Good Intent

[Rolf Jäger]

The desert wind made the canvas of the tent live and breathe around Hauptmann Rolf Jäger, but he hardly noticed it and the sound simply blended into the background, becoming nothing more but a monotonous, distant annoyance. Sat upon the wooden chair with his hand idly resting upon the table laden with maps and papers of different kind, he stared blankly ahead of him, not noticing the beads of sweat glinting in the yellow sunlight sifting through the tan canvas, or the stubborn dust clinging to the moisture, or the small rust-coloured scorpion clambering around the edge of the tent, attempting to desperately find its way out by feeling the wall of the tent with its claws. His thoughts were elsewhere, lost and entangled in events that had passed before, and his mind endlessly wandering around a darkened little Libyan hotel room... and upon her skin. Upon her lips.

His short fingernails dug into the wooden texture of the old table and the distant gaze of his eyes grew more intense when he recalled leisurously running his hands along that pale and smooth skin and how warm her body had felt beneath his palms, how he had felt her heartbeats, her breathing.... The silver-grey eyes narrowed and Rolf's breathing grew quicker, for the first time in his life he had felt someone responding to his advances and the sensation had been completely confounding to the man who had never experienced such a novelty in his life. His parents had never been the ones to deal out hugs to their son and after that Rolf's life had ever been a series of poisonous and violent clashes; not least due to his own instinctively hostile and unbending nature. It was not simply the violence of their initial meetings that had made him promptly flinch away from the blonde woman that he had now met here among the desert sands, but also Rolf's own inexperience of perceiving such an advance that had made him grow instantly cautious and defensive. He held little trust for people, yet somehow during the moments spent within that cheap little hotel room he had been forced to bend knee to this alarming sentiment and he had... yes, he had trusted her in such ways as to make his insides ache with alarm and desperation.

The things they had done - oh, all the things that had passed between them - had been built upon trust reigning in between both of them and Rolf knew that it had not been entirely effortless to the woman, either. She had hated him more ferociously than Rolf had ever experienced anyone hating him; and then, it was truly saying quite a lot looking at the mass of enemies his arrogant and snide manners had brought him. What had passed between them in that room had started as if in a dream, the caravansera bursting with life, and her half-naked form dancing in between the crowd just to reach him, just to have him publicly declare her as his slave and then lead her away out of the desire to protect the woman's integrity, and to appease to the burning hatred that had been inflamed the moment he had seen the eyes fixating upon her, the multitude of hands attempting to grasp at her form. At that moment he had wished he would have been an all-powerful good, rising upon the dirty, undeserving flock of people and having them all perish in a ruthless storm of his rage, in a storm; yes, in a hurricane of crackling lightning and cutting rain! Had he not been able to pry her away from the scene, he certainly would have lost his mind out of nothing but the lunacy of wanting to preserve her just for himself, and he understood this even though he did not comprehend why he wanted to own the woman. It should have not mattered, but it did, and as often happened with emotions and the man, he gave himself up to the turbulent cataract of their whims and felt burning rage, trembled in wanton despair, experienced undying dedication.

It was that raw force of his emotions that had made him draw away from the crowd, which had made him attack her in wanton lust despite her defiance, and push her against the wall with the pure intention of devouring her then and there because she was allowing him to and because it drowned out the hollow pain of remembering her among the hungry crowd of soldiers. He had wanted to destroy, consume her and punish her, but then something else had flickered to life within his chest and he had drawn away in horror... and how vividly could he still remember that sentiment grasping at his very heart, it's chill colder than even the rain running down along his spine. He had lead her to the familiar hotel room in sullen silence with the full intention of leaving her there while heading grumbling and snarling for the barracks, but she had not allowed him, instead claiming that he was to stop running from his fears and face them, that she would make him if he would not find the will within himself to manage this, and it was all for reasons Rolf still could not understand, all so completely insensible, his lungs burned from simply trying to untangle it all in his mind!

What had happened after she had pulled him close had proceeded on its own weight and Rolf had trouble recalling how exactly her acceptance had unfolded - if it had been acceptance at all or rather a sense of horrified curiosity, like some animal caught in the headlights of the approaching car and finding itself unable to move from the hypnotic glare of the spotlights. And what chills had ran down his spine at her closeness, of feeling her thighs rubbing against his sides and her sighs of pain and apprehension, yes, how they had brushed at his skin with each purposeful nudge of his hips! It had been an experience unlike any Rolf had ever experienced and still, when it had ended he had meant to leave as to save himself from the repercussions of the contact when they certainly could have not been anything but negative for him. She had not allowed this and had instead drawn him upon the bed where they had lain in naked closeness - in that curious, warm existence - and she had wished to know things about him, posing questions no one else had ever asked him, and he had not been sure if he should have been more baffled by that or the fact that she still wished to keep him close. Rolf's eyebrows furrowed and his fingertips curled as he attempted wrapping his mind around these very facts, that he had stayed, that she had wanted him to stay, and what it could all mean and where he was to dig up the answers when there was nobody there to answer his questions, nobody else other than her that could even half grasp the scope of those events!

