Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
Listen, nobody might be talking about it, but there is 1 thing you can guarantee soldiers will do, and that is gossip.
And every tale grows in the telling, given enough time it will grow from "Hey, we are getting new rations for in the field" to "we are never being fed hot meals again because the brass think hot food makes us weak".
It's crazy how the sailors aboard the AMPHIBs would steal our c-rats out of the cargo holds so they didn't have to go up to the mess deck for midnight rations.
What I know of sailors, at least half of them were doing it to fuck with you for not being sailors.
Also sailors have always been sticky fingered. They got a whole damned knot named for it lol
when you are starving, anything looks good and tastes good.
Had me until this part.
We're probably no later than OTL Desert Storm MRE tech at the very latest. It's going to take a few decades of practice ITTL, and by the time it gets better, you'll see the SNCOs telling the recruits how good they have it.
British hardtack biscuits were infamous for there durability. There are stories of British soldiers breaking them with rocks and soaking them in soup or tea before eating them. One British soldier fighting in the 2nd Boer War recorded in his diary of how his entire company deliberately left their hardtack outside in the rain in the faint hope that it would be soft enough to eat in the morning. There are also incidents were British soldiers even used hardtack as postcards, successfully!
Edit:
That said, the quality of army food is entirely subjective and also dependent on the logistical train in a particular theater of operations. As noted by Tilo, there are times when what the soldiers at the front are supposed to get does not match what they actually get. In WW2, both British and American field rations were supposed to be theater specific, with a minimum caloric intake for that environment. Sadly, REMFs frequently withheld the new stuff until all the old stuff had been eaten, or thought it was all "namby-pamby, modern age pampering that would weaken the fighting resolve of the troops". Indian army field rations were additionally complicated by the dietary requirement of the various ethnic & religious backgrounds of Indian soldiers.
Then there are the comparisons between the quality of the food provided by each army. The soldiers in any army typically complain about the quality of their food. In both WW2 & Korea, there were stories told by American soldiers of their surprise when their allies frequently praised the food in American mess tents. These stories were so common that the TV show *M*A*S*H* frequently used them as a running gag.
Edit:
That said, the quality of army food is entirely subjective and also dependent on the logistical train in a particular theater of operations. As noted by Tilo, there are times when what the soldiers at the front are supposed to get does not match what they actually get. In WW2, both British and American field rations were supposed to be theater specific, with a minimum caloric intake for that environment. Sadly, REMFs frequently withheld the new stuff until all the old stuff had been eaten, or thought it was all "namby-pamby, modern age pampering that would weaken the fighting resolve of the troops". Indian army field rations were additionally complicated by the dietary requirement of the various ethnic & religious backgrounds of Indian soldiers.
Then there are the comparisons between the quality of the food provided by each army. The soldiers in any army typically complain about the quality of their food. In both WW2 & Korea, there were stories told by American soldiers of their surprise when their allies frequently praised the food in American mess tents. These stories were so common that the TV show *M*A*S*H* frequently used them as a running gag.
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In 70 while attending officer training at Quantico Va, still eating ham & limas from 1954.British hardtack biscuits were infamous for there durability. There are stories of British soldiers breaking them with rocks and soaking them in soup or tea before eating them. One British soldier fighting in the 2nd Boer War recorded in his diary of how his entire company deliberately left their hardtack outside in the rain in the faint hope that it would be soft enough to eat in the morning. There are also incidents were British soldiers even used hardtack as postcards, successfully!
View attachment 833565
Edit:
Sadly, REMFs frequently withheld the new stuff until all the old stuff had been eaten,
Part 147, Chapter 2658
Chapter Two Thousand Five Hundred Six Hundred Fifty-Eight
13th February 1978
Cuxhaven
The base was in an uproar as the 3rd Marine Infantry Division was preparing for movement. The 1st MID was rotating from overseas deployment and the 3rd was slated to replace them in Pusan. Erich was surprised by how excited everyone was at the prospect of deploying to the Far East. Karl Dunkel had told him that it was because the 3rd MID had its roots in III. Seebataillon based in Tsingtao and had even carried that name as they had been reconstituted as a Division just before being deployed to Vietnam during the Pacific War. It wasn’t that they were being deployed to Korea so much as they were being sent home because the East Asia was where they belonged. There was also the possibility of detached service at the Company and Platoon level, Boat Patrols in the Carolines and Marshals. Battling pirates and smugglers in the South China Sea or the Straits of Malacca. Exploration in the East Indies. In short, the Pacific was where the action was, and it was where reputations were made if there wasn’t a war going on.
