Tremble for yourself, my man,
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble, little lion man,
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck
-Little Lion Man – Mumford & Sons, verse 2
It took us over two days to return to our unit in France. I cared little about the length of time. The only thing I cared about was that we were no longer on Rhodes. My uneasiness began to subside only when the island slowly faded into the distance.
The flight, to put it mildly, was nerve wracking at times. The cargo plane had no fighter escort and it came under ground heavy fire on several occasions forcing the pilot to take evasive action. I had the feeling of loss of control up here, necessitating for all of us to place our trust in the aircrew. The crew being on edge added to our own tension.
Further delays were caused by the poor weather. We were able to catch only a few moments of sleep due to the turbulence. On one occasion, it was necessary for the crew to land the plane for several hours, waiting for the weather to improve before we could continue. The unscheduled stop at least allowed us the opportunity to eat a brief meal at a remote airbase in Spain.
It wasn't until early evening on the second day when we finally landed at our base's airfield in France. There was a steady, cold rain falling which quickly penetrated our uniforms draining us further. All of us were emotionally and physically exhausted from the last few weeks. I wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower and then to fall into my rack and sleep for several hours.
I had planned on reporting to von Kleist in the late morning, but apparently, his priorities were different than mine. I was met on the airfield by his adjutant shortly after the plane had taxied to a stop.
"Hauptmann Dietrich! Oberst von Kleist expected you to return a few days ago. Where have you been?"
"The weather and enemy activity caused numerous delays," I explained. "I can assure you we did not tarry to see the sights," I added irritably.
"True, you have good reasons, but you are to report to the Oberst immediately. He is anxious to speak with you on a few issues, especially regarding your mission."
I frowned. I had had the mission's results radioed ahead and von Kleist should already be aware of our success. I couldn't understand what was driving the immediacy of the issue. There was nothing else to be done from my end. What details were so urgent von Kleist could not wait until I reported tomorrow?
I gave a deep sigh. I was insanely tired, but my rest would be forced to wait. "Inform Herr Oberst that I will arrive shortly, after I see to my men." The adjutant didn't move, waiting for me. I sighed again, loudly enough for the adjutant to recognize my annoyance with him.
"Leutnant Hahn! See to it that the men receive a hot meal," I ordered him. "And by my orders, they have no duty for next two days. The men have earned it," I added, glaring at the adjutant as I gave my orders to Hahn.
Hahn gave me a broad grin and saluted me with exaggeration. "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. I will gladly see to it that your orders are carried out."
I gathered my bag and quickly left with the adjutant. The rain began coming down harder with occasional bursts of lightening. It was with relief when we finally reached the command headquarters. I stepped into von Kleist's office and removed my cover. I ran my hand through my hair to place it in some sense of order.
Von Kleist appeared genuinely happy and pleased at my return. He beamed at me much like a proud parent.
"My boy! Congratulations on a superbly executed mission," he exclaimed, clasping me on the shoulders with both hands. Surprisingly, his touch did not bother me.
"Have a seat, Dietrich. Damn this French weather! You must be soaked through," von Kleist said, taking in my drenched clothing. Without asking, he poured a generous portion of schnapps into a tall, stemmed glass and offered it to me. "Here, a little something to warm you up."
He indicated for me to drink it without waiting for him which I readily did. As the schnapps' warmth began to spread through me, I found myself beginning to relax and feel somewhat human again.
"Dietrich, you look dead on your feet. When was the last time you slept or had anything substantial to eat?" He casually tossed a pack of American cigarettes on the table. I lit a cigarette for the Oberst and myself. He proceeded to pour himself a drink and then refilled my glass.
I had to think for a moment before answering. With the adrenaline rush of the mission over, the lack of sleep was causing my mind to become muddled. The alcohol was not helping. "I was able to sleep for a few hours yesterday, while the plane was grounded and we were waiting for the weather to clear. As for eating, we were able to procure a meal in Spain yesterday."