What was Rolf Jäger to do then? How was he to think of her now and was it even up to him to decide? Had something within so grossly changed that there was no going back to the state he had known before, the one in which he had viewed things as being simple and straightforward and upon finding them to be otherwise, simply carving his own path through troubles and questions in furious blindness? The woman's will was unbending and try as he might, he could not push her aside and she persisted in his mind like some lurking disease that was slowly spreading into his veins, and how he hated it, how it burned his skin and made it crawl, yet he could not stop from wanting her, could not stop himself from returning back to those heated moments! His breathing quickened when he remembered that despite his violent advance she had not shunned him, but even taken control in a completely unexpected manner, manipulating him in such sweet, torturous ways as to make him beg - yes, beg of her, him who would have never imagined being reduced to such a hopeless state! And if it in all of its surrealism had appeared like a dream right now, just a small shift of his hand to slide away the sleeve would wake him up to see the truth and reveal the markings upon his wrists; the evidence of his subjugation, of his thralldom for her. He did not need to look at those marks now, for he could all too well recall how rapturously good she had made him feel and how he had wanted to have her reign over him despite him fighting against the binds. Had he managed to release himself from the bondage, he would have certainly assaulted the woman for a brief and hungry release, but she had known just how to manipulate him, just how to make him groan... and yes, he had loved it more than he cared to now admit.

His grey eyes had grown hazy and there were other things to remember, other things to recall, and they were just as alarming to think about when so much trust had been required of him to give himself up for her manipulation, when his knees had faltered at her approach, and he had begged of her to be careful. Of her to be careful! With him! To even think that this kind of knowledge would be relayed to anyone else but her was completely horrifying to him and then he realized that before this very incident, to even have her witness such weakness from him would have appeared simply unforgivable. When he considered laying his trust out so very bare and open in front of her, admitting and accepting his own susceptibility and allowing her to manipulate it, his silver-grey eyes glinted with deep desperation in the soft light of sun reaching through the canvas of the tent and the line of his jaw tightened. It someone should have known...! But of course, who would she relay this knowledge to when she had her disguise to manage, when there was nobody she could address with this kind of information; and then even through his anguish and his hatred and dejection for his own weakness he knew she would have not shared that with anyone, because it was not like her, because... he knew her better.

The thought made him pause, the inhale caught in his throat, and it was only now that he realized that he was tormented because he did not know what she thought. That he had started to care about another person's thoughts. It was her intimacy that had infected him with this, and it made his skin crawl, his teeth grit together in fury, and yet he wanted more, he wanted to gaze at her, he wanted to see those clear green eyes looking back at him, he wanted to touch, wanted to feel- His fist struck against the table accompanied by a furious grunt, and he had not even noticed that his eyes had closed from better indulging in the recollection of their shared closeness, his breath running fast and uncontrolled through the flood of memories. His muscles had tensed with the feral desire of toppling the table over and watching the papers scatter around the command tent, of yelling and howling his pain and fury to have it travel over the desert dunes and to tell everyone of the dangerous madness that had infected him, and his heart pounded, his lungs contracting and burning as if having just survived a fierce rush of adrenaline and the feeling inside him swell, becoming unbearable, growing insanely agonizing-! Yet then a sound of the tent canvas being pushed aside interrupted the rising swirl of his desperate rage, and his eyes snapped sharply open to regard the visitor in a hostile, stormy glare. Oberleutnant Wahler seemed to pause upon witnessing the hateful stare, but then he composed himself, simply saluting the other officer and licking his dried lips before addressing him. "Herr Hauptmann. Die Geschwaderkommodore möchte Sie sehen. Soll ich... ihm sagen, du wirst ihn später besuchen?" Wahler suggested carefully, the Hauptmann's feral appearance not really lessened by the bristly beard adorning his face.

Rolf's eyes narrowed and he allowed his clenched fingers to slowly loosen, the images of the woman's naked body still burned upon his retinas, and the shift of desert wind changing into her soft sigh. It took him a considerable amount of effort to respond to his adjutant and when he did, his voice was hoarser than usual, the words forced into some degree of strained composure. "Nein. Nein, das ist nicht nötig. Ich werde zu ihm gehen jetzt. Gehe sicher, dass die Wetterberichte sind bereit und hier wartet, wenn ich zurückkomme. Ich will das zu herübersehen."

