14 January 1943

…

Port City of Bougie, Vichy French Algeria

To think that he thought the deployment to Algeria would be a gruelling trek involving him storming all his men and equipment across the border. He must have been in a daze.

With Malta smashed and under Italian occupation, Gibraltar stretched to its very limits protecting the invasion task force and the renewed paranoia caused by the Spanish after committing an apparent military build-up near the island and the remnants of the Vichy French Fleet and the bulk of the Regia Marina delivering hit and run attacks against the Royal Navy and the island. The moment they were spotted they would bolt to the safety of friendly waters where U-boats and air cover awaited any ship or task force foolish enough to give chase and cross into enemy waters.

These threats were feints at best to a cynical German such as Joachim. The Spanish would not dare commit to serious action against the island, just as the Italian and French navies would not engage in an outright naval engagement with the Royal Navy and now the Americans. The last thing the civil war-ravaged Spain needed was tides of Allied bombers crossing the channel to terror bomb the shit out of them as well.

Still, these distractions worked to an extent. It meant that their small flotilla of cargo ships delivered his Kampfgruppe without so much as an air attack.

Moving between columns of his infantry wordlessly, he checked their kits. Most of them had been issued the new MP-43 Sturmgewehr. A couple still had bolt action rifles, but they were few and far between, all sharing a common trait. They were designated Jägers.

Pausing as he reached Leutnant Welcker's platoon, the men new to Welcker's command and unaware of the friendship built in the old days by the two of them froze and came to attention. Hoch saluted them all. He nodded to Welcker briefly before turning his attention to the platoon Jäger, Johann Oster, who was distant and cool. Not so much because that was how snipers had to be, he was still grieving for the Fuhrmann's kid brother. Hoch gestured to the MP-43 assault rifle in his hand, fitted with a telescopic sight.

"This was at the suggestion of your Adviser, Herr Obersturmbannführer," Oster's explanation was as to why he held a modified rifle in his hands. He did not seem too enthused with the source of his advice.

Joachim grinned slightly. Hanala. He should have known that tricky woman was always up for teaching others new exciting ways to kill. He would not be surprised if she fitted the MG-42 with a scope and thermal vision like the goggles built by the regretfully deceased Galas.

Before he could reply, his ears caught the horrific tone of a sputtering mechanical seize-up, a violent screeching grinding, then the shouts of rage that followed suit. Slapping Welcker on the shoulder, Hoch headed towards the source. There sat one of the Tigers, its back end hood was pried open with smoke pouring from the huge Maybach HL230 P45 V-12 engine. Gathered around the tank was the crew, all of them shouting furiously over top of the many vehicles getting off the ship. One of his new Panthers came to a halt, the crew climbing out to give the Tiger Panzer crew a hand.

Pushing in between the gap of a Panzer IV and a Stug III, Joachim stormed to see what in the hell had just happened.

"What's going on back there!?"

The Tiger officer pulled his head out of the engine compartment and jumped off the heavy tank, standing at attention on behalf of both his crew and the Panther. The officer glanced briefly over Hoch's shoulder. Hoch turned as well to find Joachim Peiper approaching them.

"Herr Oberstleutnant… I mean, Obersturmbannführer," the officer quickly corrected the moment a flash of annoyance crossed his commandant's face "The engine seized up. It's happened before, since we took a near catastrophic rear hit from a 17-pounder the British fired at us when we were conquering Cairo. We need a few hours to patch it. If it is possible I would like a few extra hours on top of that to pull the engine out and inspect it properly."

Joachim inwardly scowled. A day at sea and the first thing that happens the moment they land one of his tanks suffers serious engine failure. He knew that he would be using battle-exhausted equipment, by God this was bloody embarrassing. Not so much because he stood in front of his new subordinate officers, it was due to the civilians gathered around the port, watching. Mostly of Algerian descent, but he could see a few white men amongst them. French probably…. No, the French colonists knew better than to spit publicly at the German presence. They were British expatriates most likely. They were a delightful group of contemptible cowards who did not have the spine to return to their homeland and fight.

"Look at that, Jerry can't even get his tanks off the dock! These are the boogeymen haunting us?! Our boys are going to trash them!"

