Chapter Seven: January 3rd, 1943
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"YOU TOLD ME THAT THAT OPERATION WINTER STORM WAS A RELIEF EFFORT, NOT AN EVACUATION OF FORTRESS CITY STALINGRAD!"
Generalfeldmarschall Erich von Manstein ignored the staring accusations offered to him by a room filled with the Nazi elite and Heer officers too cowardly to give a word of support and spineless yes men in the Wehrmacht who did not question the Führer.
Standing there in the war room of the Wolf's Lair, Erich instead kept his eyes on Führer,, who was pacing and looking as though he had gone rabid the moment Manstein had entered the room and informed the Führer what he had done. Not that he needed to do so. Friedrich Paulus had called the Führer and told him that he had stolen a good portion of his strength rather than stays to fight for a lost city.
To think that he had to justify saving men from that hell to a corporal, in front of all people, Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering; the bastard head of the Luftwaffe, the reason why he had to launch Operation Winter Storm in the first place. He could not keep his promises now he sat there smirking as though none of this could be laid at his feet.
"And I told you, you did not give me a large enough force to save the city," Manstein spoke carefully to the temperamental man. "The fact that Hoth and Guderian managed to penetrate the lines for fifteen days and held the city for two hours was a feat in itself."
The Führer, however, would not accept such feats.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THOSE TWO COWARDS DID!" He screamed violently. "YOU DID NOT PETITION FOR MORE MEN, EVEN WHEN I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU THAT IF YOU FELT THAT YOU WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO SUCCEED, YOU WERE TO RETURN BACK TO THE LINE. THE SIXTH ARMY IS QUITE CAPABLE OF HOLDING FORTRESS STALINGRAD!"
The Führer rounded back and point right to Erich. It was clear that Erich's actions had been the wakeup call the Führer had been refusing to see all along. IT was only natural he would earn the Austrian corporal's ire.
"AND YOU ARE THE GREATEST COWARD OF THEM ALL!" he shrieked at the Prussian."AS OUR MEN STOOD FIRM AGAINST THE BOLSHEVIKS, YOU PERMITTED A SOFT HEARTED MOMENT TO DESTABILIZE THE SITUATION. THE 6TH ARMY COULD HAVE STOOD FIRM UNTIL SPRING!"
The Führer slumped down, his hands resting on the map table. He stared at it with an expression of frustrated disgust. He looked up and glared once again at Von Manstein. It was an expression Erich had more or less gotten used to since the Führer co-opted his plan to conquer France as his own.
"You… you… Manstein's, you think yourself so clever, so much better than everyone else," he spat out. "But let it be known that here and now how your family has shamed the Reich. I should have you removed here and now. Stripped of your position, you family marked in annuls of German military history. Your family are moral and physical cowards without an understanding of sacrifice."
Erich did not have a response as he allowed Hitler's words to wash over him. His mouth was unhinged slightly as he stared into the hypnotic, bulging eyes of the Führer. Since joining the quarian conspiracy, Erich had found himself on the fence for the most part. He hadn't been keen on the idea of usurping command. Prussian Generalfeldmarschall's – after all – did not mutiny. But they also knew the writing on the wall. As such, he had elected to remain passive, keeping his nose down and focused on the fighting in the East.
It wasn't until this moment, the moment the Führer derided his family as cowards, which he decided he was officially on board with whatever the quarians wanted to do. The Führer had unknowingly ripped the stab off the worst wound Erich had ever suffered in his life, and Erich… well… Erich was done being too prideful about it.
"My son, Gero…" Erich spoke, breaking the deathly silence over the command centre. "My… boy was killed in action near Lake Illmen, the 23rd of October. He was nineteen years old."
His head was lowered out of shame he felt for bringing it up. He did not want to bring it up… but Hitler had forced him into it. He could not just have him forsake his son and his sacrifice. As Erich struggled to find the words, and the bravery to continue, he scarcely paid attention to every man in the room recoiled at the announcement he had made so unexpectedly. Even the most ardent of Hitler's personal supporters seemed to soften their judgement.
Exhaling, Erich looked up and stared at the Austrian once again. The Führer seemed stricken, the rage and hatred for the Prussian Junker seemed to subside somewhat.
"He was just a boy, and he yet he still gave his life to serve the Reich," Erich pressed on for Gero. "You say I do not really understand sacrifice, and that I am a coward. Perhaps that is so; but I do know it and my son has paid the price which I should have been the one to pay. Was he a coward to have died for you as well?"
The room was uncomfortably quiet. Erich remained lock eyed with the Führer. He willed himself to remain strong in the face of admitting his loss to his colleagues and to his boss. He had expected Hitler to say something, but he did not. He seemed to be weighing his own thoughts carefully. Instead it was Gerd von Rundstedt who moved in first. The old Junker reached out and clasped Von Manstein's bicep. Erich did not look to him. He held his eyes on his boss.
"Erich," Gerd spoke, sounding unnaturally empathetic to Erich's plight. "Why did you not you say anything?"
Erich's mouth quivered as he struggled to remain detached a he could. All he could do was shrug.
"Thousands of young men died under my command," he breathed to his co-conspirator. "Even as his Father, what right do I have to single him out above all those sons I have sent to the grave?"
Nodding appreciatively to his fellow conspirator, Erich pulled away from Gerd von Rundstedt and approached the Führer. He stopped a few feet short of the man.
"Please, my Führer, Listen to me as clearly as possible," Erich spoke in as calm a voice as he could in spite of his personal disillusionment. "The 6th Army is doomed. It was doomed the moment it was broke it off from the attack on the Caucasus. I saw an opportunity to spare the tears of mothers and fathers who did not have the opportunity as I did to do something."
Swallowing the lump in the back of his throat, Erich fell silent and awaited for the Führer's judgement. The Führer exhaled. As Gerd did before him, the Führer reached out to clasp his arm with his hand. His other hand moved out and gently patted the Prussian.