For Erich Raeder, this could not have come at a better time. After Finike, his Platoon had made a big show of presenting him with the gold Marine Infantry Career Badge, two crossed rifles over an anchor. Oberfeld Muller had said that everyone had seen him step up and take his place on the line. Erich had told Muller that he hadn’t really been aiming at anything, and he had just fired his rifle because he felt he had to be seen doing it. The Oberfeld said he didn’t give a shit and no one else would either. The bullets that had been flying back at him had certainly been real and that was all anyone would remember. He didn’t know if he had actually shot anyone, welcome to the fucking club.
As it had turned out, the Oberfeld had been right about that, and things had gotten easier over the following months. Then two things had happened. Some of the men had gotten a look at his personnel file and there had been a few wisecracks about his full name and Courtly rank. Erich had brushed it off and told them that in the old days a Baron could have had them all flogged for insolence. Then Oberfeld Muller reminded him that as their Commanding Officer he still had that option. That had ended the whole “Yes, my Lord, no, my Lord” business rather quickly. Erich still found it annoying that he had needed to address that in the first place.
Then Erich’s father had found out after more than year of ignoring what Erich was up to that he had joined the Marine Infantry. While that was still a part of the Navy, the Marines had an unsavory reputation in many circles, which Erich’s father just happened to be a part of. They were the unwanted castoffs of the Heer, whose Ranks were filled with the worst sort of criminals to have ever escaped the noose. To maintain control the Marine Officers had to be the worst of the entire lot. Now, Erich Johann Albert Freiherr von Raeder III had a son who was one of them and that had not gone over well. Erich had listened to his father’s extremely loud complaints the last time he had gone home and was actually looking forward to spending the next few years in the Pacific.
Montreal, Canada
Her desk might have faced the wall, but Marie Alexandra only needed to turn to the right to have an excellent view of the back alley and the building on the other side out the single window. That was perfect for when she didn’t feel up to continuing her studies and just wanted to let her mind wander.
Like many of the buildings in Montreal, the one straight across from hers had a steel staircase running up the side of the building and climbing it up to the fourth floor was not for the faint of heart during the winter. The building that Marie had found her studio apartment in had the stairwell inside the building, which was very welcome when it was icy.
Marie’s classes had kept her incredibly busy for the last several weeks. So much so that she had hardly had time to pay attention to anything else. Then today on the walk home she had noticed that the trees had tiny buds on the branches and that the sun had not set yet. She was set to graduate in May and that was only a few months away now. Marie remembered that when she had first started at McGill she had seen the banner welcoming the Class of 1978. That had seemed very far off at the time, but now that didn’t feel as if it had been that long. At the same time, events that had occurred only a week earlier seemed like they happened a thousand years ago.
Marie knew that if she wasn’t going to be studying, she had other, far more productive uses for her time. Her laundry wasn’t going to do itself and she needed to go to the market unless she wanted Cheerios for dinner, because there wasn’t really anything else. She could also swim laps in the indoor poor at the Ladies Athletic Club, something which would help her sleep that night. Still, looking out her window at the cold evening with the snow on the ground in the small gardens behind the buildings which were bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, Marie was finding that she was having trouble finding the motivation.
13th February 1978
Cuxhaven
The base was in an uproar as the 3rd Marine Infantry Division was preparing for movement. The 1st MID was rotating from overseas deployment and the 3rd was slated to replace them in Pusan. Erich was surprised by how excited everyone was at the prospect of deploying to the Far East. Karl Dunkel had told him that it was because the 3rd MID had its roots in III. Seebataillon based in Tsingtao and had even carried that name as they had been reconstituted as a Division just before being deployed to Vietnam during the Pacific War. It wasn’t that they were being deployed to Korea so much as they were being sent home because the East Asia was where they belonged. There was also the possibility of detached service at the Company and Platoon level, Boat Patrols in the Carolines and Marshals. Battling pirates and smugglers in the South China Sea or the Straits of Malacca. Exploration in the East Indies. In short, the Pacific was where the action was, and it was where reputations were made if there wasn’t a war going on.