The crowd broke into wild cheers. Joachim locked eyes on the agitator. A redhead older man, his hair was thinning. If Gerald Langer was here, he would have had something witty to say. He hated the English with a burning passion that on occasion would borderline either psychopathic to absolutely hilarious.

Hoch, on the other hand, lacked the charming anger held by the Great War veteran. He also lacked his extensive patience. Red in the face with embarrassment, Joachim clambered up onto the heavy tank. Throwing off his cap, he reached into his holster, pulling his Walther P38 out; he aimed just over the jeering Englishman's head and fired a round at them. The crowd, suddenly remembering that the only men armed were the ones being jeered at, roared and screamed, scattering like seagulls.

The action even left the Kampfgruppe staring widely at the angered Obersturmbannführer. Holstering his pistol and taking the bullhorn being offered to him by Peiper, Joachim decided against addressing. All he knew for certain was that had he been in this situation between 1939 to 1942, he would have aimed a few centimetres lower. He was not above splattering what little brains the Englishman had.

"Take two other Tigers, some ship cable and tow the tank out of the docking bay and into the city. The rest of the Tiger detachment will follow suit. All of you will inspect your tanks, perform what repairs are needed and reunite with the Kampfgruppe!"Hoch ordered through the sound amplifier. "I want the rest of the armour and men gathered on the western face of the city. We move out in three hours. I want the infantry travelling on armour or foot. The Opal trucks will stay here until I go to the local Magistrate and see if they will kindly part with any fuel rations they can spare. Company officers will assist me."

Earning a collection of 'Jawols!' from his men, Hoch jumped off the Tiger and joined Peiper who, for the first time in his recollection, wore a genuine-looking smile.

"Hoch, I may not like you, but I have to give credit where credit is due. That was impressive."

Joachim could not help it, he grinned back at the bastard.

…

…

The Magistrate of Bougie had turned out to be a difficult man to deal with.

Face value, he was a part of the Vichy Regime and therefore, unofficially obliged to answer to any German commander who requested to utilize his resources. However, every instinct in Hoch told him the man was, in all likelihood a shill to the allied nations. He would not have any qualms about surrendering the port city should god forbid the Allies make it this far. He would issue a report to High Command or directly to Guderian requesting a garrison be set up in the city.

In the end, the old magistrate caved. All it required was his tailored intimidation to do the trick. With the permission granted Hoch, his company commander Welcker, tagged along to take a look into gathering medical supplies and his supply troops were on their way gathering what petrol and diesel they could squeeze from local businesses. They did not have a whole lot, but it all would help.

There had been some unfortunate disagreement that Joachim had discovered. The annexation order he issued had caused some tension. It was an action that the Eastern Front veterans had no problem partaking in. They were men who not a month ago had been for to plunder and steal to survive. It was his company commanders who had spent the war in the desert that took issue with it, Hauptmann's Brenner, Gradl and Kleinmann.

They were a loud minority in his makeshift unit. They were men who very much looked down on the new arrivals to their theatres. Already he had caught Brenner calling the survivors of Stalingrad "thieves and murderers". Unlike their tired men, these three men were less than pleased with their Kampfgruppe commander. These three appeared to be delusional after drinking Rommel's doctrine of war without hate. They were three men probably seeking glory without realizing how dirty this war had become. To have the reality of the conflict which involved having to borrow fuel rations from civilians must have made them bitter.

With every significant privately held fuel supply dealt, Joachim had decided he and his officers had earned a drink. He would even pay for it. Though he felt it justifiable to snatch the petrol, alcohol was something he would buy, which led them to an inn they were gathered outside of The Rising Hart. It was a quaint-looking pub that incorporated medieval English and Arabic together.

Hoch had entered the bar first, his hand falling on his pistol belt as he scanned the patrons. The conversations fell dead silent as he stood there. Somewhere in the corner, he could hear sobbing, a woman who could not believe the day had finally come that Germans were occupying their city, no matter how short a time frame it might have been.

It made him feel like shit. Were they really that monstrous?

The pub was silent except for the sound of his boots slamming against the wood floor. Behind him came the rest of his cadre of officers. All of them turned their heads and inspected the patrons as carefully as he had been.

Joachim stopped in front of the bar. His eyes turned from the bartender, a portly middle-aged man, a thinning redhead with his skin pink as though he could not adapt to the sun. He instead focused on the vast variety of spirits behind him.

