Chapter 7
3 January 1943
...
"YOU TOLD ME THAT OPERATION WINTER STORM WAS A RELIEF EFFORT, NOT AN EVACUATION OF THE CITY!"
Generalfeldmarschall Erich von Manstein ignored the staring accusations offered to him by a room filled with the National Socialist elite and Heer officers too cowardly to give a word of support; Spineless yes men in the Wehrmacht who did not question the Führer.
Standing there in the war room of the Wolfsschanze, Manstein instead kept his eyes on Führer, who was pacing and looking as though he had gone rabid the moment Manstein had entered the room and informed the Führer what he had done. Not that he needed to do so. Friedrich Paulus had called the Führer and told him that he had stolen a good portion of his strength rather than stay to fight for a lost city.
To think that he had to justify saving men from that hell to a corporal, in front of all people, Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring; the bastard head of the Luftwaffe, the reason why he had to launch Operation Winter Storm in the first place. He could not keep his promises, so he sat there smirking as though none of this could be laid at his feet.
"And I told you, My Führer, you did not give me a large enough force to save the city," Manstein spoke carefully to the temperamental man. "The fact that Hoth and Guderian managed to penetrate the lines for fifteen days and held the city for two hours was a feat in itself."
The Führer, however, would not accept such feats.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THOSE TWO COWARDS DID!" he screamed violently at Manstein and the rest of his audience of officers. "YOU DID NOT PETITION FOR MORE MEN, EVEN WHEN I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU THAT IF YOU FELT THAT YOU WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO SUCCEED, YOU WERE TO RETURN TO THE LINE. THE 6TH ARMY IS QUITE CAPABLE OF HOLDING FORTRESS STALINGRAD! THE LUFTWAFFE WAS CAPABLE OF KEEPING THE ARMY TOGETHER!"
Manstein ignored the ranting as the Führer. He instead gestured to the fat bastard in the room.
"While we are on the subject, I should like to put forth a personal petition that Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring is stripped of his seat as the head of the Luftwaffe," Manstein openly declared.
The words caught everyone off guard - from the Führer to the guards. All of them did not matter. Manstein turned to face Göring, smiling, his arms crossed as he looked up to Goebbels for a show of support, something the propaganda minister wasn't about to give to his rival. He turned to face the Führer, who did not say a word in support. Reluctantly, he turned to face Manstein. Looking confident, but it appeared only skin deep.
"And on what charge is my crimes, Herr Manstein?" he taunted the expressionless Generalfeldmarschall. "This should be good."
"Gross incompetence boasts that you cannot keep, the Luftwaffe is in tatters after your repeated attempts to smash the Royal Air Force. Not to mention the increasingly poor defence of our skies," Manstein listed off, ignoring the gleeful stare belonging to Walter Model. "I have seen the men of the 6th Army I managed to save. They're half-starved and grossly under-armed. They have had to resort to stealing from the Red Army to survive… stealing from the Russians. On the rare occasion a supply plane gets though, it's loaded with equipment they do not need. Summer gear in the middle of winter for starters…. The only decent thing I have seen them do is evacuate the wounded, and now even that has ceased!"
Gesturing to Göring, he turned to face the Führer. Incredulous as to why Göring was still allowed in the high command.
"My Führer, this morphine addict lost the air war over Britain, he has lost control of the Stalingrad situation by flat out lying to you… and yes, Göring, you lied about the situation. You lied about the airlift the Luftwaffe could manage," Manstein pressed on, trying to keep his tone dignified. He turned back to the Führer and added. "For him to still have your ear, With all due respect, this man is unfit for even commanding a train, let alone the Luftwaffe!"
Göring was no longer humoured by the accusations Erich had brought forth; Manstein had drawn blood and dared to say what few men in the Reich were willing to do. Tell the truth about him. He stood up. His eyes narrowed at the taller Generalfeldmarschall.
"You don't know the first thing there is about aerial combat and airborne logistics," the Reichsmarschall stated to Manstein, his hands gripping his belt as he defended himself in front of a staring Führer. "I have been with the Luftwaffe since its inception. I suggest for your sake that you remain focused on your expertise and don't you dare speak of things you are not aware of."
Manstein stood there, his stern expression forming a mild grin as tried to take the pudgy aristocrat seriously. He might have been a renowned fighter ace, but those days were long past. He was a delusional shadow of his former self. In the corner of his eye, he could see Rundstedt standing there, having just entered the room, folders in his hands and appearing greatly amused to find Göring in such a state.
"I will admit I have a limited experience in the conduct of the Luftwaffe, but I know that your transports are not supposed to cross fifty kilometres of enemy territory with limited air cover." The Generalfeldmarschall spoke slowly to the Reichsmarschall. "I know that fighters should not be sent out individually into enemy territory, I know that micromanaging your military command instead of granting your air commanders breathing to self-aggrandize yourself is only going to lead to the continued failure of the Luftwaffe, you morphine sick, bloated, piss poor excuse of an officer!"
The command centre went dead silent at the words nearly snarled by Manstein. It did not take long before his words worked, Göring's temper exploding, Göring lunged at Manstein, looking to beat the skinnier Prussian to a pulp. Manstein however was quicker, his hand lashed out, smashing Göring nose in and watched as the Reichsmarschall fell to the floor, right in front of Führer, whose eyes widened at the sight of his third sprawled out before him.
Manstein turned back to gather his hat and baton left on the table. He turned back and marched back to the Führer, who stood there frozen. Stepping over Göring, was now only inches from the Führer.
"I have had enough of this flagrant incompetence, the micromanaging, the breathing down my shoulder, the lack of room to operate and blaming men like Rundstedt for committing rational acts in an irrational invasion," Manstein informed the Führer, allowing a slight smile to show. "So, consider this my resignation, my Führer. As I am sure you have wanted since my arrival for saving twenty-five thousand men from certain death."