Manstein… I am… profoundly sorry to hear of your son's ultimate sacrifice," the Führer spoke solemnly. "I would also like to apologize for my demeaning personal attacks against your name, your family. These are… difficult times for all of us. I can… understand your reasoning; I even can appreciate your decision in spite of being obstinately opposed to it."
It left Erich surprised with how genuine it sounded. When it came to him, Erich could never tell what was real and what was a deception. In his experiences, when confronted with loss, the Führer danced around the subject. With the war on his shoulders, Erich could not blame the man for trying to keep a professional barrier between him and the losses. It was what he did, after all.
"We have been at war for three years now," the Führer spoke tersely, his tone as hard as it was, held a small note of compassion in spite of himself. "As first soldier of the Reich, I have only asked you have faith in your Führer. I have never been wrong before. I had been assured that the Luftwaffe would have been capable of keeping Fortress Stalingrad supplied."
Recomposing himself, Erich von Manstein gestured to the fattest bastard in the room, who had puffed his chest out proudly at the call of his master.
"The Luftwaffe… yes..." the Generalfeldmarschall spoke up, some of his authority returning to his tone. "While we are on the subject, I should like to put forth a personal petition that Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering is stripped of his seat as the head of the Luftwaffe."
The words caught everyone off guard, From the Führer to the guards. All of them did not matter. Manstein turned to face Goering, who was smiling, his arms crossed as he looked up to Goebbels for a show of support. This was something the Propaganda Minister wasn't about to give to his rival. If anything, Goebbels appeared, for the first time, grim faced and looking to Erich as though he was the true authority on the subject. It was somewhat heartening to have that sort of respect from a Party official.
Without Goebbels to back him up, Goering turned to face the Führer, who did not say a word in support. The Führer remained stone faced. As though he, like Goebbels, knew that the Generalfeldmarschall was making more sense than either men cred to admit. Goering turned to face the rest of the Heer general staff with a small grin, only to find they looked on him with contempt.
Reluctantly, Goering turned to face Manstein. He looked as though he was confident, but it appeared only skin deep.
"And on what charge is my crimes, Herr Manstein?" Goering taunted the expressionless Generalfeldmarschall. "This should be good for a laugh-"
"Gross incompetence, boasts that you cannot keep, the Luftwaffe is in tatters." Manstein listed off, cutting off the Reichsmarschall as he ignored the gleeful stare belonging to Walter Model. "I have seen the men of the 6thArmy I managed to save. They're half-starved and grossly under-armed. They have had to resort to stealing from the Red Army in order to survive… stealing from the Russians. On the rare occasion a supply plane gets though, it's loaded with equipment they do not need. Summer gear in the middle of winter for starters... the only decent thing I have seen them do is evacuate the wounded, and now even that had ceased!"
Gesturing to Goering, he turned to face the Führer. Incredulous as to why Goering was still allowed in the high command.
"My Führer, this morphine addict lost the air superiority over Dunkirk, the air war over Britain, our cities are bombed because of his failure to close the gaps; and now he has lost control of the Stalingrad situation and has flat out lied to you… and yes, Goering, you lied about the situation!" Manstein pressed on, trying to keep his tone dignified. "For him to still have your ear, With all due respect, this man is unfit for even commanding a train, let alone the Luftwaffe!"
Goering was no longer humoured by the accusations Erich had brought forth; Manstein had drawn blood and dared to say what few men in the Reich were willing to do. Tell the truth about him. He stood up. His eyes narrowed at the taller Generalfeldmarschall.
"You do not know the first thing there is about aerial combat and airborne logistics," the Reichsmarschall stated to Manstein, his hands gripping his belt as he defended himself in front of a staring Führer. "I have been with the Luftwaffe since its inception. I suggest for your sake that you remain focus on your expertise and don't you dare speak of things you are not aware of."
Manstein stood there, his stern expression forming a mild grin as tried to take the pudgy aristocrat seriously. He might have been a renowned fighter ace, but those days were long past. He was a delusional shadow of his former self. In the corner of his eye, he could see Von Rundstedt standing there, folders in his hands and appearing greatly amused to find Goering in such a state.
"I will admit I have a limited experience in the conduct of Luftwaffe, but I know that your transports are not supposed to not cross fifty kilometres of enemy territory with limited air cover," the Generalfeldmarschall spoke slowly to the Reichsmarschall. "I know that fighters should not be sent out individually into enemy territory, I know that micromanaging your military command instead of granting your air commanders breathing to self-aggrandize yourself is only going to lead to continued failure of the Luftwaffe, and I know that your fat bloated ass would probably not be able to fit in your old Fokker, let alone take off, you morphine sick, bloated, hedonist!"
The command centre went dead silent at the words nearly snarled by Von Manstein. It did not take long before his words worked, Goering's temper exploding. Goering lunged at Von Manstein, looking to beat the skinner Prussian to a pulp. Eric however was quicker. Considering he was fighting an obese addict, this was by no means an accomplishment. Erich's hand lashed out, smashing Goering nose in and watched as the Reichsmarschall fell to the floor, right in front of Führer, whose eyes widened at the sight of his third sprawled out before him.
Manstein turned back to gather his hat and baton left on the table. He turned back marched back to the Führer, who stood there frozen. Stepping over Goering, was now only inches from the Führer
"I have had enough of this flagrant incompetence, the micromanaging, the breathing down my shoulder, the lack of room to operate and blaming men like Von Rundstedt for committing rational acts in an irrational invasion," Manstein informed the Führer, allowing a slight smile to show. "So, consider this my resignation effective immediately, my Führer. As I am sure you have wanted since my action for saving twenty five thousand men from certain death."
Taking a step back, he raised his hand high over his head, saluting the silent Führer. He dropped his hand and was ready to leave; however it was not to be. Hitler stepped forward and took the Heer Generalfeldmarschall by his hand and forearm, his expression serious and scanning. He looked… almost desperate at the reaction.
For the first time, Manstein saw the Führer for who he was.
