Captain Florian Reiger stood outside the back of the quiet and nearly empty tavern, a half-spent cigarette in his left hand. To anyone who happened to see him, he looked like just another German officer on leave, having a cigarette. In reality, he was patiently waiting for someone, and had been for the last twenty minutes.
He kept looking up at the half-moon, enjoying the cool, refreshing early-spring night air. A gentle breeze ruffled his light-brown hair when he took his cap off to wipe nervous sweat from his brow. The landscape around Hammelburg was a rather dull mosaic of grays, greens, browns, and whites as the remnants of the harsh winter faded, but at least it wasn't nearly as cold as it had been over the last several months. His family had mentioned it had been a long and snowy winter. Reiger had grown up in Hammelburg, and was happy to finally return home after being in France over the last several years. More than anything else, he was happy to be with his family again, and people willing to help him out.
Hammelburg was also a hotbed of activity for a resistance group simply known as the Underground. Reiger's father, the owner of the tavern, was a member, and took full advantage of the fact that his son was an officer. They were almost always one step ahead of the Gestapo and everyone else who was after them.
Reiger was yanked from his thoughts when he heard rustling, and saw a very thin man in black clothing emerging from a still-leafless bush. The man glanced around nervously, and reached into one of his pockets. "Night Crow?"
"Papa Bear?" Reiger replied, stepping away from the light coming from the door and windows of the tavern.
"Well, I'm not technically Papa Bear. I just work for him." The man had a thick British accent. Cockney, Reiger believed, if his studies of Britain were correct.
"You have the documents I requested?" Reiger asked.
"I do. Wasn't easy to nick them, but—" the Englishman held up his hands, "I have my ways."
"I appreciate it." Reiger looked over the documents. They were a detailed itinerary of SS-Sturmbannführer Lutz Steichen's upcoming visit to Hammelburg, cleverly disguised as a simple inspection of a nearby detachment. Reiger knew exactly why Steichen was coming, and Steichen wasn't going to be leaving. Not alive, at least.
"If I may, I know you've talked with Papa Bear in the past, but you never told us why you want this man's itinerary."
"The fewer people who know, the better," Reiger replied, avoiding eye contact with the British agent. "In case things go wrong."
"Right. Suit yourself, mate. If you need any assistance, don't hesitate to ring up Papa Bear again."
"I will." Reiger watched the Englishman leave, then looked down at the papers, namely a photograph of Steichen. A lean but round-faced man with dark-blond hair poking out from under his slightly crooked cap. Steichen was smiling, and a sense of anger and terror twisted and boiled deep inside Reiger. You are not getting away with what you have done to me.
Sergeant Andrew Carter found himself rubbing his hands with cold and anxiety while waiting for Newkirk to return. Newkirk wasn't late, not yet, but there was always the fear that something would go wrong. Things had gone wrong before.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Englishman jogging toward him. "Papers have been delivered," Newkirk whispered. "Let's go tell the colonel."
They made their way back to the tree stump just outside the fence of Stalag 13, narrowly avoiding the camp's searchlights as they slipped inside. Once inside, they headed through the complex tunnel system before reappearing in Barracks Two via the bunk bed hatch.
"Reiger has those papers, Colonel," Newkirk said. "Mission accomplished."
"Good," Colonel Hogan replied. "I certainly hope Reiger accomplishes whatever it is he plans on doing with Steichen, but if he's planning on assassinating him, I hope he's got a good escape plan."
"He didn't exactly give us a lot of information on Steichen, other than he's part of the SS."
"It sounds like this is a personal mission of some kind," Carter said.
"London couldn't find any information on Steichen, either. He's not high enough in the SS hierarchy to have anything notable attached to his name," Sergeant Kinchloe added. "I'd say this is definitely a personal mission of some kind."
"Why would Reiger be so… secretive about it with us, though? We can trust him, and he can trust us. Why not tell us?"
"Remember, Andrew, Reiger hasn't exactly been the chatty kind," Newkirk replied, lighting up a cigarette. "He only told us he was part of the occupying force in France and had a change of heart along the way."
"And all that checked out," Kinchloe added.
"It isn't our business anymore. We have other things to do."
Carter remained silent, but couldn't help feeling curious.
"Alright, back to bed, everyone," Hogan ordered. He noted the expression on Carter's face. "Unless Reiger asks for us, don't go searching for him. We did our part. We don't have to know everything."
"Sir—"
"Carter. Bed."
Carter gave a quiet sigh before climbing up to his bunk. He lay awake for some time, listening to the others getting in their bunks and falling asleep. He had only met Reiger once, when Colonel Hogan went to meet him in person for the first time. It wasn't a very long meeting, but Hogan trusted him upon learning that Reiger's father was a member of the Underground and someone that they had worked with before. Despite that, it was obvious to Carter that Reiger was hiding something. He seemed sad, but also very anxious. He also didn't talk much, only saying the bare minimum, and would frequently look down or cover his mouth whenever he did need to talk a fair bit.