Taking a step back, he raised his hand high over his head, saluting the silent Führer. He dropped his hand and was ready to leave; however, it was not to be. Hitler stepped forward and took the Heer Generalfeldmarschall by his hand and forearm, his expression serious and scanning. He looked… almost desperate at the reaction.
For the first time, Manstein saw the Führer for who he was—a man of limited intelligence who had gotten the German nation into a mess that they weren't ready to fight yet. How could he have offered his loyalty to such a man?
"Manstein… I know that I have a strict vision for the campaign, but I am not unreasonable. Rundstedt and I have made our peace, as you and I can as well," the Führer spoke softly—almost contritely; his anger vanished as he gestured to Rundstedt, who nodded. "I can see your anger and I know that it is difficult to sacrifice so many men. But I ask you not to leave. I am surrounded by few men who will challenge me. I ask you to stay, if only for Germany's sake, I ask you to stay."
Manstein blinked at the reaction. He had not expected this man to show an ounce of respect for his military commanders. He had frequently forced them to submit to the Führer's will, much to his revulsion. Perhaps he had discovered the secret. He just had to show the Führer that he was not a man to push around.
Glancing to Rundstedt who had turned the Führer's attention to him, to sign off on to use of the reserves and garrisons around occupied Europe under the guise of the renewed spring assault, which, in actuality meant to be used against the Führer himself. Manstein decided he would stay. The Führer would not be in power for much longer. Spring would come and he would get full reign over the offensive.
This time, there would be no stopping him from reaching Moscow.
…
…
Groaning, Hoch rolled over off of his bed and hit the floor.
The pain from the fall did not bother him. It was the throbbing migraine burning away his brain cells. He had been drinking since midday of December 31st and had not stopped until Lene sent him to bed last night… at least he thought it was her. It might have been Helena. Fuck, for all he knew it was Hanala, though if that were the case, his pelvis would be almost as sore as his head.
Why in the hell did he let Langer do this to him? Sure, Langer had good intentions, but this was all he had been doing since he had gotten home to the Langer. Drink and forget. Well, for now, he was going to lay off the drink, get sober and think about his next steps. He had Rommel's mission to meet Bittrich and Guderian about to summon him for God knows what exactly.
There was a brief knock on the door as Joachim stood up and pulled a robe over him. Not waiting for Joachim's permission to enter, in stepped Langer, a cup of coffee in his hand. Hoch squinted. Gerald was wearing a full-dress uniform regalia. As though he was off to play nice in the political landscape of the SS, which was always the best part of the job….
Shoving his sarcasm aside, Joachim accepted the drink and sipped it.
"Where are you off to?" Joachim inquired as he cracked his neck.
"Berlin," Langer announced as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. "There's been a temporary changing of the guard. Heydrich is undergoing long-term treatment for his injuries…. Lungs. I heard Kaltenbrunner is being placed in charge. I've got to go answer to him, all department heads have to."
Joachim frowned at the news but remained dead silent. Langer ignored the attitude and pressed his hand onto Joachim's back, leading him carefully down the stairs and into the Kitchen. He paused and frowned as he realized that there waiting for him was Lene, Helena and Fuhrmann. All of them dressed up as though they too would be joining him on his trip north.
"Taking the wife, daughter and Fuhrmann? Am I your new maid perhaps?" he questioned aloud to the family. "Have I been deemed the official nanny of the Langer estate?"
The family did not reply. They simply stared at him expectantly, as though they knew something he did not. Hoch turned back to face Gerald who stood there, a crooked grin offered to the younger man. He did not seem sure if he wanted to smile about this.
"No… I was messaged today; I would have told you if you learned not to drink so much," Gerald spoke finally, shifting all the blame for the drinking onto Joachim.
"Hanala'Jarva was out of the solar system doing God knows what. She will be gracing us with her presence this afternoon. I pushed my departure back to welcome her back, so get cleaned up; we'll be greeting her…. Lene invited herself along, as has Helen, something about giving her a piece of their mind."
Lene simply inclined her head, her expression a scowl. Still, she refused to utter a bad word in case Joachim would be offended. Well, he wouldn't have been. If anything he needed Lene to say something in that passive-aggressive tone that he had come to love. He turned away and looked at Paul and Helena. Helena looked very enthusiastic about meeting an alien. Paul, having seen Hanala up close and personal, as well as her talents, had far less enthusiasm for greeting her. He seemed to have been the only one who knew that Hanala was a terror underneath her pretty exterior.
Handing the coffee mug to Langer, he sighed and turned away. They wanted a big reunion? Well, he would give them one. It would not be as heart-warming as they were thinking it would be.
"Let me get dressed," he spoke dully. "Let's get this out of the way."
…
...
The sound of twenty-five thousand boots marching into the city of Rostov was enough to bring pause to the local Russian citizenry.
It was by no means a new sight to see Germans marching into their conquered city, now under German administration since December 1941. It was new that the men were entering, not exiting from the eastern edges of the city. Another thing that stunned occupiers and civilians alike was the state of these twenty-five thousand men—starved, mud-caked, wounded, sick and just plain filthy. These were a far cry from the usual spite shine of the Heer.
The civilians knew better than to gloat openly. These were the men who escaped Stalingrad. An arrogant army that assumed easy victory over their countrymen. They left a million strong and came back a shadow of their former selves. For the first time, it seemed the German invaders were not the invincible conquerors the world thought them to be.
Among the slumped shadows of soldiers were thousands of civilians—Hiwis—the Germans called them. They were assistants and German sympathizers, they translated, they ran supplies, and they even helped to fight. They were Russians who held a hatred for the communist system they were forced under. The reason they ran with the remnant of the 6th Army was clear. The Soviet government would see to their summary execution for betraying the revolution to the fascist invaders.