"Vat 69, thank you," Joachim requested finally using his English, his hand digging into his pocket for his wallet.

"My name is Ernie," the man introduced himself, speaking in piggish German.

Hoch raised his eyebrow.

"That's nice. I would like my alcohol," Joachim replied, choosing to continue to use English instead.

"I own this place As such; this establishment prides itself on the inclusion of all creeds and colours; however we have a strict policy on not allowing Dogs or Germans inside," the barkeep said, switching back to English, gesturing to the door. "I mean no personal offence. My sincerest apologies for wasting your time; but kindly disperse from this premise and take the rest of your piggy-eyed, potato-eating goons with you."

Hoch's eyes narrowed at the middle-aged man who had insulted a dozen or so officers in their prime. The rest of his men seemed unaware. Slowly, Joachim broke into a mild threatening glare; he shook his head and turned away. He had to hand it to the old man. He had nerves and it had impressed him.

"What did he say, Herr Hoch?" Hauptmann Brenner inquired.

Hoch glare reformed into a frown, between his quarian-built translation device and his mother teaching him English as a boy he knew exactly what this middle-aged island Anglo-Saxon monkey had said to them. Turning back finally. Hoch continued to stare at the middle-aged man impassively. Perhaps he would let this slide. It was his bar, and the drinks were a bit of an indulgence.

"I don't know," Hoch finally responded, switching back to English.

"A likely story, HerrHoch," Welcker spoke suddenly. "Your Mother taught you English. Remember when we used to taunt the English tourists?"

The officers shared a look at each other for the admission made byWelcker. Hoch inwardly groaned. It was like being a teenager again. Welcker, knowing full well that his parents would whip him if he acted like a little shit, would egg Hoch into doing things that were less than moral. Not having parents that were either alive or respected had led to him doing all sorts of foul things in their youth up until Langer came along and knocked some sense into him. Now here he was once more, leader of a pack of young officers, all of them looking at him as though he was supposed to stand as a defender against the insult.

"I'm afraid we have a misunderstanding," Hoch spoke, his tongue rolling over the unnatural feeling of speaking English. "However, we're here as patrons. I realize that the invasion has made you brave, but you hardly deserve to act that way. You spent three or so years betraying your country by being here."

Pausing briefly, he dug into his pocket to collect his gold cigarette case. The man must have thought that it was something else. He just about recoiled; concerned that Hoch would draw a gun on him.

"Perhaps you will see the Americans and your countrymen in your bar enjoying your warm hospitality," Joachim pressed on in between inhaling the first drag of his cigarette. "But that day is not today; so since that day has not arrived and I stand here instead, why don't you run along fat little service monkey and get us our fucking drinks. Thank you very much."

Despite the rage he had put on display, the Englishman's spine held up.

"You have a very good aptitude for English, son. I served the King, you know," Ernie spoke, his hands pressing on the bar. "Fought in the first war, I did. I came here before you blights started your revenge war. It was a noble fight stopping you last time, even more so now stopping you and your madman Führer this time around."

Again, Joachim raised his brow, his expression blank.

"You were in the first war?" Hoch repeated, leaning forward as a smile crossed his face. "So were my Father and my three brothers. All of them died at English hands, Father by the French. One was 16, just a baby. I suppose they were Huns right?"

The man did not reply. He did however look bothered by that fact.

"Tell me… did your grand, noble cause condone choking a 16-year-old to death with poison gas?" Hoch pressed on, his stoic expression forming an unnatural smile. "It was the same gas cloud that killed my other brother... They brought them home to my parents, you know? The coffins had to remain closed because of the blisters and sores that it caused."

Hoch didn't know why he was asking this. Perhaps it was because he had never met a war veteran who had fought on the other side of the war. Perhaps he was the embodiment of why Joachim was the man he was today. If his brothers hadn't been all killed then perhaps his parents would have been better than they were. Joachim would never have found Langer, Langer would never have dragged him into the SS. He would not have been a part of a regime that was killing millions.

"Both sides should never have done that…" Ernie the vet spoke his voice low and said. "I'm sorry the boy had to die in such a ghastly way. I'm sorry your family died there."

"Were they Huns? Were they mere creatures to be murdered?" Hoch demanded to know, shrugging off the sympathy.