"Generalfeldmarschall… I have a strict vision to the campaign, but I am not unreasonable. Von Rundstedt and I have made our peace, as you and I can as well," the Führer spoke softly; his anger vanished as he gestured to Gerd von Rundstedt, who nodded. "I can see your anger and I know that it is difficult to sacrifice so many men. But I ask you not to leave. I am surrounded by few men who will challenge me. I ask you to stay, if only for Germany's, sake I ask you to stay."
Von Manstein blinked at the reaction. He had not expected this man to show an ounce of respect for his military commanders. He had frequently forced them to submit to the Führer's will, much to his personal revulsion. Perhaps he had discovered the secret. He just had to show the Führer that he was not a man to push around.
Glancing to Von Rundstedt who had turned the Führer's attention to him, in order to sign off on to use the reserves and garrisons around occupied Europe under the guise for the renewed spring assault, which, in actuality meant to be used against the Führer himself. Manstein decided he would stay. The glorious Führer would not be in power for much long. Spring would come and he would get full reign over the offensive.
This time, with quarian technology, there would be no stopping him from reaching Moscow.
He would avenge his son with blood and fire.
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...
Groaning, Hoch rolled over off of his bed and hit the floor.
The pain from the fall did not bother him. It was the throbbing migraine burning away his brain cell. He had been drinking since midday of December 31st and had not stopped until Lene sent him to bed last night… at least he thought it was her. It might have been Helena. Fuck, for all he knew it was Hanala, though if that were the case, his pelvis would be almost as sore as his head.
Why in the hell did he let Langer do this to him? Sure, Langer had good intentions, but this all he had been doing since he had gotten home to the Langer. Drink and forget. Well, for now he was going to lay off the drink, get sober and think about his next steps. He had Rommel's mission to meet Bittrich and Guderian about to summon him for God knows what exactly.
There was a brief knock on the door as Joachim stood up and pulled a robe over him. Not waiting for Joachim's permission to enter, in stepped Langer, a cup of coffee in his hand. Hoch squinted. Gerald was wearing full dress uniform regalia. As though he was off to play nice in the political landscape of the SS, which was always the best part of the job...
Shoving his sarcasm aside, Joachim accepted the drink and sipped it.
"Where are you off to?" he inquired as he cracked his neck.
"Berlin," Langer announced as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. "There's been a temporary changing of the guard. Heydrich is undergoing long term treatments for his injuries... lungs I heard Kaltenbrunner is being placed in charge. I've got to go answer to him, all department heads have to."
Joachim frowned at the news, but remained dead silent. Langer ignored the attitude and pressed his hand onto Joachim back, leading him carefully down the stairs and into the Kitchen. He paused and frown as he realized that there waiting for him was Lene, Helena and Fuhrmann. All of them dressed up as though they too would be joining him on his trip north.
"Taking the wife, daughter and Fuhrmann? Am I your new butler perhaps?" he questioned aloud to the family. "Have I been deemed the official child rearer?"
The family did not reply. They simply stared at him expectantly, as though they knew something he did not. Hoch turned back to face Gerald who stood there, a crooked grin offered to the younger man. He did not seem sure if he wanted to smile about this.
"No… I was messaged today; I would have told you if you learned not to drink so much," Gerald spoke finally, shifting all the blame for the drinking on to Joachim. "Hanala'Jarva was out of the solar system doing God knows what. She will be gracing us with her presence this afternoon. I pushed my departure back to welcome her back, so get cleaned up; we'll be greeting her…. Lene invited herself along, as has Helen, something about giving her a piece of their mind."
Lene simply inclined her head, her expression a scowl. Still, she refused to utter a bad word in case Joachim would be offended. Well he wouldn't have been. If anything he needed Lene to say something in that passive aggressive tone that he had come to love. He turned away and looked to Heinrich and Helena. Helena looked very enthusiasm about meeting an alien. Heinrich, having seen Hanala up close and personal, as well as her talents, had far less enthusiasm for greeting her back amongst them. He seemed to have been the only one who knew that Hanala was actually a terror underneath her pretty exterior.
Handing the coffee mug to Langer, he sighed and turned away. They wanted a big reunion? Well he would give them one. It would not be as heart-warming as they were thinking it would be.
"Let me get dress," he spoke dully. "Let's get this out of the way."
...
...
The sound of twenty-five thousand boots marching into the city of Rostov was enough to bring pause to the local Russian citizenry.
It was by no means a new sight to see Germans marching into their conquered city, now under German administration since December 1941. It was new that the men were entering, not exited from the eastern edges of the city. Another thing that stunned occupier and civilian alike was the state of these twenty five thousand men. Starved, mud caked, wounded, sick and just plain filthy.
The civilians knew better than to gloat openly. These were the men that escaped left Rostov An arrogant army, that assumed easy victory over their countrymen, and came back a shadow of their former selves. For the first time, it seemed the German invaders were not the invincible conquerors the world thought them to be.
Among the slumped shadows of soldiers were hundreds of civilians. Hiwi's, the Germans called them. They were Russians who held a hatred for the communist system they forced under. They served as assistants and German sympathizers. They translated, they ran supplies, and they even helped to fight for the Germans. The reason they ran with the remnant of the Sixth Army was clear. The Soviet government would see to their summary execution for betraying the revolution to the fascist invaders. They had no choice but to follow them.
Glancing up from his boots sloshing through the mud and snow, Christian Bohr accepted a bucket from a Russian woman; her head covered in a red scarf, the bucket marked 'drinking water'. Nodding his head as the woman rushed away he raised the bucket edge to his mouth and took a long drink before handing it to Oster.
Bohr watched as Oster and Hammer drank, both men were numb with shock and grief stricken just as much as he was. To think that the kid was so distraught that he would shoot himself rather than face the Russians by himself. How could anyone do that? Shuttering as he thought about Erich Fuhrmann's death, he exhaled and turned to Hammer and Oster who had drained the bucket together.
"I know we haven't talked about the kid, but we need to now," Bohr spoke aloud to the other.
Oster had nothing to say. He and the kid had been close. Almost like a sibling. His death hit him harder than expected. He spent most the time in their westward retreat crying for what had happened. Now he was simply drained of all of his feelings. Hammer, as expected snorted.
