First of all, 10,000 thank-yous to everyone who gave feedback to the ideas I bounced off them. You know who you are, and I appreciate it very much.
Since we know next to nothing, I am guessing at Hilda's family background here. The atrocities of the Third Reich ran through most career choices, but for the purposes of my story, please take them as what they are: positions. I'm not writing about the darker side of the war, but I am well aware there were bad apples everywhere, just as there were ordinary citizens muddling through. In reality, Hilda and Helga may well have been suspect for not conforming to the 3 K's of the Reich: Kirch, Küchen und Kinder (Church, Cooking and Children) if they were unmarried. And many men who had seen injury in WW1 found themselves working in administrative posts within the military in the next war, thus freeing up the more mobile and strong for the front. The SS was a huge and complex organization. Yes, it administered many horrible things, but it also dealt with day to day procedure, too.
Flattery Will Get You….Somewhere, Chapter 7
by Mistress V
Schmidt hurried to open the front door, snapping smartly to as Klink ushered in his guests. General Burkholter followed at their heels. Introductions were just being made and drinks being poured with the inevitable disruption happened.
"Good evening, Klink," Hochstetter said flatly as he swept in. Clearly, he was not thrilled to find not only three women but the general there as well. "I have accepted your invitation to attend, and have brought along zis guard to participate in ze program." He indicated a younger man standing alongside. "He shall sing, to open ze evening. I trust that is all right?" A menacing gleam started to appear, as usual, in the major's eye.
"Certainly, Major." Klink kept his expression pleasant, though he thought ahead to the overly inquisitive meddler's possible conversation during dinner. To which he had obviously invited himself. "Schultz, take the Major's guest to the rec hall and see he is taken care of."
"Ja WOHL, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz responded, also thinking that with an extra place set at the dinner table, leftovers might not be so generous. With a shrug, he motioned for the guard to follow.
As Hochstetter walked past the drinks table, the icy steam emanating from the punchbowl caught his attention. "Drink, sir?" Carter asked professionally, holding up a cup.
Hochstetter accepted the vessel but not to drink from. He examined it with a professionally suspicious eye. "Vas is zis frivolity?" he asked Klink pointedly. "Some kind of poison ze prisoners have made for you?"
Klink, scarlet with embarrassment *and* rage at the interloper's impudence, started to protest but was interrupted by the cultured voice of his present administrative aide.
"It is Punsch Nuremberg, Herr Major," Schmidt replied smoothly. "As served in my own uncle's establishment there. Perhaps you and your colleagues may have visited it on occasion?"
Hochstetter's gaze met the NCO's. He was surprised to find it as steady as his own. With a muttered "Baah!" he joined Klink's guests.
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"So, what's your name mate, and what's your game?" Newkirk asked the newest addition to the evening, who'd shown up just as he finished running through his magic routine.
"I am Rottenführer Joachim Herbst from Münster and I shall sing 'Wenn Alle Untreu Werden' this evening," the younger man replied.
"Right then," Newkirk said, making additional notes on his cheat sheet. "I don't suppose you 'll be needing any musical accompaniment?"
"Nein."
Newkirk peered at the man. Something was off, but he couldn't quite figure out what. "Is there anythin' else, then? You can practice onstage right now, if you'd like."
Herbst turned his head to an angle and continued gazing at Newkirk. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth lifted just a micrometer. Finally, he spoke.
"I believe there is something in your ear," he informed Newkirk, drawing out not one, but two cigarettes.
"Is that so, mate? Well, I see something in your ear, too." Newkirk just as smoothly produced a match. "You do anythin' else?" he continued as the two part-time Zauberer had a companionable smoke.
A pair of spoons now materialized in Herbt's free hand. "Ja, I do many other things, but Herr Major would have me playing these in Stalingrad if I were to perform such. Let us just say I am pleased to be serving him this evening and hope the show will be enjoyable."
"You're in the right place, mate. I'll be needin' a volunteer for my act," Newkirk replied. "How about you?"
"I shall do my best to appear surprised at your offerings," Herbst told him.
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"This is Frau Maria Bachman," Klink said, continuing with the introductions. "And her daughter, Fraülein Hilda.
Burkholter and Hogan nodded politely at the woman, murmuring pleasantries. Hogan gave the younger lady the once over and was surprised to find her glancing surreptitiously his way as well. Hmmm, he thought, sipping at his drink. Hmmmmm.
"Did you say Bachman?" Hochstetter interrupted.
"Ja, Major Hochstetter," the nurse replied. "Have we met?"
"Nein, not officially, but are you perhaps married to Herr Oskar Bachman?" For some reason, the major's normally bravado-laced voice had dropped a notch.
"Ahh, you know my husband then? We have been married many years now." Frau Bachman's reply was pleasant, but Hogan sensed the atmosphere in the room charging.
"Obersturmbannführer Bachman? Of the WVHA?" Now Burkholter joined the conversation, his tone suddenly respectful.
"That is my Oskar."
Holy sh*t, Hogan thought.
"But meine Frau, such an esteemed lady as yourself need not be working so hard!" Hochstetter now sounded solicitous, obviously sensing the chance a good word might reach the husband's ear, even if they were in completely separate divisions. "Why are you doing nursing duty?"
"I appreciate your concern, Major, but I am a Geburtshilfe specialist, and babies continue being born all day and all night. What better way to allow younger and more experienced nurses to serve on the front than for those such as myself to remain behind and assist with local needs?"
The woman's tone continued to be pleasant, though Hogan sensed she'd said the same lines many times before. He stole a peek at her daughter. To his surprise, she was still casting glances in his direction, too, although she was flanked by Hochstetter and Burkholter on either side. From a respectable distance, naturally.
Klink glanced at his watch. "I believe we should be making our way to the recreation hall, everyone," he announced. "Perhaps we may continue this fascinating conversation with dinner?"
"I'll get the ladies' things," Hogan offered.
As he gathered the items, he weighed his options. The daughter was pretty and quite well-spoken. She seemed more than a little interested in him, but how could they converse about an American POW at dinner? Then there was the question of her father. He was obviously highly placed and equally highly regarded in the SS. The fact Hochstetter was smarming all over the mother probably meant the Fraülein wasn't a plant---the poor Major never could act very well, his enthusiasm here was all too real. Still, one never knew. The best way to find out where this Hilda's loyalty lay was to test it. Subtly, but a test just the same. Hogan reached into his pocket and palmed the lipstick. Better he knew now.
Hogan was lucky. Klink only had eyes for Frau Greta, while both Burkholter and Hochstetter eagerly assisted Frau Bachman with her navy serge cape. That left him free to hand over Fraülein Hilda's purse. Their eyes met again, briefly, then Hogan let his gaze fall to the floor.
"I believe you dropped this?" he asked politely, holding up the shining tube.
Hilda took the item and gave it a cursory glance, then smiled back broadly. "Why yes, how clumsy of me. Thank you, Colonel Hogan."
Hogan could have sworn the lady winked at him
TBC. We'll learn more about Hilda's father soon!
Nuremberg Punch actually exists. It's composed of sugar, orange juice and rind, Batavia Arrack (a sugar cane based liquor found in parts of Asia) and red or white wine. I figure Schmidt managed to find what he needed (or a good substitute) to throw it together. It's listed in the 1935 Legend of Liquers, Wines and Spirits that belonged to my father. (Some REALLY interesting drinks in there!)