The Oberleutnant saluted him, acknowledging the order just before turning around to leave the tent, and Rolf diverted his gaze to the side, his exhale deep and tired as he realized the severity of the upcoming discussion, but still could not fully concentrate upon it from his previous thoughts. No, he knew he would have to see her as soon as possible... if he was still in Africa, if he still had his Gruppe. His fingers trembled as they reached for the peaked cap sat upon the table, and he grasped at the hat more strongly than he had meant to just to still the wavering of his hand and he did not want to admit that it was more due to the thought of confronting her after everything that had happened, rather than facing the wrath of the Kommodore.

Translations:

"Herr Hauptmann. The Geschwaderkommodore wishes to see you. Shall I... tell him you will visit him later?"

"No. No need for that. I will go see him right now. Go make sure that I will have the weather reports ready and waiting when I get back. I want to look them over."

[Dirk Riedel]

The Leutnant stood there, upright and frozen, amidst the pelting downpour. It heavily washed over her, and yet she knew not of inconvenience or the cold, could only feel its thundering caress slap her with the weight of a thousand daggers being thrown upon her body, perhaps in punishment of her latest distraction. There were voices, she knew, voices of men whose countenance was so familiar to her, ever the military closeness of soldiers by whom she had fought in war, and now they were voices which rang so coarsely and with such distant tremour to her ears, as though some brick wall had been curiously built in between them, and which attributed to the sounds of their far-flung echoes a sense of solitude and yet peculiar acquaintance. It was not her intention of being so static amongst the seizure of motion and of thought, and when all others were running in masses and carrying stocks of wet clothes and uniforms, leather-bound paperwork and small machinery to safety to shield from the rain, she could but stand there in the middle of the blaring crowd and gaze at the chaos that was the Wehrmacht barracks. Her hands were cold. And though they felt frozen, they did not tremble, for they could not move; neither could they turn to call upon the soldiers of her platoon, or gesture at herself, telling the world she were a fool. And though it might have appeared that she in perfect reverie stood, in profound retrospect of prudence and of sagacity, in truth her visceral existence was in ache, in searing discomfort! Her mind – a haphazard clatter of uncalculated thoughts that refused to appear in order, her heart, racing with pain against her ribcage and she, unmoving and in shock, stared at the troops as their jackboots splashed against the puddles of water in hurrying frenzy and sending small patches of dirt and sand flying around the wrecked place, what once used to have been their quarters; had she truly forgotten of them? It had only been one day. And she was still, to every extent of her being, the Leutnant. Had she, for a moment, thought differently?

“Sie alle?” someone shouted over the rain, and rushed towards her direction, for a moment stopping to glance back at him. The wide firmament was an absolute dull grey.

“Alle, Herr Arzt!” a younger man cried in response, and almost slipped on the sand as he tried to carry with him a drenched backpack that was bursting at the seams with ointments and other various pills, if one were to judge by the continuous clanking sounds of medicinal bottles falling upon one another in disorder at the man’s running motion. “Aber der Hilfsbastelsatz –”

The military doctor frowned in distress, and swiftly hurried back to the other’s direction, and then went past him, in vain attempting to find the aid kit beneath the shambles of the soaked tent, its surface glued all upon the small belongings that were too needless to be collected and beneath which there lay swamped various bandages, garments and one or two pens. He groped for a few minutes, heaving and cursing, and the younger man patiently waited for him, albeit wholly shivering, the shower teeming down upon their sopping figures with a merciless hand.

“Herr Leutnant!”

The woman did not at first turn around, and it was the lightning that suddenly cracked overhead that forced her to twitch, that the familiar voice had to repeat the same call at least one more time before she were to turn around and see Obergefreiter Albrecht scurry along to her, until he bent over and curled his stomach closer to his leg, resting his palms upon his knees, and panted hard. Water was dripping from his face, trickling quickly from the side of his cheek down upon his chin, and thence to the ground, falling on the puddle of dirt around which his boots stood. “Herr Leutnant – die Zelte – die Überschwemmung – ” he heavily breathed and, winded, attempted to find the proper words to explain to his superior of the situation; curiously enough, it was his sight that alerted the woman to the severity of her surroundings, that simple address, that military connotation of his words, that returned her to the former identity. It was no longer the military that appeared a curious distance during their time in the old room of the city; it was the time spent in the room that now strangely resembled a small point in the growing distance now as she stood in the flooded barracks.

She blinked for a moment or two, and then licked her wet lips. “Wo sind die anderen?” she spoke, and her voice came out curiously guttural and hardened, that surprised even her.