"Kid blew his head off," he growled lowly. "What in the hell is there else to say?"
Deciding it was in everyone's best interest if Bohr reported Hammer to the Heer psychologists back home, Bohr kept his temper under control for everyone's sake.
"What do we tell Mann?"
The voice belonged to Oster, his tone empty as they continued to trudge along. Bohr glanced to his side and nodded to the fresh faced Heer soldiers gather to watch the march that had now entered the city. All of them stunned at what they saw. All of them likely to have seen combat, but none of them seeing defeat on the scale Bohr had seen.
"He's lost men before, Oster, he'll get over it," Hammer returned voice somewhat more respectful at the mention of the Leutnant. "You remember the whole platoon we had when we started back in early '42? One more isn't going to bother him."
Mann... Bohr had promised everyone would escape. He had failed him.
"Bucket."
It was the red scarf woman again; her simple word was spoken in a whisper. Bohr glanced to Hammer, who snorted and threw the bucket to the ground and continued his march. Frowning, Bohr reached down and grabbed the container and handed it to the girl. Thin hands grabbed it from him.
He caught her eyes. Blue eyes, so blue, but lifeless, empty, like she had seen just as many horrors as he had; in all likelihood she had seen more. In a flash they were gone; no longer were they turned him but were instead bowed, like she was subservient to him.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely offering her his praise.
She nodded curtly and left, running off ahead of Bohr and back towards the city, there was a noticeable hobble in her step.
Sighing, he stepped quicker to join Oster and Hammer, who were dead silent once again. Bohr cleared his throat, not realizing it had made Hammer cringe.
"Okay, so Mann will live with it," Christian spoke aloud to Oster and Hammer. "What do we say to his family?"
Hammer rounded back on Bohr, his eyes narrowed.
"The kid is dead, Bohr. He was weak, so no he's dead. Nothing is going to change that," Hammer snapped back to his acting commandant. "It doesn't fucking matte, Herr Feldwebel. So move on."
Bohr clinched his fist, His patience for Hammer no longer there. Mental case or not, Bohr was going to beat the shit out of him.
"His name was Erich... not kid..." Oster spoke, hollowly, his words defusing the tension building up in Bohr, enough for him to turn away. "He was seventeen... and… they let him go... what the hell is wrong our country? We didn't need him with us. He was just boy... he was just a goddamn child."
Bohr nodded. He wished he had an answer to that himself. As he opened his mouth to agree, he felt something tug on his jacket. Christian turned and found himself staring into that pair of blue eyes he was fascinated with. There in her hands were a few slices of stale looking bread.
"Bread, not much…" she managed to get out, looking between the three men staring at her as they continued to walk. Oster emitted a small, toothy grin, while Hammer looked away, refusing to give the Russian a moment of compassion.
Gingerly, Bohr accepted the offering and handed a slice each to Oster and Hammer. He turned back to say 'Thank you', but once again, she was gone. He could see the fluttering scarf for only a moment before it vanished.
Chewing thoughtfully at the haunting young Hiwi, Bohr ignored Hammer's derisive snort.
...
...
'"We have breached the thermosphere. Arrival planet side in seven minutes, you should probably go back to the passenger bay and strap yourself in, ma'am."
Wincing at being called ma'am like she was old, new minted Admiral Hanala'Jarva nodded to the pilot and closed the door to the cockpit, finding herself once again in the uncomfortable company of the only other person on the ship. Captain Rael'Jarva, who was fidgeting, He was clearly nervous about this. Why he was, was beyond her. He had met a human before.
Why he was here was a mystery to her. She had assumed her Mother or Father put him up to this. To serve as her babysitter under the guise that he was to be overseeing the German scientists studying under their quarian advisors. Hanala had to admit, Rael would probably do a good job. The position was to keep the Advisers in line and not reveal too much to the Germans. The technological development of mankind would have to come in small careful steps. Leaps... well you did not need to be a historian to know what leaps did to the krogan people.
A hiss came from her omni-tool as she strapped herself in. Glancing at the sender's identification, she frowned. It was from Father. What did he want now? To send her back to the citadel to track down more quarians? Did he want to exile her from off Earth? If that was the case, she would probably have to take a page out of Joachim's book and punch him in the throat.
She trailed off her anger as she read the subject. Her mouth opened slightly.
RE: CLASSFIED, ADMIRALS EYES ONLY
Blinking, Hanala read on.
Hanala'Jarva vas Earth
The board has passed a 2-1 with 1 abstaining decision on accepting you into the Admiralty board upon the initiation of martial law. Though we are not on speaking terms, I wish to extend a warm congratulations and a desire to begin a professional relationship as our people will require of us. For the record, what I did, I did for your own good. I thought it was needed to avert you from sympathizing with the Regime we are overthrowing.
In preparation for the future role which will involve working closely with Halid'Zorah in the diplomatic field, I am forwarding a series of essays and thesis' written by the late Admiral Jalina'Calis vas Kareon. Much of it is dated material, but I suppose that a few trinkets hidden away written from your grandmother are something you would not mind.
I use to think that you took many of your mother's traits, but since we stopped speaking you remind me much more of Jalina in her younger days. There were few men and women in the quarian navy who inspired fear in the way she did. It wasn't until your Brother and you that she started to mellow down to the kindly grandmother you were so use to. Honestly you were lucky and I was lucky you two came along. She gave me an endless amount of shit that makes your feud look rudimentary in comparison
Speaking of your Brother, I hope that you will forgive me for sending your Brother along on the next Earth mission. He has a good heart, but he needs to understand that we have a real shot of escaping the slow humiliation of the fleet and building something. Hopefully he will have an open mind about this situation. I am quite aware of the tension built between the two of you. His racist remark about Hoch wasn't unnoticed by me or your mother.
As for the one you are in a… well... ancestors knows what you two are in. My position on Hoch is conflicted, as it has ever been. He is a bright man with potential to do anything. He has however been corrupted and requires salvaging. I know that you are quite capable, but I do worry about you, that you will find yourself buried deep in his personal issues. I will not comment further, that is yours and Joachim issues to work out.
