March 13, 1943, Mid-afternoon, Hammelburg, Germany
She was dying. Everywhere he looked there were grim signs of her desperate death-struggle. What hurt him most was the fact that he could do nothing for her; he might only prolong the end at a very high cost. Even then, the fools in Berlin would never cooperate with him. Why does the Fuhrer continue to put up with the madness of his aides and staff generals? Himmler, Goering, Bormann- they were dragging Germany to her knees, and Hitler was letting them do it. Could it be-maybe-the Fuhrer is part of this? Nein. That was impossible and inconceivable.
Hitler had brought Germany to her feet again. From the post-war depression and shame, he had transformed her back to her former glory. He gave us our pride back, the sense that we are truly a great nation, a sense of respect among our peers. I'm grateful for that. He saved Germany; surely he can't be helping with her destruction, can he? Rommel wouldn't yet let himself believe such a thing, but the voices of opposition in his head grew louder every month. Every month that he watched his country collapsing. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
He stared down at the paper in his gloved hands. It had been crumpled and smoothed out dozens of times, creased and worn. It was an old order from Berlin, an order that had finally been disregarded, but it still depressed him every time he looked at it. Hitler himself had sent it to him, close to the end of his African campaign, at the end of El Alamein. Overpowered by the superior strength of Montgomery's forces, Rommel had been on the verge of ordering a full, but tactical retreat. His plan would have saved hundreds, thousands of the Afrika Corp, not to mention ammunition and tanks.
Then the call from Berlin had come in. To his everlasting shock, Rommel was ordered to remain in place. "…no other way than the one that leads to victory or death…" Hitler was ordering him to throw away his entire army. It was undoubtedly at that moment that the first major tremor shook his faith in his fuhrer. He still considered himself loyal, but he no longer implicitly trusted the High Command. They had done almost as much as the British in destroying his beloved Afrika Corp; he would never fully forgive them.
He had saved the order, tucked it in his briefcase. Why, he didn't really know; it only served as a reminder of his superiors' true natures. He recalled the mortifying and eye-opening conversations with Goering, a few months ago on the airman's special train. The High Command was locked in its own fantasy world, still believing the war could be won. They had labeled Rommel a defeatist and kept refusing to accept the truth. I wish they were right. Maybe I am just a paranoid pessimist, but I don't think so. The Americans are coming over.
"Herr Feldmarschall, we've arrived at the hotel," Daniel peered over his shoulder, interrupting his depressing musings again. "Do you want me to come in, sir?"
"Nein," Rommel waved him back into his seat. "Stay with the car. We'll only be a minute, then we'll be back." He opened the door and slid from the Horch's backseat. Major Lang followed him quietly. They entered the sleepy lobby and strode to the customer desk. A rather fat man lay draped over the desk, fast asleep. Lang cleared his throat loudly. The clerk snorted and jerked his head up, scowling until he noticed their uniforms.
"Guten tag," he greeted. A faint look of awe crossed his fleshy features. "Exuse me, but, are you Field Marshal Erwin Rommel?"
"The one and the same. I'm here on leisure though, not business."
Sharp, raptor-like teeth showed themselves in a nervous smile. "Though I dare say my hotel is run in tip-top shape, sir." Lang glanced pointedly at the small pool of saliva on his desk, and he coughed, wiped it off with his handkerchief. His light bulb smile dimmed slightly. "Eh, what can I do for you?"
"You might give me the number of the room that Frau Rommel is lodged in. That would be very helpful indeed." He waited as patiently as possible while the clerk fumbled through his massive book. Several minutes passed; the man was highly nervous. Finally, with a loud slap that echoed through the corridors, he found it.
"Here we are; Frau Rommel is currently in room 343," he looked up and smiled meekly now. Rommel thanked him and started to turn away. "Excuse me again, Herr Feldmarschall. May I have your autograph?"