"I won't keep you long then, but there were a few items which I needed to immediately address with you. You are then to stand down for the next few days off. You definitely have earned the time off."
"Thank you, Herr Oberst. I've already ordered for my men to have no duty for the next two days."
"Good. I like to see my officer's looking to their men first." Von Kleist immediately began addressing about the mission.
"Your success on Rhodes was impressive, Dietrich. Very nice work indeed. You were definitely the right man for the mission even without knowing the particulars. Turned out speaking Greek wasn't necessary after all, eh?"
I gave him a slight nod, allowing myself the satisfaction of a small smile.
"It went well, Herr Oberst. I have already submitted my report to Oberst von Graff, but I can submit a second one to you analyzing the operation, if you would care for it."
"It can wait until you return to duty," von Kleist commented, as he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
With the warmth of his office, the schnapps and now the cigarettes, I was beginning to become very drowsy. I was very much looking forward to having no duty the next few days to recover.
We sat in silence for a few minutes as we enjoyed the liquor.
"I was unaware of the mission centering surrounding the boy." Von Kleist shook his head sadly. "I would have recommended against his involvement if I had known about it. No innocent child should be pulled into the engagement of war."
"I agree, Herr Oberst. I believe it would have been possible to recover the general instead of abducting the boy." I paused to take a deep drink of my schnapps. "But, I was ordered to proceed. I strongly expressed my opinion to Oberst von Graff before and again after the mission."
"Apparently, the Allies shared your thoughts because the mission was all for nothing."
My drowsiness immediately dissipated at his words.
Now I was confused and it must have clearly shown on my face.
"Nothing?" I questioned, with a frown. "I would consider the mission a complete success. We were able to procure the boy without any harm coming to him. There were no German casualties and only one Allied casualty. We were then able to evacuate safely and deliver the boy to Rhodes. Was there a separate, related mission that I was uninformed about which failed?"
Von Kleist looked at me strangely without answering.
I immediately felt concern for Miles. I pushed von Kleist for an answer. "Herr Oberst, has something happened to the boy? I was informed that he would be shot if the Allies did not agree to exchange him for General Schilling."
Von Kleist looked at me and then recognized my confusion. However, Von Kleist still had not answered my question.
"Did the Allies refuse to exchange him?" I pressed him. I was concerned that Miles had already been shot.
"Well, it deals with the boy, but not in such a way," von Kleist snorted. I found my frustration growing as von Kleist casually swirled the schnapps in his glass.
Something was unmistakably odd and out of place.
"Sir, apparently I have not been informed of this well-kept secret. If you would enlighten me, perhaps?"
"An Allied commando team rescued the boy the evening you departed. Your team must have missed them literally by a half day. If you had departed as planned you would have encountered them.
From far off, a vague but familiar, awareness began to grow inside of me. No, it couldn't be. Not at Rhodes, not now. Not after so many months had passed.
The familiar feeling continued to grow stronger and became difficult for me to roughly shove it aside. No, I would not allow him to intrude on my life and career again. I was no longer in Africa and I wanted finality away from him.
"What drove your departure, Dietrich? Intuition? Or, perhaps you have a crystal ball?" von Kleist asked playfully.
I was vaguely aware of shaking my head in response to von Kleist's light question.
I looked at von Kleist, to begin pushing him for further details again when he began supplying the answers himself.
"The commando team had complete control of the situation and caused heavy German casualties. Oberst von Graff and Hauptmann Luther were among those killed. And," he paused for a moment to carefully choose his words before continuing. "There are unconfirmed reports by survivors that the boy was used as a human shield by von Graff before the commandos killed the oberst."
"Bastard." The word slipped out before I could stop it. I shouldn't have been surprised by von Graff's actions, but I was.
Von Kleist immediately looked at me sharply, but said nothing to reprimand me.
"Of course, the reports are unconfirmed," he reiterated. By the tone of his voice, there was no doubt in von Kleist's mind that he believed them to be true.