Speaking of Hiwis among the marching men, Feldwebel Christian Bohr accepted a bucket of water from a Russian woman; her head covered in a red scarf, the bucket marked 'drinking water'. Nodding his head as the woman rushed away he raised the bucket edge to his mouth and took a long drink before handing it to Oster.
Bohr watched as Oster and Keinhorst drank, both men were numb with shock and grief-stricken just as much as he was. To think that the kid was so distraught that he would shoot himself rather than face the Russians by himself. How could anyone do that? Shuttering as he thought about Erich Fuhrmann's death, he exhaled and turned to Keinhorst and Oster who had drained the bucket together.
"I know we haven't talked about the kid, but we need to now," Bohr spoke aloud to the other.
Oster had nothing to say. He and the kid had been close. Almost like a sibling. His death hit him harder than expected. He spent most of the time in their westward retreat crying about what had happened. Now he was simply drained of all of his feelings. Keinhorst, as expected snorted.
"Kid blew his fucking head off," Keinhorst growled lowly. "What in the hell is there else to say?"
Deciding it was in everyone's best interest if Bohr reported Keinhorst to the psychologists back home, Bohr kept his temper under control for everyone's sake.
"What do we tell Welcker? He liked that kid."
The voice belonged to Oster, his tone empty as they continued to trudge along. Bohr glanced to his side and nodded to the fresh-faced Heer soldiers gathered to watch the march that had now entered the city. All of them appeared to be stunned at what they saw. Most of them were likely to have seen combat, but none of them saw defeat on the scale Bohr had seen. There was no other.
"He's lost men before, Oster, he'll get over it," Keinhorst returned voice somewhat more respectful at the mention of the Leutnant. "You remember the whole platoon we had when we started back in early '42? One more isn't going to bother him."
Welcker…. Bohr had promised everyone would escape. He had failed him.
"Bucket."
It was the red-scarfed woman again; her simple word was spoken in a whisper. Bohr glanced to Keinhorst, who snorted, threw the bucket to the ground and continued his march. Frowning, Bohr reached down and grabbed the container and handed it to the girl. Thin hands grabbed it from him. He caught her eyes. Blue eyes, so blue, but lifeless. They were empty like she had seen just as many horrors as he had; in all likelihood, she had seen more. In a flash they were gone; she no longer turned to him but instead bowed, like she was subservient to him. He supposed that was the case according to the racial laws.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely offering her his praise.
The woman in question nodded curtly and left, running off ahead of Bohr and back towards the city. Sighing, he stepped quicker to join Oster and Keinhorst, who were dead silent once again. Bohr cleared his throat, not realizing it had made Keinhorst cringe.
"Okay, so Welcker will live with it," Christian spoke aloud to Oster and Keinhorst. "What do we say to his family?"
Keinhorst rounded back on Bohr, his eyes narrowed.
"FUCK his family, FUCK Welcker! The kid is DEAD, get OVER it!" he snapped. Exhaling and ignoring the glare offered by Bohr, he added. "That's all that they'll hear. That's all that will matter to them. So with all due respect, please... Please just shut the fuck up, Feldwebel..."
Bohr clinched his fist, His patience for Keinhorst was no longer there. Mental case or not, Bohr was going to beat the shit out of him.
"His name was Erich... Not kid..." Oster spoke, hollowly, his words defusing the tension building up in Bohr, enough for him to turn away. "He was seventeen... and they let him go... what the hell is wrong with our country? We didn't need him with us. He was just a boy... just a goddamn child."
Bohr reluctantly nodded. He wished he had an answer to that himself. As he opened his mouth to agree, he felt something tug on his jacket. Christian turned and found himself staring into that pair of blue eyes he was fascinated with. In her hands were a few slices of stale-looking bread.
"Bread... Not much, I'm afraid..." she managed to get out, looking between the three men staring at her as they continued to walk.
Gingerly, Bohr accepted the offering and handed a slice each to Oster and Keinhorst. He turned back to say 'Thank you.' But once again, she was gone. He could see the fluttering scarf for only a moment before it vanished.
Chewing thoughtfully, Bohr ignored Keinhorst's derisive snort.
...
...
'"We have breached the thermosphere. Arrival planet-side in fifteen minutes, you should probably go back to the passenger bay and strap yourself in, ma'am."
Wincing at being called ma'am like she was old, Hanala'Jarva nodded to the pilot and closed the door to the cockpit, finding herself once again in the uncomfortable company of the only other person on the ship. Captain Rael'Jarva, who was fidgeting and nervous about this. Why he was, was beyond her. He had met a human before.
Why he was here was a mystery to her. She had assumed her Mother or Father put him up to this. To serve as her babysitter under the guise that he was to be overseeing the German scientists studying under their quarian advisors. Hanala had to admit, Rael would probably do a good job. The position was to keep the advisers in line and not reveal too much to the Germans. The technological development of mankind would have to come in small careful steps. Leaps... Well, you did not need to be a historian to know what leaps did to the krogan people.
A hiss came from her omni-tool as she strapped herself in. Glancing at the sender's identification, she frowned. It was from Father. What did he want now? To send her back to the citadel to track down more quarians? Did he want to exile her from Earth? If that was the case, she would probably have to take a page out of Joachim's book and punch him in the throat.
She trailed off her anger as she read the subject. Her mouth opened slightly.
RE: CLASSIFIED, ADMIRALS EYES ONLY
Blinking, Hanala read on.
Hanala'Jarva
The board has passed a decision on accepting you into the Admiralty board upon the initiation of martial law. Though we are not on speaking terms, I wish to extend warm congratulations and a desire to begin a professional relationship as our people will require of us. For the record, what I did, I did for your good. I thought it was needed to avert you from sympathizing with the Regime we are overthrowing.
In preparation for the future role which will involve working closely with Halid'Zorah in the diplomatic field, I am forwarding a series of essays and a thesis written by the late Admiral Jalina'Calis vas Kareon. Much of it is dated material, but I suppose that a few trinkets hidden away written from your grandmother are something you would not mind.
