Jäger turned away from the vehicle, closing his eyes half-way as he felt the cool breeze upon his skin. The earlier events of the day had still not released their hold on him, but the rage had finally lessened after he had been sitting in the cockpit of his fighter, the powerful engines of the Messerschmitt growling like a wild beast, reminding him of another world, another time. Underneath him the bright, golden wastes of desert sand had stretched from one corner of the world to the other and above him, the blue sky had beckoned for him to let go of his anger and give in to the exhilarating feeling of freedom instead. The fight had been short but sweet, with no losses in Rolf's Gruppe as the Allied forces had been taken quite by surprise, allowing the Luftwaffe to perform their mission with minimal disturbance. Rolf had banked the wing of his fighter slightly, just to witness the fiery flowers of explosions creating a path after the roaring German bombers and the sight, coupled with the powerful rumble of his own fighter, had been enough to silence the nagging sounds of his stubborn grudge.

Still, he was reminded of those sentiments now, standing in the middle of "Wehrmacht territory" as he was and Kronberg, who had been hurrying to the other side of the vehicle to take his place behind the wheel, had by now realized the Hauptmann's hesitation and the Haupfeldwebel's eyebrows knitted together as he already predicted trouble. "Herr Hauptmann?" the man asked across the Kubelwagen and Rolf, now wearing a peaked cap and a slightly less dustier uniform than usually, slipped the folders from his hand upon the empty seat. "Ich muss einen mehr Halt machen. Warten Sie hier," the Hauptmann answered, his thoughts already clearly settled on something other than Luftwaffe tactics and deployment. Kronberg opened his mouth to answer, but Rolf had already turned around, making his way towards the small city of tents, leaving his wingman muttering and frowning.

The Luftwaffe officer made his way determinedly along the makeshift corridors and paths, inquiring on the whereabouts of the 4th platoon of the 3rd Panzergrenadier. The Wehrmacht soldiers were naturally more than happy to help the Hauptmann along his way and the Luftwaffe officer moved among the tents like a dark, tall shadow, his steps becoming all the more purposeful with each stride he took. Once he was closer to what was supposed to be the correct area, he stopped one of the soldiers, specifically asking about the location of the platoon commander, one Leutnant Riedel. He was acting completely on a whim, and he had no real plans on how to address the Leutnant. His intentions were not vengeful, nor were they really amiable, either. Curiosity and obsession towards the other Riedel were now driving his actions and a small smirk was etched upon his lips as his search finally seemed to come to an end and a soldier told the Hauptmann that he would inform the Leutnant of his presence - Rolf never using his name sparingly and making quite sure that the Leutnant would know who to expect. The man, rather courteously, no less, remained standing outside the tent in question, his hand etching into the pocket of his sand-coloured tunic and pulling out a case of cigarettes. Rolf tapped the cigarette on the lid of the cigarette case and lit it, his eyes flicking casually over the rows of tents as he waited.


Translations:

"Herr Hauptmann, es lohnt sich nicht. Wir müssen uns in weniger als einer Stunde entfernen, wir müssen uns an die Mission erinnern. Sie können sich mit dem Leutnant später, aber... der Mission befassen ist das wichtigste Ding in diesem Augenblick... nicht?"
"Herr Hauptmann, it's not worth it. We have to take off in less than an hour, we have to remember the mission. You can deal with the Leutnant later, but... the mission is the most important thing right now... right?"

"Beweg dich, Kronberg! Wir haben nicht den ganzen Tag Zeit!"
"Get moving, Kronberg! We do not have all day!"

"Ich muss einen mehr Halt machen. Warten Sie hier."
"I need to make one more stop. Wait here."

[Dirk Riedel]

It was a beautiful night to celebrate. The skies were clear and ever blue as the strengthened winds travelling from the coastline along the nearest lands slightly stirred the tents carefully placed in neat rows across the Northern part of the city, but not before dusk had acquired its proper throne unto the velvety Libyan night sky were the men of the 4th platoon in the 3rd Panzergrenadier company were happily singing a march back to the barracks after wandering around the coastline in search of food; the canned meat, different fruits and other variously-themed suppers would not suffice for this victory, they were going to serve themselves a proper meal as a minimal form of rewarding the platoon which, at the end of the day, was the most they could hope for apart from a good rest and a peaceful time of quietude. The goose was fighting against one of the soldiers’ hands, in vain, and much to the others’ amusement in their return back to the barracks; walking along the desert streets of the suburbs in Tripoli upon their return from their mission, they enjoyed a little hike up to the shores of the city in which, to their immense surprise and excitement, a herd of wild geese was to be found. The next few quarters of the hour found them chasing after the squealing birds like mad men on a blind operation, cursing, shouting and pointing directions at one another on which way to best strategically position themselves as to achieve the best results: one goose for each soldier of the 4th platoon, and everyone would have a happy stomach for the rest of the week. Sadly, the end result was one goose for the whole 4th platoon, and that particular goose was quite a hard one to tame.

“Bereiten Sie Ihre Bäuche vor. Heute Abend werden wir wie Könige essen, Jungen,” a soldier told his comrades in a satisfied tone as they walked back the streets to the barracks, passing by endless fields of nothingness; nothingness and sand.

“Verdammt! Sie lassen es gehen!”

“Es biss mich!”

Here are the conquerors of Europe, soldiers of perfect shape and spiritual capacity, as deadly as poison gas, commanding leaders of the world wreaking despair and destruction along their way. Trounced by a goose.

“Fang dass wenig Scheiße!” the other one cried as they all stormed forwards, running after the rabid goose as it was trailing along the empty road from left to right, and right to left, its beakwide open and squealing in the deadly silence.

“He! Nennen Sie eine Scheiße nicht, was bald mein Mittagessen sein wird!”

“Ah, es tut mir leid dass, Kord,” his friend mockingly jeered, “beleidigte ich Ihre Freundin?” And they all laughed, except for Kord, who continued scowling all the way back to the tents.

It was less quiet than other nights in the Wehrmacht barracks later that evening by the time the wide firmament had adopted a shade of deepest Prussian blue, enshrouding the surrounding region with a veil of mystical darkness as the Arabian night embraced her children lovingly, the desert humming the ethereal sound of her oriental melodies as the winds carried the sand to the hearts of all those who lived from her soil. Still, roast goose had been enjoyed by the soldiers that evening, and as they happily sang their songs and drank from their beers, recollecting memories from the battle or, every now and then, speaking of their lives back in Germany, their wishes for the future, their loved ones, their aspirations, cracking jokes, relaxing, and simply being themselves in a world where steel-cold power and an iron grip were required to survive through the times. And Dirk watched them all silently, drinking his beer and smoking, thinking how these men standing so very close to her, once strangers, once mere unfamiliar faces in a group of soldiers she had first known during training years ago, were now her family. He was their father, he was their mother. He was their brother and sister. He was all of these, at once and altogether. He would spend his life to protect them with the raw savagery of his animalistic nature and fight for them until his dying breath; together they shared more than spouses and parents ever hoped to share, tread along the treacherous mountain terrains, through the unexplored forests, lost themselves in the endless deserts and with thirsty need begged for water – they had together tasted the ice-cold fingers of death upon their faces, permeated all human boundaries of strength and agility, together they wept, together they feared, together they laughed and drank, and, ultimately, in a world where war obliterated all sense, meaning and purpose of life, comradeship seemed the most meaningful thing they had.

“Bumsen Sie Sie, Sigi! Sie nahmen eine Pisse auf meiner Bierflasche?”

Or, well, almost.

“Wie ist das Problem dieses Kerls?” the other soldier asked in a airy tone, as though not quite sure of his surroundings, slumped onto the ground as he was with his back against the tent, the collar having outreached his jaw from the pressure of standing so low, and taking big gulps from his bottle.

“Wirklich, aus allen Plätzen!” the first man snapped, appearing rather annoyed as he glared at him with furrowed eyebrows, holding up in his right hand his own bottle of beer as if it was the most disgusting thing he had ever touched. The rest of the comrades, however, had burst into insane fits of uncontrollable laughter which the man did not find amusing.

“Es sieht derselbe aus, könnte ebenso denselben kosten,” the other simply shrugged, and loudly burped into the atmosphere. “Geben Sie ihm einen Versuch.”

“Leck mich am Arsch!”

And so time passed, and the merry singing continued, at some points often interrupted with loud eructation, terribly off-key voices, sudden fits of laughter and cheap, crude jokes that served to further lift the soldiers’ mood and cast an aura of intoxicated mirth within the tent, as so it happened for the other platoons. Dirk smiled in his seat and stretched his right arm, carefully making sure the left one remained unmoving as the physician had recommended rest and as little toil exercised upon it as possible, which, as can be inferred, Dirk did not intend to follow. For one, he was drinking, smoking and laughing with his soldiers instead of lying down for a good night’s sleep, which, after a day’s victorious battle, was simply unthinkable, and secondly, for a soldier who was too pre-occupied with battle preparations, offensive strategies, with overlooking all training completed and, bearing the insignia of an officer, being laden with a tremendous amount of responsibility the Leutnant had willingly embraced. At any rate, Dirk had not even wanted to visit the physician at the first place, but only did so after Unterfeldwebel Mathias Plesner had absolutely insisted he should or else he was going to the physician himself and drag him along the way if he must to examine the Leutnant. Several hours later and after a good dose of annoyance, Dirk fashioned a large bandage in the area around his elbow, the sleeve rolled up high in his shoulders, with an additional small patch of cotton against the left side of the back of his neck where he had received a rather nasty scar, easily treated, although one could imagine the irritation these silly medical substances caused the Leutnant – irritation at present dulled from the amount of alcohol enjoyed. Still, Unteroffizier Alfred Gartman would not forget how the officer had taken a bullet for him as the Leutnant had thrown himself into the left to shove Gartman out of the way of a hand grenade erupting from the enemy’s side.

“Ich trinke zu Ihnen, Jungen,” Dirk said and raised his glass; the soldiers raised theirs and nodded at him. “Ich trinke zu Ihnen, Herr Leutnant,” Alfred Gartman said as he looked at his officer with a meaningful glance, and they all downed from their bottles. But as the soldiers continued singing, “Holla-hidi hollala, hollahi diho!” the Leutnant gulped down more beer and turned to look at one of his soldiers, Reiner Luhmann, started to speak.

“Ich verpasse meinen Lili Marleen,” he sighed, holding a letter tightly in his hands.

“Er spricht über seine Mutter,” his friend sighed, and the rest of them barked with laughter. Reiner frowned at them.

“Nein, ich bin nicht! Ich erhielt einen Brief von ihr, wenn Sie wissen müssen. Und ich haben jeden erzählt, wie tapfer und furchtlos Sie sind. Ich erwarte Ihre Rückkehr, mein Liebl – ” he began, but Mathias Plesner had already snatched the letter from him, the soldiers leaning in to peek at the words written in a neat, artistic, female handwriting.

“Ist Wörtern ähnlich die ein Hund schreiben würde,” Mathias commented, and the laughter continued as they all, in perfect chorus line, began to bark like dogs. “Sie verpassen Ihren Hund, Reiner? Wollen wir sehen. Ihre kleine Gretel.”

The entertainment upon such discovery, however, defines every power of description.

“Ist das ein Deckname ähnlich?” another man asked in amused disbelief as the fellow next to him had literally falled down and rolled onto the ground, sniggering hysterically.

“Ah, Sie sind der Hänsel ihrer Gretel, Reiner, Sie zwei lassen mich schreien!” Alfred said, real tears running down his cheeks at the moment, but they were tears of intoxicated laughter more than anything else, his cheeks flushed and his forehead ablaze.

Reiner growled under his breath, and glared at them all. “Ich hasse Sie Kerle!”

Dirk laughed, but at that moment a soldier came into the tent, approached his direction and informed him that a certain Hauptmann Rolf Jäger was waiting for him outside. Suffice it to say, the Leutnant, despite the fact he was the most sober out of his men and perfectly capable of common sense, needed a few moments to register the full meaning of the words as he blinked, looking at the informant quite uncomprehendingly, his mind numb, his face suddenly serious, unable to understand, or say anything. How, what, why. “Herr Leutnant?” the soldier enquired of him, but it was only a few moments later that his superior silently stood up from the ground, briskly nodded and slowly made his way outside.

He had half-expected this to be a bad joke, or that the Hauptmann would have turned around and left, or that he had never appeared in front of the tent at the first place but, as he soon realized, such hopes were bitterly disappointed. The very tall, commanding figure of Rolf Jäger stood a few metres in the near distance, properly clad in his peaked cap and military uniform, and Dirk could still not understand what the hell he was doing here. He stared at the man with an inscrutable face and the beer bottle still firmly held in his hands as he approached the Hauptmann, his features ever as sharp and hostile as they always were in front of the Luftwaffe officer. His silence was never quite violated, not quite knowing what to say at such out of the blue appearance, but then he need not bother say anything for the very figure of one Jürgen Schwandt had come stumbling from the tent right outside in front of them, quite smashed and non-sensical.

“Herr Leutnant!” he growled, stirring from the left foot to his right in an attempt to hold balance. “Welch die Sache ist! Sollte ich darauf für Sie aufpassen? Belästigt jemand Sie? Erzählen Sie mir wer zum Schlag! Ich … es … für Sie tun!”

Dirk could only help but smile as he looked at his soldier, his intoxicated gallantry, the desire to protect his Leutnant from any threat and yet how childishly adorable his behaviour was, how completely and utterly drunken. “Nichts kann ich nicht behandeln, Jürgen,” Dirk informed him in a calm tone, the warm smile etched across his lips as he spoke, having ignored the Hauptmann’s presence standing directly opposite him.

“Und Herr Leutnant, erzählen Sie Sigi nicht zur Pisse in meine Bierflasche wieder …”

“Ich werde ihm erzählen, Jürgen, nicht sorgen.”

“ … und tat er es absichtlich, ich weiß … ” he mumbled as he stumbled away from them into the darkness, ready to collapse on the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes, “keine Rücksicht für die persönliche Hygiene … entschuldigt mich jetzt, Herr Leutnant … habe ich zur Pisse wie ein Rennpferd!” And then he left them, his drunken humming still heard from the near distance. “Es war ein Edelweiß! Ein kleines Edelweiß! Holla-hidi hollala, Hollahi diho!”

Dirk sighed, but at that moment Jürgen’s friend had also come from the tent, wasted as less but sober enough to hold himself up quite adeptly, apparently looking for the other.

“Kord, gehen Sie kümmern sich um ihn, er könnte in ein Zelt fallen.”

“Herr Leutnant, versichere ich Sie, er hat so viel getrunken er ist dabei, in seiner eigenen Pisse und Erbrechen jederzeit jetzt zu schwimmen,” he said with an amused tone, then he laughed at his own joke, and disappeared into the darkness after his friend.

Dirk still smiled absent-mindedly, eyes momentarily fixed at the spot in which both men had vanished off too, before he suddenly remembered something quite unpleasant – and unfortunately, the Hauptmann was still there. He merely scoffed, and tilted his head backwards as he drank from his beer, the liquid washing down on his throat and filling his liver with the welcoming stench of alcohol. He looked up at the Hauptmann silently, wondering what in the devil’s name that piss-poor waste of human life could want with him. If he had lost himself in the wrong barracks, the Leutnant would certainly not show him the way.