"Unconfirmed. Of course," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. For a soldier to use a small boy, or any civilian, as a shield was irreprehensible. "Yes," I continued, "it would be an action unbecoming of a German officer, especially one of von Graff's rank, to commit such an act. But it would be against human decency for anyone."
We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. A wave of betrayal washed over me. I had loyally upheld my oath as a German officer for what? To kidnap a young boy to be used as a human shield? I killed a man for this? Is this what Nazi Germany stood for? The master race which was superior to all others?
"Bastard," I said again, under my breath.
"Dietrich, you have now spoken disrespectfully of a senior officer twice, even if he is now deceased. I should reprimand you, but I will let it pass given the circumstances." Von Kleist had uttered the words, but there no rebuke behind them. We both shared the mutual opinion of von Graff and his actions.
I had always known, when the war began, of Germany's eventual loss. Although I had hope during its successful campaigns, I now had none. If Germany would condone executing a boy and using him as a human shield, then yes, it was inevitable for God to come down against her. All countries, including the Allies, were guilty of war crimes. But I could not imagine them to be of the magnitude Germany was committing in its desperate struggle to win.
"Is there any other information available regarding the commando raid?" I asked.
"Yes, more than I would like to report. Adding to the chaos was von Graff's commandeered residence catching fire and burning to the ground."
Good. I thought. Now the O'Keefe forgery had been burned as Luther had suggested and as I had wished.
"There's little left of the main compound," von Kleist continued. "Rhodes was basically shot up as if it was a small town in an American western movie."
It was now impossible to fight against the feeling stirring within me. Deep down inside, as much as I wanted to deny it, it was true.
He had returned. Yes, Sergeant Sam (or was it possibly Samuel?) Troy was again in my life. Would I ever be free of him?
"I don't believe it. It can't be. Not there . . ." I said softly, my voice incredulous.
Not on Rhodes, an inconsequential venue of the war. Not here in Europe. He couldn't have followed me here. He should be home in the United States, hitting cows in the desolate regions of Wyoming, recovering from the brutal bastinado he had received from Guest. He should be someplace else, anywhere else, allowing me to have peace from him and his continued strikes against me.
"Well, you should believe it. It's a fact," von Kleist continued, unaware of my internal struggle regarding Troy.
"Is the name of the commando team known?" I broke my cardinal rule of asking a question when I already knew the answer, but I couldn't stop myself from doing so.
"It hasn't been confirmed, but early intelligence is pointing towards a group called the 'Rat Patrol'. Odd name for a commando group," von Kleist added with a frown. "I wonder if it has some type of meaning or significance."
"The Rat Patrol," I repeated its name.
I gripped my glass tighter and then suddenly drank its remaining contents in a single take.
"Dietrich, looks like you've seen a ghost," von Kleist asked with concern.
I finally managed to find my voice. "I have."
"Wait a minute," von Kleist said thoughtfully, a knowing look appearing on his face. "Isn't it the name of the . . ."
"Yes," I said very brusquely, interrupting him.
"Well, you certainly have the luck of the devil when it comes to encountering these commandos. You missed them by only hours. It was a good thing you were able to make the earlier plane. If one didn't know better one would swear that you had been warned," he chuckled.
I looked at von Kleist quickly. My nightmare had come true, Troy's warning a reality.
So, Troy was still a part of my life. I didn't bother asking von Kleist if Intelligence had confirmed the leader of the Rat Patrol. The daring raid on a German island stronghold had all the markings of Troy, Sergeant Sam Troy and no one else. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a vague part of me that was satisfied to discover Troy was still alive.
I had mixed feelings, despite myself, regarding Troy's success. I was truly happy the boy had been rescued and removed as a pawn of the war.
I cared little for what had happened to von Graff and Luther. If von Graff had used the boy as a shield, he had received what he had richly deserved for such a despicable action.
I paused for a few minutes before continuing. "To be informed that a successful mission had been turned into a folly, a waste of effort and time . . ."
"It was beyond your control, Dietrich," von Kleist reassured me. "There is no negative reflection against you or your team."
