Hey, guys! This is my first Sound of Music fic, but don't feel like you have to stroke my ego or anything; if you like it, fine, but if you don't, fine, too!
Oh, by the way, all the stuff about true historical characters are as close as I could get to the way their lives really unfolded (there are some creative liberties taken to make the story flow better).
The quote may seem strange to open a story in this fandom, but I think it describes how the Captain is feeling in this chapter.
"Thirty years from now, when you're sitting around the fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks you, "Granddad, What did you do in the great World War II?", you won't have to say, "Well... I shoveled s*** in Louisiana."
-General George S. Patton
"What do you mean?" Max Detweiler asked, shocked, his martini in his hand. "You can't be serious?"
"Ah, but Max," Georg Von Trapp said in his firm but kind way that only he could really pull off. "I can't think of a time when I've been more serious. I've got to do something?"
"But why? Why?" Max exclaimed. "The war's been over for fourteen years now! Everybody else seems to have gotten over it; why can't you?"
Georg laughed, not because what Max was saying was funny, but because it was so wrong. "Everybody's forgotten about it, Max? So just because the war's over, everything's just fine again? What about the Nuremberg trials? Don't kid yourself, Max; the world will never be the same again!"
"Fine!" Max slammed his drink down on the table. "Maybe you're right. Maybe the world is changed forever. What has it to do with you? Why can't you just stay here with your family? Your career should be more than enough to keep you busy. Why don't you go to sea again? Anything but what you want to do now!"
"Max," Georg said calmly, "I wasn't able to fight in the war. You know how much I wanted to."
"Yes, but I don't see-" Max began.
"Max, I've never felt so strongly about something since… I don't even remember the last time. Those men committed terrible, terrible atrocities. Max, I've taken it all sitting down long enough."
"Okay, agreed, agreed. What I don't understand, though, is why you, yourself, needs to get involved. I mean, no matter who works at this, the men will end up the same-"
"Max, you're missing the point. I need to do something to help the cause. It's not a question of whether the men will be punished. It's a matter of what I did to stop this evil."
Max sighed. "Okay, okay. It's obvious you're going to do this, whatever I say. So what is it that you want to do, exactly?"
Georg smiled and leaned over the table. "Well, there are a lot of men, former Nazis, who have broken away since the war ended. I'd like to help weed them out."
"You mean the ODESSA files, the war criminals, all that?" Max asked.
"Yes, exactly," Georg said. "What I want to do is help in hunting down these men and bringing them to custody. It's not much, but it's something."
"Ah," Max said. "Do you have an idea of where you'd like to start?"
"Glad you asked," Georg grinned. He moved to his roll-top desk and pulled a large dossier off of it. He walked back to the table and dropped it in front of Max. "Take a look."
Max opened the folder and began to read the sheaf of paper. His eyes grew wide and he looked up at Georg. "You mean… you want to go after…"
"That's right," Georg said, still smiling. "The 'Angel of Death' himself."
Max slumped back in his chair and wiped his brow with his white handkerchief. "Dr. Josef Mengele," he sighed in disbelief.