Translation

-Prepare your bellies. Tonight we’ll eat like kings, boys.
-Damn! You let it go!
-It bit me!
-Catch that little shit!
-Hey! Don’t call a shit what will soon be my dinner!
-Ah, I’m sorry, Kord, did I insult your girlfriend?

-Fuck you, Sigi! You took a piss on my beer bottle?
-What’s this guy’s problem?
-Really, out of all places!
-It looks the same, might as well taste the same. Give it a try.
-Fuck you!

-I drink to you, boys.
-I drink to you, Herr Leutnant.

-I miss my Lili Marleen.
-He’s talking about his mother.
-No, I’m not! I received a letter from her, if you must know. And I’ve been telling everyone how brave and fearless you are. I await your return, my dar –
-Sounds like words a dog would write. You miss your dog, Reiner? Let’s see. Your little Gretel.
-Is that like a code name?
-Ah, you’re the Hansel to her Gretel, Reiner, you two make me cry!
-I hate you guys!

Herr Leutnant! What is the matter! Should I take care of it for you? Is someone bothering you? Tell me who to punch! I’ll … do it … for you!

Nothing I can’t handle, Jürgen.

And Herr Leutnant, tell Sigi not to piss into my beer bottle again …

I’ll tell him, Jürgen, don’t worry.

… and he did it on purpose, I know … no respect for personal hygiene … now excuse me, Herr Leutnant … I’ve got to piss like a racehorse! It was an edelweiss! One little edelweiss! Holla-hidi hollala, Hollahi diho!

Kord, go look after him, he might fall into a tent.

Herr Leutnant, I assure you, he’s drunk so much he’s going to be swimming in his own piss and vomit anytime now.

[Rolf Jäger]

It was curious how in the war one could go from such violent and brutal events to such a complete stillness that currently dominated the wastes of the nightly desert. The Libyan wilderness could present her viewer with many different faces and by now, Rolf had become familiar with all of them. He had witnessed the way the scorching air would ripple over the yellow sand, he had listened to the fierce howling of a sandstorm and shivered in the cold night air that could chill ones bones to their marrow. But he had to admit he liked times such as this, the velvety darkness of a gentle evening, not yet too cold but still pleasantly warm. Rolf would have quite enjoyed the powerful stillness of the Libyan desert had it not been for the loud commotion that was coming from one of the nearby tents and the man narrowed his eyes as he slipped the lighter back into his pocket. Constant laughter and drunken singing could be heard from within the confines of the tent as the Wehrmacht soldiers heartily enjoyed their short stint of freedom from the constant fighting. Rolf could not make out the exact words, but it was still quite clear to him that all of the soldiers inside the tent must have been drunk out of their wits and he had to wonder if Leutnant Riedel was partaking in the drinking also. Rolf wasn't sure how to react if he was, for the man might be either easier to coerce into answering his questions or alternatively, he might have been just more easily prone to arrogant, foolish words. If he was the type that got more irritated than happy while consuming alcohol, he might have felt it more convenient to even go with a more violent option - certainly the man hated him as blindly as his sister did and had more reason to take a swing at him than to talk to him. The possibility did not really worry Rolf, for he knew how to hold his ground and furthermore, fighting a drunk person usually did not require much effort for they had the tendency of falling flat on their faces without any outside assistance, anyway. He was more worried over not getting decent answers to his questions should the man be overly aggressive, but for now, the state of the Leutnant still remained to be seen.

Hearing abrupt laughter carrying outside the tent once more, Rolf glanced down at his feet and wandered a few steps away from the tent, the cigarette illuminating his bruised face with its glowing orange. He knew that the men needed their time off from the horrors of the war and he was also well aware of the fact that his pilots enjoyed their own occasional drinking binges as much as the Wehrmacht soldiers did. Whenever a new pilot was taken into the Gruppe and had achieved his first kill, all of the other pilots would arrange an initiation party for him, to welcome the new member of the Gruppe properly into their ranks. Rolf was aware of these initiation rites, for the pilots always asked for his permission to arrange the event and Rolf had more than once procured alcohol for them for these occasions, but he had never actually witnessed one of these events himself. He only knew that the newcomer was always set to some ridiculous task by the other pilots and that everyone was suffering from a severe hangover the following morning. He felt it wasn't his place to go meddling into these events, for as aware of his rank and stature as he was, he wasn't completely blind to other people's sentiments. He knew he had no people to call his friends and that he knowingly kept people at a distance with his hostile behaviour, yet he was completely fine with these facts and not aiming to gain anyone's acceptance in the first place. The pilots would enjoy their time drinking together better without him, for they seemed to start acting different the moment he was around. Maybe it was because of his turbulent nature, maybe because of his rank or maybe he just didn't quite know how to properly partake in all of the crude joking and heavy drinking. He hadn't really thought about it and most of the time he enjoyed his solitude, for it gave him time to relax and he was able to focus on his thoughts, not having to keep up a constant front for the others. Most people most likely figured that the Hauptmann was far too absorbed by himself to even notice these facts, but Rolf was quite aware of the situation, yet not bothered by it.

Still, right now something heavy and unpleasant stirred within the Hauptmann and the man frowned, trying to concentrate all of his willpower into shutting out the words, laughter and singing coming from the tent nearby. He realized it was a world he didn't belong into and even though he tried to push the feeling away, for a moment his duties and loyalties seemed to weigh much more heavily upon his shoulders. He was Rolf Jäger, he knew he didn't need anyone to make himself feel better, yet he had to wonder how it would have felt like, sitting in that tent, laughing with the others. It felt so very outlandish, he tilted his head to the side as he contemplated on it, yet couldn't really see himself in the midst of others. His thoughts were cut short when he heard the canvas of the tent moving and witnessed the Leutnant emerging from the tent, a bottle of beer in his hand and a rather unwelcoming expression upon his sharp features. Obviously the man had received some injuries over the course of the day - the exact source of which Rolf could only guess on - but since the Leutnant had joined his men in their celebrations, the extent of his wounds could have not been very serious. He remained silent, as did Rolf, for neither one of them seemed to know how to address the other one and Rolf was still carefully scanning the Leutnant's features to discern whether he was as drunk as his soldiers seemed to be. Rolf stood in his place, his stature rigid and proud and his grey eyes narrowed while the ember of the cigarette still glowed between his fingers.

The cold silence was interrupted by someone clambering from the tent, a rather drunken Wehrmacht soldier having hurried after Riedel, his speech severely slurring as he promised to take care of the disturbance for the Leutnant. The man had apparent difficulties in maintaining his balance and Rolf regarded him silently, some amount of disgust visiting his eyes as the drunken lout swayed about, mentioning something about pissing into beer bottles - the plebs certainly had a very crude idea of having a good time, didn't they? The Leutnant ignored the Hauptmann, answering the disoriented soldier instead and the man soon started off, promptly followed by another man who was sent after the first one by Riedel. Rolf remained standing still, enjoying his cigarette and just observing the events with patience that seemed quite uncharacteristic for him. He had clearly noted the fact that the Leutnant had not saluted him or shown any other efforts towards acknowledging his presence other than the hateful look he had initially cast his way, yet the previous thoughts were still bothering Rolf slightly. He could have barked angry words at Riedel, threatened him with whatever consequences he might conjure up over his blind insolence, yet he did not see the point in going to such wasted efforts, not right now. If the man insisted in being as stubborn as he was, he would report his unruly behaviour, but this wasn't the reason behind his current presence at the Wehrmacht camp, far from it. He allowed his thoughts drift back to the fierce viridian eyes and to the milky white skin of his prey, back to the woman whose actions had left a brutal mark upon his skin in the form of the various bruises that still marred his features.

Rolf's other hand moved almost instinctively to touch his own jaw, his fingers registering the sharp bristles of his stubble and a small sensation of pain soon travelling across his skin as his fingertips briefly touched the bruises. He seemed thoughtful for a brief moment, but then his steel-grey eyes moved to regard the Leutnant once again, quietly observing as he tilted his head back to enjoy a hefty gulp of beer, still demonstrating only his complete insolence towards the Hauptmann. Rolf felt a momentarily twinge of irritation, but he allowed it pass, hand dropping down from his chin and fishing out the case of cigarettes, instead. He flicked it open with his thumb, offering the cigarettes to the Leutnant, his current expression only hinting to some sense of curiosity and inner reflection. "Leutnant Riedel," the man announced hoarsely, his voice low and neutral. "Ich kann Sie nur annehmen, und Ihre Männer genossen einen erfolgreichen Tag des Kämpfens," the man started, soon closing the cigarette case, not really caring whether the Leutnant had accepted the courteous offer or not.

Instead, the Hauptmann raised his own cigarette to his lips, while his eyes still remained on Riedel, calculating, assessing. The Wehrmacht officer did not appear overly drunk, for he stood perfectly still and the look in his eyes had not yet been hazed by the poison of alcohol. Instead the Leutnant regarded him with the same cold sharpness as always, hatred and disgust evident within his curiously familiar eyes. Rolf raised his eyebrows in a very casual manner, his chin raising up and his head tilting to the side as he spoke. "Ich bin nicht hier wegen was früher wenn geschah das ist das, was Sie denken. Mein Interesse liegt in völlig anderen Sachen, nämlich mit einer interessanten Begegnung verbunden seiend, die ich mit einem anderen Riedel hatte, eine sehr bemerkenswerte Ähnlichkeit zu sich selbst, Leutnant tragend," the man rasped, a small flame kindling within him at the memory of the encounter, effectively driving away the shreds of looming darkness that had still stubbornly persisted. A small, crooked smile visited the Hauptmann's lips and he shook his head as he continued. "Oh Ja, ein verwirrendster Anblick zuerst, versichere ich Sie, aber natürlich, Sie müssen das vorher gehört haben. Ich stelle mir vor, dass ich von der Wahrheit nicht sehr weit sein würde, wenn ich glauben würde, dass sie Ihre Schwester, Leutnant ist?" It was more of an statement than a question, of course, and Rolf didn't bother waiting around for an answer, either.

"Es ist solch eine Scham, die ich nie die Zeit hatte, um mehr über sie, solch ein faszinierender Charakter herauszufinden, weil sie sicher ist. Leider war unsere Sitzung so sehr... weisen ein," Rolf tasted his cigarette once again, blowing the smoke out lazily while within his grey eyes now lay only unbridled curiosity. "Ich möchte mehr über sie wissen, und wer erfahrener im Antworten auf meine Fragen außer ihrem lieben Bruder selbst würde. Also, erzählen Sie wirklich, Leutnant. Wie ist ihr Vorname? Und warum ist sie in Afrika? Freiwillige Arbeit von einer Art? Ganz ein unorthodoxes Ding, zu tun, um hier in der Mitte dieser Wüste irgendwie zu reisen... Was tut sie für ein Leben? Ist sie verheiratet?" Each question was giving life to dozens of other ones and all of them buzzed within his head like an unruly swarm of tiny fireflies. Rolf wished to know everything there was to know about the mysterious woman, his entire mind now having re-acquired its feverish, obsessive purpose and his entire being fixated upon tracking down his prey.

He forced himself to pause, so as not to overwhelm the Leutnant with all of his questions and a small, fervent glint of compulsiveness was quickly overtaking the curiosity within his silver eyes.He thirsted for the knowledge even more than he had expected, his gaze sternly locked upon the keeper of these secrets, as if the man was hoping to steal the answers from within his mind.


Translations:

"Ich kann Sie nur annehmen, und Ihre Männer genossen einen erfolgreichen Tag des Kämpfens."
"I can only assume you and your men enjoyed a successful day of fighting."

"Ich bin nicht hier wegen was früher wenn geschah das ist das, was Sie denken..."
"I am not here because of what happened earlier, if that is what you think. My interest lies in completely other matters, namely having to do with an interesting encounter I had with another Riedel, bearing a very striking similarity to yourself, Leutnant."

"Oh Ja, ein verwirrendster Anblick zuerst, versichere ich Sie, aber natürlich, Sie müssen das vorher gehört haben.."
"Oh yes, a most confusing sight at first, I assure you, but of course, you must have heard this before. I imagine I wouldn't be very far from the truth if I guessed she is your sister, Leutnant?"

"Es ist solch eine Scham, die ich nie die Zeit hatte, um mehr über sie, solch ein faszinierender Charakter herauszufinden, weil sie sicher ist. Leider war unsere Sitzung so sehr... weisen ein."
"It is such a shame I never had the time to find out more about her, such an intriguing character as she certainly is. Unfortunately our meeting was so very... brief."

"Ich möchte mehr über sie wissen, und wer erfahrener im Antworten auf meine Fragen außer ihrem lieben Bruder selbst würde..."
"I wish to know more about her and who would more skilled in answering my questions other than her dear brother himself. So, do tell, Leutnant. What is her first name? And why is she in Africa? Volunteer work of some kind? Quite an unorthodox thing to do, to travel here in the middle of these wastes, anyway... What does she do for a living? Is she married?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Take it.

Dirk remained in his unresponsive state, looking at the Hauptmann with an enigmatic face which bore at this point neither hatred nor resentment, but mere controlled hostility such as was enough to let the other man know he was not welcome here – and yet, the Leutnant’s face far from appeared threatening or keen for a fight, the man simply standing still in his position, hardened curiosity surfaced through his facial features as his eyes bore into the other man’s, perhaps attempting to decipher the reasons behind such a most unpredictable visit, unusual for the Hauptmann’s likes and, indeed, unprecedented to what the Leutnant had known to expect of him, as irises slowly shifted to eye the case of cigarettes flicked open for him. Dirk simply looked at the man with an unsentimental gaze. Take it. There was no reason he should not, and yet the reasons why he should were cynically less imposing for him to succumb to. Just take the cigarette, Dirk. But he could not; to him giving someone a cigarette meant a means of truce or peace, in a sense, and acceptance of it meant by extension the recognition of that very truce which both members had engaged themselves in, but which the Leutnant was not prepared to respond to at this given moment, whether this was the Hauptmann’s intention or not. He observed the man closely, the arrogance now slowly simmering underneath his presently calm features, and endeavoured to understand his nature, solve the reasoning behind such an action coming from a man with erratic intentions and unfathomable plans. Just take the fucking cigarette! He knew he needed to, for the Leutnant had no grounds to be hostile with the Hauptmann to such an extent as to refuse a cigarette and, certainly, the events of the morning did not suffice to prolong such uncalled for hostility; he knew fairly well that Friederike’s wrath needed to be separated from his own or else the Leutnant would have appeared a most irrational human being – or a fool, neither of which characterised the soldier. Dirk stretched out his hand and pulled a single cigarette from the case, studying the man’s face intensely all the while; he appeared, as per usual, completely indifferent to his surroundings or to other people’s sentiments which, for an encounter such as this one, probably served him best.