“Mit Uhlmann versuchend, den Acht-Acht zur Sicherheit zu bewegen,” the Obergefreiter told her in a loud and heaving voice, and then darted forth to lead his superior to the rest of their troops where the men had been gathered. Riedel immediately followed him, both soldiers making way through the raucous crowd that whistled to and fro, their motion at first controlled and steady, but then soon they broke into a half-run as their jackboots splattered rainwater and dirt behind them, showered from the pelting rain that knew no clemency, no conclusion! It appeared Obergefreiter Albrecht must have already made a good amount of running himself already which Riedel in her delay had not observed in person, simply by looking at his winded breath and aching muscles. “Es gab ein Problem im Abtrennen davon, und dann konnten wir nicht finden, dass richtiges Material es damit bedeckte, wir verwendeten eine Ripstop Leinwand. Dann der gleitende Block – sammelte es zu viel Wasser.”

The discomfort in the Leutnant’s stomach gathered and spread, that the numerous barks of command and orders from superior personnel around them soon were fused into one colourless amalgamation of sound and visual clatter, and once when she turned her eyes to the left she found Mathias Plesner struggling with a Flammenwerfer next to a levelled tent, the man not quite appearing that distracted by the downpour which had left him soaking to the sand as he pulled a cotton canvas around the flamethrower, or that his hat had been washed away to the side by his right foot. Close to him another familiar face, Sturman, was by the side of a 38 Zündapp gearing it up to force the vehicle into moving away from its present stuck position in that large puddle of sandy rainwater; the image reminded the woman of how she ought to see to her motorcycle as well, yet priorities were first, and as Albrecht moved quickly ahead, so did she.

“Wir bewegten bereits die Artillerie,” he said, and the woman kicked away some old corroded silver scuttle which the men had once used as a urine container, but which now served as nothing more but a useless item to be left behind along with various other trivial belongings which had been thrown inside, cigarette ashes, disused cigarette cases and packets, empty jars which had once held beer or liqueur, or inessential scribbles upon wet pieces of yellow parchment.

“Es gab keine Zeit, um alle anderen loszumachen!” the Obergefreiter breathed heavily and a heavy knot that had already been tied in her stomach now came to stiffen and tauten parasitically.

“Jede gute Nachtricht?” she asked, as they passed through another straight line of levelled tents, and then Albrecht came to a stop as they had finally reached the other men, proceeding to pant his way to the small crowd with a walk. He frowned. “So, es ist gut zu sehen, dass Sie sicher sind, Herr Leutnant. Reiner begann zu beunruhigen, dass Sie in der Stadt gefangen worden sein könnten, als der Sturm begann,” he explained, and sighed, the sight of four or five soldiers surrounded by an anti-aircraft cannon machinery grew closer. The Leutnant turned to give him a glance in thoughtful curiosity, and through the silence spoke nothing, but remained unresponsive at the loud connotation of his sentence, such truth that it held within, and yet in such different a manner than might have been suggested.

And there stood her soldiers, their familiar faces in some way or other warming her heart even though it had been curious at first to return to such an identity, such a state of consciousness; and they were attempting to pull the canvas across the surface of the machinery, cursing and barking at one another, and drenched in rainwater. The sight made her heart skip for a moment, and she hastened towards their direction with almost newborn necessity, before –

“Riedel!”

The Leutnant briskly turned around on the spot at the familiar sound and an invisible force clutched onto her heart as she came face to face with the superior commanding officer standing not more than a few centimetres away from her, and such was their sudden closeness that only one step was required to have their noses brush; his peaked cap was as if glued to the wet fair tresses of his head, and upon his sharp facial features there was precision and cold calculation of the moment. “Herr Hauptmann –” she began, quite not knowing how to address him for quite simply the woman knew not what to say, nor in what spirits the superior commander was presently under. But the woman was spared from such necessity, for it was him who immediately were to interrupt her, to begin with.