I wish you luck and congratulations once again,
Your Father
Staring at the suspiciously kind hearted letter written by her father, Hanala exhaled slowly. Perhaps it was time for her to make amends with her Father. He seemed to have had her best interest.
Hanala looked up to see her Brother, who was fitting his helmet over his head and checking the seals. Flattening the hem of her dress and crossing her leg, she could not help but wonder if she looked that nervous when she first realized she was going to be in the forefront of contact with humans. All she knew was this. Rael'Jarva would be set on the task of watching over the Advisors to the various German scientists. The last thing she needed was him causing an incident with Joachim or someone higher up than he.
Idly, Hanala wondered how Joachim would take working in close proximity to her Brother. By all accounts, Joachim wasn't particularly warm to any of the male Jarva's and he had all but flirted with Veyare. It was little wonder why he distrusted Hoch. Hoch was a bastard and Rael was not afraid to confront people. More or less people backed down when he did so. Joachim, in all likelihood not be so easily humbled
"So anything I should know about the humans?"
The words belonging to her brother forced her attention away from the rest of Grandmother's writings. He sat there, his arms crossed as he inspected his nearly humanized sister with a mixture of apprehension and disgust. Closing her omni-tool and finding her cigarettes, Hanala leaned back into her seat.
"Mind your manners, and don't try to be funny or clever," she warned him as she lit up. "Nine times out of ten, Germans are a serious, brisk people when they're sober. German scientists are even less humoured... if that's even possible."
Turning away from her brother, she went back to reading what was sent to her by Father. While he was barely grasping the concept handling humans, she was taking the first steps to representing her species on an official capacity. She was on the verge of being an Admiral.
If only she could rub it in Rael's face.
...
...
Afternoon was rolled around before the Langer's, the Fuhrmann's and Hoch made it to the Museum, the unofficial first embassy of the quarian people. Checking in with the guards and fitting Helena and Lene with translators, the family wandered up the steps of the closed museum, past more guards and more checkpoints.
Considering how valuable this site was, the guard checks were to be expected. Not only were there aliens in this building, but a large portion of the German science community were learning from the quarians. Joachim wasn't sure what exactly, but Langer and he were certain they would find out soon enough.
"Joachim…."
Joachim paused as he realized that the people gathered by the door were not human. One of them turned to them, her face lit up in to a bright expression. She was dressed more human than most humans he knew, a collection of bright cheerful colours in the dead of winter.
Hoch exhaled and dropped his cigarette to the snow. There no words could describe how good and terrible Joachim felt by having her presence here.
The pale woman in the colourful dress approached the group. From behind him, he heard Helena gasp as the woman coming down the step appeared less and less human. Joachim simply stood there, his hand reaching up and pulled off his cap, handing it back to Fuhrmann. He remained completely silent as Hanala'Jarva stepped off the last step and covered her mouth as she took in the sight of the significantly thinner and almost completely bald man she was in a relationship with.
"Joachim... I'm so glad to see you…" Hanala whispered as she pulled her hand from off her mouth. "w-what did they do to you?"
Joachim did not reply. He simply stood there. Staring at the pretty quarian with a shy smile on her face, he could help but find himself overwhelmed with a sudden, flaring anger for her. How dare she stand there and flinch at the sight of him. This was her goddamn fault, almost as much as it had been Langer's. She might not have told Kaltenbrunner, but she sure as hell got him into a mess of trouble. So between her adventures to that godforsaken Prothean, to humiliating him in front of everyone, things weren't as rosy as she was deluding herself into thinking.
Smiling slightly for her, Joachim's hand grabbed her shoulder. He leaned forward, his head tilting down to look her square in the eyes.
"You're an awful, manipulative, cunt. I'd break your fucking jaw if I didn't love you," he stated as though he was talking about the weather.
The quarian that was suited moved forward as if he was going to attack him. Hanala held up her hand causally.
"Rael... back down, this is between us," she spoke to him, her voice barking an order to the man.
Joachim blinked. It was Rael'Jarva. Sighing, Hanala turned back and touched his cheek, knowing the worse was over. Joachim stared down to her, trying his best not to feel anything for the woman. Together, they ignored the stares of the others as they watched the affection being offered by Hanala.
"I'm... I'm so sorry," she murmured to him.
Joachim remained silent. He nodded once. He did not need to express anything else for her to know that he was ready to move past this.t.
"If I said that… that I loved you…sorry… I mean, that I am in love with you… and I have been for quite a while, would you be a little less upset?" she admitted her voice lost as she buried her head into Joachim's shoulder, "I- I should said it sooner. When you were arrested... I… I thought you would not make it out… They hurt you bad… didn't they?"
Kissing her forehead, Joachim shook his head.
"They knew better then to try anything bad to me," Joachim lied easily. "It's all going to be fine… and… yeah, I love you as well."
Hanala pulled herself back and carefully inspected Joachim. Knowing that he wasn't telling the truth, she simply nodded, accepting that Joachim would talk about his adventure with the Gestapo when he was up to.
Quietly, Heinrich reached out and grabbed his new bride's shoulder. Helena, who was stunned by not only the presence of the aliens, but by the violent display of affection between the man and alien, forced herself to look up to Heinrich.
"To think Joachim thought I was weird…" was all Helena had to say as everyone followed Joachim and Hanala into the museum.
...
...
Unable to sleep like Hammer, Oster and most of the 6th Army remnants were doing within moment of ending their march, Christian Bohr decided he would wander the city of Rostov.
It was the silence which kept him unable from sleeping, that awful silence that scared him from sleeping, kept him from keeping his guard down. Usually the artillery meant that the infantry wasn't coming. Silence was the certainty that the Soviets were preparing yet another of their relentless and psychologically damaging wave attacks. The Finns that had been in Russia described them in the Winter War of 1939 between the Soviets and the Finns. Machine gun crews lost their minds having to gun down so many men for days on end. It was a terrifying waste the Bolsheviks was not afraid of doing. It was disgusting, just plain disgusting.