I used to think that you took many of your mother's traits, but since we stopped speaking you remind me much more of Jalina in her younger days. There were few men and women in the quarian navy who inspired fear in the way she did. It wasn't until your Brother and you that she started to mellow down to the kindly grandmother you were so use to. Honestly, you were lucky and I was lucky you two came along. She gave me an endless amount of shit that makes your feud look rudimentary in comparison.
Speaking of your brother, I hope that you will forgive me for sending your brother along on the next Earth mission. He has a good heart, but he needs to understand that we have a real shot of escaping the slow humiliation of the fleet and building something. Hopefully, he will have an open mind about this situation. I am quite aware of the tension built between the two of you. His remarks about Hoch wasn't unnoticed by me or your mother.
As for the one you are in a… well…. ancestors know what you two are in. My position on Hoch is conflicted, as it has ever been. He is a bright man with the potential to do anything. He has however been corrupted and requires salvaging. I know that you are quite capable, but I do worry about you, that you will find yourself buried deep in his issues. I will not comment further, that is yours and Joachim's issues to work out.
I wish you luck and congratulations once again,
Your Father
Staring at the suspiciously kind letter written by her father, Hanala exhaled slowly. Perhaps it was time for her to make amends with her Father. He seemed to have had her best interest in mind. Still, after everything, it wasn't something she could just pretend it didn't happen.
Hanala looked up to see her brother, who was fitting his helmet over his head and checking the seals. Flattening the hem of her dress and crossing her legs, she could not help but wonder if she looked that nervous when she first realized she was going to be in the forefront of contact with humans. All she knew was this. Rael'Jarva would be set on the task of watching over the Advisors to the various German scientists. The last thing she needed was for him to cause an incident with Joachim or someone higher up than him.
Idly, Hanala wondered how Joachim would take working close to her Brother. By all accounts, Joachim wasn't particularly warm to any of the male Jarva's and he had all but flirted with Veyare. It was little wonder why he distrusted Hoch. Hoch was a bastard and Rael was not afraid to confront people. More or less people backed down when he did so. Joachim, in all likelihood not be so easily humbled.
"So anything I should know? About humans?"
The words belonging to her brother forced her attention away from the rest of Grandmother's writings. He sat there, his arms crossed as he inspected his nearly humanized sister with a mixture of apprehension and disgust. Closing her omni-tool and finding her cigarettes, Hanala leaned back into her seat.
"Mind your manners, and don't try to be funny." She warned him as she lit up. "Nine times out of ten. Germans are serious, brisk people when they're sober. German Scientists are even less humoured... If that's even possible."
Turning away from her brother, she went back to reading what was sent to her by Father. While he was barely grasping the concept of handling humans, she was taking the first steps to represent her species in an official capacity. She was on the verge of being an Admiral.
If only she could rub it in Rael's face.
...
...
It was the afternoon when the Langers, the Fuhrmanns and Hoch made it to the museum—the unofficial first embassy of the quarian people. Checking in with the guards and fitting Helena and Lene with translators, the family wandered up the steps of the closed museum, past more guards and more checkpoints.
Considering how valuable this site was, the guard checks were to be expected. Not only were there aliens in this building, but a large portion of the German science community was learning from the quarians. Joachim wasn't sure what exactly, but Langer and he were certain they would find out soon enough.
"Joachim…"
Joachim paused as he realized that the people gathered by the door were not human. One of them turned to them, her face lit up into a bright expression. She was dressed more human than most humans he knew, a collection of bright cheerful colours in the dead of winter.
Hoch exhaled and dropped his cigarette to the snow. There no words could describe how good and terrible Joachim felt by having her presence here.
The pale woman in the colourful dress approached the group. From behind him, he heard Helena gasp as the woman coming down the step appeared less and less human. Joachim simply stood there, his hand reaching up and pulling off his cap, handing it back to Fuhrmann. He remained completely silent as Hanala'Jarva stepped off the last step and covered her mouth as she took in the sight of the significantly thinner man she was in a relationship with.
The expression of shock on her face sent a current of annoyance up Joachim's spine. He clamped his mouth shut and clenched his teeth as he stood there casually, his hands in his pockets as he stared at the quarian woman as she nervously approached him. She seemed very conscious of the fact that she had already stood him up.
"Joachim…. I'm so glad to see you…" Hanala finally whispered as she pulled her hand from her mouth. Her eyes darted over his face to examine just how different he looked from the last time they were in each other's presence.
Joachim did not reply. He simply stood there. Staring at the pretty quarian with a shy smile on her face, he couldn't help but find himself overwhelmed with a sudden, flaring anger for her. How dare she stand there and flinch at the sight of him. This was her goddamn fault, almost as much as it had been Langer's. She might not have told Kaltenbrunner, but she sure as hell got him into a mess of trouble. So between her adventures to that godforsaken Prothean vessel, to humiliating him in front of everyone, things weren't as rosy as she was deluding herself into thinking.
The anger coursing through him collapsed as he took control again. He was going to need her soon. It wouldn't be long before Hanala was the only thing he had left. Besides, even after everything he could not deny that she wasn't wrong in what she did. Much as it was a miserable experience... It woke him up.
"You were right, Hanala. I don't like it, and for your sake, you better not do that again," he assured her, trying to keep his solid and not guilt-addled. " I'm not holding anything else against you… blank slate."
Realizing that Joachim wasn't going to drop her, Hanala smiled out of pure relief and nodded. She laughed slightly, her head ducking briefly as she wrapped her arms around him. Silence fell between them as he clutched her close to his chest. He looked down and found that Hanala was listening to his heartbeat, her slender alien arms gripped him like a vice.