“Wir bewegen uns nach Westen, vergewissern uns, dass jede Maschinerie in Ihrem Zug sicher übertragen worden ist, ich will keine Missgeschicke, das ist sehr wichtig, Leutnant!” he spoke in a sharp and rushed tone, his voice appearing oddly sonorous and rutted. Riedel listened to him with a severe and hard countenance as befitting someone who has recently been through a callous inner uproar and is questioning whether the superior has noticed the delay of return from leave and if they should mention it at any given moment, even if, taking the present circumstance into consideration, it seemed highly unlikely Hauptmann Richter would have taken interest in such matter at this time when there was a more significant issue at hand to see efficiently executed. One would expect of the Leutnant to begin excusing her delay immediately upon the superior’s sight, yet this was not how Riedel had been brought up; at any point disciplined into finding defensive justification when such was a mere and undeserving effort at excuse, for the woman had been forged with the upright protocol that whenever she had been wrongful, any attempt of defending herself was unwarranted and cheap. Therefore, not one word escaped her lips in such effort, for she were not the kind of person to so easily and so weakly resort to equally weak excuses communicated for the sheer purpose of absolving her from blame. Indeed, it was the essence of blame which one had to carry as personal responsibility in the event of wrongdoing, as punishment, as an unequivocal right, which had been deeply embedded within the woman’s mind and which at this very moment hindered her from voicing even the slightest hint of explanation.

“Der erste Zug hat mehr Ersatzleinwand, nach Langer schicken!” Hauptmann Richter commanded her in a short bark, his tone finalising and strict, and the Leutnant breathed heavily, before he were to, quite without another word, quickly march away from the group and into the discordant crowd. And it was quite in initial disorientation that she at first turned around towards the men of her platoon, that only upon seeing the wrench upon Uhlmann’s hand did she force her feet to move forward at his direction, to assist him through the tricky task of detaching the anti-aircraft gun, before, with another grating crack, the skies broke and lightning struck overhead.



Translation

But the aid kit –

Herr Leutnant – the tents – the flood –

Where are the others?

With Uhlmann, trying to move the Acht-Acht to safety. There was a problem in detaching it, and then we could not find proper material to cover it with, we used some ripstop canvas. Then the sliding block – it gathered too much water.

We already moved the artillery.

There was no time to detach all the others!

Any good news?

Well, it is good to see you are safe, Herr Leutnant. Reiner began to worry you might have been trapped in the city when the storm began.

We are moving westward, make certain every machinery in your platoon has been transferred safely, I do not want any mishaps, this is very important, Leutnant!

The first platoon has more spare canvas, send for Langer!

[Rolf Jäger]

"Ich bin überrascht dass Sie in den Räumlichkeiten gefunden konnte, Hauptmann," the sharp voice of the Geshcwhaderkommodore cut through the sweltering midday air of the large tent and the middle-aged Luftwaffe officer swiveled around to regard the man standing in front of his desk. Rolf felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the older man's icy stare and he resisted the desire to nervously shuffle his feet around just to find the resolution to stand his ground. Instead he only snapped into a sharp salute and breathed out evenly, dropping the precise greeting only when the Geschwaderkommodore finally nodded at him. The sunlight sifting through the canvas of the command tent made everything within adopt tones of yellow and sepia, the papers neatly organized upon the table glowing with an auric halo and Oberstleutnant Bruckmann's face resembling the unforgiving golden countenance of old gods carved into the walls of a forgotten temple. The Oberstleutnant spent a silent moment studying the Hauptmann standing rigid and unmoving at the other side of his painstakingly arranged desk and his thick eyebrows furrowed with confusion and displeasure upon seeing the Hauptmann's stubble, one that by now had grown into a beard, and his sharp eyes did not miss the signs of fresh bruises even though they seemed to almost meld into Rolf's skin in the tawny hue of the lighting. His tan uniform was as neat as it could be in the dusty environment, but it still was a far cry from the Oberstleutnant's neatly trimmed countenance and as such it would have been difficult for an outsider to even imagine that the younger officer was truly under Bruckmann's command.

Bruckmann had seen many different soldiers during his time in the service, and many different officers to issue orders at them, but by far it was Hauptmann Jäger that had been the most controversial member of the Luftwaffe that he had ever met, not to even mention being the most troublesome one. The Oberstleutnant was not a harsh man, precise and demanding as he might have been, but he did except the officers under his command to act according to all the ideals that a true German officer and a soldier should have respected. Jäger had been breaking all the rules recently, bar from the ones that had to do with actual battle; for certainly he knew that the young aristocrat did not veer away from the military responsibilities having to do with managing his Gruppe and engaging the enemy. It was still quite clear to him that the man was too brash - maybe much too brash for his position - in his actions and at times, would rebel against the rules even though he was clearly very well aware of them. What exactly had made him that way, Bruckmann could only guess. Maybe he had just not been shown proper discipline as a child? Maybe his aristocratic background had allowed him to live under the illusion that he was endowed with special privileges? Bruckmann was still deciding, but he was certainly not going to allow the Hauptmann to continue living in such fantasies, for that if anything would have lessened his own qualities as a respectable commander.