Is that all? He was pleasantly surprised and accepted the pen and paper. He leaned down over the counter to write, but a passing figure caught his eye. "Karl? Karl Strolin?" The man turned, a strange and almost fearful look in his wary, darting eyes. Once he found the source of the voice, he visibly lit up. They met in the center of the lobby and shook hands with enthusiasm. "My dear Strolin, what a surprise to see you here!" The doctor, also Lord Mayor of Stuttgart, was one of his oldest friends; he hadn't seen him for over a decade. "What brings you all the way out here? How's your family, your fair city?"
"As good as can be expected," the much older man stated in a low voice of gravel. "considering the circumstances. I'm here on official business to visit the Lord Mayor of Hammelburg." His bushy eyebrows wrinkled in concern. "And how is the old Desert Fox? To be frank, you don't look as well as you usually do."
Rommel laughed. "The old fox, as you call me, is feeling rather depressed about everything, (He didn't notice Strolin twitch at this admission.) considering the circumstances," he turned Strolin's words back on him with a wry twist of mouth. "Still, I'm better off than I used to be, if you can believe that."
"The circumstances," Strolin muttered. "I'm deeply sorry for what happened in Africa, my friend."
Rommel waved the comment away, then turned back to the desk and finished his autograph. He spoke over his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Karl. You shouldn't be sorry, of all people." He moved to the stairs. "Come up with me. Lucy will be thrilled to see you again."
"A pleasure," Strolin replied cheerfully. He kept glancing at the Swabian, silently evaluating. As they reached the first landing, he asked, "Eh, by not being my fault, whose is it?" There was a pause, the soft treading of Rommel's boots the only noise. Then they both stopped.
"What?"
"Whose fault is Africa?"
Rommel was taken aback and couldn't immediately reply. "Well, I'm afraid I don't understand what you're getting at, Karl. Remember, you're not talking with one of your politician colleagues anymore. What do you mean, 'whose fault'?"
"Forgive me. I shouldn't have said anything yet." Strolin bowed slightly. ""Now, shall we go in search of the lovely Lucy Rommel?" he smiled broadly, all hints of his strange question gone from his face. He had a stubborn gleam in his eye. Rommel looked at him twice, and then abandoned the thought of trying to understand. Strolin would eventually tell him, he was sure of that.
ooooooooooooooooooo
"Manfred, must you pace? You're making me nervous," Lucy gave up sewing one of her son's torn gloves, sagged back in the plush hotel chair. She watched the 14-year old wear a deeper track in the carpet. "Manfred?"
He turned and stopped. "I'm sorry, Mother. I can't help it, really. We haven't seen him for months and months. It's so very exciting." He flopped down on the bed, which earned him a disapproving frown.
"If you've been waiting for months, you can wait a few seconds more," she told him solemnly, and then grinned. He's right though. It's too exciting. So long a time, and he's a field marshal now. Her hand went to her hair, patted several stray strands down. Grey hairs. My head looks like someone mixed the salt and pepper together. I am getting older. 48. I wonder if he's changed any. "Why don't you work on your textbooks, math maybe?"
"Oh no," Manfred groaned. "Not that. I hate math."
"Well, don't tell that to your father," she chuckled. Her husband had a strong knack for math that Manfred had somehow missed out on. "You need to burn off some of that energy."
He reached out and pulled the book closer. "Mother, are we going with him to Berlin in a few days?"
"I don't know. I suppose if he feels it safe enough, we will."
"I hope so. I want the chance to discuss joining the Waffen S.S."
She looked up sharply. "You know how I feel about that."
"Yes, but Mother, they have the best training and equipment, the best guns, the best spots in the fighting-" he protested futilely.
"Composed of the worst men," she finished. "You can ask him."
"Danke." They sat in silence for a while, and she went back to her sewing. The glove was almost complete when she heard the unmistakable sound of boots and voices drawing near. Her heart threatened to leap up her throat. Glove forgotten, she fairly flew to the door and peered through the peephole.