For Erich Raeder, this could not have come at a better time. After Finike, his Platoon had made a big show of presenting him with the gold Marine Infantry Career Badge, two crossed rifles over an anchor. Oberfeld Muller had said that everyone had seen him step up and take his place on the line. Erich had told Muller that he hadn’t really been aiming at anything, and he had just fired his rifle because he felt he had to be seen doing it. The Oberfeld said he didn’t give a shit and no one else would either. The bullets that had been flying back at him had certainly been real and that was all anyone would remember. He didn’t know if he had actually shot anyone, welcome to the fucking club.
As it had turned out, the Oberfeld had been right about that, and things had gotten easier over the following months. Then two things had happened. Some of the men had gotten a look at his personnel file and there had been a few wisecracks about his full name and Courtly rank. Erich had brushed it off and told them that in the old days a Baron could have had them all flogged for insolence. Then Oberfeld Muller reminded him that as their Commanding Officer he still had that option. That had ended the whole “Yes, my Lord, no, my Lord” business rather quickly. Erich still found it annoying that he had needed to address that in the first place.
Then Erich’s father had found out after more than year of ignoring what Erich was up to that he had joined the Marine Infantry. While that was still a part of the Navy, the Marines had an unsavory reputation in many circles, which Erich’s father just happened to be a part of. They were the unwanted castoffs of the Heer, whose Ranks were filled with the worst sort of criminals to have ever escaped the noose. To maintain control the Marine Officers had to be the worst of the entire lot. Now, Erich Johann Albert Freiherr von Raeder III had a son who was one of them and that had not gone over well. Erich had listened to his father’s extremely loud complaints the last time he had gone home and was actually looking forward to spending the next few years in the Pacific.
Montreal, Canada
Her desk might have faced the wall, but Marie Alexandra only needed to turn to the right to have an excellent view of the back alley and the building on the other side out the single window. That was perfect for when she didn’t feel up to continuing her studies and just wanted to let her mind wander.
Like many of the buildings in Montreal, the one straight across from hers had a steel staircase running up the side of the building and climbing it up to the fourth floor was not for the faint of heart during the winter. The building that Marie had found her studio apartment in had the stairwell inside the building, which was very welcome when it was icy.
Marie’s classes had kept her incredibly busy for the last several weeks. So much so that she had hardly had time to pay attention to anything else. Then today on the walk home she had noticed that the trees had tiny buds on the branches and that the sun had not set yet. She was set to graduate in May and that was only a few months away now. Marie remembered that when she had first started at McGill she had seen the banner welcoming the Class of 1978. That had seemed very far off at the time, but now that didn’t feel as if it had been that long. At the same time, events that had occurred only a week earlier seemed like they happened a thousand years ago.
Marie knew that if she wasn’t going to be studying, she had other, far more productive uses for her time. Her laundry wasn’t going to do itself and she needed to go to the market unless she wanted Cheerios for dinner, because there wasn’t really anything else. She could also swim laps in the indoor poor at the Ladies Athletic Club, something which would help her sleep that night. Still, looking out her window at the cold evening with the snow on the ground in the small gardens behind the buildings which were bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, Marie was finding that she was having trouble finding the motivation.
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Looks like Marie is having a depressive episode. Those derailed my Masters last year.
Once again a female character takes the hard way when there is a much easier path to take.
Marie could have just asked her mother to spring for either a nice residential hotel apartment or a temporary rental apartment near the university.
I don’t think that Marie is getting in a depressive state, but is a little bit down and stressed over what comes next as she is about to graduate.
That is why going to law school at Trinity is the best thing for her as it allows her to delay coming to a decision about what direction her life is going to take.
The Marine Infantry is caught in a trap of their own making, as on one hand they want to be considered the first to fight in any situation as a professional military organization, while on the other hand they relish the reputation as being “The Worst of the Worst”.
Marie could have just asked her mother to spring for either a nice residential hotel apartment or a temporary rental apartment near the university.