The Leutnant did not respond once the other man recognized their platoon’s victorious battle but continued staring at him in utter quietude, expecting of him to stop beating about the bush and explain the reasoning behind his sudden, unwarranted appearance in the Wehrmacht barracks, and indeed, the Hauptmann soon thus obliged him. Dirk had almost brought the cigarette up to his lips, his left hand rummaging through his pockets in search of a lighter, when both hands suddenly froze and he looked up at the other man, the one holding the cigarette stopped in mid-air when the Hauptmann’s next words rang through his ears, as crystal clear as the waters of the Danube passing through the vast lands of Germany, with twice the force. Dirk retained this strange posture, his face utterly deadpan and his eyes unmoving, even as the other man elaborated his explanations further, through his assumption – a rhetorical question, indeed – of them being siblings to which the officer did not respond, unresponsive through the man’s claims of what a confusing sight it had been to witness both of them, the … shame from knowing nothing of her, their rather … brief encounter. These had been his very words and Dirk could not help but blankly stare at him despite his wishes, ‘the other Riedel’ hanging in the air uncomfortably close to this Riedel when neither should have been associated with one another at the first place. Dirk had realized later it had been a mistake to appear in that social reception in his female form but it so appeared that hindsight was the most useless aspect life had to offer in a person’s experience, laughably in existence for the mere purpose of infuriating the bearer of its knowledge furthermore.

But the Hauptmann never stopped; his voice pierced through the Leutnant’s entire length, infiltrated his defences and, perhaps for a single moment, threatened to harass his unemotional stance, his sanity, the very purpose for which he had enlisted in the army at the first place. And Dirk could not understand. He could not understand why the other man was purposely speaking this way, desiring to know of Friederike Woltermann’s identity, and once even wondered whether he was only toying with him as a foolish means of punishment over what happened in the morning. The encounter at the social gathering had only ever been an act of chance that should never again occur, for Dirk did not intend to drop his present appearance for the sake of resuming his former identity. He quietly stared at Jäger as he breathed in from his cigarette, and only when the man had paused for a second to take another draw did Riedel bring his frozen hand slowly down, the curving of his eyebrows over his eyes being the first manifestation of emotion throughout the Hauptmann’s inquisitive speech. His body remained rigid and frozen, and to his immediate, continued but silent astonishment, the Luftwaffe officer streamed a flow of questions down his way, all concerning the same person, all of them posed with an almost feverish curiosity in his voice, one right after the other, forcibly, demandingly, needing to know. Dirk narrowed his eyes further once the other man eventually brought his words to an end, feeling the warm essence of sweat beginning to form itself across the back of his neck.

Every fibre of his brain was frantically functioning in rapid rhythm as the Leutnant remained silent for the next few moments, until, finally, his hand found its way slowly inside the pocket of his trousers, his appearance calm and almost dangerously quiet as he pulled out the lighter, head tilted slightly downwards as he observed his fingers lighting up the cigarette, his mind racing, and once he brought his head back up and took a deep drag from the tobacco, eyes narrowed to slits for that moment it took the orange light to drown his features in a grey smoke surrounding his face – and when he pulled down the cigarette and stared at the Hauptmann, his intentions had been cleared, his thoughts put in perfect order, his actions sharply disciplined, and he took one step closer to Jäger. “Meine Schwester erzählte mir über Ihre … Schriftsatz Begegnung, Hauptmann. Sie sehen, ich traf sie einzig vor ein paar Tagen, als sie zu den Baracken für die neue Übergabe der medizinischen Ausrüstung kam. Stellen Sie sich meine Überraschung vor, die blauen Blaue ihren Händen und ihrem Gesicht zu sehen. Natürlich muss ein Bruder fragen,” he spoke softly as he took another draw from the cigarette, green eyes never leaving the other man’s face as they burned into his ice-grey irises with redundant but yet perfectly controlled fire. “Wie Sie verstehen … wird das persönlich,” he said in a quiet, hoarse voice as his hand gestured both of them meaningfully.

Dirk took another step closer to the Hauptmann, calmly smoking, and the next words which permeated the empty space between and were to enter the other man’s head with the driving force of an MP40 were voiced in almost shocking, easy composure such as to suggest the Leutnant may have as well been talking about the weather. “Jetzt denke ich für uns, um zu sein, sogar ich würde Ihre Zähne zerschlagen, Ihr schickliches Gesicht in kleinen Stücken brechen, dann Ihre Bälle abschneiden und sie zu den libyschen Streuhunden füttern müssen, bevor ich weitergehe, den restlichen Teil dessen zu kastrieren, dass verlassen Ihrer gerade bumst, so können Sie lernen es direkt zwischen Ihren Schenkeln schieben und zweimal denken, bevor Sie als nächstes annehmen, dass Sie nach Wunsch bumsen können. Jetzt der,” he said with a smile, and nodded as if to emphasize the truth of his statement, “würde uns ziemlich sogar machen, denken Sie nicht?” Slightly narrowing his eyes and observing the Hauptmann closely, he could only appear as nonchalant as his facial features exhibited, a man with perfect control over his ire to such an extent it appeared he was taking pleasure from such images which, at this moment, was indeed the case with Dirk Riedel. “Das Problem ist,” he continued in the same serene tone, “die höheren Kommandanten würden sich Familienverpflichtungen stimmt dass? aber andererseits nicht zu Herzen nehmen, ich denke nicht, dass sie zu fröhlich sein würden, um zu wissen, dass einer ihrer prominentesten Männer die Frauen des Führer plündert, würde Ihnen Flieger etwas schlechter Ruf bringen. So wie steht’s mit diesem kastrierten Tier, dann, und wer würde erfahrener sein als ihr lieber Bruder selbst?” he smiled as he returned the question back to its bearer, eyes glinting with a hint of menace.

But still, he was not going to leave those questions answered; the Hauptmann’s thirst needed to be quenched first before Dirk was assured he would not be seeking after information from other sources, which might prove dangerous for the Leutnant. Dirk did not wish to leave unfinished business and instead aimed to extinguish the curious fires within the Hauptmann’s mind over the identity of Friederike so that, eventually, his queries would be solved, and his curiosity fulfilled – then he would leave him alone for good. “Bezüglich jener Fragen ... von euch meldete sie sich mit den Hilfstruppen der Streitkräfte, als der Krieg anfing und ich hier – unorthodox eingesetzt wurde, wie Sie sagen, aber unglücklicherweise ist sie ein Atheist,” he jeered in a clearly mocking tone. “Sie hat ein Leben verdient, indem sie in Bombe-Fabriken arbeitet, die, wie Sie erzählen können, ihre genug Kenntnisse gibt, um den leeren Raum Ihres Gehirns zu haben, explodieren in einem Bruchteil einer Sekunde. Ist sie verheiratet? Ja, sie ist. Großer Kerl, Veteran des Großen Krieges mit Narben, die den ganzen Weg von seinen Zähnen bis zu seinem Esel reichen, um seine Grütze zu beweisen. Sie wollen nicht mit ihm panschen – aber am bestimmtesten wollen Sie nicht mit mich beschmutzen,” he warned him as he came even closer slowly, and for the first time his face wore an expression that best suited the gravity of his words, jaw hardened and eyes furiously blazing underneath his curved eyebrows. “Ich höre, dass Sie irgendwo in der Nähe von ihr wieder gewesen sind, Sie sind dabei, die Ruhe Ihrer Tage in diesem Kämpfer ausgeben zu müssen, der mehr Artillerie hinzufügt, um die Gewicht Probleme geschaffen von der ganzen freien Breite nach oben und unten zu heben, nachdem ich mit Ihnen getan werde. Und wenn ich mit Ihnen getan werde, Sie sicher als Hölle-Reue die Hure Sie wollten Ihre Finger zu gehabt durchstechen, um ein Bauer zu sein.”

With another calm drag from the cigarette, the Leutnant stared at him openly, his eyes unyielding, unforgiving. “Und Ihr Name?”

But he had saved the name for last. At the point of question he had no idea – it had never chanced before – what on earth this other Riedel would be called, but the military sound he had sang and marched to all those times was forever absorbed into his mind. Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein und das heißt –


“–Erika,” he said in a quiet rasp, looking at the other man unblinkingly. “Aber das sollte nicht Ihre Sorge sein – sollte es?”


Translation

My sister told me about your … brief encounter, Hauptmann. You see, I met her only a few days ago when she came to the barracks for the new delivery of medical equipment. Imagine my surprise to see the bruises on her hands and her face. Naturally, a brother has to ask. As you understand … this gets personal.

Now, I think for us to be even I would have to smash your teeth, break your decorous face in small pieces, then cut off your balls and feed them to the Libyan stray dogs before I proceed to geld the remaining part of whatever is fucking left of you just so you can learn to shove it right between your thighs and think twice before you next assume you can fuck at will. Now that would make us pretty even, don’t you think?

The problem is, the superior commanders wouldn’t take to heart family obligations, would they? But then again, I don’t think they’d be too light-hearted to know one of their most prominent men despoils the women of the Führer, would bring you flyboys some bad reputation. So how about that gelding, then, and who would be more skilled than her dear brother himself?

As for those questions of yours ... she enlisted with the auxiliary troops of the armed forces when the war started and I was deployed here – unorthodox, as you say, but, sadly, she’s an atheist. She has earned a living by working in bomb factories, which, as you can tell, gives her enough knowledge to have the empty space of your brain blow up in a fraction of a second. Is she married? Yes, she is. Big guy, veteran of the Great War with scars reaching all the way from his teeth up to his ass to prove his grit. You don’t want to mess with him – but most definitely you don’t want to mess with me. I hear you’ve been anywhere near her again, you’re going to have to spend the rest of your days in that fighter adding more ordnance to lift the weight problems created from all the vacant latitude upstairs and downstairs after I’m done with you. And when I’m done with you, you’ll sure as hell regret the whore you wanted to stick your fingers to had to be a peasant.

And her name?

On the heath a little flower blooms and it’s called –

–Erika. But that shouldn’t be your concern – should it?

[Rolf Jäger]

Stubborn insolence. Complete lack of common sense. Careless impudence such as Rolf had never before experienced from a lower ranking soldier, all of these things were now forced upon him in such a rapid fashion, the German pilot could only hold the cigarette between his fingers and stare at the Wehrmacht Leutnant, stunned by sheer disbelief as he was. He was somewhat surprised when the man informed him that his sister had recounted the events of the fateful night to him - or more so, the man had spotted the bruises over her skin and naturally demanded to know what had happened. Rolf's steel-grey eyes narrowed at this new bit of information and he stood in his place, unflinching yet at the same time, obviously quite surprised. The Leutnant stepped closer to him, as if to accentuate his point, and promptly proceeded to spit out his threats, much as Rolf had expected. He was the worried, protective brother and even though Rolf was the only child in the family and could not really understand the bond that could exist between siblings, he could still comprehend the grounds for the anger and vengefulness that coated the Leutnant's words. The words gained in weight when they were voiced with such a cold, relentless tone, as to discernibly chill the air between the two men and Rolf could do nothing but absorb each one of these carefully placed, bloody threats that promised a very gruesome fate for him.

Rolf's face was frozen into a mask of incredulity and maybe even some sense of hesitation and he narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. The Leutnant still went on, saying how performing such actions would certainly spell trouble for the Leutnant himself, no matter how much he wanted to make them reality, but that the should word of Rolf's deeds reach higher military authorities, the man would no doubt find himself in a similar bind. So steadfast and ominous was the tone of the Leutnant's voice, there really couldn't have been any doubt over whether he was serious or not and for a moment, Rolf felt something cold gripping at his insides, and he suddenly felt confused by this strange feeling which so rarely visited him. Was it fear? Was it worry? Or was it just a very heavy, disturbing sense of disbelief that was making him feel this way? Whatever it was, it was a sentiment Rolf had never really completely explored and he drove it away with a brief nudge of his head, all the while the gaze of his grey eyes still remained upon the ruthless, unforgiving features of the Leutnant.

The Hauptmann was expecting for the man to leave after spouting out his threats, or come up with some new, even more descriptive insults, but he did neither of these things. The feeling that had started flexing its icy fingers around Rolf's heart suddenly let go, the hand of fear slipping back to whatever depths it had emerged from. The burning, much more familiar and welcome feeling of irritation was quickly taking over and Rolf knew that it wouldn't take long until the flames would be reaching higher, filling his body and mind with the drug of adrenaline. The Leutnant had barked and growled and the two men had faced each other like two angry canines, their hackles raised, their eyes keeping close track of each movement their opponent made, but instead of attacking, the Leutnant was now backing down and for whatever reason, chose to answer the Hauptmann's previous questions instead. Rolf could not understand it, for he had felt almost cornered for a moment, yet he had not been attacked - not in the way he had expected, at least. He was used to confrontations and in all reality, they seemed to be the only kind of human contact he ever experienced. By now he had learned that offense was often the best method of defence, which was why his teeth were constantly bared and why he was always expecting an attack. The sudden shift in the Leutnant's demeanor had thrown Rolf slightly off-balance and his mind was now furiously trying to work out the reasons behind the change.

If the man was so keen on protecting his sister, why would he give any thought on telling Rolf anything about her? Rolf raised his eyebrow as the obvious reason was soon laid out before him and Riedel referred to his sister's husband, underlining just how dangerous the man was. The Leutnant warned Rolf away from his sister once again, yet this time the threats felt lukewarm and insignificant, only giving fuel to the flames burning inside the Luftwaffe officer. He had seen the same gaze once, in similar eyes, accompanied by words that were expressed with the same gravity as they were now as the Leutnant stared him down, eyes blazing with cold hatred. The Leutnant promised that should Rolf get anywhere near his sister once again, the man would go through with his promise, no matter what the consequences. He then paused for a moment, as if to consider something, before the knowledge Rolf had so much yearned for, left his arrogant lips.

Erika. That was her name? Rolf arched an eyebrow, curiously not feeling the exhilarating rush of satisfaction he had expected to experience upon finding out her entire name. Maybe it was just because the Leutnant was still staring at him, his threats still pushing and prodding at Rolf, reminding him that something should be done about them no matter how insignificant they felt now that his mind was once more fixated upon his hunt. He forced his thoughts to focus on the Leutnant again and he cleared his mind, recalling his earlier words, his threats and more specifically, the details that had been contained within them. Something suggested that he should look even beyond that and in his thoughts he returned back to the earlier events of the day, back to the moment he had first met the arrogant Wehrmacht officer. Assuredly the Leutnant had treated him in a disrespectful and hateful fashion right away and Rolf had merely put it on the account of the man being pissed off over having his soldiers borrowed. Maybe this anger had been further spurred on by his knowledge of the incident between his sister and the Hauptmann, but then... one might have then expected an even more forceful reaction from him. It would have been more fitting for the Leutnant to have searched him out right away after hearing about the incident instead of letting it go unchecked - unless it was his sister who had specifically asked him to disregard the event. But why? Why, after all that abuse, hatred and blind insulting, would she not wish for justice to come to pass? If she had wished to keep his brother's military career untarnished, then why not go to the authorities directly to settle the matter? It could have had something to do with his injuries, of course, or the fact that nobody might have believed her tale in the first place, but Rolf couldn't help but feeling doubtful over these facts.