Von Kleist generously refilled my glass again. Apparently, he preferred me to linger a while longer.
"Oh, there is one other piece of information of which I need to inform you of," he added.
My stomach knotted although his tone implied it was nothing serious. What else could there be? The mission had ended in disaster. From far off, I could hear von Kleist speak, interrupting my thoughts on Troy and the Rat Patrol.
"I want to congratulate you on your promotion to Major, Dietrich."
I was caught by surprise at his casual announcement. It had been a while since my last promotion. I was beginning to fear my lack of success against the Rat Patrol had permanently tainted my career. I knew my father would be especially pleased at my continued advancement.
I gave a small smile and nod to von Kleist. "Thank you, Sir."
Von Kleist reached over and clinked my glass. "You've earned it. My congratulations again."
He settled back into his chair, thinking for a few minutes before continuing.
"I look forward put putting your skills to more use here. I can definitely use a man with your background. Your talents would have been badly wasted in Stalingrad under Generalfeldmarschall Paulus."
Wasted? What an odd word to use. The Sixth Army at Stalingrad had been in desperate need of officers before it collapsed.
"Thank God it was arranged for you to be posted here instead of the eastern front."
"Arranged? My orders clearly stated I was to be assigned to France, when the war began and again after Africa fell."
"Don't you know?" he snorted. "If anyone should know, I thought it would be you. It is so unbelievably obvious," von Kleist looked at me incredulously.
I looked at him puzzled. "I'm unsure as to what you are referencing."
"You really are unaware of your situation, aren't you? I thought he would have told you."
I was becoming irritated of the guessing game with him. While I doubted von Kleist was deliberately withholding information from me, I wanted to know the facts.
"Who told me what? Perhaps if you would enlighten me, I can confirm my knowledge of the event."
"Why, I thought your father, General Dietrich, would have told you. It was he who arranged for you to be assigned to Africa instead of the eastern front after France fell. When the Africa campaign ended, he again made arrangements for you to be posted in France instead of the Soviet theater.
A deathly pall fell upon me.
"He never told you?" asked von Kleist, surprise clearly written on his face.
It took me a few moments for me to recover my voice.
"No, my father never divulged anything to me," I said in a low, angry voice. "But it doesn't explain why you did not do so."
Von Kleist shrugged his shoulders, looking at me. "I honestly thought you knew."
My hand grasped my glass tighter as the anger rose within me. I was livid at my father for interfering with my career. I had always prided myself on standing on my own merits without any assistance from him. His interference had now gone too far.
"You're not the first, and no doubt you won't be the last, son to receive more advantageous orders due to a father's influence. I must admit, Dietrich, at first I was leery of having you reporting to me despite your strong combat background. I initially believed your reputation had been over inflated due to your father's influence. But," and he paused to shake his head slightly with an ironic laugh, "you have definitely dispersed any doubts I may have had about you. In fact, there are several senior officers who wished you had assigned to them instead. You are definitely in the top tier of officers who have reported to me during the war."
My hand continued tightening on my glass until the stem shattered. I didn't realize how fiercely I had continued gripping the glass' remnants until I noticed von Kleist's eyes go down to my hand.
I looked down myself. I had severely lacerated my hand. It was only now I could feel the blood's warm wetness.
I pulled out my handkerchief and wrapped it around my hand. The handkerchief was immediately stained crimson. Without saying a word, von Kleist gave me a small towel to staunch the flow.
It was an intense, yet surreal, moment. I could not believe my father had engineered such an audacious act. Yet in reality, I should not have been surprised in the least. I was infused with a sudden hatred. It was stronger than any distaste I had felt for him in the past. Any hope and desire I had had of having a relationship with my father instantly disappeared.
The prison I had so desperately trying to escape my entire life slammed down around me. But I noticed with satisfaction, that my father was trapped inside with me. For while I could never live up to his expectations, he in turn could never escape from what he had wanted me to be.
If my posting to Africa and France had been arranged, what else had been a lie in my career? The Oak Leaves for Jufra? My promotions to Hauptmann and now to Major? My identity and self-worth had been tied to the military and they had all been for nothing.