I don’t think that Marie is getting in a depressive state, but is a little bit down and stressed over what comes next as she is about to graduate.
That is why going to law school at Trinity is the best thing for her as it allows her to delay coming to a decision about what direction her life is going to take.
The Marine Infantry is caught in a trap of their own making, as on one hand they want to be considered the first to fight in any situation as a professional military organization, while on the other hand they relish the reputation as being “The Worst of the Worst”.
The studio apartment she lives in is located in the Milton Parc Neighborhood of Montreal on Rue Sainte-Famille. The main campus of McGill is less than a Kilometer south of there. It doesn't get much easier than that.
Part 147, Chapter 2659
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Fifty-Nine
18th February 1978
Dublin, Ireland
The man who looked like death walked into the pub and ordered a drink. He wore a black coat and once he took off his hat Ed saw that his hair had gone prematurely white. From the way that his suit was tailored, it was clear that the man was cadaverously thin, and his sallow skin made him look like he had not ever been in direct sunlight. The thing that stood out to Ed was his cold eyes, looking around the room and appraising everything he saw. Seriously, Bela Lugosi had nothing on this guy.
“Good evening, Mister O’Neal” The man said with a strong German accent in greeting with his tongue sliding around syllables that were unfamiliar. As a Special Agent, Ed had been briefed about who the big players were in Europe. This man, Sven Werth, called himself an Inspector though his actual rank was much, much higher than that. He was the head of the Crimes Against Persons Division of German Federal Internal Intelligence. For such crimes to fall into his purview, they had to have occurred across State Lines which meant that Werth not only dealt with the worst sort of scumbags, but he had also written the book on how to go about doing it. Ed had heard many things about this man, but the thing that stuck out in his mind was the warning that it wasn’t just appearances. To even see this man was to court death. If Ed were caught in Germany doing something he ought not be doing, Sven Werth would likely be the man who would make the arrest.
“Guten tag to you I guess” Ed replied, and Werth winced as if something about that was a major faux pas on Ed’s part.
“Regardless” Werth said, “You seem to already know who I am, so I guess we can skip the formalities.”
“Like why is the equivalent of one of the Deputy Directors of the FBI is meeting with me?” Ed asked with it sounding far more sarcastic than he had intended.
The bartender sat a drink in front of Werth who sat there silent for a long moment.
“When you came to Berlin to interview the daughter of the Tigerin, er… I mean Tigress, you were carefully vetted before the Tigress spoke with you herself” Werth replied.
Ed remembered that uncomfortable conversation, right up until Katherine von Mischner had dismissed him and ordered him driven to the airport he had not been sure that he was getting out of it alive. This did raise a major question. Like just who had vetted him? The FBI suspected that John Aleshire wasn’t the only cuckoo in the nest since they had caught him. The idea that someone within the FBI may have been able to relay information that freely had disturbing implications.
“So that makes you think that I am someone you can work with?” Ed asked.
“Our understanding is that you are a man of principle, Edward, if I can call you that” Werth replied, “We won’t ask you for anything.”
“Just like you never asked Aleshire for anything?” Ed asked in reply. Just having the likes of Aleshire sitting the Director’s Chair alone had done staggering damage.
Werth’s expression changed to a slight smile. “That was my colleagues in the BND” He said, “If you have read my book then you would know that is not in either of our interests.”
Werth then took a sip of his drink while Ed waited to see what he would say next. He was correct about one thing. Werth’s book was required reading at Quantico. Taking down some of the most notorious killers in recent European history made his methods of great interest to the FBI.
“I am sure that your Agency has similar practices as my own” Werth said, “An exchange of information, nothing more. That is why it is my hope that your principles are the same as mine in that you find the idea galling that a murderer is escaping justice.”
“You are aware of such a man?” Ed asked.
“A man who killed two dozen people and injured scores more ten years ago is believed to be hiding in America, New York City to be exact.” Werth replied, “To use your terms, he would be an incredible collar for a young FBI Special Agent looking to make a name for himself.”
“You said that this would be an exchange?” Ed asked.
“You went to Berlin seeking answers in your investigation into the death of your former partner” Werth said, “An investigation that has hit several dead ends.”