"If I said that… that I love you… That I am in love with you… and I have been for quite a while, would you be upset?" she admitted her voice lost as she buried her head into Joachim's shoulder. "I- I should said it sooner. When you were arrested…. I… I thought you would not make it out?"
Kissing her forehead and noticing her nervously wince, Joachim shook his head.
"They knew better than to try anything bad to me," Joachim lied to her as steadily as he could make his voice. "It's all going to be fine… I love you, too."
Hanala pulled herself back and carefully inspected Joachim. Knowing that he wasn't telling the truth, she simply nodded, accepting that Joachim would talk about his adventure with the Gestapo when he was up to it. Instead, the two of them stood there in silence together as the rest of the delegation left them for a warmer climate in the Museum.
...
...
Unable to sleep unlike Keinhorst, Oster and most of the 6th Army remnants, Christian Bohr decided he would wander the city of Rostov.
It was the silence, that awful silence that scared him from sleeping, from keeping his guard down. Usually, the artillery meant that the infantry was coming. The silence was the certainty that the Soviets were preparing yet another of their relentless and psychologically damaging wave attacks. The Finns that had been in Russia described them in the Winter War of 1939 between the Soviets and the Finns. Machine gun crews lost their minds having to gun down so many men for days on end. It was a terrifying waste the Bolsheviks were not afraid of doing. It was disgusting, just plain disgusting.
Passing by a parked convoy of massive Panzerkampfwagen's that had taken part in the relief of Stalingrad, he nodded respectfully to their crews and continued walking down the mostly empty street Rostov streets. He was not worried about being alone, at this point, he was too numb and exhausted to care what happened.
That was when he heard a sound that sounded… off.
The sounds of screams and the roar of a crowd caught his attention. He picked up the pace and ran with what little energy he possessed; unslung his MP-40 he noticed what was happening. A group of men and women were gathered around in a circle. Some of them screaming and spitting, others were kicking flesh, screaming in their Russian tongue a whole list of insults. Squinting he caught sight of who it was….
Blue eyes, lifeless blue eyes, wide in terror.
Christian widened his own eyes as noticed her. It was the Hiwi who kept them watered and fed on their long march to Stalingrad. She was screaming underneath the man, who was surrounded by other men and women, jeering at her and encouraging the man. From here he could hear the dull thud of fists hitting flesh.
They were trying to kill her. God help her... Kill her or do something worse than death.
Knowing that he could not break the crowd up by his words and unable to think of anything else to do to save her, he did exactly what he was trained and indoctrinated to do Bohr raised Welcker's MP-40, and shot one of the men through his spine. He fell into his blood and made the rest of the crowd turn to face him.
"HALT!" Bohr screamed at them, thrusting his submachine gun out at them menacingly.
The fifteen or so of them turned their focus on him. All of them were angered by what he stopped. With no words, he raised his submachine gun back up and cut a burst into the air. They did not react and instead stood there. All they did was turn their sudden anger onto their attack, who remained standing there, his weapon raised at them.
"You will let her go and disperse now!" he shouted at them as though they were capable of understanding his language.
Naturally, his words went unheeded as they approached him, a long solder. Someone who could kill a few of them but not all of them before they got him.
The threat did not last for long, however. The roar of rifles and machine guns erupted from behind him, the rounds cutting down the citizens and forcing him to hit the dirt, rubble and snow. Blinking as he listened to the screams, then a second burst of fire, then laughter. Bohr turned around and found a platoon of men, their lapels containing the two jagged runes.
The Waffen-SS saved the two of them.
The Waffen-SS men were laughing and joking as they approached; all of them admiring their handy work, all of them speaking strange-sounding language. A few of them kicked the bodies. One Russian still alive had found himself on the business end of a curb stomping. Another SS rifleman leaned down and pulled Bohr up like he was a five-year-old who scrapped his knee, a face was a bright smile as he dusted the snow off the grimy Heer shoulder.
"Nederlander?" Bohr croaked out curiously. He had been to The Netherlands on garrison duty before Barbarossa began.
The Waffen-SS men glanced at one another and burst into their wild laughter. They sounded like lunatics. Before he knew it the leader of the platoon stepped forward, grinning, his boots covered in blood. He pressed a book of matches, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of commandeered Vodka and a loaf of Russian rye bread into his hands. The Dutchman patted his shoulder.
"That's right," the older Dutchman spoke jovially. "Be careful. Uniformed or not, the Slav is a savage animal. Don't go out alone at night!"
Still laughing as though the leader had said the most hilarious thing in the world, the men of the 5th SS Panzer Division 'Wiking' marched off, leaving the Heer soldier standing there in a daze. Slinging his MP-40 back over his shoulder, he turned back and found the Hiwi scrambling to pull herself up from the snow and rubble; her thick clothing tattered to shreds from the violations attempted on her. She was breathing heavily as she tried to gather her nerves.
Tentatively, Christian stepped forward, over the corpse of the Ukrainian man he had shot; the woman tugged off her balaclava and wiped the blood off her mouth and nose, her dark hair limp and looking like large chunks having been pulled out. She looked up, her eyes wide as the soldier approached her. He paused briefly to hold one free hand up to notion that he wasn't a threat to her. Muttering to herself in her mother tongue, she took a seat on the pile of rubble. She was shaking violently as she tried to cope with the mess she had gotten into.
Christian approached her once again. Dropping the alcohol and bread next to her, he pulled off his Luftwaffe jacket and carefully pressed it into her lap. She looked up to meet his eye briefly before turning back and pulling the warm jacket over her shoulders. Taking it as a good sign, Christian took a seat next to her, ignoring the smell of death around the two of them. Quietly, he opened the bottle of vodka and took a sip. He offered the bottle which she accepted, brushing her dark locks out of her eyes as she winced, the alcohol burning her injuries.
"Russian?" he inquired, offering her only the faintest of careful smiles. She stiffened and shook her head. She looked disgusted by the assumption he had made.