After that first meeting, Carter pointed out Reiger's strange behavior in front of the rest of the group, which led to Newkirk making jokes that Reiger probably had bad teeth. For a time, Carter was inclined to believe that, but he had seen many people with poorly aligned teeth in his lifetime and wasn't sure that was it. Was he just that embarrassed by them?
Carter shifted onto his side in his bunk, closing his eyes. Hogan was probably right; they had done their part. It was time to move on.
The only sounds in the main office of the Augsburg SS Headquarters for the last five minutes, which had felt like five hours, were the steady ticking of a clock and the clacking of rain against the tall windows. The heavy, perky smell of coffee dominated all other smells, and SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Veidt was struggling to resist the urge to yawn and finally drink his coffee while waiting for his superior, Standartenführer Walther Kaschel, to make his move.
Kaschel picked up his remaining knight, and then set it back down, murmuring to himself and rubbing his chin. Then he picked up one of his bishops, moving it a space diagonally.
Veidt yawned, picked up his mug, and drank. Much better. Then he moved his own knight. "There are several scenarios where I could put your king in jeopardy, Standartenführer."
"Yes, I can see all of them," Kaschel muttered. "Frankly, I did not know you were so good a chess player, Veidt."
"I play on occasion with friends," Veidt replied. He watched Kaschel take his next move, then said, "Unfortunately, that was a fatal mistake, sir. Checkmate."
Kaschel grunted, putting his head in his hand. "Perhaps I should try a less-aggressive strategy next time."
"Maybe. It did make your moves far too easy to predict."
A young sentry entered the room, saluted, and said, "Standartenführer, Sturmbannführer Steichen would like to see you."
"Send him in," Kaschel replied, standing up.
A short, lean man with a slightly rounded face and rosy cheeks entered the room, dressed in a black winter uniform and carrying a briefcase. His thin lips were pulled into a lopsided smile as he saluted. "Standartenführer, I have everything ready for my, ah, 'inspection' trip to Hammelburg."
Veidt's ears pricked at the name "Hammelburg."
"I must ask, Steichen," Kaschel said, "What makes you think Reiger will come to you?"
"He hates me." Steichen smiled as he said that. "His powers will give him confidence in overpowering me, but…" Steichen shook his head, "I have laid the perfect trap, and he will be back in my hands."
Kaschel gave him a curious look. "I had the entirety of the Hammelburg Gestapo helping me and I could not get my Conjurus subject back. I imagine a vampire, one who also happens to be an officer in the Heer and is quite intelligent, will be much more challenging to catch."
"Lechner was terrified of you. Reiger hates me for what I did. He will seek revenge, no doubt." Steichen's smile widened. "It really is perfect, is it not?"
"Maybe so, but do not get overconfident."
"I am not sure I need to worry about that. I will return when I have Reiger." Steichen spun on his heels, then left the room.
Kaschel glanced at Veidt. "Well, he certainly had the gall to rub Lechner's disappearance in my face."
Veidt nodded. "He seemed… very sure of himself, sir."
"Indeed, he is, and it will get him into trouble. He is very intelligent, especially when it comes to the physiology and behavior of vampires, but he is also… arrogant, and I despise arrogance."
Another nod, then Veidt let his curiosity get the better of him. "Did he say he was going to Hammelburg?"
"Yes, he did. That is where Reiger grew up."
"Do you not want to accompany him to keep his confidence in check?"
"No. I do not want to go to Hammelburg unless it is absolutely necessary, not after we failed to get Lechner back."
"I could go, if you would like, sir."
"Steichen outranks you. He has no reason to listen to you."
"No, but he would listen to you, and if I am going on your behalf…" Veidt grinned.
Kaschel gave a heavy sigh as he thought. "You have endless patience, but do you think you can handle Steichen's… personality?"
"I believe I can, sir."
"And your ribs? I know it has been about three months since you were injured, but you mentioned a little while back that you still hurt a little."
"It has been getting better, sir."
Kaschel looked unsure, but then sighed again. "Alright. You may go, but do not make it look like I am sending you to keep an eye on Steichen. Frankly, I am concerned he would suspect that anyway, so… do keep your distance, and telephone me every evening."
"Yes, Standartenführer." Veidt saluted before heading to the door. He went to the coatroom, and spotted Steichen talking with another officer at the end of the hallway. Veidt had read several reports on Steichen's work, but had never met the man in person. He regretted meeting him, as when Steichen had left Kaschel's office, Veidt was left with a disgusting feeling inside. Even Kaschel seemed displeased to have been in Steichen's presence, but only kept him around because he was the Third Reich's top expert on vampires, and the creation of the SS-Sorcery Division had granted him the opportunity to apply his research.
Steichen claimed that he had managed to create a "better" vampire, one without many of the major drawbacks the curse came with. From what Veidt overheard in Steichen's conversation at the end of the hall, there was just "one final step" before his project would be a true success, but he wouldn't say what that was. Veidt was determined to find out. The League of Gentlemen Sorcerers and Lady Witches will need to know to be prepared, he thought. So does the Hammelburg Underground. I have to warn them and find out what Steichen's "final step" is.