The son of a bitch was using that as a bargaining chip, Ed thought to himself. That was information that Ed wanted; he just wasn’t going to pay the price that a man like Werth would demand.
“You ever see 3:10 to Yuma?” Ed asked, “Glen Ford and Van Heflin?
“No” Werth replied.
“You ought to” Ed said before he motioned to the bartender for his check.
“An American Cowboy in Ireland” Werth said, “Who would have thought?”
“A question of my own” Ed said, a bit annoyed by Werth’s characterization of him. “In your book you had Otto Mischner dead to rights, but you didn’t proceed until much later. Why?”
“In your career you will have cases where solving them comes at far too high a price” Werth replied, “This was one of those.”
“You know what I think” Ed said as he counted out the coins to pay for the beer he’d had earlier. “That you were in love with the girl even though she was taken and knew she would never forgive you if you turned her against her father.”
“That is certainly your opinion” Werth replied before reaching into his coat pocket. He removed an envelope from it that he set on the bar. Then he walked out the door.
“Don’t you need him to pay for that?” Ed asked the bartender noticing that Werth had left his glass on the bar.
The Bartender just shrugged, “That weird ‘un only wanted water.”
Despite his desire not to do so, curiosity got the better of Ed as he picked up the envelope. Inside was photograph with a name, Andreas Baader, and an address written on the back. There was a printout that detailed what this man was alleged to have done and that the German police considered him armed and extremely dangerous. Werth had known damn well that Ed would be unable to just let this go when he had left the envelope.
18th February 1978
Dublin, Ireland
The man who looked like death walked into the pub and ordered a drink. He wore a black coat and once he took off his hat Ed saw that his hair had gone prematurely white. From the way that his suit was tailored, it was clear that the man was cadaverously thin, and his sallow skin made him look like he had not ever been in direct sunlight. The thing that stood out to Ed was his cold eyes, looking around the room and appraising everything he saw. Seriously, Bela Lugosi had nothing on this guy.
“Good evening, Mister O’Neal” The man said with a strong German accent in greeting with his tongue sliding around syllables that were unfamiliar. As a Special Agent, Ed had been briefed about who the big players were in Europe. This man, Sven Werth, called himself an Inspector though his actual rank was much, much higher than that. He was the head of the Crimes Against Persons Division of German Federal Internal Intelligence. For such crimes to fall into his purview, they had to have occurred across State Lines which meant that Werth not only dealt with the worst sort of scumbags, but he had also written the book on how to go about doing it. Ed had heard many things about this man, but the thing that stuck out in his mind was the warning that it wasn’t just appearances. To even see this man was to court death. If Ed were caught in Germany doing something he ought not be doing, Sven Werth would likely be the man who would make the arrest.
“Guten tag to you I guess” Ed replied, and Werth winced as if something about that was a major faux pas on Ed’s part.
“Regardless” Werth said, “You seem to already know who I am, so I guess we can skip the formalities.”
“Like why is the equivalent of one of the Deputy Directors of the FBI is meeting with me?” Ed asked with it sounding far more sarcastic than he had intended.
The bartender sat a drink in front of Werth who sat there silent for a long moment.
“When you came to Berlin to interview the daughter of the Tigerin, er… I mean Tigress, you were carefully vetted before the Tigress spoke with you herself” Werth replied.
Ed remembered that uncomfortable conversation, right up until Katherine von Mischner had dismissed him and ordered him driven to the airport he had not been sure that he was getting out of it alive. This did raise a major question. Like just who had vetted him? The FBI suspected that John Aleshire wasn’t the only cuckoo in the nest since they had caught him. The idea that someone within the FBI may have been able to relay information that freely had disturbing implications.
“So that makes you think that I am someone you can work with?” Ed asked.
“Our understanding is that you are a man of principle, Edward, if I can call you that” Werth replied, “We won’t ask you for anything.”
“Just like you never asked Aleshire for anything?” Ed asked in reply. Just having the likes of Aleshire sitting the Director’s Chair alone had done staggering damage.
Werth’s expression changed to a slight smile. “That was my colleagues in the BND” He said, “If you have read my book then you would know that is not in either of our interests.”