"Ukrainian," the woman spat to no one in particular. "Not a Russian beast."
"I'm sorry…. I did not mean to offend," he returned, unsure how he should have reacted to her annoyance.
Her strained expression slowly vanished into resignation. She again dabbed her balaclava into the snow and wrapped it over her nose. Lacking an aid kit, Bohr felt bad having to let this young woman tend to her injuries, even if she seemed to have been completely used to this treatment.
"You kill many Russians?"
The thick accent nearly made him miss what she had said. Had he killed many Russians? What a thing to ask. Though to be fair she wasn't exactly a German woman who kept her mind away from the war. She was living the horrors that this war had inflicted upon them. He had marched through the Ukraine during the march east in 1941. The Russians had burned everything to a cinder to deny the invaders anything of use. Believe it or not, those were happier times back then. To know the Soviets were that desperate.
"Yes… yes, I think I have," he replied, trying his best not to grin. He didn't find it a funny topic, it was just…. Instinct.
The expression did not go unnoticed by her as she passed him the Vodka and gestured to the bread, her eyes wide and hopeful that he would continue to show his hospitality. Bohr nodded and took a drink. Quietly, He watched the Ukrainian rip a large chunk of the bread loaf off and chewed it, there was no dignity in how she presented herself. She was like a starving animal. Christian could not blame her for that.
"Good," she spoke enthusiastically, chewing a mouthful of black bread with her mouth open. "Dogs, all of them, starved my family… killed everyone… I am the last one left." She paused and swallowed. She gestured to her throat, adding ruefully. "My German is not so good… studied a little at Kyiv University. I am sorry."
Smiling bemusedly as she tore into another bite, Christian grabbed the pack of cigarettes and gestured it to the woman. Smiling brightly she nodded as she continued to chew. Christian pulled two out and struck a match, lighting the two in his lips before passing it to the waiting Ukrainian, who took it as though it was gold. Carefully she inhaled and coughed rather roughly.
"Thank you," she said, smiling toothily. "Today is a good day, yes? Life has been shit lately."
Bohr nodded his head as he ripped off a chunk of bread and took a bite. She sure as hell did not mince her words, did she?
"Yes, it has been shit." He agreed with the woman as he watched her inhale her cigarette. "It will be better when we're further away from the front line." He paused, adding. "Your German is better than most out here…. So that's why you help us?"
Exhaling, she took another mouthful of bread.
"Quarter German, Father was from Odessa," she explained as she chewed. "Your people, Germany…. Ukraine's last hope." She paused briefly to swallow. "You do not treat us well, though. Not you... Your people."
Again Bohr found himself frowning at the observation made by the woman. Yes, he had indeed heard that his countrymen abused the locals on occasion. Many got away with the attacks. Rape, as his superior officers routinely warned, would have automatically sent you to the penal battalion. Penal battalions having the highest mortality rates pretty much discouraged such acts.
"Millions want to fight the Russians," she continued as she took another drag. "Men and women, your people abuse us instead. Murder us like the Russians. No sense, no sense at all."
Taking a heavy drink, Christian nodded his head as he handed the bottle back to the woman.
"No there is no sense at all to it…" he agreed with her. Biting his lip, he gestured to the dead and added. "Has… has anyone tried that before?"
He did not want to say the word rape aloud. The word sounded so deplorable to say aloud and to say it meant that what he tried to stop was something beyond a simple physical assault. Scowling at the bodies, the woman took a drink and set the bottle down next to them. He noticed her flinch as she appeared to think about what he had asked.
"No," she said, glancing at him carefully. "Hit before by those animals… never raped... Lucky, I guess… She trailed off and slowly allowed a genuine smile to grace her mouth. "Though… never rescued before either."
Christian tried to ignore the heat in his face as she simply stared at him expectantly. Like he should say something, anything about why he did what he did. Well, if he was being honest he wasn't sure why he did it. He just saw that it had to be stopped.
He coughed and offered her his hand.
"Christian," he decided to introduce himself. "Feldwebel Christian Bohr, if you're feeling official."
She scoffed the remark; her empty blue eyes scanned his expression before she took his hand and carefully shook it.
"Tatiyana Andrusiv…." she returned. "It's nice to meet you… Christian."
Christian blinked as his hand fell to his side.
"Tatiyana…. Isn't that a Russian name?"
Tatiyana did not even pause to think about the query.
"My parents were stupid," Tatiyana spoke plainly. "Death does not erase such a fact."
Christian could not help himself, he laughed. Of all the things he could have laughed about, he was laughing at her dead parents. Thankfully Tatiyana shared the same sentiment. Together they ate drank and smoked, surrounded by dead Russians in a burnt-out city in the dead of winter.
...
...
Untangling himself from Hanala's naked form Joachim slipped out of bed and got dressed. Not caring about the presentation, he pulled on his boots and carefully stepped out of Hanala's room, closing the door behind him. As much as he wanted to stay there and sleep through the early evening and into the morning, he had other important things to do.
Glancing around the hallways and finding no one, Joachim wandered in the direction of the basement levels of the museum. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had converted this place of learning into a makeshift diplomatic exchange centre. With this many staff, it was difficult to believe that what was happening here never got out to the population, but the men were hand selected by Langer. They were loyal to only him. He supposed this loyalty wasn't much of a shock, nor their ability to keep a secret. Considering only whispers of what was happening to the Jews had reached outside occupied Europe, what was happening in this museum was unlikely to be split.
Moving through the Laboratory, past humans and quarians gathered for learning, he stepped into a private office. Not before noticing Rael'Jarva standing there with his back turned, he was deep in a conversation with his fellow quarian advisers. Sometime soon he would have to find some time to have a conversation with the man about his sister. Rael, Joachim assumed, was not a very big fan of his.
"Hello Obersturmbannführer Hoch. You called me?"