There he was, right outside talking to a man in civilian clothes. Erwin had changed. The normally bright eyes were dulled with some dark emotion, the narrow face was exhausted looking, and she could see more than one grey hair poking out from under the cap. His uniform, the plaid scarf and the leather overcoat were still the same. Still, she barely noticed as a gloved hand reached out and knocked on the wood. Where's the doorknob?
"Well, Mother?" Manfred was amused. "Are you going to let him in?"
She blushed and grabbed the knob, twisting it open with force. The door swung in, revealing the three men. The civilian turned and she recognized Karl Strolin. The other officer she recognized as Erwin's new aide. Erwin bowed formally and kissed her shaking hand.
"Frau Rommel, I presume?" he asked.
"Herr Rommel?" she began to laugh. He pulled her forward into a fierce embrace. "Erwin, I'm so glad to see you," she whispered in his ear. "I've missed you something awful." She refused to let go of him. Not just yet. Behind her, Manfred let loose a short, disgruntled cough. He tried to divert the attention of Doctor Strolin and stuck out a slender hand.
"Hello, sir, how are you?"
"Just fine, Manfred. We seem to be staying in the same hotel. You'll have to let me take you all to dinner sometime."
"I heard you were made Lord Mayor of Stuttgart."
"Old news, lad. I've obviously been gone far too long."
"Yes, obviously," Lucy finally released her half-suffocated husband to greet the others. "You should have stopped by sooner." Strolin kissed her hand graciously. "Manfred positively adores you."
"Mother!" Manfred went red.
"She's right Karl," Erwin stepped up, put a hand on her shoulder. "We've missed your political sermons." He paused and gave Strolin a significant smile.
Strolin chuckled. "I'm back now, for a short time. So much has changed. Manfred is almost as tall as you are, Rommel. Of course, that's not saying much." Everyone laughed at the good-natured ribbing. "And Lucy grows more beautiful every time I see her. Watch out for the older men folk." She blushed again. Strolin could put anyone at ease. "Now, I must be off. I have business downtown. If you'll excuse me."
"Certainly," Lucy beamed at him. "Stay well, and come again."
"Yes do," Rommel added, and he meant it. Strolin raised an eyebrow; he hid his feelings well.
"I'll go with him, to the lobby at least," Manfred volunteered, and followed the mayor and Major Lang out of the room. The door shut with a muffled whoosh.
Before it was completely closed, she was in his arms again, pouring all her relief into another tight hug. "I was so worried, dear one," she said into his shoulder. "For months, there was no solid news of you at all. Some said you were winning, others losing. Some even said you'd been killed. And your letters weren't coming. It was awful," she held back a loud sniff. "But now you're here. That's all that matters."
He looked at her sheepishly. "Our friends in the desert kept me moving. I wasn't able to write often. I'm sorry that worried you, Lu. But nothing came of it," He carefully smoothed her unruly hair. "I did miss you, very much. I worried too, what with all the bombings."
"We were fine. They came close, but we never had to run for cover. It was sweet of you to worry though."
"It's what I do lately." He tilted her head up and held her gaze. "I could never bear the thought of you being hurt, or killed." His serious mood dissipated and he grinned. "You give me more gray hairs than the entire Afrika Corp does. Did," He corrected himself sadly. He felt like an elevator of emotion.
She saw clearly now how tired he really was. "Won't you sit down and rest?"
"No, actually, I'm here to take you and Manfred out to eat. Come on. We can't keep our good Corporal Daniel waiting."
Author's notes: Longest chapter yet, certainly the longest space between updates. Sorry about that. Summer beckons and I had a bit of writer's cramp. This is more of a developmental chapter than action, but that's coming. I do have some action actually written down for later chapters. You know, it's always later chapters. Why is that? Anyway, thanks mucho much for the reviews. Keep 'em coming, eh? (Had to get that math bit in there somewhere. :)