"Ich hörte, dass Sie nicht hier waren, als die Flut geschehen," Bruckmann pointed out, his words coated with the razor-edged force of his silent musings and Rolf felt his palms turning sweaty, for he had really been too occupied by other thoughts to even properly consider what to tell his commanding officer. It was still quite clear to him that there was no point in lying about something that the Kommodore already quite clearly knew to be true, so the words flowed fast and precise from his tongue. "Ich war nicht, Herr Oberstleutnant," Rolf stared into nothingness as he spoke in his hoarse voice, his eyes leveled to look somewhere at the other officer and yet, curiously through him, his stubbled chin held high and his posture strung with poker-backed distinction while he held his peaked cap beneath his arm. He did not bother explaining it any further, for going into lengthy excuses over his absence would have only made the Oberstleutnant's expression grow all the more severe and Rolf was well aware that he was moving upon dangerous waters as it stood. Bruckmann had been more than understanding towards him, even going out of his way to preserve his rank and to keep him as the head of his Gruppe, but Rolf realized that he had been trusting too much in his superior's interest and ability to protect him. From Bruckmann's severe glare alone he could see that his leniency was at its end and the thought of losing his Gruppe, of losing his rank and of having his father hear of such shame made the pit of Rolf's stomach grow cold with dread. His throat had turned dry and he swallowed with difficulty, the air around him turning more oppressing by the second as he awaited for his superior's reaction.

Bruckmann merely looked back at him in silence and grasped at his wrist behind his back, his blue eyes narrowing as he waited for the gravity of the situation to properly sink in and for the younger officer to grow more nervous and uncomfortable through the smothering stillness. It was not until he saw the skin at the corner of the Hauptmann's eye twitching that he finally spoke, and his voice was even and coldly calculating as to make any notion of lies and excuses to vanish from the mind of the unkempt aristocrat. "Und warum war es dann, die Sie nicht hier waren, um Ihre Gruppe zu sehen, wenn das gesamte Lager in einem solchen Zustand der Unordnung war? Vielleicht sollte ich einfach die Gruppe Wahler, zuordnen, da er zu neigen dazu vor kurzem gewesen ist. Bald beginnen die Männer, ihn als Leiter der Gruppe statt Sie zu erkennen, und können Sie es ihnen verdenken! Vor kurzem haben Sie wurde entweder sitzen im Militärgefängnis oder Freiheiten erlauben erweitern Ihre eigenen lassen; ein Urlaub, ich Sie erteilt, so dass können Sie die Zeit um sich nach Ihrer Inhaftierung mehr vorzeigbar aussehen, aber die sehe ich auf andere Dinge verschwendet war!" The volume of the Oberstleutnant's voice had risen as his recollection of all the slights of his subordinate were returned to him with such a vivid precision, and truly, for what reason had he gone to such lengths to assist him when it was clear that Jäger was simply too self-centered to see when others were going out of their own way to help him? The frustration and affront shone clear in the Oberstleutnant's irises and Rolf's jaw shifted at the string of accusations, their force all the more biting when he knew them to be nothing but simple truths.

"Das Wetter überrascht mich, Herr Oberstleutnant. Wieder zurück in die Kaserne hat mich-"
"Und Sie sagten immer, dass Sie so ein Talent hatte von Wetter vorhersagen! Denke ich, dass ich jetzt nicht allzu überrascht sein sollte, dass dieses Geschenk von Ihnen bequem verschwunden war nur, wenn Ihre verlassen am Ende war? Ersparen Sie mir die Ausreden, Hauptmann! Ich bin krank und müde, hören Sie, genau wie die Zeit, die du selbst so schwer verprügelt, dass Sie Wochen benötigt zu erholen, und noch nie ganz geschafft, mir zu erklären wie das genau passiert ist!"

The memory plunged a knife deep into Rolf's insides and twisted in the wound strongly enough to make his lungs burn with hatred and shame, his fingers curling into a tight fist just to contain the pain of that recollection and to keep the parasites of humiliation dormant within his frame. The line of Rolf's jaw tightened and a stark wall of polished steel rose to his irises to hide the emotions within and he tried not to think about what had happened during that time, that it had ever been her, that he had been so completely powerless, that he had been stolen of his dignity... "Es war zu dunkel, zu sagen, wer sie waren, Herr Oberstleutnant. Es gibt viele, die mich weniger als positiv betrachten. Es könnte eine Menge Leute gewesen," the lie stung bitter on his tongue, yet there was a grain of truth to it as well, for he certainly had made many enemies by simply being himself; and still the answer hardly seemed to appease the already infuriated Bruckmann. The older man scoffed just as if he had just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world and if possible, his gaze sharped even further to pierce through the Hauptmann's form, forcing him to look back at Oberstleutnant to take in the severity of his next words.