Staring at Joachim's unblinking eyes, the old soldier shook his head.

"No, that's what the propaganda told the old men and women back home," the old server returned, unfazed by Hoch's hard glare. "Back then the German soldier was feared, but he had principles, he conquered but he did not humiliate. He ruled, but he did not destroy everything in his wake. When he destroyed, he did not round up and exterminate."

The expression of empathy vanished. Replacing it was the old hatred that was held in his English heart.

"Now look at you all... fanatics and monsters..." he pressed on, looking from Hoch to his men. "The propagandists were right to call your people Huns... they were just twenty years early."

With that, the pity vanished in Joachim. He pulled back and pulled on his mask of superiority once again.

"Venture any further west and I imagine you will die," Ernie warned him. Joachim shook his head.

"Death is the last thing I have control over, so why should I feed a fear for it?" Joachim flat out lied in his face, "I'm done with this conversation, so I'm offering you a choice. We can be paying customers, or we can be a conquering menace you think we are. It is up to you to choose how we proceed from here."

The Englishman went dead cold, Hoch's words bit into his defiance. He was a man who knew that this was no longer a joust between two men from different Ideologies. Joachim was the man with the gun and Ernie was not. He would defer to the German, at least for the time being. Ernie turned away briefly as he pulled the bottle of Vat 69 off the shelf and pressed it on the table before the silent younger man.

"Mechanized barbarians…"Ernie snorted finally. "The Prime Minister was right about you."

As if fate had been listening and decided to throw in an ironic twist, a gunshot rang out from behind Hoch as he went for his wallet. The shot pumped a hole through Ernie the barkeep's chest. The old man dropped to the floor. The servers and patrons screamed, a few of them bolted past the Germans and fell to the proprietors' side, trying to stop the bleeding in vain.

He had no chance to be saved, His heart had been blown open in all likelihood.

Hoch rounded back and found Major Wilhelm Gantz standing there, his Walter P38 still smoking as he kept it trained on the old barkeep. One of the men who escaped Stalingrad was shaking and wide-eyed. His temper was lost. Hoch could not believe this, these men hadn't had any psychological recovery time and here he was handed a thousand of them to watch over!?

Gantz stepped forward, looking down at the dying man, his eyes still wide.

"I know English as well. You should have watched your tongue," Gantz spoke, his dialect near-perfect English. "Now look at you old man..."

Hoch turned back and lashed out, his hand batting the pistol to the floor. His right hand formed a fist which he slammed into Major Gantz's cheek, dropping him to the ground, Joachim followed suit. Falling to his knee, the Obersturmbannführer continued to strike the Major in front of the men. He reached out and grabbed the Major by his jacket, slamming his head against the imported plywood floor violently.

"YOU BASTARD, YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER BASTARD, THIS DID NOT HAVE TO HAPPEN!"Joachim screamed at the top of his lungs as he continued to hit the man.

Before he knew it, Welcker reached down and pulled Hoch off Gantz. Hoch struggled, wrenching the arms off his waist; he shoved Welcker back into the officers. Hoch was breathing violently. His eyes darted over Gantz as he struggled to get up.

"W-with all due respect, Herr Obersturmbannführer; s-shootin' over their heads or kin…kind words isn't going to resonate with these idiots." Gantz spit out in between mouthfuls of blood. "Russian or English, the only thing they understand is force-"

Hoch had no time for this bloody bastard. He tugged his own Walther out of his belt holster and shot the Major cold between the eyes.

Hoch tucked his pistol away. Exhaling, he turned to Brenner, who looked terrified. Slowly he added. "I need a new major. Brenner, you have it if you want it." Turning away, he turned to his stunned friend, Welcker, adding. "Welcker, prepare for a promotion."

Hoch turned away from the two newly promoted men and back to the rest of his men. It was hard to believe the first casualty of the Kampfgruppe was at the hands of their commanding officer. Joachim exhaled, his eyes glared directly at the men who were traumatized by Stalingrad. Joachim turned away briefly to light himself another cigarette. He left a handful of Reichmarks as he collected the bottle of Vats, his ears trying their best to shut off the noise of crying for Ernie.

Joachim rounded back to his men and stood there over the body of the Major. He had enough civilian blood on his hands. No more. He wouldn't abide it, either.