Passing by a parked convoy of massive panzerkampfwagens which had taken part in relief of Stalingrad, he noticed the crews were conversing seriously to one another. As they looked up to him, Christian nodded respectfully to them and continued on, walking down the empty street. He was not worried about being alone, at this point he was too numb and exhausted to care what happened.
That was when he heard a sound that sounded… off.
The sounds of screams and the roar of a crowd caught his attention. He picked up the pace and ran with what little energy he possessed; unslinging his weapon and raising up in front of him. It was not long before he noticed what was happening. A group of men and women were gathered around in a circle. Some of them screaming and spitting, others were kicking flesh, screaming in their Russian tongue a whole list of insults. Squinting he caught sight of who it was.
Blue eyes, lifeless blue eyes, wide in terror.
Christian widened his own eyes as noticed her. It was the Hiwi who kept them watered and fed on their long march to Stalingrad. She was screaming underneath the man, who was surrounded by other men and women, jeering at her and encouraging the man. From here he could hear the dull thud of fists hitting flesh.
They were trying to kill her. God help her... kill her or do something worse than simple death.
Knowing that he could not break the crowd up by his words ad Unable to think of anything else to do to save her, Bohr raised Mann's MP-40, and shot one of the men through his back. He fell into his own blood and made the rest of the crowd turn to face him.
"HALT!" Bohr screamed at them, thrusting his MP-40 out at them menacingly.
The fifteen or so of them turned their focus on him. All of them angered by what he stopped. With no words, he raised his submachine gun back up and cut a burst into the air. They did not react and instead stood there. All they did was turn their sudden anger on to their attack who, who remained standing there, his weapon raised at them.
"You will let her go and disperse now!"
His words went unheeded as they approached him, a lone solder. Someone who could kill a few of them but not all of them before they got him.
The threat did not last for long however. The roar of rifles and submachine guns erupted from behind him, the rounds cutting down the citizens and forced him to hit the dirt, rubble and snow. Blinking as he listened to the screams, then a second burst of fire, then laughter. Bohr turned around and found a platoon of men, their lapels containing the two jagged runes.
The Waffen-SS saved the two of them.
The Waffen-SS men were laughing and joking as they approached; all of them admiring their handy work, all of them speaking strange sounding language. A few of them kicked the bodies. One Russian still alive had found himself on the business end of a curb stomping. Another Waffen-SS rifleman leaned down and pulled Bohr up like he was a five year old who scrapped his knee, a face full of smile as he dusted the snow off the grimy Heer shoulder.
"Nederland?" Bohr croaked out curiously. He had been to the Netherlands on garrison duty before Barbarossa begun.
The Waffen-SS men glanced at one another as though they were amused that the German was surprised collaborationists would help him. They exploded into their wild laughter. They sounded like lunatics.
Before he knew it the leader of the platoon stepped forward, grinning, his boots covered in blood. He pressed a book of matches, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of commandeered Vodka and a loaf of Russian rye bread into his hands. The Dutchman patted his shoulder.
"That's right," the older Dutchman spoke jovially. "Be careful, survivor of Stalingrad. Uniformed or not, the Russian is a savage animal. You of all people should know better than to roam among the Slav hordes!"
Still laughing as though the leader had said the most hilarious thing in the world, the men of the 5th SS Panzer Division 'Wiking' marched off, leaving the Heer soldier standing there in a daze., his eyes focused on the pile of corpses the Dutchmen had no hesitation to create.
Slinging his MP-40 over his shoulder, Christian turned back and found the Hiwi scrambling to pull herself up from the snow; her thick clothing tattered to shreds from the act. She was breathing heavy as she tried to gather herself.
Tentatively, he stepped forward, over the corpse of the Russian; the woman tugged off her balaclava and wiped the blood off her mouth and nose, her dark hair limp and looking like large chunks having been pulled out. She looked up, her eyes wide as the soldier approached her. Christian paused briefly to hold one free hand up to motion that he wasn't a threat to her. Muttering to herself in her mother tongue, she clambered away from him and took a seat on the pile of rubble. She was shaking violently as she tried to cope with the mess she had gotten into.
Once again Christian approached her. Dropping the alcohol and bread next to her, he pulled off his Luftwaffe jacket and carefully pressed it into her lap. She looked up to meet his eye briefly before turning back and pulling the warm jacket over her shoulders.
Taking it as a good sign, Christian took a seat next to, ignoring the smell of death around the two of them. Quietly, he opened the bottle of vodka and took a sip. He offered the bottle which she accepted, brushing her dark locks out of her eyes as she winced, the alcohol burning her mouth.
"Russian?" he inquired, offering her only the faintest of careful smiles. She stiffened and shook her head. She looked disgusted by the assumption he had made.
"Ukrainian," the woman spat to no one in particular. "Not a Russian beast."
Christian tilted his head. There was a difference?
"I'm sorry... I did not mean to offend," he returned, unsure how he should have reacted to her annoyance.
Her strained expression slowly vanished into resignation. She again dabbed her balaclava into the snow and wrapped it over her nose. Lacking an aid kit, Bohr felt bad having to let this young woman tend to her own injuries, even if she seemed to have been completely used to this treatment.
"You kill many Russians?"
The thick accent nearly made him miss what she had said. Had he killed many Russians? What a thing to ask.
Though to be fair she wasn't exactly a German woman who kept her mind away from the war. She was living the horrors that this war had inflicted upon them. He had marched through the Ukraine during the march east in 1941. The Russians had burned everything to a cinder to deny the invaders anything of use. Believe it or not, those were happier times back them. To know the Soviets were that desperate.
"Yes… yes I think I have," he replied, trying his best not to grin.
The expression did not go unnoticed by her as she passed him the vodka and gestured to the bread, her eyes wide and hopeful that he would continue to show his hospitality. Bohr nodded and took a drink. Quietly, He watched the Ukrainian rip a large chunk of the bread loaf off and chewed it, there was no dignity in how she presented herself. She was like a starving animal. Christian could not blame her for such crass behaviour.