"Ich nicht glauben, dass sogar das erste Mal, was, das Sie mir erzählte, Kommandeur, aber ich noch let it go. Ich toleriert sogar Sie Angriff auf einen Kollegen Officer - Angriff auf eine der eigenen Piloten! - weil ich dachte, es war ein echter Fehler aus nichts mehr als ein Moment der verkalkuliert Emotion heraus geboren, aber dies ist einfach zu viel bekommen. Die mehr Leine, die Sie berechtigt sind, die mehr Sie ziehen es. Sie zeigen nicht Respekt für andere, nicht Ihre eigene Gruppe, nicht deine Kollegen Offiziere und nicht einmal Ihr Kommodore, und Sie weiterhin völlig blind, was Nachsicht Sie gezeigt werden! Welche Art eines deutschen Soldaten wirkt wie das? Sag mir, Hauptmann!"
"Eine sehr unwürdig Art, Herr Oberstleutnant," Rolf forced the poisonous words out of his mouth simply because he knew it was what his superior wanted to hear, and even though a distant twinge of guilt prodded at his insides, he covered its hollow stab with anger over being forced to call himself a substandard officer. It was hardly his fault that the situation was ever turning against him - that people were turning against him! - and that he was being punished for having defended himself and his honour, just like any other German officer would have done. He was serving the Fatherland with furious dedication and none could tell him otherwise, not even the Kommodore; especially not the Kommodore, who was not risking his life in battle like Rolf and his pilots were.

The man still stood rigid and unmoving while his skin crawled with disgust for such an insult and yet, at the same time a cold dread was spreading his insides over the aspect of being removed from the head of his Gruppe. The conflicting feelings flooded his muscles with a furious desire to topple over the dusty wooden furniture within the tent and to dismantle whatever his hands would find, just to vent out his pain and anger, to show everyone that he could not be so subdued, that he was not in anyone's leash, not even that of the military command! Yet, he stood motionless in his place, only his irises of molten silver reflecting the flames that burned within and which consumed him from the inside, his jawline set into a furious grit just to hold the rage in check. Bruckmann was not as blind as not to notice this, and his eyebrows furrowed further at the realization that instead of shame his scolding was only instilling fresh rebellion within the Hauptmann and for a moment he thought about giving up - that maybe the older and calmer Oberleutnant should have truly taken Jäger's place - but there was no denying that the aristocrat was very precise and attentive when it came to his military duties and that his blunt arrogance could also at times be an asset over the hostile skies. The Oberstleutnant released a stifled sigh and shook his head, the lines over his face for a moment making him appear much more weary than before, as if the desert winds had further added to his age by biting into his skin and strengthening the grooves left there by the years.

"Jetzt lassen Sie uns die Wahrheit, dann hören. Haben Sie zu viel zu trinken? Haben Sie in einem Bordell vergessen? Haben Sie vielleicht Ihre Uhr vergessen? Oder kommen Sie wieder in einigen Streit mit anderen, die Sie unfähig, Rückkehr nach Pflicht in der Zeit gemacht?" the Kommodore nodded towards Rolf, maybe to refer to the light bruises adorning his skin, and his voice was weary as he expected nothing else but another shoddy lie from the Hauptmann.
Rolf blinked and he considered for a second what to say - if there was a fabrication less harmful than another one - but then the truth found its way out of his parched lips seemingly on it's own volition. "Ich war mit einer Frau, Herr Kommodore. Ich habe keine Erklärung. Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg kam um mich zu holen, als ich wieder zurück auf den Flugplatz nach kam." Rolf's voice was raspy and low and if it appeared it was that out of shame, his eyes were communicating something different, for the rebellion in them had hardly grown any lesser.

The Oberstleutnant stared at him for a small, silent moment, but then the explanation seemed blunt and genuine enough to be the actual truth and he merely arched an eyebrow at the other man. "Ich hoffe, dass Sie in Zukunft im Auge behalten werden, was kommt zuerst an Bedeutung. Wir werden nicht den Krieg gewinnen durch verweilen mit ausländischen Kurtisanen, als… verlockend wie sie sein könnte," Bruckmann noted, maybe not as much out of his own experience as from the knowledge that young men had their own urges and that at times could feel quite compelled to chase after them without paying much heed to rationality. Rolf held his breath at the notion of calling Friederike a "foreign courtesan", but he allowed the Oberstleutnant to entertain any notion that he wished, for with whom Rolf had been was hardly any of his business. The Oberstleutnant appraised the Hauptmann silently, tilting his head slightly to the side and allowing the sharp line of his lips to communicate to the man just how very serious he was being. "Dies ist das letzte Mal, das ich so ein Gespräch mit Ihnen, Hauptmann haben wird. Das nächste Mal ganz anders sein, und in einer Weise, die sicherlich nicht gut für Sie enden wird, also lassen Sie uns sicherstellen, dass es gibt keine Notwendigkeit für eine solche Gelegenheit. Ist das zu verstehen, Jäger?"

