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---German Field Hospital, Southwestern Russia, Army Group 'South', 28th July, 1941---
A smile appeared on the lips of the recovering Welkin Gunther. He read the telegram from Alicia, thankful with every fiber of his being (even those removed from him by the bullet) that she was alright. While it did not entirely ease the pain from the separation, it provided ever-needed comfort, and given the pain which hadn't faded from the round from a Russian sniper, it was quite needed.
Letting himself lay back in the bed, and allowing his thoughts to yet again drift off to the brown-haired baker, he realized he didn't have much else to do. He'd spent the past couple days stuck in the infirmary – though a constant string of letters from Juno with enough frequency to make him wonder if she remained on the front lines did occupy his time.
The mainly empty infirmary did reinforce rumors that, contrary to his Imperial, Gallian, and Soviet counterparts, Rommel did care for his men, which, on one hand, put Welkin at ease, but on the other made him worry all the more for Alicia's welfare. It also allowed him to do something he often didn't have time for.
English practice – he still wanted to be a teacher, and didn't want to restrict his teachings to the many Europeans who spoke German, and also to make sure that any of his findings wasn't used to justify anything he felt immoral. He didn't find eugenics all too appealing. It wasn't that he couldn't speak English – he could do that with minimal traces of a Gallian accent. The problem was reading, and also writing in it.
As luck would provide, the only thing he had written in the language was a mechanics book that he'd picked up for Isara in Britain – noticing far to late that it wasn't in their mother tongue. But, he felt he'd have to make do with it.
"Popular Mechanics... perhaps theres a reason Isara likes this sort of thing."
He opened up the cover of the magazine. It wasn't nature, but it would have to do.
---Front Lines, Army Group Center-Middle---
Alicia was wondering if Welkin had received the wire she sent, and when his response would be. It was one of the few things that still brought her any degree of happiness – even baking failed to cheer her up. The point had been reached, wherein she only became happy, to any degree, by receiving something from Welkin – knowledge that he was alright. Or, at least, still alive.
This last message wasn't near so uplifting. It was sent by Isara, who described Welkin suffering a wound thanks to a Soviet sniper, a thought that sent a shiver down her spine – it could have easily ended the man's life, had it struck higher, in the upper back.
But, he was still alive – so long as he was still alive, a chance – that ever-minute chance – stood that they might see each other again.
"Lieutenant Melchiott?" A somewhat familiar voice spoke, instantly drawing her attention to it. "What are you reading? You've had that same paper in your hand since you received it yesterday."
She didn't offer response to Trooper Drechsler, instead countering with, "why do you want to know?"
The SS Guard entered a state of apparent thought. "Well, for one, that has to be real important, and me and some of the Riflemen are wondering about it. For twe..."
...twe. No member of the SS would use that word. Austrians didn't often enter into the Armed Bodyguard.
Heinrich Drechsler – or rather, Friedrich Adler – fell silent, knowing that he'd given himself away, his tendency to use the Austrian word rather than the German one. Before Alicia could run off, he forced her onto the ground, quickly disarming her and placing her sidearm in his jacket.
"One peep from you and you've had it." The Austrian had his own P38 trained on her. Alicia allowed herself to comply – though, she'd become far more accepting of her powers than Adler seemingly thought, so if he tried anything like back in Kiel...
Her thought was forever unfinished. A sharp thump on the back of the head insured that. The rest of the picture was dark.
Whatever strange picture Adler's mind had painted, it was vastly different than the one he'd painted back in France and England. Alicia now lay in the back of a truck – the youthful face she once had was forever scared by the war. Dark circles had formed from the lack of sleep, and one could spot a gray hair or two mixed in with the brown – but, in his mind, she'd somehow remained the not only youthful person she once was, but also somehow was quite vulnerable, particularly to him. His mind had tricked him into thinking that he could easily attempt something like in Kiel again, and this time bring about success.
As the girl's eyes opened, he felt a smile stretch across his face – due to happiness or whatever machination his mind had created as result of his mental image of her – but that smile soon disappeared. He'd taken her for a reason, and he'd thus far been unlucky in prior attempts to get her to come willingly. Thus, force had to be applied.
Whether or not force would lead to his final goal, though, would be a question to be answered later.
--- End Chapter 36 ---
He's back! Sorry about the short length, but I've been trying to get Drechsler/Adler back in again – I had him escape for a reason.
Twe: this spins from Austrian German's word for two: zwo, from zwölf. This is basically like saying 'twe' (from twelve) in place of two. Translation convention and all that.
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