My distress was immediate, overwhelming and completely engulfing.
All my addictions surged to the surface, with my intense need for heroin leading the race. The demand was nothing like the faint desire I had felt on the boat and had smugly placed aside, believing I was able to control it. No, now the necessity for the drug was crushing, the desires overwhelming. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before in my life.
My God, Guest had been so unbelievably right about drugs and how useful they could be to relive stress! Why should I have doubted him?
I wanted and desperately craved heroin at this moment as I never had before. I had to have the drug or I would go insane.
I wanted the momentary euphoria which would swiftly settle into a satisfactory mind numbness lasting several hours. A small dose would not suffice. I needed sufficient heroin to completely numb and engulf me until tomorrow morning. It was only then I could begin to accept the reality of my father's actions.
The entire experience from start to finish flashed through my mind in an instant with impatient anticipation building at each step: The rubber strap tightening around my forearm to raise a vein, the gentle alcohol swabbing of my inner arm to clean it and then . . . my God . . . the sharp prick of the needle as it smoothly slid into my skin followed soon by the swift kick of heavenly euphoria, the withdrawal of the needle and the release of the strap. And then, mind-numbing bliss taking away all my stress and concerns.
The drug's steps were each more seductive than sexual foreplay, the ecstasy better than an orgasm. Yes, with heroin I merely had to lie back and enjoy the pleasure, not vaguely care or be concerned if the woman's desires or needs were being met. Yes, as much as I enjoyed sex, and needed it for my emotional and physical wellbeing, it paled in comparison to the delight heroin provided me.
Taking heroin was placing me in control of my body, out of its reach from my father. There was nothing he could do to prevent me from enjoying it.
Yes, I was weak, not just for heroin but also for the constant approval and recognition from my father. I suddenly realized that I was seeking his approval just as much as I had sought the drug euphoria. The few times I had received his approval, I could remember the emotional and physical pleasure I had experienced.
The clarity came to me of a fourth addiction that I possessed: The addiction of trying to please my father and live up to the unrealistic expectations we had both set for myself.
I vaguely heard von Kleist speaking, wrenching me away from my addictions. It seemed like hours had passed, but it must have been a few seconds at most.
"Don't doubt yourself, Dietrich, or your abilities as an officer."
I reached into my breast pocket for my own cigarettes and lit one immediately. I took a deep drag on it, quickly forcing the nicotine into my lungs.
I finally found my voice with difficulty. "Herr Oberst, I request an immediate transfer to the eastern front, to the 4th Panzer Army," I said calmly through my anger.
Von Kleist looked at me incredulously. "Have you gone insane?" he sputtered. "Someone at your level must understand what it is like there."
"I have never been saner in my life."
"Your request is denied," von Kleist snapped. "Your experience is needed here just as much, if not more, than on the eastern front. It's only a matter of weeks before the British and Americans land here, and we begin fighting on a western front."
I ignored von Kleist's logic.
"In fact, I don't request a transfer, I demand one." I calmly looked at him. There was a slight smile on my lips, but I felt no amusement.
The anger was now beginning to rise in von Kleist, his face coloring as his voice rose to match mine, a vein pulsing at his neck. "You demand?! Apparently, you have forgotten you are speaking to your commanding officer, Dietrich. Your demand is again denied. Don't push the situation by requesting it a third time. I take it you understand." His voice was harsh and direct, indicating for me not to press the issue further.
It took me several seconds to respond
"Understood," I hissed.
I lit another cigarette. I was now openly chain smoking, barely finishing one cigarette before lighting the next. Von Kleist looked at me with a raised eyebrow, noticing my condition.
"Tell me, Dietrich. If you possess such a burning desire to fight the Bolsheviks, why haven't you expressed your passion previously? According to your dossier, you never approached your commanding officers in Africa nor in France about transferring. Why now? Is it because you know that your father saved you from being sent there? Let it go, Dietrich, and accept his denial as a blessing. It probably has saved your life."