His mind skipped away from the airfield, withdrawing itself even further back in time and back to a moment that had been painted over his thoughts with his own blood. He could vividly remember her feral expression, her exhilarating closeness, the alluring scent of her hair and the way her white skin had been illuminated by the moon. He had gone through all of the details multiple times during the course of the week, so as not to forget even the smallest elements of the painful, yet thrilling experience. Rolf allowed his thoughts to further settle on the moment when the woman had allowed her fingertips travel over his skin and his heart was beating faster when he imagined the precise, purposeful movements of her fingers on his face. She had wiped the blood off, straightened out his collars and tried to make the Hauptmann appear more presentable, just to mock the sorry state the proud man had gotten himself into. There had been no real tenderness behind this gesture, but Rolf let this knowledge slip past his guards and vanish somewhere into the darkness, so that he could better alter the memory and make it into something he preferred. Suddenly there was another purpose behind the movement of her fingertips and a small, hungry feeling sparked within him as he allowed his mind get withdrawn further inside the illusion. He looked into the image further, now clearly seeing the strong, pale fingers, marred by work as they obviously were, yet... no ring decorated them. There had been no ring.

Rolf forced his mind snap back into the current moment, letting go of the memory and even though it felt as if he had remained in the vision for a good, long while, no more than a few seconds had truly passed. How convenient it was that the woman should suddenly have a dangerous, scarred husband now that Rolf was around. And wasn't it strange just how fervently her brother needed to underline these facts to him, when the woman did not even bother to wear her ring into a party full of soldiers who no doubt would be starving for the attention of a blonde beauty such as herself? It all seemed far too convenient and Rolf's mind was working with the efficiency and preciseness of a true lawyer. Time had slowed down within his mind, placing bits of information together, considering the facts, drawing fine details from the archives of his memories. As the pieces of the puzzle started coming together and the picture became clearer, the confidence within him grew, filling him with a sense of blissful security. There was a reason he had already managed to make a name for himself as a lawyer, even if some part of that had to do with people confusing him with his father upon hearing his family name. Rolf had studied hard to meet his family's expectations and he had worked even harder on his cases, for perfection had been always expected of him and he had learned to demand nothing less of himself. He knew when to attack, he knew when to defend, he knew how to present his evidence and how to denigrate his opposition's case. The Leutnant simply had no chance in battling him on such territory.

The Hauptmann tilted his head down and to the side, suddenly raising his hands up slowly, as if to surrender, taking a few steps back from the Leutnant to form a larger safety zone between them while his eyebrows were kept constantly raised. It was a clear gesture of submission and Rolf's eyes were slightly wide to accentuate his fear and worry, but of course, it was nothing more but an openly jeering act. The corners of the Hauptmann's mouth drew up involuntarily, the man obviously trying to contain his laughter for a moment, but then the man's steel-grey eyes glinted with clear amusement and he allowed a small, hoarse chuckle escape his lips, having to battle for a moment to speak. "Hab Erbarmen, Leutnant. Ihr Mund, es setzt gerade fort sich zu bewegen, Wörter kommen heraus... Und ich werde völlig wehrlos vor diesem wütenden Scheiße-Sturm verlassen, ich muss einfach bitten. Bitte anhalten. Geben Sie mir einen Moment der Begnadigung mindestens!" Rolf rasped and allowed his hands to go down slowly, the crooked grin returning back to his features once again. "Obwohl ich Sie empfehlen muss, denke ich nicht, dass ich jemals solch eine Rede von irgendjemandem gehört habe. Ich mag den Weg Sie Wort Ihre Beleidigungen, das ist sehr kreativ. Erinnert mich viel von Ihrer Schwester - solcher Witz auf ihr, wenn sie geärgert wird, ist nicht dort? Zu schlecht, den dieser Witz von euch zu anderen Dingen wie das Denken nicht erreicht, bevor Sie Ihren Mund öffnen und solche eselhaften Beschuldigungen gegen einen höheren Offizier mit dem höchsten Dienstgrad präsentieren. Wirklich, Leutnant..." Rolf shook his head, narrowing his eyes in a disapproving manner.

"Sie würden zu jemandem mit einer Geschichte wie Ihrig wirklich gehen, behauptend, dass ich irgendwie Ihre Schwester verletzt habe? Gab es jemand der bezeugte persönlich diese Ereignisse außer ihr?" the man questioned, suddenly having taken on his familiar skin of a lawyer, the desert now his courtroom, the Hauptmann acting at his own defense. "Ich schätze... so, niemand wirklich! Es würde Ihr und das Wort Ihrer Schwester gegen meinig sein. Sie, zwei Bauern, Sie beide, sehr bewundernswert Ihren Teil für das Vaterland, kein Argument dort tuend. Und dann ich selbst, ein langjähriges Mitglied der Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, ein Teil der Luftwaffe seit 1937, einer Baron, des Sohns eines geschätzten Richters und eines Rechtsanwalts selbst. Jemals der treue Diener von Deutschlands, weil meine Familie immer gewesen ist," Rolf shrugged and his eyes locked on to the Leutnant, his gaze sharpening. "Bedeutet nicht, dass Leute Ihre Geschichte ebenso ungläubig finden könnten, wie es ist, so würden wir noch mit Ihren Worten gegen meinig verlassen..., aber dann müssen Sie eine andere Tatsache betrachten. Sie legen Ihre Beschwerde jetzt ab, und zweifellos wird eine andere Tatsache erscheinen, mit dem Streit zwischen uns zwei früher heute, ein mit vielen Zeugen nicht weniger verbunden seiend. Konnte es nicht sein, dass Sie sich Leutnant, bloß so geärgert durch unsere Unstimmigkeit fühlten, dass Sie eine lächerliche Geschichte über mich präsentierten, Ihre Schwester gerade angreifend, so konnten Sie mir verletzen? Eine vernünftige Person hätte keine Zeit verschont, die Behörden informierend, hatte solch eine Ungerechtigkeit vorgekommen, aber nicht sich selbst. Die tun, denken Sie, würde Sie, Leutnant glauben?" Rolf arched his eyebrow and smiled, breathing in deeply, savoring the moment before he continued.

"Außerdem, diese Sache mit Ihrer Schwester und ihrem äußerst gefährlichen, narbigen Mann... Vielleicht sollten Sie mir seinen Namen geben, so dass ich ihm dazu richtig gratulieren konnte, gefunden zu haben, dass solch ein verlockendes Muster der Frauen sein eigenes nannte. Natürlich würde es ziemlich unmöglich sein, jemanden ausfindig zu machen, der außerhalb der Grenzen Ihrer eigenen Meinung nicht besteht. Ihre Geschichte eines unheilverkündenden Kriegsveteran scheint allzu günstig ganz zu schweigen von der Tatsache, dass sie keinen Ring in ihrem Finger hatte. Was sie ist... Beschämt? Oder war es etwas greller kleiner Anschlag von ihr, einige der sich höher aufreihenden Mitglieder aus beliebigem Grund zu locken, den sie haben könnte? Obwohl ... das sehr patriotisch nicht klingt, es jetzt?" The man crunched his eyebrows as if in deep thought, before discarding his cigarette with a simple flick of his fingers. "Was für meine Anliegen und Interessen sind, gibt es nichts Sie können über sie tun. Wenn Sie wirklich die Gründe hatten, um irgendwelche Beschwerden gegen mich abzulegen, hätten Sie so bereits getan. Derselbe geht für Ihre Drohungen. Wenn Sie gegenüber ihnen ernst waren, was hätte Sie verhindert, mich bei der ersten Gelegenheit dazu anzugreifen, meinen Namen zu hören? Oder jetzt? Es wird Sie sehen hinter Schloss und Riegel bis zum Ende des Krieges irgendwie enden. Weil ich, Leutnant sagte... Sie sind mit der Scheiße voll, und der Gestank wird ziemlich unerträglich. Aber ich glaube, dass das für Sie leicht ist, das Bemerken davon, seit Ihnen völlig zu verpassen, Bauern wohnen in der Substanz die ganze Zeit, irgendwie," a malicious smile crept upon the man's lips and his stubbled chin tilted up slightly as he allowed his words to sink in properly.


Translations:

"Hab Erbarmen, Leutnant. Ihr Mund, es setzt gerade fort sich zu bewegen, Wörter kommen heraus..."
"Have mercy, Leutnant. Your mouth, it just keeps moving, words come out... And I am left completely defenseless in front of this raging shit storm, I simply must beg. Please, stop. Give me a moment of reprieve, at least!"

"Obwohl ich Sie empfehlen muss, denke ich nicht, dass ich jemals solch eine Rede von irgendjemandem gehört habe..."
"Although I must commend you, I don't think I have ever heard such a speech from anyone. I like the way you word your insults, it is very creative. Reminds me much of your sister - such wit on her when she is irritated, isn't there? Too bad that this wit of yours does not reach to other things, such as thinking before you open your mouth and come up with such asinine accusations against a higher ranking officer. Really, Leutnant..."

"Sie würden zu jemandem mit einer Geschichte wie Ihrig wirklich gehen, behauptend, dass ich irgendwie Ihre Schwester verletzt habe..?"
"You would really go to someone with a story such as yours, claiming that I have somehow offended your sister? Was there someone who personally witnessed these events besides her?"

"Ich schätze... so, niemand wirklich..!"
"I guess... well, nobody, really! It would be your and your sister's word against mine. You, two peasants, both of you very admirably doing your part for the Fatherland, no argument there. And then myself, a long-standing member of the National Socialist Party, part of the Luftwaffe since 1937, a baron, son of an esteemed judge and a lawyer myself. Ever the faithful servant of Germany, as my family has always been."

"Bedeutet nicht, dass Leute Ihre Geschichte ebenso ungläubig finden könnten, wie es ist, so würden wir noch mit Ihren Worten gegen meinig verlassen..."
"Doesn't mean that people might find your story as incredulous as it is, so we would still be left with your words against mine... But then you have to consider another fact. You file your complaint now and no doubt another fact will emerge, having to do with the dispute between us two earlier today, one with many witnesses, no less. Couldn't it be, that you, Leutnant, merely felt so angered by our disagreement that you came up with a ludicrous story about me attacking your sister just so you could harm me? A reasonable person would have spared no time informing the authorities, had such an injustice occurred, but not yourself. Who do you think would believe you, Leutnant?"

"Außerdem, diese Sache mit Ihrer Schwester und ihrem äußerst gefährlichen, narbigen Mann..."
"Furthermore, this matter with your sister and her extremely dangerous, scarred husband... Maybe you should give me his name, so that I could properly congratulate him on having found such an enticing specimen of the womankind to call his own. Of course, it would be quite impossible to track down someone who does not exist outside the boundaries of your own mind. Your story of an ominous war veteran seems all too convenient, not to mention the fact that she had no ring in her finger. What is she... Ashamed? Or was it some lurid little plot of hers, to entice some of the higher-ranking members for whatever reason she might have? Although... it does not sound very patriotic, now does it?"

"Was für meine Anliegen und Interessen sind, gibt es nichts Sie können über sie tun..."
"Whatever my concerns and interests are, there is nothing you can do about them. If you really had the grounds to file any complaints against me, you would have done so already. Same goes for your threats. If you were serious about them, what would have stopped you from attacking me on the first occasion of hearing my name? Or now? It will see you ending up behind bars until the end of war, anyway. As I said, Leutnant... You are full of shit and the stench is getting quite unbearable. But I guess it is easy for you to completely miss noticing it, since you peasants dwell in the substance all the time, anyway."

[Dirk Riedel]

And as the words were sinking in, so did mercifulness. The calmness upon the Leutnant’s features was almost dangerously hanging in the air between them, surrounding them in a web of underlying savagery slowly simmering through his veins and creeping along the marrow of his bone; it was no more than raw, unadulterated savagery that gripped her icy fingers around the soldier’s viscera and forged his spirit through the fiery pit of hell as humanity submitted to the natural call of primal dominance, as blind emotion overrode sense and the biting force of revenge and justice spiralled through his brain in a continuous whirlpool, the condemnable smugness of that sly smirk piercing through his entire length and causing an upheaval within such as he felt during the eve of battle. And though the insides were little by little setting pace to something that grew in length and severity second after second, the face remained as calm and controlled as the waters of the Danube in spring time, his eyes concealing intentions, his expression only ever a remotest sign of indifference and distance through his inscrutable demeanour, the quiet disposition, the unwavering tolerance with he bestowed the Hauptmann. He sighed deeply, and slightly shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner as he looked sideways in the darkness but nowhere in particular, tributaries of red-hot rage slowly but surely creating their paths of damnation throughout his body. The Hauptmann may have as well insulted the Leutnant’s cat, for the man did not appear remotely affected by his words in an outward level, his face solemn, humourless and perfectly unflustered. “Ja, komisch, ist nicht es,” he muttered at him, and then tilted his head backwards as he gulped down the remaining of his beer, his eyes closed, feeling the liquid washing down in his throat, and made a raspy noise of satisfaction before he turned his eyes to the pilot.

“Dieser … ist ein verdammtes gutes Bier,” he let him know with a knowing nod, and then dropped the empty bottle on the sand before he shoved his free hand through the pocket of his trousers, the other one looped around the cigarette as he drew in, small circles of grey smoke surrounding his face, the orange light illuminating the green eyes the Hauptmann so well knew. He appeared in perfect military self-control as he stared after the man and took an idle step closer to him, once more covering the distance the pilot had placed between them in his self-assured mockery. A few inches separated them, and the Leutnant merely stood composed in his place, tall and imposing, appearing civilized and attempting to solve this problem in a more sensible way as would not put him in a judicial disadvantage should the circumstance rise – at least that is how it appeared from the outside. He was not directly looking at the Hauptmann all the time, once his eyes diverted off to his tropical uniform, then sideways in the darkness of the desert, then back at the Hauptmann’s face, breathing slowly and leisurely smoking the cigarette the Luftwaffe officer had been so courteous to offer. He observed the man quietly – the man whom, under another appearance, he had punished dearly for his insolence of character and ruthlessness of will – and examined him closely, silently, noticeably thoughtful, and unperturbed. And still, the beast flourished inside him, beating the drums of wartime bigotry in a perfect musical rhythm, slowly, carefully, little by little gaining strength, gaining its parasitical form inside the man’s irked mind.

It all happened too quickly to register; with a driving force of a Panzer VI he brought his left hand up, under the man’s line of sight, immediately grabbing the back of his head and forcibly pulled him closer at the same time as Dirk’s right elbow struck against his face – the amount of pressure and force at the point of impact strong enough to momentarily immobilize the man for as long as Dirk needed to roll him around and wrap his arm around the man’s head in a stiff headlock, keeping his head in a cradle position in the crook of his arm for two seconds before he quickly brought him tumbling down onto the sand, his headlock strong and inflexible lest the man assumed he could easily snake away from it – Dirk, with the cigarette all the while shoved through his mouth, moved his left arm and another smashing sound was heard as he gave him a second elbow strike across the centre of his face, hovering overhead, his legs applying pressure on the pilot’s knees to immobilize him with a jabbing force that caused a twinge of throbbing pain surge through the bones. His teeth gritted and bared, and with his face a few centimetres away from Jäger’s one, Dirk could only glare at him with vicious severity, eyebrows curved fiercely over the green eyes blazing with an uncontrollable ire that had possessed every fibre of his very being. “Lachen sie jetzt?” he growled at him in a hoarse voice, his face distorted into an expression of blind, savage hatred. “Lassen Sie mich Sie hören lachen! LACHEN SIE!” he barked at him, and through the headlock he forced his head to rise two centimetres from the ground just so he could crush it back into its proper place. “LACHEN SIE!”