Turning away from Rael, Joachim found a quarian in a Heer uniform. It was Admiral Halid'Zorah, his expression warm and inviting. Joachim stared at him wearily. He wasn't sure whether or not to trust him. Still, he had no other alternative. Instead, he simply nodded.
"Yes I did," Joachim confirmed, gesturing to the seats at the table. "Come and sit down."
Halid nodded and entered the room, setting his cap on the table. His hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. Halid offered them to him. Suppressing his worry, Joachim grabbed one and sat down as well, lighting up. Halid did not speak; he simply tucked his pack away and crossed his long fingers together. He sat there simply watching, waiting for the nervous SS man to talk.
"I thought about what you said... That I could... Help with your rebellion," Joachim finally spoke as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "If I do help, then it comes at a price."
Arching his brow at the deal being set up by the Obersturmbannführer, Halid leaned closer to pour himself a glass of water. Halid gestured to the second glass, to which Hoch nodded.
"Name it," Halid responded casually as he poured a second glass and slid it gingerly over to Joachim.
"If you recall, I was shot," Joachim said, gesturing to his cheek. "A woman named Greta Rauch shot me. She had a personal connection to my family when I was a child. Hanala and Paul Fuhrmann hid her at Fuhrmann's family home. She's a Jewess. I went to go see her….. I decided I'm going to get her out of the country."
Joachim fell silent and looked at Zorah. That was about as short an explanation as he could offer the Admiral. He didn't want to waste any more time than he had to. Across from him, Halid nodded, his lips pushed together.
"And you need help?" was Zorah's guess.
"No, I…. I have a plan to get her out of the country," Joachim said as he reached into his pocket. "The problem is this."
Joachim reached into his wallet and produced the photograph Greta surrendered to him. He stared at it for a moment before raising it so Halid'Zorah could see the family picture. Across from him, he could see the expression Halid wore soften as he seemed to reconsider Hoch. It was not lost on Joachim the level of contempt the quarians had for him. The only one who tolerated was currently sleeping in her bed.
"Greta's family was captured by the Gestapo. Her husband was confirmed killed, but her children were taken into captivity," Joachim explained to the Admiral. "Their names are Karl and Elise Rauch. Racial laws dictated that they couldn't keep their names—too Germanic. They'll be going by David and Sarah in the official records…. I was... hoping-"
"That I had contacts that might be able to track them down?" Halid interjected, tearing his eyes from the picture to look at Joachim. "I cannot assure you they're alive, but…. I'll have the right people make inquiries for you in the meantime."
"I'll owe you." Joachim started when Zorah suddenly raised his hand and shook his head dismissively.
"No, you won't. I will see to it."
The reply made Joachim blink in surprise. Halid looked at Joachim for a moment longer before he directed his attention back to the photo in his hands.
"Joachim, I don't think you've done an objectively good thing in decades. Certainly not in your adult life," Halid spoke frankly to the younger man. "I'm not going to turn your first act of altruism into barter of favours. I'll do it because it's the right thing to do."
Leaving the human stewing in the wake of the backhanded compliment, Halid took the photograph of the children out of Joachim's hand and looked at it for a moment. He activated his omni-tool and—from what Hoch could guess—scanned the photo with the tool. Halid closed his device and handed the photograph back to Joachim before he could even ask.
As Zorah clung to the silence, Joachim dug into his jacket and produced his flask. He took a drink in silence as he waited on the Admiral watching him with an endless examination of the human across from him.
"Now," Halid spoke up, folding his fingers together. "About our deal. What do you want in exchange for your service and information?"
As if it had to be said….
"You already know. I want Langer and his family exonerated of any trumped-up charge you and Admiral Jarva come up with," Joachim returned as he sipped his water. "They walk out of this conflict safe and undisturbed by whatever you have planned next for Germany. They live comfortably in post-National Socialist Germany."
Stubbing the ashes off his cigarette, Joachim leaned back to inspect the quarian Admiral. He searched for any sign of manipulation, any sign of deception. For the time being he did not plan on trusting any quarian with anything without careful personal scrutiny. Not even Hanala would be spared of his suspicion.
Halid leaned closer, his expression appearing to be sincere.
"Joachim…." he started softly, carefully, as though each word was valuable. "If your intel is actionable and you show me nothing but loyalty; if you carry out your orders to the letter, then you have my complete assurance that I will do everything within my power to keep everyone you love safe," sighing, Halid added.
"Alaan'Jarva will not be a problem; neither will any of the men in the Wehrmacht. Gerald Langer and his family will be off limits if what you tell me is workable."
Joachim could not believe that he was doing this. This was it; his last loyalties to the organization that treated him like family had been officially cut now. He was nothing more than a traitor now. Someone he would have scorned had this been a year ago.
"You... Have a window of opportunity," he whispered carefully to the Admiral. "Langer is in Berlin; Heydrich is in treatment for a persistent lung infection. He is having the lung removed according to Langer... He will be down and in rehabilitation for a solid month... maybe two. In the meanwhile, Himmler has quietly made Ernst Kaltenbrunner acting head of the Reich Main Security Office until Heydrich's recovery is finished."
The bright quarian eyes slowly widened at the implications the disgraced Obersturmbannführer was making. Heydrich was out of the picture, an ever-loyal Heydrich who would rather die than turn on his superiors. A man who was likely to succeed Hitler himself one day; Replaced by Ernst Kaltenbrunner, who had far more humble political aspirations.
"He will have, or already has the keys to access every high official in the Party," Hoch spoke to the quarian, voicing the Admiral's musings, "Up to the Führer himself."
Hoch could see the quarian shaking with an unexpressed jubilation at the news. It made Joachim sick to think this scheming bastard was already plotting. Finally, Halid looked up, no longer able to hide his grin.