"Good," she spoke enthusiastically, chewing mouthful of black bread with her mouth open. "Dogs, all of them, starved my family… killed everyone… last one left."
She paused and swallowed. She gestured to her throat, adding ruefully. "Bad German… studied a little in Kiev University. I am sorry."
Smiling bemusedly as she tore into another bite, Christian pulled out a pack of cigarettes he picked off a Russian officer a week ago and gestured it to the woman. Smiling brightly she nodded as she continued to chew. Christian pulled two out and struck a match, lighting the two in his lips before passing it to the waiting Ukrainian, who took it as though it was gold. Carefully she inhaled and coughed rather roughly.
"Thank you," she smiled toothily. "Today is good day, yes? Life has been shit lately."
Bohr nodded his head as he ripped of a chunk of bread and took a bite. She sure as hell did not mince her words, did she?
"Yes it has been… shit," he agreed with the woman as he watched her inhale her cigarette. "It will be better when we're further away from the front line." He paused, adding. "Your German is better than most out here... so is why is it you help us?"
Exhaling, she took another mouthful of bread.
"Quarter German, Father from Odessa," she explained as she chewed. "Your people, Germany... Ukraine's last hope." She paused briefly to swallow. "You do not treat us well, though. Not you... but your people."
Again Bohr found himself frowning at the observation made by the woman. Yes, he had indeed heard that his countrymen abused the locals on occasion. Many got away with the attacks. Rape, as his superior officers routinely warned, would have automatically sent you to the penal battalion. Penal battalions having the highest mortality rates pretty much discouraged such acts; but wasn't always as enforced as many liked to believe.
"Millions want to fight the Russians," she continued as she took another drag. "Men and women all hate Stalin, but your people abuse us instead. No sense, no sense at all."
Taking a heavy drink, Christian nodded his head as he handed the bottle back to the woman.
"No there is no sense at all to it…" He agreed with her. Biting his lip, he gestured to the dead and added. "Has… has anyone tried that before to you?"
He did not want to say the word rape aloud. The word sounded so deplorable to say aloud, and to say it meant that what he tried to stop was something beyond a simple physical assault. Scowling at the bodies, the woman took a drink and set the bottle down next to them. He noticed her flinch as she appeared to think about what he had asked.
"No," she said, glancing to him carefully. "Hit before by angry bolshevik peasants… never raped... lucky…" she trailed off and slowly allowed a genuine smile to grace her mouth. "Though… never was rescued before."
Christian tried to ignore the heat in his face as she simply stared at him expectantly. Like he should say something, anything about why he did what he did. Well, if he was being honest he wasn't sure why he did it. He just saw that it had to be stopped.
He coughed and offered her his hand.
"Christian," he decided to introduce himself. "Feldwebel Christian Bohr, if you're feeling official."
She scoffed the remark; her empty blue eyes scanned his expression before she took his hand and carefully shook it.
"Tatiyana Andrusiv..." she returned. "It's nice to meet you… Christian."
Christian blinked as his hand fell to his side.
"Tatiyana... Isn't that a Russian name?"
Tatiyana did not even pause to think about the query.
"My parents were stupid," Tatiyana spoke plainly. "Death does not erase such a fact."
Christian could not help himself, he laughed. Of all the things he could have laughed about, he was laughing at her dead parents. Thankfully Tatiyana shared the same sentiment. Together they ate drank and smoked, surrounded by dead Russians in a burnt out city in the dead of winter.
...
...
Untangling himself from Hanala's naked form Joachim slipped out of bed and got dressed. Not caring about presentation, he pulled on his boots and carefully stepped out of Hanala's room, closing the door behind him. As much as he wanted to stay there and sleep through the early evening and into the morning, he had other important things to do
Glancing around the Hallways and finding no one, Joachim wandered in the direction to the basement levels of the museum. Joachim nodded to the two guards at the door and stepped through, wandering down the winding staircase, still stained by grenade damage and bullet holes left by that Englishman, Shepard... or whatever he was called. Shepard had really taught the quarians a very valuable lesson. All quarian marines stationed on the planet kept their technology up and not listen to the taunts of human soldiers.
Moving through the Laboratory, past human and quarians gathered for learning, he stepped into a private office. Not before noticing Rael'Jarva standing there with his back turn, he was deep in a conversation with his fellow quarian advisers. Sometime soon he would have to find some time to have a conversation with the man about his sister.
Rael, Joachim assumed, was not a very big fan of his.
"Hello Obersturmbannführer Hoch. You called me?"
Turning away from Rael, Joachim found a quarian in a Heer Oberst uniform. It was Admiral Halid'Zorah, his expression warm and inviting. Joachim stared at him wearily. He wasn't sure whether or not to trust him. Still he had no other alternative. Instead, he simply nodded.
"Yes I did," he confirmed, gesturing to the seats at the table. "Come and sit down."
Halid nodded and entered the room, setting his cap onto the table. His hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. Halid offered them to him. Suppressing his worry, Joachim grabbed one and sat down as well, lighting up. Halid did not speak; he simply tucked his pack away and crossed his long fingers together. He sat there simply watching, waiting for the nervous SS man to talk.
"I hope you remembered what I said... that I would help in your rebellion, in any way possible," Joachim finally spoke as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "I am a man of my word... I will help, but today... right now, what I have to say comes at a price."
Arching his brow at the deal being set up by the Obersturmbannführer, Halid leaned closer to pour himself a glass of water. Halid gestured to the second glass, to which Hoch nodded.
"Name it," he said as he poured a second glass and slid it gingerly over to Joachim.
"Foremost, No more screwing me around over what I want, Langer and his family are exonerated of any trumped up charge you and Admiral Jarva come up with," Joachim returned as he sipped his water. "They walk out of this conflict safe and undisturbed by whatever you have planned next for Germany. They live comfortably in Post-National Social Germany."
