Chapter One Thousand Three Hundred Eighteen
17th March 1959
Mitte, Berlin
No one needed to tell Zella that John Lennon was a bit of an ass. His comments about Kiki being a “poor little rich girl” certainly were a reminder of that. He had heard the way that Kiki spoke and had discerned her aristocratic background without knowing the full extent of it. The old and tattered clothes that she had been wearing, basically her pajamas, and her protestations that she was “no one” didn’t impress John in the least. At the time, Zella had been more concerned by Kiki’s ghastly appearance. She had looked like death and that hacking cough that she had tried to hide from them hadn’t helped.
Afterwards, Zella had heard John’s comments and had tried to explain how wrong that was. He’d had none of it. “Everyone knows that you are Marchioness von Holz, and no one holds that against you. Your friend, whatever she really is, is not what she presents herself as. He had said, “Just the fact that you know her from school is proof of that.”
That was a rather astute bit of logic that Zella hadn’t realized until it had been pointed out to her. No matter how progressive it tried to make itself, the exclusive nature of the Gymnasia that she had attended would make it obvious that Kiki was from wealth, Zella’s comment about how she outranked her socially suddenly seemed like an extremely stupid thing to have said. Paul had been apologetic, “He’s one of those people who has difficulty compromising and people being inauthentic is one of the things that really gets his goat” is what he had said about John.
On Sunday afternoon she had seen the band leave for the airport after shadowing to two days. Now, on Monday afternoon Zella was typing up her notes to give to the reporter as background to the interviews that he had conducted on Saturday morning. Her mother said that this was merely the first step if Zella pursued a career in Journalism. One day she would be writing features and not just in Arts & Entertainment if she wanted. It seemed odd because Zella had realized that she didn’t have the first clue as to what she wanted.
Oddly, that was where Kiki came into it again. The exciting news that Kiki had was that her father had offered to send her on a holiday to the South of France or Italy. According to Kiki, Gräfin Katherine had told her to act her age for once and behave like a seventeen-year-old with an expense account. When Zella had told her mother about that, she had feigned horror at the very idea. Then Zella had said that Kiki had extended an invitation to her and Aurora to accompany her. Then Zella’s mother had sternly warned her against taking advantage of her friend. Suddenly a few weeks away from her daily life seemed like a very good idea.
Camp Hale, Near Leadville, Colorado
Being back here as a senior Noncom was a very different experience for Jonny then when he had first been here. The 10th Mountain was still present, and they did most of their training here. The 1st SFG was expanding, so they were training a number of promising volunteers. The reasons for that expansion was unknown, just that it had been approved at the highest levels and the Brass were playing their cards close to their vests. It was no secret that the Green Berets were not universally loved by the powers that be. So, whatever was coming their way had been enough to override the usual sort of complacency that existed in the Pentagon. Long experience had taught Jonny that when he learned the details, he wasn’t going to like it.
It was a good thing that he had plenty of the recruits to vent his frustrations on. The entire idea of the training process was to ruthlessly sort out those who could make the cut from those who couldn’t. Basically, a First Sergeant like Jonny was being encouraged to be his absolute worst. Not that he needed much encouragement. It was when he was standing outside the Mess Hall that one of them made a stupid mistake.
“Care to repeat that Runt” Jonny snarled at the stupid kid. Eighteen years old and with the sort of attitude that came with having grown up in Southern California, two things that Jonny hated. Somehow, the kid had been stuck with the handle “Runt” and it certainly fit. Skinny and having the height that was typical of those with Runt’s background. Jonny had made Runt his Squad’s Gunner and had watched the kid stagger under the weight of the ammunition and the B.A.R. Sixer that was now part of the standard equipment of the Green Beret. The light automatic rifle was anything but light. To Jonny’s surprise the kid had risen to the occasion where others had buckled.
Runt mumbled something different in California Spanish, a big fucking mistake.
“Bullshit!” Jonny yelled in Runt’s face, “I happen to speak Mexican you little shit!”
Runt realized too late that he’d overstepped as the rest of his Squad abruptly attempted to distance themselves from him. It was common knowledge that almost all the Noncoms had served in Mexico.
“Care to guess which Squad just volunteered to do KP for the rest of the week?” Jonny asked. They were too exhausted to react to that beyond weary resignation.