But the first complication of the attack rose as Dirk felt a twinge of pain in the injured left arm he was supposed to rest for the night, although the headlock was firmly maintained through his strong right arm at any rate; still, the Leutnant far from wanted to worsen the injury and bring about a series of further medical requirements imposed on him by the physician that would ultimately only hinder his military obligations for this worthless human being and the next words that escaped his rabid lips were barked with the brisk precision of a military command. “Albrecht! Kampfer!” He need not repeat himself for the two soldiers were already on their way back to the tent; in a few moments they had approached the scene and from the near distance, through their intoxicated conditions, only laughed at the sight before them after they had each first wore their appropriately puzzled expressions prior to realizing it was their Leutnant teaching the Wehrmacht ways to a soldier they soon recognized, upon coming closer, as the arrogant Luftwaffe officer for whom they had been forced to slave that morning – the memories of that incident were still bitter and they only chortled in amused disbelief to find their superior commander dominating over a struggling flyboy. Dirk’s eyes were, likewise to his grasp, unyielding and merciless as they bore into the pilot’s steel-grey ones, ignoring his struggling spastic movements and only further administering prevalence through a third elbow strike quickly delivered in his face, only faintly hearing his soldiers’ boots clicking against the sand as they came closer. “Sie denken dass meine Beleidigungen kreativ sind?” he growled to his face. “Machen sie gerade Beobachtungen wie sie lebendig kommen – dann bin ich ein Bumsen Picasso,” he spat at him, and then turned his face upwards as Obergefreiter Kord Albrecht and Schütze Jürgen Kampfer stood right in front of him, their boots opposite the Hauptmann’s head as they stared down at him. “Halten Sie noch dass das wenig bumst,” Dirk ordered.

One simply did not want to be on the bad side of two utterly drunk and pissed off Wehrmacht soldiers. They scoffed and without a single question knelt down each by the pilot’s side and forced him down on the ground with redundant strength, their hands looped tightly around Jäger’s arms and instantly immobilizing him, so that if there had been a single chance of the Hauptmann breaking free from the Leutnant’s headlock through the strength he undeniably possessed (and which Dirk was clearly aware of), it had by now completely vanished. Dirk’s breathing was hard and rapid as the fingers of his right arm brushed over the bandaged wound, slowly standing up to look at him – a scene altogether too familiar for both of them – and it was when the Leutnant spoke next that the words belonged no more to Dirk Riedel. “Ich versuchte sie zu ignorieren und es gehen zu lassen, ich tat, Jäger,” he said quietly, but now Friederike was speaking, green eyes blazing in the darkness. “Aber Sie hatten gerade zum Schorf Ihre Wunden, stimmt dass?” And then Friederike vanished again. The voice had been the same, guttural and low, the tone hoarse and hostile, the face had still been a man’s face, and yet the underlying meaning of this was not the encounter earlier that morning, even though the pilot would most probably consider this very thing. Dirk’s eyes widened with pure rage as green pierced unto grey, standing above a conqueror ready to inflict his punishment above those who threatened to break everything he had built so far with blood and sweat. The Hauptmann assumed the Leutnant would seek justice through the official means and suffer through the consequences, but he was deluded to believe as much. Only a foolish man would expect of the law to deliver justice.

“Ich bin sie Pisse selbst mit Heiterkeit denkend sicher dass Sie solch ein kluger und schlauer Rechtsanwalt sind – aber das ist nicht ein Gerichtssaal, und Sie werden durch Familienverbindungen hier nicht geschützt. Sie aristokratisch bumsen sind mit Wörtern so talentiert Sie wären vor langer Zeit ohne auf Sie aufpassende Bauer-Diener gestorben,” he said in a low voice, reassuming the calm and cold tone he had spoken to mere moments ago as he had addressed the threats he would inflict upon the pilot, the voice relentless and imposing. “Ihre erbärmlichen Schreie des Kummers werden soweit Deutschland gehört; Ihre Mutter wird hören und in Entsetzen schreien, sie wird ihre Augen messen und ihre Ohren abschneiden, nicht mehr sie im Stande sein, durch Ihr Schreien zu überleben; Ihr Verlobter wird jammern, und ihr Gesicht mit Nagel-Zeichen über ihren Kummer verwunden; Ihr Vater wird die Welt verfluchen, aber es gibt nichts er konnte jemals tun.” The words were delivered in a chillingly controlled manner and the man then drew deeply from the cigarette still burning into his mouth, as he slowly pulled the silver dagger from the belt on the side of his uniform – a painfully slow movement and deliberately so – the blade shining beautifully in the darkness. “So lassen Sie mich Ihnen genau zeigen was es bedeutet ein Mann von Handlungen zu sein.” He slowly came downwards and knelt at the end of the pilot’s legs, the cigarette in his mouth as the right hand snatched the Luftwaffe officer’s belt clipped on top of his tropical tunic and along his waist. His fingers easily clipped it open, and slowly examined it upon pulling it away from the officer’s waist, hovering right in front of the pilot’s eyes for a few moments before he carelessly threw it away on the sand somewhere in the distance. The time seemed to elapse in a strikingly slow manner as the Leutnant circled his fingers around his cigarette, staring at the Hauptmann’s face for a good while, mind racing, until a smirk leisurely rose in the corner of his lips.

“Und wenn ich tue,” he rasped quietly, “sie sicher als Hölle-Wunsch den ich wirklich Gnade zeigte,” he assured him, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the drums of war were already beating their frantic rhythm in the surrounding atmosphere as if they belonged to a medieval execution, the crowd awaiting for justice to be served, the hangmen eagerly rubbing their hands, and the criminal slowly walked over the pedestal upon which his fate was to be determined. The crowd in the square barked for the executioners, angrily, fiercely, like rabid wolves tearing off the flesh of their victims, the raw savagery evident in their blood-smeared teeth. And with that, the Leutnant unclipped the last button from the man’s tunic and let the knife’s sharp edge slowly trail along the area of his lower stomach downwards, cutting through the cloth’s fabric on its way unto deliverance.



Translation

Yes, funny, isn’t it.

This … is a damn good beer.

Are you laughing now? Let me hear you laugh! LAUGH! LAUGH!

You think my insults are creative? Just observe as they come alive – then I’m a fucking Picasso. Hold still this little fuck.

I tried to ignore you and let it pass, I did, Jäger. But you just had to scab your wounds, didn’t you?

I’m sure you piss yourself with joy thinking you’re such a smart and cunning lawyer – but this isn’t a courtroom, and you’re not protected by family connections here. You blue-blooded fucks are so talented with words, you would have died a long time ago without peasant servants taking care of you. Your pathetic screams of anguish will be heard as far as Germany; your mother will listen and shriek in horror, she will gauge her eyes out and cut off her ears, no longer will she be able to survive through your crying; your fiancé will lament, and wound her face with nail marks over her agony; your father will curse the world, but there is nothing he could ever do. So let me show you exactly what it means to be a man of actions.

And when I do, you’ll sure as hell wish I did show mercy.

[Rolf Jäger]

STRONG LANGUAGE WARNING! The post contains some foul language, so if you are offended by such things, please, just skip reading this post. (And maybe the ones following it, too, you never know)


An unexpected quiet serenity followed Rolf's words and the Hauptmann felt his skin crawling when everything about the Leutnant's strangely tranquil behaviour seemed just dangerously... wrong. Just moments ago he had still basked in the warm light of the familiar feeling of having delivered a good and effective speech, a sensation which vividly reminded him of the days spent in courtrooms, in front of juries and judges. It was that small moment of feeling indomitable amongst people who would do anything to take you down, and who right at that moment, must have been feeling uncomfortable in their expensive suits. Even though the scenery was very different, the sensation felt comfortable and it was tarnished only by the Leutnant's strange reaction. He would have expected him to go into another torrent of angry, arrogant words or even to attack him, but instead the man appeared uncaring, gulping down the rest of his beer in one, lazy movement. The man complimented the quality of the beer - which Rolf did not particularly care about, for he had no time for such idle things as drinking alcohol and he still had things to do before he could even consider sleeping - and then the Leutnant casually discarded the empty bottle, allowing it to fall down on the sand with a soft thud. The stern Leutnant's gaze wandered away from the Hauptmann, observing things which Rolf did not bother figuring out, for he could only stare at the man in an effort to anticipate his next move, whatever it was. If the Wehrmacht officer thought that his outwardly nonchalant manners would lull him into a fall sense of security, he was gravely wrong, for Rolf was used to expecting nothing else but attacks from the people around him. He was like a dog that had been kicked around for too long, one that had learned to expect nothing but malice from anyone near him, and like that dog, he would always keep his eyes on his opponents, choosing to live in a constant state of alertness and mistrust rather than giving someone the opportunity to lunge at him. There was nothing on the Leutnant's face to read apart from his cold detachedness, no anger nor irritation, yet no confusion, either.

The pilot lifted his chin up slightly, observing the other man from the corner of his eyes when he moved closer and a small hint of sneer lingered upon the Hauptmann's lips. He knew an attack was to be expected, but even then, he couldn't quite see it coming before it was already too late. He had only the fraction of a second to try and divert his head in order to soften the force of the blow, but it still hit him squarely in the face, breaking the skin of his lips and causing a cluster of immensely bright stars to dominate his field of vision for a moment. The man stumbled back for half-a-step, groaning at the pain and realizing that with each fleeting moment that passed, he was making himself very vulnerable. His thoughts mattered little, for he was still in a daze as the Leutnant's arm looped around his throat and both of the men went tumbling down, Rolf's back colliding with the dusty ground forcefully enough to clear the air right out of his lungs. Rolf's eyes widened at the sensation and his peaked cap came flying off from his head in the process, rolling around on it's side for a brief moment before coming to a stop in the sand. The Hauptmann released a muffled, pained grunt, his hands automatically grasping at the arm that was so brutally pinning him to the ground, trying to break him free from the hold. He was having trouble breathing and the feeling was awakening his natural survival instincts, injecting him with a heavy dose of adrenaline to fight off the threat and to ensure his continued existence. His muscles seemed much stronger than usually and Rolf grunted, his teeth gritted together fiercely while he fought against his attacker through the constant veil of pain. The pain soon got worse when the man could feel another vicious strike connecting with his face, this time mostly hitting his forehead and right eyebrow. Rolf released another pained growl, his hands still desperately working on loosening the stranglehold the other man had managed to gain on him, although his mind felt momentarily addled and he had to blink to settle his vision back to normal. A relentless pressure was painfully pressing against his knees and the man could not use the rest of his bulk to twist himself out of the trap, making the situation seem all the more unbearable. The Leutnant was now yelling at him, telling him to laugh and Rolf might have complied out of pure arrogance, had he not been so desperate to draw just one decent gasp of clear air. He gasped for breath, his entire body struggling against the Leutnant's hold and Rolf's lips drew away from his teeth to form a primal, animalistic snarl. Strong as the hold was, through his constant struggling the Hauptmann could feel the hold around his neck loosening just slightly with each angry movement he made. The notion gave him power and further urged on by the sharp feeling of pain, Rolf forced his fingers to untangle from around the Leutnant's arm, relentlessly pushing him away from his shoulder instead.

He was certain of his success and already imagining the torments he would unleash upon the arrogant Leutnant, when he heard the other man barking out names and he could feel the presence of the outsiders even before he could see or hear them. The realization filled him with a renewed feeling of urgency to fight off the attack and his fingers crunched over the Leutnant's shoulder mercilessly, a rebellious growl emitting from within the man's chest as he knew he had no time to lose. Their laughter was like that of mangy hyenas and it rang ominously among the tents, the men getting ever closer as they observed the curious situation. Rolf's fingers untangled from around the other man's shoulder, his fingers curling into a tight fist, but he found himself unable to act upon his initial plans when a third vicious strike cut him across his face. The force of the blow sent sharp waves of pain travelling through his entire being and somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, Rolf vaguely lamented on how he was supposed to be flying at least three sorties the next morning and how elated he had been over flying with his Gruppe once again. It felt as if he was examining himself from outside of his own body, evaluating the extent of his injuries, slowly coming the conclusion that whatever happened next, he wouldn't be able to take part in those sorties as it was. Even through his painful stupor, the Hauptmann brought his fist around into a solid swing, not really caring where he hit as long as his fist connected with the Leutnant's features forcefully enough. It was as solid blow as Rolf could manage from his position, but the short feeling of elation felt very vague and it was soon too late for any more of these antics. He felt his shoulders and hands being grabbed and he was pinned even more forcefully against the ground, effectively striking out any other chances there might have been for the Hauptmann to free himself. As soon as Rolf felt the stranglehold loosening, he roared in primal fury, fighting against his captors like a caged wild animal and feeling all the more infuriated by the fact that the Leutnant had called in some assistance. A savage snarl still dominating his features, the Hauptmann kicked with his feet as soon as he felt the pressure upon his feet lessening, feeling a small amount of satisfaction when he felt his boot connecting with its target, even if it managed to deliver only a glancing blow.

He was determined on fighting until his last breath, as was always the case, and he felt insulted by the fact that some simple Wehrmacht idiots were now partial to his plight. It was a cheap trick, further demonstrating on just how worthless the Leutnant and his men were and Rolf spared no words in making sure they were aware of the fact. "Sie blutende Arschlöcher! Feige Hunde! Ich bestelle Ihnen als eine Luftwaffe Hauptmann, bekomme das Bumsen weg von mir jetzt!" All of Rolf's words came in the form of sharp, hoarse barks, while all the while the Luftwaffe officer still struggled, burning rage dominating his steel-grey eyes as his gaze skipped from one Wehrmacht soldier to another. They were severely drunk and Rolf could smell the alcohol in their filthy breath, but they had not lost all of their strength and were able to keep the Luftwaffe officer down on the ground quite effortlessly, leaving the Leutnant free to do as he wished. Had Rolf been able to break free, he would have done his utmost to grind these men into the dust and felt very satisfied while doing so, but he wasn't able to even lift his shoulders from the sand and each time he attempted to do so, sharp pain shot through his shoulders and discouraged him from any further efforts. Rolf could only remain pinned down on the ground, growling and spouting out insults that seemed to be the only effective outlet for his blind anger at the time. "Ich bin ein höherer Offizier, Sie dumme, betrunkene Idioten! Was das Bumsen denken Sie, dass Sie, Sie zwei Pisse für den Verstand tun? Ja, ich spreche mit Ihnen, Sie Söhne von faulen, hirnlosen Huren! Scheißkerle! Hurensöhnen! Bekommen Sie die Hölle weg von mir!" Random words were finding their way to Rolf's tongue with a practiced speed, even when he knew that insulting the men would hardly sway their minds. The Hauptmann's insides were boiling with uncontrolled rage and as long as he could not deal it out in the form of violence, his words had to carry out the measure of his wrath, useless as it all was.