"Es ist, Herr Oberstleutnant," Rolf replied stiffly, and he believed the Oberstleutnant to be perfectly honest with his promise and he did not want to think how the discussion would be the next time it should happen... and why was he suddenly so very sure that it was inevitable for it to happen? Was it simply that he knew the depths of his own nature and how uncontrolled it could be when he was provoked, or was there some a sense of malicious foresight hidden in the threads of the Oberstleutnant's words? The skin at the corners of Rolf's eyes tightened and his heart pounded faster over the notion that he could not avoid a destiny forged by something as inescapable as his very essence and that his fate could only ever turn in one specific way only because he could not alter his ways, could not transform himself and settle into a mould that was not meant to fit him. But was not that just the way his life had been designed to be to begin with? And yet, how had Friederike been able to so severely alter it?

If the Oberstleutnant had more to say, he could not later quite recall if he had truly addressed him or if they had simply stood there in silence before the Oberstleutnant finally dismissed him. Rolf saluted his superior through a humming haze, his feet suddenly having turned almost leaden beneath the heavy burden of such an inevitable future, and when another word from the Oberstleutnant suddenly stopped him, his heart skipped a beat over the fear of him having changed his mind. With his breath pausing painfully in his lungs, Rolf's fingers curled into loose fists and he turned around to stand at attention once more, his posture impeccable and sharp despite his inner turmoil. "Und Jäger. Rasieren Sie Ihr Gesicht. Sie sind kein Kapitän ein u-Boot, aber ein Offizier der Luftwaffe."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberstleutnant," Rolf replied with a dried mouth, saluting his superior once more before stepping out of the tent and allowing the full force of the Libyan sun to scorch the silent dread out of him with her burning, merciless violence.


Translations:

"I am surprised you could be found in the premises, Hauptmann."

"I heard that you were not here when the flood happened."

"I was not, Herr Oberstleutnant."

"And why was it, then, that you were not here to see to your Gruppe when the entire camp was in such a state of disarray? Maybe I should simply assign the Gruppe to Wahler, seeing as he has been the one to tend to it recently. Soon the men are starting to recognize him as the head of the Gruppe instead of you, and can you blame them! Recently you have been either sitting in military prison or taking liberties of extending your own leave; a leave which I granted you so that you could use the time to make yourself look more presentable after your incarceration, but which I see was wasted on other things!"

"The weather surprised me, Herr Oberstleutnant. Returning back to the barracks took me-"

"And you were ever saying that you had such a talent of predicting weather! I guess I should now not be overly surprised that this gift of yours had conveniently vanished just when your leave was at its end? Spare me the excuses, Hauptmann! I am sick and tired of hearing them, just like the time you got yourself so severely beaten up that you needed weeks to recover, and still never quite managed to explain to me how that exactly happened!"

"It was too dark to tell who they were, Herr Oberstleutnant. There are many who consider me less than favourably. It could have been a lot of people."

"I did not believe that even the first time you told me, Kommandeur, but I still let it go. I even tolerated you attacking a fellow officer - attacking one of your own pilots! - because I thought it was a genuine mistake born out of nothing more but a moment of miscalculated emotion, but this is simply getting too much. The more leash you are allowed, the more you pull at it. You do not show respect to others, not your own Gruppe, not your fellow officers and not even your Kommodore, and you continue being completely blind to whatever leniency you are shown! What kind of a German soldier acts like that? Tell me, Hauptmann!"

"A very undeserving kind, Herr Oberstleutnant."

"Now let us hear the truth, then. Did you have too much to drink? Did you get lost in a brothel? Did you perhaps misplace your watch? Or did you again get into some quarrel with others that rendered you incapable of returning back to duty in time?"

"I was with a woman, Herr Kommodore. I have no explanation. Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg arrived to fetch me as I was returning back to the airfield."

"I hope you will, in the future, keep in mind what comes first in terms of importance. We will not win the war by lingering with foreign courtesans, as... enticing as they might be."

"This is the last time I will have such a talk with you, Hauptmann. The next time will be quite different, and in a way that certainly will not end well for you, so let us make sure that there is no need for such an occasion. Is this understood, Jäger?"

"It is, herr Oberstleutnant."

"And Jäger. Shave your face. You are not a captain of an U-boat, but an officer of the Luftwaffe."