Stubbing the ashes off his cigarette, Joachim leaned back to inspect the quarian Admiral. He searched for any sign of manipulation, any sign of deception. For the time being he did not plan on trusting any quarian with anything without careful personal scrutiny. Not even Hanala would be spared of his suspicion.
Halid leaned closer, his expression appearing to be sincere.
"Joachim, if what you present me is valuable, you have my complete assurance. I will do everything within my power to keep everyone you love safe," Halid returned solemnly. "Alaan'Jarva will not be a problem. Neither will any of the men in the Wehrmacht. Gerald Langer and his family will be off limits if what you tell me is workable."
Joachim could not believe that he was doing this. This was it; his last loyalties to the organization that treated him like family had been officially cut now. He was nothing more than a traitor now. Someone he would have scorned had this been a year ago.
"You... have a window of opportunity," He whispered carefully. "Langer is in Berlin; apparently Heydrich is in treatment for chronic illness. He will be down and in rehabilitation for a solid month... maybe two. In the meanwhile, Himmler has quietly made Ernst Kaltenbrunner acting head of the RDSHA until Heydrich's recovery."
The bright quarian eyes slowly widened at the implications the disgraced Obersturmbannführer was making. Heydrich was out of the picture, ever loyal Heydrich who would rather die than turn on his superiors. A man who was likely to succeed Hitler himself one day; Replaced by Ernst Kaltenbrunner, who had far more humble political aspirations.
"He will have, or already has the keys to access every high official in the Party," Hoch spoke to the quarian, voicing the Admirals musings, "All the way up to the Führer himself."
Hoch could see the quarian shaking with an unexpressed jubilation at the news. It made Joachim sick to think this schemer was already plotting. Finally, Halid looked up, no longer able to hide his grin.
"What do you know about Ernst Kaltenbrunner?" Halid inquired, forcing his quaking voice to sound professional. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, Joachim stubbed it out and leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms.
"Other than he's a complete psychopath? That he a hypercompetent and that the one thing he values the most in his life is his life., Joachim warned the attentive Admiral. "Do not get me wrong, Ernst is no coward. He'll fucking kill you and if he doesn't get you, he'll send his friend Skorzeny after you and the rest of your conspirators and then you all will be in a world of shit."
Joachim trailed off and privately relished in how affected Zorah looked at the mere mention of Otto Skorzeny. He might have disliked the brick wall disguised as a human, but he had to respect him.
"However," Hoch continued. If you were able to play the angle right, to inspire some sense fear into him, he could sell his loyalty to you for a very massive price."
Halid nodded, for the first time appearing grave.
"His life and his freedom..."
As Zorah plotted away privately, Hoch stood up, his conscience getting the better of him after his mind supressed all his loyalty, all his faith, all of his values. Everything came to the surface and made the suddenly realize what in the hell he had just done. He did not just sell out the SS, or the leadership of the government. He could live with that. What he could believe he forgot was that he had just sold Langer out as well.
Hyperventilation was setting in. Paying no attention to Halid, Joachim scrapped the chair back and placed his head between his knees, and, with the best of his abilities, tried to catch his breath before all of his sudden self-loathing for what he had done shut down his lungs in an attempt at suicide.
A hand pressed against his back.
"Hoch..." Zorah spoke from behind him, "Hoch, are you alright?"
Joachim did not reply; it took a good long moment before Joachim pulled his head back up and stood, his hand rubbing his stubbly hair. He turned back, his expression numb and resigned to his betrayal.
"Langer..." he whispered to the Admiral. "He's going hate me... I told you things… and… he's going to hate me… He's going to find out that I've betrayed the cause…"
Trailing off helplessly, Joachim slid down the side of the door until he hit the hard cement. His arms wrapped around his knees as he sat there semi-foetal. Exhaling, Halid took a seat on the chair Hoch had been sitting.
"Yes... "he plainly agreed with Hoch. "Yes, I think Gerald Langer will hate you. To be perfectly frank... once this happens... I doubt very much he will want anything to do with you ever again."
For the first time, Joachim knew that he had not been lied to by a quarian. It was harsh, but the fact that Zorah was agreeing with his sentiment only made him feel that much more terrible. Langer was family... even if Langer did not consider him real family...
"It's alright, Hoch..." the Admiral assured the mourning Hoch. "Whether they hate you or not, The Langer family is going to be safe. It is more than many others will get. You have to understand that you will not be able to save everything… so it's all going to be alright-"
Before Halid could go on, Joachim launched himself back up to his seat and violent marched over to the Admiral.
"It's not going to be alright," he hissed. "You'll have to forgive me, Admiral, but selling out everything I've ever known is not something I do lightly. You have no idea what I am doing, what every German you have made contact with is doing. We are risking everything and everyone while you sit up on high and play us like a chess game."
Exhaling sharply, he ran his hand through his buzzed hair.
"I'm... I'm going to be alone again..."
He felt lame, for saying that, like he was a child. But this was what he felt; this was what he was giving up. A family that he loved so much he would trade that warm feeling for their safety. He was no better than the scheming Jew that Nazi cartoonists came up with. A backstabbing, deal making coward…
"I know that, Hoch. I know how much every human involved is risking," Halid nearly whispered, catching Joachim away from his angry thoughts. "I know that I will never comprehend how dangerous life is for the conspirators... One slip up at one place could lead to the deaths of thousand... men women and children not even involved with the operation..."
Smiling slightly, he added. "You have no idea how grateful I am."
Hoch nodded blankly and turned away to finish the last of his water. Glancing back, he noticed that Halid had grabbed his peaked cap and pulled it on.
"I have to go and inform the Prussian circle about your news... rest assured that the Langer's are safe no matter what they think of you," Halid concluded standing up and stepping to the doorway. Patting Joachim's shoulder, he added. "Go back to her, Joachim. Make sure you congratulate her... Hanala'Jarva will be made an Admiral soon..."
Halid departed, leaving Joachim stunned at the revelation.
...
...
changes: Clean up. Deleted filler. Added Erich von Manstein's bit about his son.