Even through his rage, Rolf could see the Leutnant standing over him, the scene startlingly similar to one he had witnessed just a week ago, on a night not very different from this one. A sudden, unexpected flash transported him back to that moment and once again he could see the woman's blonde hair whipping around her in the wind while she looked down at him and he lay down on the ground - defeated but not conquered. Poisonous words left her mocking lips, while Rolf could only stare at her and dwell in his strange mixture of hatred and fascination, gaping much like a person would upon witnessing something supernatural. For the moment she was there again and the insults froze on his lips as the man stared at the haunting image, his mind feeling utterly confused and completely unable to discern the current time or the people around him. All Rolf could see was Riedel. Not the Leutnant, but the Riedel he had met earlier, the one that had commanded both his dreams and his waking thoughts since their initial meeting, the woman who had become so much of an obsession to him that he found it completely impossible to tear his mind away from her. He only knew that if he didn't follow his urge to find her, he would lapse into insanity, never feeling the faintest sense of fulfillment over any of his achievements and he had pledged to never to give up the chase. Confusion and puzzlement were evident in the Hauptmann's grey eyes, but then the moment was over and the pale-skinned female was gone, the despicable Leutnant having taken her place once again. The Wehrmacht officer stared back him, his lips curled into an expression of pure disgust and hatred while the two soldiers made sure Rolf had no chance of escaping. The situation would have felt ironic, for sure, had Rolf been able to find such sentiments within himself at the moment.

The Leutnant's words pierced Rolf's mind with a cold promise and the man assured him that he would make sure his threats would come to pass, and that Rolf would scream out while he fulfilled his promises. He would suffer and he would yell out in pain, while all of his family would be powerless to do anything, forced only to wail over the fate of Rolf Jäger in futile lament. The unwanted sentiment Rolf had driven to the back of his mind was back now, skeletal fingers of fear gripping his insides once again and the pit of his stomach was filled with ice while his heart pounded against his chest almost painfully. He could only vaguely register the blood running freely down his broken lip, and the sensation of pain gnawing away at his brow felt distant over the cold dread that was taking over all other senses. He was not familiar with the feeling of fear and maybe that was why it felt all the more frightening, attacking him like some malicious parasite, making his blood run cold as he considered the consequences that would follow. The sound of a sharp blade being drawn cut through air and Rolf could only stare, having forgotten his previous insults, his eyes now widened in uncharacteristic disbelief. He had been in fights before - it was inevitable for a person possessing such a nature as Rolf did - but he had never been quite so severely outnumbered, never so clearly at a disadvantage. The man tugged instinctively against his captors, but their hold remained strong and unyielding, further providing fuel to the Hauptmann's agonizing terror. What was there to do? He couldn't fight back, the Leutnant was deaf to his words and he was on his own, as always. There was nobody to take care of Rolf Jäger but the man himself and he had grown used to this fact, yet for the briefest moment he found himself hoping that someone would interfere, just out of curiosity if not of good will. But as always, he knew there was no salvation, no heroic rescues, for these were things that happened only in storied and legend and not in lives of people like him. He knew the nature of his own temperament and knew what people thought about him and he guessed it had been only inevitable until he would find himself in a situation such as this.

Silver eyes observed the Leutnant carefully as he leaned in closer, a defiant sneer forming upon the Hauptmann's lips as the other man unclipped his belt, pulling it away and stealing away the officer's sidearm in the process. Riedel allowed the belt dangle in front of his vision for a small while, just to further agonize him, before he discarded the item and languidly concentrated on his cigarette - the one Rolf had offered to him not more than just moments ago, no less. Even through the grip of his fear, Rolf could see just how content the Leutnant felt, and what was there for him not to feel good about? The Hauptmann had no chance of fighting back, outnumbered as he was, and the Leutnant had him right where he wanted him - at his feet, no doubt just waiting for the Luftwaffe officer to beg. It was very clear what the Wehrmacht officer was planning to do, which was really why Rolf was so blinded by such an outlandish sentiment as fear. He was not afraid to die, he would have died for his country without a further thought just like most of his countrymen were ready to sacrifice themselves for the same cause, but he was not ready to be humiliated and mutilated, not by anyone. Death might have ended his existence on this planet, but humiliation such as the Leutnant was referring to, would completely and utterly destroy the Hauptmann.

The Leutnant leaned in closer again, unbuttoning the sand-coloured tunic the Hauptmann was wearing and revealing the similarly coloured shirt underneath. Rolf's chest and stomach rose rapidly with his frantic breathing and even though the man hated nothing more but revealing his emotions to the honourless, wretched men surrounding him, there was little he could do about controlling a feeling such strong as fear. Still, he was finding new resources for defiance somewhere deep within his mind and the fear that had dwelled within his steely eyes was now slowly being replaced with rebellion and pride. He would rather die than submit to anyone and he would rather kill himself than live with such a shame as the Leutnant was planning to cause upon him. He knew he was alone in the situation, that there would be no unexpected saviours, no quarter given, but he would still refuse to beg and grovel at someone's feet like a beaten dog. His breathing was still coming in quick gasps and his heart was beating just as wildly as before, but within Rolf's eyes one could only find pure defiance and hatred - defiance towards the unfair situation he had been submitted into and hated towards the one person that had caused his downfall in such a cowardly manner. His shallow arrogance might have disappeared from his features the moment he had realized the gravity of his situation, but nothing would quench the defiance that dwelled within the pilot.

The sharp silver blade cut into the canvas of his shirt upon his lower stomach, the cruel blade ultimately scraping upon his skin and drawing blood, causing the man to grunt and grit his teeth, but he did not want to give too much attention to these feelings. His hatred was burning as clear and bright as a flame in the darkness of a deep, moonless night and as his eyes locked upon the Leutnant's green ones, the arrogance and fear were completely gone and replaced with only the Hauptmann's utter hatred towards the other man. "Mann des Handelns? Sie sind kein Mann, Leutnant," The man sneered, his voice a low, hoarse growl, the blood once again decorating his lips in an eerily familiar manner. "Sie haben die Eingeweide nicht sogar, um wie einer zu kämpfen, sich hinter Ihren wilden, betrunkenen Weibchen stattdessen verbergend. Ich glaube, dass es wirklich drei Wehrmacht Männer nimmt, um gerade einen einsamen Flieger abzunehmen... Mindestens hatte Ihre Schwester genug Sachkenntnis und Sinn, auf sich selbst aufzupassen. Mindestens zu ihr konnte ich einen Sinn der Bewunderung und Rücksicht haben. Aber nicht für Sie, Leutnant... Nicht für Sie," Rolf spat the worlds angrily out of his mouth, grey eyes narrowing with unadulterated despisement as he observed the Leutnant. He could not understand how such a cowardly being could be related to the proud Valkyrie he had met earlier and how such ultimately different minds could dwell in such similar shells.

The Hauptmann's features were still riddled with the bruises he had received earlier and the area around his right eye was reddish, slowly growing swollen over the vicious strike the man had received, yet Rolf Jäger refused to appear beaten. "Was für Sie tun... Sie wird immer zweimal der Mann sein Sie werden jemals sein," Rolf's anger flickered around his words, lending its own burning weight upon his message and the Hauptmann lifted his stubbled chin up, observing his adversary through his half-closed eyes as age-old pride and vehemence penetrated through the heavy veil of primal fear. Pride was the only thing he had in the world, and come hell or high water, he was determined to hold on to that, no matter what the consequences.


Translations:

"Sie blutende Arschlöcher! Feige Hunde! Ich bestelle Ihnen als eine Luftwaffe Hauptmann, bekomme das Bumsen weg von mir jetzt!"
"You bleeding assholes! Cowardly dogs! I'm ordering you as a Luftwaffe Hauptmann, get the fuck away from me, now!"

"Ich bin ein höherer Offizier, Sie dumme, betrunkene Idioten! Was das Bumsen denken Sie, dass Sie, Sie zwei Pisse für den Verstand tun..?"
"I'm a higher ranking officer, you stupid, drunken idiots! What the fuck do you think you're doing, you two piss-for-brains? Yes, I'm talking to you, you sons of rotten, brainless whores! Motherfuckers! Sons of bitches! Get the hell away from me!"

"Mann des Handelns? Sie sind kein Mann, Leutnant."
"A man of actions? You are no man, Leutnant."

"Sie haben die Eingeweide nicht sogar, um wie einer zu kämpfen, sich hinter Ihren wilden, betrunkenen Weibchen stattdessen verbergend..."
"You do not even have the guts to fight like one, hiding behind your rabid, drunken bitches instead. I guess it really takes three Wehrmacht men to take down just one lonely flyboy... At least your sister had enough skill and sense to take care of herself. At least towards her I could have some sense of admiration and respect. But not for you, Leutnant... Not for you."

"Was für Sie tun... Sie wird immer zweimal der Mann sein Sie werden jemals sein."
"Whatever you do... She will always be twice the man you'll ever be."

[Dirk Riedel]

There was one mistake only any human could make, and that was to insult the Leutnant’s soldiers. The very same who had fought alongside him in battle, cried words of command and gallantry with him, ran across the desert wilderness to protect and save him from the enemy’s weaponry, the very same ones who wreaked havoc, destruction and death upon the lives of hundreds of those who wrestled against the Fatherland, those who had conquered Europe and were to bring the entire world upon submission, the best ever soldiers, Spartans, Berserkers and Hariis altogether, sawing terror and annihilation for a noble cause, for the glory of their nation. And who should call these very men cowardly dogs but the representation of cowardice in person? The very same person who, an offspring of aristocracy, was unable to hold onto his weaponry, incapacitated of paying respect and gratitude to those who deserved it, whose mind was only ever overpowered by filth, whose mouth spoke only words of unprecedented arrogance and uncalled for conceit, who, like another Ozymandias, had submitted forever to the passions of vanity and mighty power, he, a king of kings, but who would, like another Ozymandias, stand, as he so were at this very moment, in the desert, half sunk, his shattered visage, his frown, his wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command stamped onto his lifeless form. No, he was no king of kings, but a beggar of beggars, pleading for the attention he so longed for with an almost lustful despair, the affection he so desired eating his viscera and spreading disease, the glory and recognition for which he was forever thirsty for possessing his mind and soul with unseen hysteria. Of all these none would he be offered, and how strange it was in life of one to think they were a Pharaoh, an emperor, a Viking, while they only ever were a beggar, a nomad wanderer dressed in rags, a nobody. For doomed he was to stand low in that very sand as of this moment, and sink further into its dark depths, never to be remembered, never to be missed.

Dirk’s eyes narrowed in blind rage, his jaw hardened and lips pursed, a twinge of pain still lingering in the left side of his face from the solid blow, as he watched the dog itself squirm and writhe on the ground in agony, befouling his men with words of unimaginably unwarranted filth. He insulted the men in the same way he had insulted her; had he not, after all, told her she was nothing more but the ignorant whelp of a rotten whore? The fact he believed all of them were born to peasant whores for mothers was enough to drive the Leutnant to the very edge of his own controlled rage, but the man’s punishment would soon come and this thought alone served to keep Dirk standing tall and commanding above him, unmoving, looking down at the other man as though he was a puddle of excrement and grime. The two soldiers were tightly keeping him pinned down on the ground however hard he might have been struggling to get away. Escape. He had brought this about to himself, his sole behaviour had been the one to lead him to where he was now and on top of it he was insulting them and wishing to escape? His cowardice was unimaginable and despicable. Never before had the Leutnant come across a person as weak-kneed and gutless as to shake off any burden of responsibility produced from his very own actions; if he had been a real man he would have never begun to struggle at the imminent punishment, but remain at his appropriate place to receive it with bravery and accountability. Then again, he would soon enough not be a man at all … would he?

The sharp blade cut through the fabric, in the same way as his hands had tore through her dress, and penetrated through to the skin as the first drawing of blood underneath his navel gently dribbled downwards and leaked the edges of his trousers. It was the beginning. His fingers slowly travelled along the fabric as he lead the dagger on its southern route unto deliverance, almost feeling the knot jumbled inside the man’s viscera, the quick breathing that reverberated in his stomach in a brisk, anguished rhythm, the legs moving frantically in a vain attempt to pursue escape, the fear he was trying to conceal. But then the man spoke, and Dirk looked up at him. You are no man. The flyboy may have thought Dirk’s reaction was solely based on the fact he felt offended his masculinity was being put to question, and yet there was other secret reasoning concealed behind his curved eyebrows, the momentarily frozen expression, the burning curiosity reflected in his glassy eyes, and would anyone know how in that precise moment his heart had skipped a beat? He listened to the man speak words of anger and contempt, words which had the Leutnant halt his procedure as he slowly rose to look down at him in quietude, the words piercing through his length as he heard them spoken with such vivacious passion, such exasperated derision and obvious hatred and scorn as only emphasized the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. The beast within the Leutnant’s chest roared and clutched unto his heart with an ominous force akin to animalistic savagery.

He called her a coward. A coward.

She, who had sacrificed a normal life to protect her brother, a coward. She who had watched her own blood perish in her hands, who had suffered through the entire period of his disease – she who had buried any feelings of mourning and sorrow in some unexplored part of her soul to sustain the family, to be the rock they could hang on to in those difficult times, to replace the father as a paternal figure, to be the uncrying, unyielding, unerring strong presence within the household to provide balance and normality, she who had kept them alive and sane, a coward. Yes, there had been a time she had proved a coward, and she had ran away, away from home, away from the suffering, defenceless to deal with the pain she knew would come with the news of the disease, a time she had spent drinking and smoking and working to forget and neglect, but she had come back with her tail between her legs, in shame, in guilt, in painful regret. She had been a coward, yes, but she was only a human being, no more or less capable of weakness and flaws. She who had spent every minute of her childhood and adolescence in defending her brother from those who wished to cause him foul harm, who had at the age of fourteen pursued work employment in the local garage to help with their earnings, who had shed sweat and blood in defence of her family’s name and reputation whenever it was to be questioned by the plutocrats, who had ploughed fields and rose horses through the meadowlands, who had never allowed herself to show one single moment of weakness after the death of her father to preserve the image of a relentless warrior that would never allow her kindred to sink into a merciless vortex of wretchedness and damnation, who had received bullets for her fellow soldiers and who would struggle until her last breath to protect them, who was shedding her own blood for her own country – she was a coward. There were many flaws in Friederike Woltermann, but cowardice was not one of them.