"If any of you officers order or commit an execution of another man woman or child without my expressed approval, prepare to stand in front of a firing line as well," Hoch warned his men finally as he exhaled. "You have my word I'll do it, your example is lying on the floor… Now collect that dead idiot and load him in the truck."

With nothing left to say, Joachim pushed through them, pressing the bottle of Vat 69 into Welcker's hands as he left them to clean up the mess.

…..

…..

"Everything will change soon, will it?"

Hanala looked up from her datapad and found the woman that Joachim's friend had dragged along with them. She looked miserable from up close. Her face stern and exhausted to the point where she looked older than she should have been. She reminded her of her Grandmother or at least her Mother's description of her Grandmother when she was a younger woman.

She had fought in the last stand of M'aartaz. M'aartaz had once been the last free spaceport on Rannoch which shuttled her people off the planet. She had to fight the encroaching geth bastards and watched helplessly as they abandoned millions as they were forced to flee. Between that and losing Grandfather, Grandmother was never the same after that.

Deciding it was best to make nice instead of antagonize her like she had done to Helena Fuhrmann, or like Joachim had been doing to her, she set down her notes and leaned into her seat. , she turned her focus properly on the woman who had asked the question. A woman who looked torn between wonder and fear as she was now coming to terms with the fact that the galaxy wasn't just built for humanity.

Slowly, Hanala nodded her head.

"Yes. Soon everything will change very soon," she agreed with the human woman. "What is your name?"

The woman flinched slightly, as though Hanala had been gearing up to hit her or something like that. This was the fear she had been expecting for the first time since she landed on Earth, a human had shown their concern about her being there.

"Tatiyana Andrusiv," was the woman's response. Hanala allowed a slight smile at the introduction.

Pretty name, my name is Hanala or Hana if you want." Hanala said, feeling somewhat awkward at the introduction. Shifting in her seat she added. "You are from the east? Joachim says you're from the Ukrainian SSR."

Tatiyana frowned slightly as soon as Joachim was mentioned. Curious.

"Just Ukraine one day soon perhaps," the woman spoke up. "From Odessa... but I am sure you do not know of it. Your friend has probably told you everyone east of Prussia is feeble."

Hanala frowned. Yes, that was the case. Joachim still appeared to harbour great hatred for the East. Tatiyana knew all too well it seemed. German liberators turned out to be conquerors.

"Yes, Joachim has gone out of his way to tell me all about Slavic weaknesses. I have learned to tune out his rantings," she admitted to the Ukrainian woman. "I take it, you don't like him? It's understandable if you don't."

It was meant to be humorous, but the woman looked like she hadn't shared a joke with anyone in her entire life.

"He's... difficult to understand..." Tatiyana completed understated, sounding worried to anger the alien. "He calls me an animal and then he helps me. I don't understand him. I don't understand how you deal with him. You are not local and you certainly don't fit in his ideology. His type, his circle, to them we are all cattle."

Hanala inwardly flinched at the phrase. Joachim had used that term to describe the indescribable horror at the Polish train station. Men, women and children packed up in boxcars and shipped off to the camps Father had said existed without so much as a fight. Like Cattle as Hoch observed, just like cattle.

Hanala swallowed the lump in her throat and turned back to Tatiyana. She tried to hide her haunted expression with a smile for the skeleton-thin, nearly lifeless-looking woman whose eyes were burning into her.

"Trust me. He's a far lot better about it than he was a few months ago. He has had to do a lot of soul-searching recently," Hanala informed Tatiyana. She paused, smirking as she added. "If it makes you feel any better, I stabbed him when we first met."

The empty expression on Tatiyana's face almost cracked into a ghost of a smile. She seemed to like the thought of Joachim in pain. She couldn't blame her. On occasion, it was humorous to watch him be taken down a peg.

"Maybe so, perhaps he will be easier to get along with given time. Maybe if I show my worth," the Ukrainian whispered, her voice determined. "He won't be as kind as Christian."