Von Kleist handed me a new glass and filled it to the brim with schnapps. He gave me a moment to down it in a single swallow before placing the bottle near me. The cigarettes and schnapps were having no impact on taking the edge off my anxiety. With little sleep or food over the last few days I should have been well on my way to becoming pleasantly drunk, but I felt nothing.
"You must be aware of the brutal conditions there," von Kleist continued. "The eastern front is rapidly collapsing with high casualties, a level unsustainable for Germany. Captured Wehrmacht soldiers are being shipped off to Soviet POW camps. I highly doubt many will ever return. There are reports of soldiers committing suicide to prevent themselves from being captured. Only God knows what the Red Army will do once they reach Prussia and Eastern Germany, before advancing to Berlin."
Von Kleist shook his head at the thought.
I continued to sit there in silence, not responding, as he tried to reason with me.
"Why do you really want this, Dietrich? Are you trying to commit suicide by being killed in combat against the Bolsheviks? Trust me, a British or American bullet will accomplish the job just as nicely. Or, are you trying to prove yourself while also extracting revenge against your father?
I said nothing.
Von Kleist tried a different tack.
"Or are you trying to prove that you are as much as a man as your father?" His eyes intently searched my face, seeking an answer.
"You've already more than proved your capabilities in combat, Dietrich. Not only at Jufra, but also in numerous other engagements. You have been more than successful on your own merits. Your father had nothing to do with your award of the Oak Leaves nor any of your other commendations. Combat will come to France soon enough and you will have the opportunity to prove yourself again."
I felt my stubborn pride rise within me. I believed the answer was obvious and it should not be necessary for me to provide it.
Von Kleist snorted as he noticed my reaction. "I know your father. It would kill you to admit it, but you are a duplicate of him, as a soldier and as a man."
"Hardly." I considered von Kleist's comments to be the ultimate insult. No, I was not the least like my father. I would not allow myself to be anything remotely like him.
"And Major?" I poured the last of the schnapps into my glass and finished it off.
"Sir?"
"I know you well enough, Dietrich. Put aside any thoughts, no matter how vague, of jumping rank regarding your idiotic idea of transferring to the east. I won't tolerate such a breach of protocol from an officer reporting to me."
Von Kleist's face was hard. He was taking my request personally as my commanding officer. No, my rebellion was not against him, but against the man who was not in the room, but who never left my side.
"Sir, my transfer request is no reflection against you."
"I wouldn't care in the least if it was," von Kleist interrupted me. "My response would remain unchanged. I cannot afford to lose an officer of your quality when the invasion is imminent."
I gave von Kleist a short nod, acknowledging his order. No, I wouldn't jump rank. I would forever be the good and dutifully loyal soldier trained since childhood by my autocratic father. Instead, I would formally submit my transfer request to von Kleist in writing. When he just as formally denied it, I would then begin escalating my request upward, to Rommel if necessary.
I found myself beginning to perspire profusely. My body was becoming agitated and restless and I was having difficulty controlling the tremors. I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms similar to those I had had when I escaped from Guest. It was as if my intense stress was causing my body to severely react from the shock of the heroin depravity as it had previously.
Von Kleist finally noticed my physical condition. "Are you ill, Dietrich?"
"No," I lied. At least not in the manner I would admit to my commanding officer.
Von Kleist stood up. Our meeting was over.
"You are to report for duty in five days," he ordered, extending my furlough by three days. "In the meantime, I recommend you immediately have your hand attended to. It probably needs stitches. You are then to catch some sleep. You look horrible. And, I believe some rest and decent food will clear your mind of the foolishness racing through it."
Von Kleist reached down and offered the pack of American cigarettes to me. "Here take these. I believe you need them more than I do."
I was only able to nod my thank you, before slipping them into my pocket.
"I want you to clearly understand, Dietrich, I will not approve your transfer, not now and in the future." His face softened slightly, as he recognized the inner turmoil I was experiencing.
"You are dismissed, Major."