The edge of the Leutnant’s jackboots crushed against Jäger’s face with a driving force capable enough to dislocate his jaw. He assumed they were just a bunch of bullies who wanted nothing more but give him a good scare, the exact bullies she had beaten down throughout her childhood whenever they approached or harassed her brother who, by nature, was of the more gentle kind and quite laughable in fights. The truth was the Leutnant alone had brought the Hauptmann tumbling down, had kept him there for a good while and planned to fight him along but, fate be damned, he had taken a wretched bullet in the arm for one of his soldiers in the name of comradeship for which the Hauptmann himself ironically accused him of, even though the Hauptmann in person was sporting no such wounds himself. Dirk would have fought him alone but this recent event had warranted the need for some assistance which otherwise bore no difference. Jäger might have believed he was being bullied by two intoxicated soldiers and their superior commander, in his ever infantile manner of assuming life to be, but the bitter truth was that he was merely receiving called for punishment for his despicable behaviour; he was not the weak, gentle boy with the innocent nature harassed for no particular reason for the simple entertainment of his stronger peers. His very own inhumane initiatives had led him to where he was now – even dogs would bite at a hostile movement. But Rolf Jäger, a child that had never grown up, craved for the attention he so desired, the attention he would receive if he played the part of being the bullied child when he was the one to bully other less able beings, he alone was right and just, he alone thought rightfully and intelligently, he alone possessed the right to wreak punishment. Dirk saw him as nothing more but a spoilt, bullying child who, under the false appearance of a man in his late twenties, acted on pathetic whims and sordid caprices, living in a world of his own in which people hold no more value than cleaning the carpet for him to walk on, simply enjoying the time at others’ expense, laughing as others cried, usurping the poor and deficient only to accuse them for it. He was a disgusting hypocrite, he had no place in the German armed forces and if he had not carried with him the status of a German soldier Dirk would have been too tempted to shove his head through the waters of the Mediterranean sea, whence he was to perish, just so he would be brought, ironically, to his own unglorified, simple little death. Neither was the Leutnant a sadist nor a murderer, but the Hauptmann had crossed boundaries Dirk had allowed no other man to cross before, which he would neither forgive nor forget.

And perhaps some other man would have felt curious over the Hauptmann’s words regarding ‘Erika’, but not Dirk. He never registered anything else in the pilot’s voice apart from derision and mocker when he spoke of her, the ‘admiration’ and ‘respect’ he was speaking of only ever pronounced in a clearly condescending tone that underscore exactly how far the Luftwaffe officer was from paying his deference to either of the two. Dirk merely assumed the man had wished to pursue information for her for the sole purpose of meeting her and feeding the big, fat greedy space in his head and his stomach with the knowledge he had another chance to make things right and bring her to her proper place, humiliated and shamed to no degree, never quite fathoming how there might have been something else concealed behind the pilot’s words. And such was the Leutnant’s rage over all these combined that with a sudden swishing sound the end of his jackboots rose and cut through the air briskly as it crushed against the man’s face for another time. “Sie können Ihre Rücksicht Ihr Esel schieben. Sie braucht nicht es von Scheiße-Löcher wie Sie,” he growled at him, and then crushed his foot against the man’s stomach with unnecessary force for leverage as Jürgen Kampfer let hold of his arm and placed himself right above the Hauptmann, glancing down on him with a sneer on his highly intoxicated face, his two feet each by the man’s sides (whose both shoulders were now pinned hard onto the ground by a much physically able Kord Albrecht), sardonically in the same position she had been not a week ago. Dirk smirked as he drew in deeply from his cigarette, calmly, and, mildly entertained, he watched as Kampfer easily emptied his bladder down on the Hauptmann’s uniform and, due to the Schütze’s state, he uncontrollably let the fluid flow down his neck, spilled up to the sides of his face. Dirk’s shoulders began to slightly shake and he eventually succumbed to the violent pang of laughter that erupted in his mouth and caused him to tilt his head back and close his eyes, relishing on the moment as he smoked from the cigarette, and soon enough the two other soldiers laughed out loud heartily. It was the worst form of masculine humiliation imposed on another, but it was also high time for the child to grow up. And if it had to be in this way, so it would be in this way.

With all the amount of alcohol the Schütze had imbibed it took him several minutes to completely unload his bladder unto the Hauptmann, and when he had finally released himself he nonchalantly zipped his trousers and moved away from him, back to his former position as he snatched his right arm forcefully and shoved it down onto the ground, while Albrecht’s eyes were glinting from tears of laughter. And, indeed, the smile still lingered across the Leutnant’s lips as he was drawing from the remaining of the cigarette, looking down at the flyboy with evident contempt. He did not feel the need to say anything, it was the Hauptmann’s talent to speak – perhaps he believed he would stir the Leutnant’s proud masculinity and trick him into ordering his men to leave him alone so the fight would be limited to the officers, or into having the Leutnant think this form of punishment was uncalled for – but Dirk was better than that. Be that as it may, he did have to say something in regard to the man’s last words. “Oh, bald genug werden Sie nicht im Stande sein den Unterschied irgendwie zu erzählen,” he said with a promising smile, and raised the cigarette to his eyes. “Und vielen Dank für die Zigarette,” he easily jeered, and dropped the cigarette’s end onto the ground, proceeding to crush it mercilessly with his foot. Without wasting any moment, he knelt down in his former position and violently began to rip the buttons apart –

A bark was heard, and a second later the large dog was happily running around Dirk in the sand, hopping about and sniffing around the place. Dirk turned his head sideways and gently stroked the animal behind his ears before he slowly stood up and made his way to the spot he had thrown the Hauptmann’s belt, several metres in the short distance; he looked around for a few seconds, and at the same time as he eventually found it he reached down and grabbed it, pulling the Luger from its holster and carelessly throwing it back on the sand. He showed the dog the belt, allowing it to dangle for one second or two in front of the animal’s eyes before he let the belt skim through the air, the dog immediately lunging after it, until it disappeared into the darkness. With a smile, the Leutnant made his way idly back to the other dog, knees on the ground, knife by his hand, but he did not proceed with his work. There was something he wanted to do first.

Grasping the dagger in his other hand, he let his fingers rest against the pilot’s stomach, slipping slowly underneath his tropical shirt, touching the skin that was by now coated in sweat; he might have played the part of the brave, uncaring proud soldier who dies unconquered in battle, with spirit unbroken and a blazing will, but his body had a different opinion to this, as the Leutnant could clearly see from the physical response to the threat of mutilation. But this is not what he desired to see for himself, no, such he knew already – and as the fingers travelled upwards across his chest, the movement itself hardly ever forceful, even perhaps gentle and merciful, he finally let them rest on his heart.

It was beating violently against his ribcage, ready to crush through his ribs, wholly shivering in nothing but pangs of fear.

Dirk looked at him silently, his eyes expressing neither hatred nor derision. They appeared knowing. He might have been an aristocrat, brought up with the best and only interacting with the most intellectual, the most influential, the most able, taught to scorn, ridicule and humiliate, but he was still, underneath it all, through his severe pride, his possessive narcissism and intolerable conceit, through his endless vanity and maniacal self-sufficiency, a mere human being. Though he may have endeavoured to appear as unaffected and cold-hearted about this situation as possible, dressing horror with the pitiful drags of such a thing called pride, his heart spoke otherwise. She sensed the inner terror gripping hold of his insides as though a bucket of ice cubes had been emptied on his body, the very same feeling he was so desperately striving to conceal, in self defence, in an attempt to persuade himself that were he to perish or suffer in that way, there was something he could last cling on to, that not all was gone. Such a delusion, and yet how human he was. And, perhaps, for that very moment, Dirk was stripped of the merciless hatred that had formerly painted her features with the raw shades of animalistic savagery, of any derision and contempt, and there she was, Friederike, looking at him in her curious green eyes that almost voiced … understanding. She silently stared at him, her hand softly resting on his heart, and every pang of horror she felt reverberated back into her arm, through the veins, and weighed down on her chest, quickening her pulse, as that small parasite squirmed within her. The moment was suddenly lost, however, when Jürgen Kampfer, who had felt he had exhibited an extreme amount of uncalled for patience with the flyboy who had insulted them with such a despicable stream of invective, stood up, ranting meaningless words, all jumbled together and spoken with a fiery wave of continuous rasps, as his hand pulled the gun from his holster and aimed it down towards the Hauptmann’s face.

It all happened with an excessive haste such as was impossible to control, escalating to a completely different dimension which had not been intended at the first place. As though awoken from momentary narcosis, Dirk shot up in the air, his eyes widened, his mouth half-opened, half-closed, as his heart skipped a beat. “JÜRGEN, NEIN!” he barked at the Schütze, and stormed in front of him to snatch the hand whose fingers were ready to pull the trigger – a rasp was heard, hasty movements, angry barks of command – and a shot echoed through the night –

The Leutnant collapsed onto the sand on his knees, his eyes wide open and glassy and with his mouth agape, his right hand violently shaking as it pressed upon the left side ribs of his wounded stomach.



Translation

You can shove your respect up your ass. She doesn’t need it from shitholes like you.

Oh, soon enough you won’t be able to tell the difference, anyway. Thanks for the cigarette.

[Rolf Jäger]

The silver blade cut into the Hauptmann's skin like a hungry beast, drawing blood as it travelled down his stomach, the sand-coloured canvas of the man's clothes slowly turning crimson. Even though it was nothing but a surface scrape and the sensation was only distantly painful if anything, it wasn't the pain that was causing Rolf so much discomfort at the moment, but the knowledge of what was to come. These thoughts caused his heart to pound relentlessly against his ribcage and the man strained his muscles against the grasp of his captors more on an instinct than anything else, some primal notion within his mind pushing him towards the fight-or-flight -response. Outwardly he still appeared only ferocious and hateful and when he growled his spiteful words at the Leutnant, he could feel the blade coming to stop, the man's green eyes locking on to him. The Leutnant rose slowly to his full height, his shadowy figure towering over Rolf's beaten frame as he looked down on him, undefeatable and ominous like an ancient god The Hauptmann could plainly read the scorching fury now consuming the Leutnant's entire frame, yet he met his relentless gaze with the same pride that had dominated his words, feeling some sense of satisfaction over knowing that he could at least wound the man with his words, if not with his fists. Rolf found it incredibly cheap and dishonourable having to face such odds, and even though he wasn't exactly gallant by nature, he had always held on to a certain code of honourable conduct. A fight that had been won by the use of cheap means was not a fight won at all, and he had already bested the Leutnant with his aptly placed words. Now he had not even been given a decent chance of defending himself and instead the Leutnant chose to strike him while he was down, further adding to the insult by calling in his idiotic minions after he had realized he couldn't hope to remain in control of the situation much longer. Rolf would have rather met the man on equal grounds, but as most peasants, the Leutnant and his men had no grasp of a concept as noble as honour. They thought much more straightforwardly, only seeing easy chances and cowardly opportunites, more resembling members of an unruly barbarian horde rather than a group of decent, upstanding German soldiers.

The Hauptmann would have surely pointed out this very fact, had the Leutnant's boot not connected with his head next. The powerful kick caught the defenseless man squarely on his jaw and Rolf managed only a muffled grunt as the head-splitting waves of pain shot through his brains and he heard something clicking ominously. He couldn't make out his surroundings anymore and the azure sky and the people and tents around him were mixing into a curious, otherworldly blur. It was as if he was actually seeing his pain and it had simply taken the form of quickly moving sandy colours in front of a blue canvas. The man's eyes almost rolled over and his jaw hung slackly open while some small part of his mind still managed to hold on to a very thin thread of consciousness, a useless reaction if there ever was one. He couldn't see his surroundings anymore and a high-pitched sound pierced his hearing, the pain singing to him. It was an agonizing melody of sharp, dagger-like stabs at his jaw, accompanied by a something possessing lower and heavier tones and the sound was ominously and steadily making his entire brain pulse and expand within his cranium. He could not only hear the melody, he could watch it too, and the man's grey eyes shifted aimlessly around as his gaze followed something that could be observed only by him. The conductor of this symphony obviously figured that the music needed to be further underscored and a harsh kick from the Leutnant's boot caught Rolf somewhere in the area of his forehead and nose, opening the skin over Rolf's already swollen right brow. The Hauptmann could only groan out something indiscernible as blood started dripping from his nose and the crimson substance traced a path over his upper lip, snaking into his half-open mouth.

The heel of a jackboot dug into the Hauptmann's stomach and side, something inside him snapping under the brutal force of the kick and Rolf could hear someone yelling out in agony, not realizing that the sound was coming from him. He was watching the concert from the best seats in the house, sensing each crescendo and pith with a crystal-clear clarity, each note in the stanza decipted by some fresh sensation of torment. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind he knew the Leutnant was saying something, yet no matter how much he tried to focus his mind, he was completely unable to hear anything over the cacophony of his own senses.

Lapsing between reality and unconsciousness had become a tiring process and Rolf stared somewhere into the distance, allowing his mind get pulled ever deeper into the blackness that was calling to him and promising him a reprieve from all the agonizing clamor. He felt himself sinking and tumbling down until his entire body twitched and the fall came to a sudden stop. He allowed himself to stay there in that quiet darkness, his breathing still frantic and uncontrolled, before he finally allowed himself to slowly open his eyes. The air stood thick and unmoving around him, heavy with the smell of dust and various preservatives used in taxidermy. Even the sunlight that sifted through the tall windows seemed somehow slow and ancient, the moment stuck in between the strikes of a clock. Various fangs and claws gleamed bared around Rolf, yet the eyes of the dangerous beasts had no real life in them and the gazes of the animals were now glassy and empty. At the other wall a lynx was creeping along a dry trunk of a tree, while next to one of the windows a huge male lion with a luscious mane roared at a brown bear, both of them accompanied by a dusty zebra and a mangy grey wolf. Sets of proud horned heads, belonging to deer, elk, antelope, moose, water buffalo and wisent, had been set upon the walls to further accentuate the collection, forever immortalized in their silent glory and serving a new purpose upon their deaths. Rolf could feel the gazes of the multiple glass eyes upon him and he felt small and insignificant in the midst of their silent bulks. He had always felt uncomfortable in the trophy room, yet despite this he often sneaked in just to gaze at the various animals and to gape at the photographs of victorious hunters and at the gleaming rifles and shotguns kept in a glass cabinet. He remembered how he had chanced upon his father one of those times, the man standing straight and proud, his hands behind his back as he viewed the black-and-white photographs, turning around to regard Rolf once he had felt his presence. Rolf had snapped to immediate attention, hands at his sides, his back straight and his grey eyes locked on his father, as if fearing that he had intruded some sacred moment, yet his father had called for him to step in closer. The tall man's fingers had traced over the glassy surfaces of the photographs as he had nodded, his voice low and strong when he addressed his son. "Sie sind ein Jäger, vergessen nie das. In erster Linie müssen Sie immer gemäß Ihrer Statur handeln, aber es nie Sie besiegen lassen. Sie werden finden, dass, wenn Sie Rücksicht zeigen, Sie es auch erhalten werden. Generationen hinter Ihnen und vor Ihnen hängen von Ihren Handlungen, Rolf ab. Geben Sie nie Ihren Stolz auf. Das dürfen Sie nie vergessen." The words had been spoken with such gravity he could still vividly recall the exact tone of his father's voice, down to the slight rasp as he had mentioned the family name.