Christian Bohr. Yes, the fair-haired Feldwebel who was a member of the squad Welcker wanted to save from Stalingrad. He was the one that had brought her along, out of the hell that was Russia and the Ukraine, only to drag her to yet another battlefield. From Hoch's utterance, she had gathered that the two of them were in some sort of personal relationship. It was… It was kind of adorable. She had watched the two of them interact on the vessel heading to Bougie. It was like Joachim and her on their way to Tripoli a year ago, except Italians were not exploding from 20mm high explosive fire.

Biting her lip, she tried not to smile as Tatiyana looked somewhat dazed. Perhaps she was thinking of Bohr.

"So... why did you follow this Christian Bohr?" she decided to question her. "I mean, this isn't Russia, but this is a warzone. You have no reason to be here."

Tatiyana shrugged idly.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," she breathed back to Hanala. "Everyone I know is dead-"

Before Hanala could respond, the door pried open and a hand grabbed Tatiyana by her shoulder. Before she knew it she was pulled right out of the Opel-Kadett staff car and was shoved into the sand violently. Replacing her, unsurprisingly, was Joachim who was clearly in a state of silent rage at something. He closed the door behind him, not before rolling down the window to stick his head out.

"She will speak to you later. Get lost," he directed to the woman.

Rolling the window back up and watching as Tatiyana scowled before turning away to find her friend. Joachim turned back to Hanala, his eyes darted across her expression as he took in her faint smile, left by the girl she had only just gotten to know. Joachim frowned and unbuttoned his jacket before he threw his hat on the dashboard of the car. He stretched out into his seat, his machine hand reaching for his water bottle, his human hand quietly slipping over the top of hers. Hanala glanced at it. It was shaking hard, the skin on his knuckles broken and bleeding.

Hanala's slight smile stretched out slightly.

"I like her, Joachim," She admitted to the human who was now closing his eyes. "She has a personality. She could even be a friend one day. So be nice to her."

Joachim snorted.

"That doesn't surprise me in the bit. She's essentially you if you lack bathing abilities," Joachim retorted without looking at her amused expression. "I'm going to rest. Wake me in an hour."

Hanala sighed, still finding it amusing.

"She's tough, independent, she isn't afraid to fight and has seen more horrors... Why Joachim Wilbur Hoch, I think you have a crush on her."

That did it. Joachim's eyes flew wide open at the statement. Or perhaps it had been she dared to utter his middle name. Lene Langer had told her after they had a few drinks together. The two of them thought the English name to be the funniest ancestor damned thing a man like Joachim Hoch could be named. The fact that he flew off the handle at the breathing of that name only added to the hilarity.

"Shut up," Joachim uttered in a low, dangerous whisper.

Hanala was not deterred in the slightest by it. If anything, his blunt anger had served to fuel her prodding even further.

"If we do have a future, I imagine you plan on making her the mother of our human children the manual way," she mused airily, trying to suppress the urge to let loose a round of vicious giggling as Joachim shook with indignation. "Those strong Ukrainian genes, I would not mind it."

"Shut up!"

"I should inform this Bohr about your intentions. I would like to see the fight in her honour."

Looking back on it, Hanala really should not have pressed teasing Joachim about Tatiyana.

"I am now in command of just about two thousand men and a few short hours from now we'll be fighting!" Joachim suddenly roared out in a high pitch, his eyes wide and furious. "I do NOT have to put up with this. I do NOT have the time to put up with this. Now once again, SHUT UP! Shut up and let me rest, GOD DAMN YOU!"

Hanala's smile faltered. Joachim's annoyance wasn't just annoyance. It was anger; anger and something she hadn't expected. It was a crack in his self-confidence. Oh, she knew that he wasn't strong all the time, but he never was willing to show it. Not even to her. He just sort of buried it and pushed his fears behind. What had rattled him this time? Whatever it was, she wasn't going to find out about it until later.

Joachim had an unfortunate new trait since he left the care of the Gestapo. He was a time-delayed explosive counting down the seconds until everything blew up.

"I hate to be the one to remind you, but yes, yes you do have to put up with it," She taunted him softly. "You still answer to me… remember?"

Realizing that the standing order still indeed had said that he answered to her as the handler to an ambassador, Joachim looked close to having an aneurism. He simply groaned and shut his eyes. He slid down his seat and found himself now resting on Hanala's lap. Deciding enough was enough, Hanala fell silently as she ran his her hand through his hair.

She smiled to herself. When they went to war, he would not have to worry, she would defer to him. When they got out of North Africa, she would see about getting Joachim some help.

