Chapter One Thousand Four Hundred Forty-Five
1st May 1961
Tempelhof, Berlin
It had been suggested that Kiki have a plan for what she would do afterwards if she washed out at Laupheim. If Kiki was being honest with herself, she replaced “if” with “when” but as she was learning, even her other plans were fraught with difficulty.
“This shouldn’t be an issue for you” Kiki’s Student Advisor said, “Just pick up the phone and call your father, get him to give the University a donation or something.”
For her that was possibly the most humiliating suggestion that he could possibly have made for her. For the rest of her life Kiki would have the suggestion that she had gotten into the next stage of her education by such means following her. She would also have everyone in her class knowing that someone better than her would have gotten the shaft. It was the result of deliberate policy by the University they limited the number of slots available to enter different stages of the Medical program. Kiki had completed the portion required to become a Medic or a Nurse, but the learning curve had gotten a lot steeper. While her scores were good, she was competing with other students whose scores were even better. It wasn’t the first time that Kiki had failed, but this was the first time the very best she could do wasn’t quite enough.
“Can you put my name forward anyway” Kiki said, “For the waiting list.”
“I can” The Advisor told her, “But baring a miracle you will just have to wait until next year and hope for a better outcome. Perhaps something will have changed between now and then.”
Kiki felt like her head was about to explode at how she was being painted into a corner. That something would have to be Laupheim and it was starting to look like if she went there it would no longer be a matter of pass/fail, it was pass or die trying.
Wunsdorf-Zossen
“We finally got the first prototype onto the track” Emil said, “And Zella is being every bit as insufferable as I figured she would be when I saw the design for the fairing that she sold the Engineers on.”
Horst just shook his head at that. The single-minded ruthlessness and devil may care attitude that annoyed Emil about his daughter was exactly the same as the one that Emil himself had displayed throughout his adult life. There was also another aspect of Emil that rankled Horst quite a bit, he was becoming certain that there was a painting molding away in some hidden corner of Emil’s house. While everyone around him was starting to suffer the ill effects of age, Emil remained in good health and was even somewhat youthful even into his sixth decade.
“You aren’t riding it are you?” Horst asked. If Emil was doing that, it would be too much for Horst in light of his own problems.
“No” Emil replied, “The prototype is like strapping yourself to a rocket except you are on the outside. That’s a young man’s game, I think I’ll stick with my old R68.”
That was rich, Emil’s BMW was the fastest production motorcycle in the world when he had bought it less than a decade earlier. Horst ought to know, he had heard Emil brag about that enough times. Then again, if Zella was really like Emil, then the young man’s game in question might actually be a young woman’s game as well. Horst found the thought to be extremely amusing. The great GFM Markgraf von Holz finally meeting an enemy that he couldn’t defeat, his daughter, who was apparently as big a pain in the ass as her father.
“What’s this about the cruise that Nina told Maria about last week?” Emil asked changing the subject. Due to competition from the airlines the ocean liners that had once plied the Trans-Atlantic route all either gone to the breakers or had been repurposed. These days they were used to provide vacations to mostly retirees who wanted to go sightseeing without having to put in a great deal of effort. It had been much to Horst’s annoyance that he was exactly the sort who such vacations were being advertised to.
“Nina’s idea” Horst said, “Around the Mediterranean Sea, stops in Italy, Greece and Egypt. See the Pyramids.”
“That sounds fun” Emil said, “Better than just knocking about the house and driving Nina nuts.”
It was a reminder to Horst that the wives always talked to each other. The result was that Emil probably knew more about what was going on with Horst than he otherwise would have.
“If you say so” Horst replied.
“Think about it” Emil said, “People who remember who you are will love nothing better than to be rubbing elbows with Mad Dog Horst himself.”
“I always hated that nickname” Horst said. He had been given that name when he had landed like a ton of bricks on the Division that he had unexpectedly been given command of. It had originally been an insult, denoting the role that he was seen as playing for Field Marshal von Wolvogle, later as the race to Moscow had heated up the men of the Division had started using it as one of affection. They were the tough bastards being led by the toughest bastard. The fact that they had won the race to the Russian Capital had cemented Horst’s reputation.
“At least no one has made a movie about your supposed exploits” Emil replied, and Horst had to agree with that much. Emil had been subjected to that for decades.