The memory filled Rolf's insides with cold horror and somewhere in the other reality he could feel something warm dripping down his neck and the side of his face, the sensation accompanied by a distant chorus of mocking laughter that seemed to pierce even through his pain-filled brain. He drifted at the border of dream and lucidity and even as his mind kept wanting to escape back to the blissful state of not knowing, another part of him was being drawn towards the harsh reality, where the beasts of pain lunged at him each time he attempted to resurface. The laughter was louder now and he could discern the amusement and derision contained within, but he wanted to desperately shake it off. It was all just a dream. Such things could not happen to him - not to him, not to Rolf Jäger - yet he felt a familiar presence somewhere near him, observing him with quiet disappointment as he lay there on the dust, bleeding and humiliated, the bark of wild laughter like that of hyenas cruelly surrounding him. The Hauptmann stared somewhere into nothingness, his other eye closed as blood started to pool in the eye socket and his jaw hanging slightly open after being dislocated. He could feel someone pushing him forcefully down by his arms and shoulders, but it was a wasted effort in his current state and Rolf could not have managed to move, had he wanted to. As the laughter finally died down, someone spoke again and Rolf felt as if the words were coming from somewhere above him and he desperately tried to make sense of it, attempting to focus his good eye on the speaker.

His thoughts were still moving slowly as he was pulled towards reality with each passing second and his breathing was frantic, his heart pounding against the confines of his chest like a caged wild animal. Pain was attacking him in burning waves and he wanted to withdraw back to the state he had just been in, yet found it completely impossible. The reality was far too painful and humiliating to live in and he tried to desperately escape from it until his gaze suddenly anchored on to something familiar.

Riedel.

The woman's emerald eyes regarded Rolf through the veil of fear and unreality and he held on to that image desperately, as if letting go of it would mean he would be stuck in his nightmare forever. The man stared at her, feeling the warmth of her hand upon his bare chest, her touch soothing and gentle. Through his pain he tried to pronounce her name, yet the only thing that managed to escape from his bloodied lips was a low, tormented grunt. He knew this couldn't be reality, for he was aware that she wasn't really here, but even if it was just another form of a dream, he would have rather remained in that one than gone back to the one dominated by pain and humiliation. He allowed his gaze to take in her features, the curve of her sharp eyebrows and the untamed glint of her viridian irises and the man relished on the momentary feeling of feeling her touch upon his pain-wrecked body. Her gaze was neither wrathful or mocking and Rolf could only read a sense of serene understanding upon her features, lending more weight to the almost supernatural quality of the vision. Rolf would have reached out to her had he been able to, but he was still locked in the iron grip of the two men and the back of his head thudded heavily back upon the sand, sending fresh waves of agony shooting through his cranium.

As if driven away by the renewed pain, the familiar emerald eyes were suddenly gone and Rolf could discern the ominous form of the muzzle of a gun staring down at him instead. It was strange, thinking that things should end this way, yet he felt a sense of serenity flowing into his veins as he prepared to meet the inevitable.

Loud, commanding words were being yelled near him and Rolf's eye attempted to follow the direction of the sounds to make sense of what was happening, but then a loud gunshot rang through the still air and pulled the man more efficiently out of his stupor. The hold over his arms and shoulders vanished and as Rolf attempted to move, he found himself spending a small moment just studying all the agonizing sensations that attacked his body. Groaning and gritting his teeth, the injured man rolled to his left side and paused as he felt the hot knife of pain stabbing him in the ribs, yet the man forced himself to move once again. The Hauptmann stumbled in the dusty ground like a bird with a clipped wing, only faintly hearing the argument between the two soldiers as all of his resources were focused on staying conscious and moving. Sand stuck to the blood, sweat and urine as Rolf finally managed to haul himself upright, bringing his hand up to his chin and to slowly grab the lower half of his jaw. The man forced the dislocated jaw back to its place with an almost absentminded, strong tug of his hand and the fresh pain merely mixed with the already existing one, the sensations now flowing into each other as easily as hot water mixing with cold - they were different, yet the same, and hence not worth making a note of. His other eye was now swollen almost shut and, his skin painted by his own blood as it was, there was little recognize of his features anymore. The man swayed unintelligently in his spot even as he was sitting down and he cupped the corner of his eye, slowly bringing his hand in front of his eyes, his fingers trembling slightly as fresh blood glistened upon them.

Rolf's left eye fixated upon the Leutnant and he realized the man was grasping at his side, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in Rolf's pain-dulled mind. The soldiers were still bickering over the situation, but Rolf could only see the injured man and the fresh wound he was covering with his hand. Kicked in the head as he had been, Rolf's thoughts were not really functioning on their normal level and he attempted to stand up to walk to the Leutnant and to see how badly he was injured, but he managed only a painful half-stumble towards the Wehrmacht officer, all the while he really had no real idea where he was and what was happening. He only knew the man had been shot and that something had happened in between this moment and the one where he had been pinned down on the ground, but he couldn't recall exactly what. He had no gun in his hand and the two Wehrmacht soldiers were yelling at each other in loud voices, which could have only meant that another one of them was the culprit. Flying a fighter in the Luftwaffe, Rolf had never really witnessed too many injuries such as this and surviving a flight with gunshot wounds was nothing short of a miracle, anyway. It was more likely for a pilot to end up burning in his aircraft or perhaps, surviving a parachute jump, only to get either shot in the process or captured by the enemy forces, depending the area the combat was being fought over. The only thing he realized at the moment was that a German soldier had been shot and that he should do something about it. Check the wounds. Call the medic. Yes, it seemed to make a lot of sense.

As Rolf tried to speak, he managed only a harsh croak at first and even then his words came out in a confusing, slurring jumble. "...was ...was haben Sie getan?" The man questioned, his mind slowly trying to come up with the next course of action. The rather delirious Hauptmann slumped down on the sand near the Leutnant, groaning and holding his breath for a small moment before his bloodied hand reached towards the Wehrmacht officer in order to assist him and to see just how grave his wounds were.


Translations:

"Sie sind ein Jäger, vergessen nie das. In erster Linie müssen Sie immer gemäß Ihrer Statur handeln..."
"You are a Jäger, never forget that. First and foremost, you must always act according to your stature, but never let it get the better of you. You will find that when you show respect, you will also receive it. Generations behind you and ahead of you depend on your actions, Rolf. Never give up your pride. Never forget."

"...was ...was haben Sie getan?"
"..what... what have you done?"

[Dirk Riedel]

What had began as a form of punishment inflicted upon the one whom had first attempted to enforce his masculine authority on another for the sole purpose of complete and uncompromising submission and dominance had escalated into something completely out of bounds, uncontrollable as it was and moving towards an unpredicted route from retribution to calamity, to unforeseen damage. The Leutnant, at the peak of his blind rage, had wished nothing more but to strip the Luftwaffe officer from his status as an alpha male amongst his troops and ended up, quite ironically so, having that same status questioned upon himself as he lay down, knees crushed onto the sand, his mouth wide open for those few moments as he gasped for air, eyes staring into the dark velvety sky and with both of his hands instinctively pressed against the heavily bleeding wound. For a moment the world was spiralling around him, the loud voices were nothing more but a distant source of muffled, solitary sounds and he lost all touch of where he was and what was happening around him as the sky enlarged above him and threatened to devour his existence into its murky depths, the pain piercing through his swollen flesh, but this was hardly the first or second time the man had received a bullet wound, nor would it be the last – this form of pain, the very raw physical one he could muster, tolerate, even accept, but not the emotional suffering he had been forced to live through several years before. Not that. He quickly blinked his eyes and looked around him, only to find his two soldiers bickering with one another in the near distance in very loud voices. “Verdammt, Jürgen,” he muttered under his quickened breathing, and applied constant pressure against the wound with his hands to allow the blood clots to form.

He needed a few moments to register someone slumping down on his right side with a large thud on the sand, and when he turned his pained, sweaty face around he saw the Hauptmann’s pain-wrecked figure lying a few centimetres close, his hand reached out towards him with his face evidently in physical anguish and suffering; Dirk, his mouth always slightly open in intensified breathing, noted his shattered appearance within the fraction of a second, before, without thinking or needing to think, the right hand pressed against the side ribs tightly, now soaked in blood, gave way to the left to cover the wound and outreached itself to hold on to his, fingers strongly looped around the red-smeared outer surface of his hand, the piercing green eyes locked into his grey for those few moments. He then, slowly, and with a grunt of pain, dragged him closer through his firm grasp along the sand and it was to his complete inability to bend forwards that warranted the need to bring the other man closer instead, just so he could snatch him firmly from the arm and laboriously brought the Hauptmann to a standing position, as would be more convenient for the latter. This very simple movement caused the Leutnant such toil and over-exertion as his breathing had grown to a more rapid pace, the left hand shaking in an attempt to properly cover the wound and stop the bleeding; he tried to shout at his soldiers but a raspy croak escaped his dry mouth instead, and he allowed himself to slowly move with his back against the ground so as to place his head and legs on the same alignment.

“Sie Idiot! Was zum Teufel!” Kord Albrecht cried at his friend in an accusatory tone, not quite knowing what to do at this sudden turn of events – the case would have been otherwise had both men been less intoxicated, and either a medic would have already arrived at the scene or they would have quickly taken the Leutnant to his quarters. At present, however, they were both profoundly confused and slower.

“Es war ein Unfall!” Jürgen excused in a high-pitched wail, nothing but shock and disturbance written across his face as he looked at his friend in utter bewilderment, the hand that was still holding the gun shaking.

“Sie schoßen den Leutnant, Sie Dummkopf! Sie dummer Arsch!”

“Verschlossen, verdammt müssen wir ihn in den Arsch bringen – ich meine den Arzt,” he jumbled the words altogether, his eyebrows frowned in sheer confusion and stumbled towards the Leutnant before the other man snatched the his collar and shoved him backwards, as he turned to impatiently seize the gun from the Schütze’s hand, empty the barrel in swift, sharp movements and then throw the gun on the sand.

“Diese ganze Ihre blutige Scheißschuld –”

“Soldaten!” a bark was finally heard, and both men turned around in unison to face the Leutnant. “Albrecht …” Dirk breathed in a clearly agonizing tone, a touch of commanding asperity surfacing in his voice as he slightly brought his face upwards to look at them both, “nimmt ihn zu seinen Baracken zurück. Das ist eine Ordnung, Obergefreiter!” he snapped in protracted breathing, as he glared at the two. “Ich verbiete … jeder … Angriff und … stellen sicher, dass er in sicheren Händen … ist Und ihm zurück seine Pistole geben,” he eventually finished his order after considerable difficulty, and then turned to look at the other soldier on his left. “Kampfer!” he called abruptly. “Sie werden bei mir bleiben.”

Obergefreiter Kord Albrecht nodded, apparently the severity of the situation having cleared his senses to a minimal point, enough not to question or behave in an inappropriate manner upon the commanding officer’s orders; now that he had someone to talk some sense into him it was easier to simply carry through the task instead of having to take up the initiative for rational procedure within his raving mind. “Kommen Sie jetzt, die Ordnungen von Leutnant heran,” he said, and then bent low at the Hauptmann’s direction as he slipped one arm over the officer’s waist, allowing the other man’s arm to wobble around the Obergefreiter’s shoulder in support while he carried him slowly away, and soon vanished into the darkness. Dirk forced both hands through the wound in applying as much pressure as he possibly could, and once he had supervised the two of them going away without any tribulations, he immediately turned to the Schütze.

“Kampfer, holen Sie mich mein Messer herbei. Gehen Sie zum Zelt zurück, und …” – he groaned, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took, remaining calm and clinging to his senses for such was the only means of survival a human being possessed during such incidents, the sweat forming small pools around his face, the collar and in every fibre of his skin underneath the military uniform, “ … finden mich eine Whisky-Taschenflasche … von Luhmann … einige ausgetrocknete Zweige wir pickten … vor einigen Tagen … auf erinnern sich? Und einige Gaze-Polster,” he said, as he then kept the left hand pressed tightly on the wound and used his right to lower his belt and carefully place it on the region around his stomach, covering the wound with it but making sure to unbuckle it and then buckle it once again at a lower notch so as the strap would not be as tightly pressed against the wound as to stop blood circulation. Then, with his arms both extended backwards he slowly, and rather painfully, hauled himself backwards with the sole purpose of putting a decent distance between himself and the tents. Knowing what was to come, he far from wanted to have an entire platoon hear his anguished growling as he would use the knife’s tip to dig out the wretched bullet, and then press the red-hot heated blade right on top of the wound.

“Wir haben keine Gaze-Polster, Herr Leutnant, aber ich kann dem Medizinstudenten laufen –”

“Ein Frottierhandtuch, dann.”

“Wir haben ein Frottierhandtuch im Zelt nicht, Herr Leut –”

“So, dann, gerade ein Scheißhandtuch, Kampfer!” Dirk snapped at him angrily, and as the man vacantly nodded and began to stride away towards the tents, the Leutnant lifted his head again to address him from the distance, “Und verhalten Sie sich unauffällig!” By the time the soldier had returned, Dirk had pushed himself even further back in the distance and so Kampfer had to walk several metres more to reach the spot he was lying on.

“Sie sind nicht dabei es zu brennen, Herr Leutnant, sind Sie –”

“Verschlossen,” Dirk brusquely interrupted him as his hands focused on snatching the towel from the man’s hands, releasing the belt from his stomach and instead using the cloth material to absorb all the remaining blood. While he waited for the bleeding to stop, though, he did not waste time in taking the flask, opened it aptly with the fingers of the same hands and then tilted his head backwards as he took a large swig from the whiskey that burned down onto his throat and dulled the pain of what he was about to follow through with.

“Herr Leutnant, ich konnte nicht Sie das tun lassen! Ich bestehe darauf, dass ich Sie zu nehme – ”

“Kampfer, das ist alles wegen Ihrer!” Dirk barked at him in a laborious growl, eyebrows curved over his pained eyes. “Kleinst können Sie tun wird Ihr betrunkener Mund geschlossen und mir damit helfen, oder gerade im Zelt zurückgehen. Aber tun Sie nicht Pisse ich davon,” he snapped, and then exhaled deeply as he put the flask down and removed the red-stained towel from the bullet wound.

“Also … ” he muttered through gritted teeth, glaring down at his wound as the shining blade pointed straight towards it, “wollen wir grabend werden, Weibchen.”



Translation

Damn, Jürgen.

You idiot! What the hell!

It was an accident!

You shot the Leutnant, you blockhead! You stupid arse!

Shut up, damn it, we need to take him to the arse – I mean the doctor.

This all your bloody fucking fault –

Soldiers! Albrecht … take him back to his barracks. This is an order, Obergefreiter! I forbid … any … attack and … make sure he’s in safe hands … And give him back his gun. Kampfer! You’ll stay with me.

Come on now, Leutnant’s orders.

Kampfer, fetch me my knife. Go back to the tent and … find me a whiskey flask … from Luhmann … some dried branches we picked … some days ago … remember? And some gauze pads.

We don’t have any gauze pads, Herr Leutnant, but I can run to the medic –

A terrycloth towel, then.

We don’t have a terrycloth towel in the tent, Herr Leut –

Well, then, just some fucking towel, Kampfer! And keep a low profile!

You aren’t going to cauterize it, Herr Leutnant, are you –

Shut up.

Herr Leutnant, I couldn’t let you do this! I insist I take you to the –

Kampfer, this is all because of you! The least you can do is shut your drunken mouth and help me with it, or just go back in the tent. But don’t piss me off.

Well … let’s get digging, bitch.