…

…

"I wish I had time to come sooner, but pressing matters have gotten in the way. How is he, Doctor?"

"The operation was a complete success. We did have several scares, but he is recovering quickly. It will not be long now before we place him in a rehabilitation program. Learning how to use just one lung might be difficult. Herr Heydrich is as tough a man as he looks."

Heinrich Himmler nodded blankly at the words of comfort offered up by Doctor Josef Mengele. His eyes continued to peer through the observation room window at the sleeping form of Reinhard Heydrich, Lina and the children were sitting at his side.

He might have had his differences with Heydrich. Heydrich looked down on some of the more private fascinations he held, and yes, the two of them were the bearers of each other's secrets, creating an odd mutually assured destruction if one should turn on the other. But Heydrich respected the younger man immensely; he held an almost brotherly affection for him, which would on occasion make him forget that the General of the Police had gone stir crazy since the assassination attempt. The late Adolf Eichmann and the Führer's favourite SS man, Skorzeny had both reported what he did to the Bohemians.

Although somewhat revolted by it, Heydrich was by far preferable to Ernst Kaltenbrunner, who had proven himself much more clever than the Reichsführer had anticipated. He had assumed his alcoholic binging and whoring around with other women meant that he was a man of low competence, but no. Kaltenbrunner had proven himself time and time again that he wasn't afraid to do the work that Heydrich would occasionally hesitate.

It wasn't just a willingness to do the dirty work of the state. It was an appearance as well. Brutal-faced and significantly taller than Heydrich even, He did not hold the same sort of respect for the Reichsführer that Heydrich did. There were times when Kaltenbrunner actively baited him. He was supposed to be easy to control. It had turned out to be the opposite. He had even caught the hulking Austrian conspiring with a man that Himmler wanted his head of the Reich Security Main Office never to be seen around... Goebbels.

Joseph Goebbels simply did not understand the background of the SS, to the point where they looked down on them. Goebbels had turned out to be more intelligent than Himmler was willing to grant him. He and Albert Speer had been conspiring as of recently. Having Kaltenbrunner talking to Goebbels and by extension, that total bastard Speer could potentially shift the power balance back to the Party and out of the SS's hand. With Skorzeny as a potential assassin for Kaltenbrunner, It spelt trouble.

For now, he would brood. When Heydrich recovered, he would exert his control over the men.

"Thank you, Doctor Mengele, it will be a welcomed relief to have Heydrich back in charge of the Reich Security Main Offices shortly," Himmler returned, "Kaltenbrunner is starting to become a real concern."

Mengele smiled at Himmler crookedly.

"Some men are just not built to handle proper authority," Doctor Mengele said as he offered the Reichsführer a drink. "Heydrich is a noble knight, Kaltenbrunner is a brute policeman. But, here I am discussing things that do not concern my profession."

Himmler chuckled slightly as Mengele went back to his charts. It was good to see Mengele could see the vast potential of Heydrich. He could even end up the Führer someday, even if the Führer had considered Heydrich an idiot for riding open-top in his car in the middle of a region hostile to Germans. Despite this flap, his air of charisma could be worked against others.

"The sound of cheering broke his internal focus. It was Heydrich's children. There, leaned on his side laid Reinhard, his eyes alert and darting about the room, before falling to the source of the noise. His children. With great labour, he reached up and pushed his hand through Lina's hair. The woman, who had spent the better part of the past two weeks in a hospital burst into tears. It made Himmler reluctant to enter the room and to ruin a moment with family.

"Lina… Children…" Heydrich rasped, he turned his eyes over to the standing Himmler, adding. "Hein...Heinrich..."

Smiling friendly as Klaus, Heydrich's oldest son grabbed the Reichsführer by his hand and took him closer to his Father. Placing a hand on Lina's shoulder, Himmler leaned over the usually strong patient. Having been placed in a medically induced coma, this sort of alertness caught Himmler and the Heydrich Family off guard.

Lina's expression broke into a wide smile as her hand grasped her wheezing husband.

"Just relax, Reinhard," Himmler soothed the younger man carefully. "You'll be back on your feet soon enough. We have a lot of work to do soon. Just like old times."

Blurry-eyed, Heydrich nodded.

...

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