Veidt waited until Steichen left, then put on his heavy winter jacket, walking casually outside to his motorcycle. He glanced over to see Steichen getting in his staff car, and pretended to check his tires while waiting for Steichen to leave. Having travelled to Hammelburg several times over the last few months, Veidt was familiar with the different routes he could take. The last thing he wanted was Steichen seeing him and suspecting that Kaschel wanted him watched.
Once Steichen's car left, Veidt adjusted his helmet strap, then started up his motorcycle, ready for the long trip to Hammelburg.
Carter hunched in on himself as the rain pelted down on him and the rest of Barracks Two. His jacket was waterproof, but it was quite unpleasant feeling the cold water running down the skin of his neck. Droplets fattened up as they rolled into each other along the visor of his cap and dripped down to the ground, creating puddles of mud that expanded with each drop. He was hardly listening to Colonel Klink listing out things that had to be done that day, and the protests that followed. Before he knew it, Carter was helping the other prisoners clean out the leaf-clogged gutters on top of Klink's quarters.
"At the very least—" Newkirk said, "this weather makes it feel like home."
"Then remind me to never visit England after the war," LeBeau replied.
Newkirk shook his head, then looked toward Carter. "Why do you look so down in the dumps today, Andrew?"
Carter snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"
"I said, why do you look so down in the dumps, Andrew?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, come on, I don't think it's 'nothing,' mate."
"It's the weather, that's all."
"You're not still thinking about Captain Reiger, are you?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Carter," Hogan turned to face him, "there is probably a reason Reiger didn't want to go into all the details."
"He even said last night that it would be better for everyone if fewer people knew what was going on, in case something goes wrong," Newkirk added.
"There's something off about him," Carter said. "I can't tell if it's in a good way or a bad way."
"His father assured we can trust him."
"It's not that. It's something else."
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
Newkirk sighed and rolled his eyes, proceeding to mock Carter, "'Don't know,' he says."
"Newkirk, that's enough," Hogan said. He glanced at Carter. "He is right; Reiger's father trusts him, so I don't think there's anything we need to worry about. We have other missions ahead of us, so don't get wrapped up in this one."
"Right, Colonel." Carter turned back to his work. Perhaps given time, all of this would be forgotten. At least, part of him hoped so, but that didn't stop the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there was much, much more to Reiger than the man was letting on. He felt like he was staring at an incomplete puzzle, and the rest of the pieces were nowhere to be found.
The rain hadn't let up when Veidt arrived in Hammelburg. His jacket was sopping wet and he was chilled to the bone. What a thoroughly miserable day, he thought when he pulled up to the Hammelburg hotel. He expected to find Steichen's staff car in the lot, but was surprised to not see it there, or really anywhere on that particularly street. At that moment, it didn't matter. After parking, he dashed up the steps of the hotel, and was greatly relieved to be in a dry lobby—though his dripping jacket did no favors for the lovely carpet. The staff gave him displeasing looks as he booked his room and headed upstairs. No doubt they were going to have to clean up the trail of water he was leaving from the lobby to his room.
Once the door was closed behind him, Veidt undertook the laborious effort of peeling his wet uniform off and hanging it above the bathtub. Half-naked, he unbuckled his suitcase on the bed, hoping that his clothes inside hadn't been ruined by the rain. Thankfully, they hadn't, and he began changing into more comfortable civilian clothes.
As he was adjusting his sweater, he heard a tapping sound against the window, and turned to see a raven perched on the balcony railing. Confused as he wasn't expecting any letters, Veidt opened the balcony door, grimacing when a big, cold raindrop hanging from the roof fell into his hair. He gently took the envelope that the raven was holding out, then untied the ribbon from around the bird's body. Who could possibly be writing me?
The raven flew away, disappearing into the dull gray sky. Veidt closed the door, and opened the envelope. "I know you are a long way away, but I need information about a German officer that P. B. helped not too long ago. He can be trusted, but I feel there is something we are missing. – C."
Veidt was glad to hear from Andrew Carter again, but his happiness was outweighed by his confusion over the lack of specifics in the letter. Granted, Colonel Hogan probably taught his team to not be specific when writing letters like this, despite the security of sending letters by raven or crow. He was curious as to what Carter was talking about. "German officer" could mean anyone in the hundreds of thousands of the officers in the Wehrmacht.
After making himself a cup of tea, Veidt sat at a desk next to the balcony doors to write his response. "It is good to hear from you again, C! I am actually right here in Hammelburg on 'business' for K. I can meet you in the woods outside your home later tonight and we can talk more privately."
He folded the letter and slid it in an envelope before opening the balcony doors, waiting patiently with food. Another raven flew down, landing on the railing. "Take this, please," Veidt said, tying an enchanted ribbon around the bird's body. "Stalag 13. Andrew Carter."
The raven gave a harsh, low caw, flapped its wings, and took off into the rainy sky. Veidt closed the balcony doors, and hoped the rain would stop before he had to go that evening.