"What do you know about Ernst Kaltenbrunner? Is he a true believer?" Halid inquired, forcing his quaking voice to sound professional. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, Joachim stubbed it out and leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms.
"Other than he's a complete psychopath? I know that he's hyper-competent and that the one thing he values the most in his life is his life," Joachim warned the attentive Admiral. "Do not get me wrong, Ernst is no coward. He'll fucking kill you and if he doesn't get you, he'll send his friend Skorzeny after you and the rest of your conspirators and then they'll be in a world of shit."
Joachim trailed off and privately relished in how affected Zorah looked at the mere mention of Otto Skorzeny. He might have disliked the bear disguised as a human, but he had to respect him.
"However, he's not blind. He can see the writing on the wall," Hoch continued. "If you were able to play the angle right, to inspire some sense of self-preservation into him, he could sell his loyalty to you for a very massive price."
Halid nodded, for the first time appearing grave.
"His life and his freedom…."
As Zorah plotted away privately, Hoch stood up, his conscience getting the better of him after his mind suppressed all his loyalty, all his faith, all of his values. Everything came to the surface and made the suddenly realize what in the hell he had just done. He did not just sell out the SS, or the leadership of the government. He could live with that. What he could believe he forgot was that he had just sold Langer out as well.
Hyperventilation was suddenly setting in. Paying no attention to Halid Joachim scrapped the chair back and placed his head between his knees, and, to the best of his abilities, tried to catch his breath before all of his sudden self-loathing for what he had done shut down his lungs in a suicide attempt.
A hand pressed against his back.
"Hoch…." Zorah spoke from behind him, "Hoch, are you alright?"
Joachim did not reply; it took a good long moment before Joachim pulled his head back up and stood, his hand rubbing his stubbly hair. He turned back, his expression numb and resigned to his betrayal.
"Langer…." he whispered to the Admiral. "He's going hate me…. I told you things… and.. He's going to hate me… he's going to find out that I've betrayed the cause…"
Trailing off helplessly, Joachim slid down the side of the door until he hit the hard cement. His arms wrapped around his knees as he sat there semi-fetal. Exhaling, Halid took a seat on the chair Hoch had been sitting.
"Yes. " he agreed with Hoch. "Yes, I think Gerald Langer will hate you. To be perfectly frank…. Once this happens... I doubt very much he will want anything to do with you ever again."
For the first time, Joachim knew that he had not been lied to by a quarian. It was harsh, but the fact that Zorah was agreeing with his sentiment only made him feel that much more terrible. Langer was family…. Even if Langer did not consider him real family...
"It's alright, Hoch…." the Admiral assured the mourning Hoch. "Whether they hate you or not, The Langer family is going to be safe. It is more than many others will get. You have to understand that you will not be able to save everything… so it's all going to be alright-"
Before Halid could go on, Joachim launched himself back up to his seat and violently marched over to the Admiral.
"It's not going to be alright!" he hissed at the alien. "You'll have to forgive me, Admiral, but selling out everything I've ever known is not something I do lightly. You have no idea what I am doing—what every German you have made contact with is doing! We are risking everything and everyone while you sit up on high and play us like a chess game!"
Exhaling sharply, he ran his hand through his hair.
"I'm…. I'm going to be alone again…."
He felt stupid for saying that. It was like he was a child despite him now pushing 30. But this was what he felt; this was what he was giving up. A family that he loved so much he would trade that warm feeling for their safety. He was no better than the scheming Jew that Nazi cartoonists came up with. A backstabbing, deal-making coward…
"I know that, Hoch. I know how much every human involved is risking," Halid nearly whispered, catching Joachim away from his angry thoughts. "I know that I will never comprehend how dangerous life is for the conspirators... One slip up at one place could lead to the deaths of thousands... Men women and children not even involved with the operation..."
Smiling slightly, he added. "You have no idea how grateful I am."
Hoch nodded blankly and turned away to finish the last of his water. Glancing back, he noticed that Halid had grabbed his peaked cap and pulled it on.
"I have to go and inform the Prussian circle about your news. Rest assured, the Langers are safe no matter what they think of you." Halid concluded standing up and stepping into the doorway. Patting Joachim's shoulder, he added. "Go back to her, Joachim. Make sure you congratulate her…. Hanala'Jarva will be made an Admiral soon…."
Halid started to depart, leaving Joachim stunned at the revelation. Hanala'Jarva? An Admiral? What in the hell happened when he was gone? Rolling his eyes, Joachim went to light up a cigarette and inhaled it.
"When were you planning on moving her?"
The question made Joachim pause to look back up to the Admiral standing there in the doorway watching him. He was passive in his observation of the National Socialist he had just lured to his side. There was a subtle expression on his face that Joachim more than once witnessed from Hanala—it was sort of a smug satisfaction that he had gotten his way. All that Joachim could do was stiffen up and stare back at the Admiral.
"Days."
Halid nodded and gestured to Joachim to join him. Inhaling again, Hoch stood up and approached the waiting Admiral.
"Would you be willing to hold off on it for a little bit?" Halid'Zorah suggested tersely as he looked up to the taller human. "I have someone who could produce her transit papers. I think you'll find that will be easier than bribing border guards, which I presume was your plan."
Joachim blinked at the offer the Admiral had made. Yes, his plan involved dumping money into the lap of the checkpoint and call Greta a prostitute he was delivering to a friend in convalescence. It was admittedly not a very clever plan, but it was rare for people to question him in his uniform. Having proper transit papers on him would certainly arouse a lot less suspicion, and right now he didn't want another visit with the Gestapo any time soon.
Sighing, as he realized he may as well take the support now that he was siding with the traitors, Joachim nodded and felt the Admiral pat his shoulder before he left, leaving Joachim alone to ponder what he was getting into.
...
...
When I wrote this story it was probably before the first Russo-Ukrainian conflict in Donbass happened, let alone the war now. I guess the old grudges never end.