Werth then took a sip of his drink while Ed waited to see what he would say next. He was correct about one thing. Werth’s book was required reading at Quantico. Taking down some of the most notorious killers in recent European history made his methods of great interest to the FBI.
“I am sure that your Agency has similar practices as my own” Werth said, “An exchange of information, nothing more. That is why it is my hope that your principles are the same as mine in that you find the idea galling that a murderer is escaping justice.”
“You are aware of such a man?” Ed asked.
“A man who killed two dozen people and injured scores more ten years ago is believed to be hiding in America, New York City to be exact.” Werth replied, “To use your terms, he would be an incredible collar for a young FBI Special Agent looking to make a name for himself.”
“You said that this would be an exchange?” Ed asked.
“You went to Berlin seeking answers in your investigation into the death of your former partner” Werth said, “An investigation that has hit several dead ends.”
The son of a bitch was using that as a bargaining chip, Ed thought to himself. That was information that Ed wanted; he just wasn’t going to pay the price that a man like Werth would demand.
“You ever see 3:10 to Yuma?” Ed asked, “Glen Ford and Van Heflin?
“No” Werth replied.
“You ought to” Ed said before he motioned to the bartender for his check.
“An American Cowboy in Ireland” Werth said, “Who would have thought?”
“A question of my own” Ed said, a bit annoyed by Werth’s characterization of him. “In your book you had Otto Mischner dead to rights, but you didn’t proceed until much later. Why?”
“In your career you will have cases where solving them comes at far too high a price” Werth replied, “This was one of those.”
“You know what I think” Ed said as he counted out the coins to pay for the beer he’d had earlier. “That you were in love with the girl even though she was taken and knew she would never forgive you if you turned her against her father.”
“That is certainly your opinion” Werth replied before reaching into his coat pocket. He removed an envelope from it that he set on the bar. Then he walked out the door.
“Don’t you need him to pay for that?” Ed asked the bartender noticing that Werth had left his glass on the bar.
The Bartender just shrugged, “That weird ‘un only wanted water.”
Despite his desire not to do so, curiosity got the better of Ed as he picked up the envelope. Inside was photograph with a name, Andreas Baader, and an address written on the back. There was a printout that detailed what this man was alleged to have done and that the German police considered him armed and extremely dangerous. Werth had known damn well that Ed would be unable to just let this go when he had left the envelope.
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This is a very good deal for both the Germans and Americans as this will lower tensions due to the crack down on the BND operations just before the 1976 Presidential Election.
It is going to be very easy for the United States to deport Andreas as he is in the country illegally, and the US has to do is just pick him up and send him on the next Lufthansa flight to Berlin.
Both Nixon and Kissinger (Happy 100th Birthday as the Philosopher from Long Island, William Joel once wrote: Only the Good Die Young) can point to this as part of "A New Era of Cooperation" in German American relations.
The deal by Wirth to give information about the death of Special Agent O'Neal points to The Sisterhood as the culprits as both the BII and the BND have long memories about their activities under Kira all those years ago.
Sven Wirth should be trusted as he helped in cracking The Agusta Conspiracy after the attempted assassination of President Truman.
It is going to be very easy for the United States to deport Andreas as he is in the country illegally, and the US has to do is just pick him up and send him on the next Lufthansa flight to Berlin.
Both Nixon and Kissinger (Happy 100th Birthday as the Philosopher from Long Island, William Joel once wrote: Only the Good Die Young) can point to this as part of "A New Era of Cooperation" in German American relations.
The deal by Wirth to give information about the death of Special Agent O'Neal points to The Sisterhood as the culprits as both the BII and the BND have long memories about their activities under Kira all those years ago.
Sven Wirth should be trusted as he helped in cracking The Agusta Conspiracy after the attempted assassination of President Truman.
Part 147, Chapter 2660
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Sixty
19th February 1978
Near Oranienburg, Brandenburg
It looked like a university campus until you got closer and noticed that the concrete buildings had few doors or exterior windows. It was also ringed with chain-link fences topped with concertina wire. Despite it being a clear winter day, there was little warmth in the sunlight, and it felt as if despair was oozing out of the walls. Amedeo Giovanni pushed that out his mind as he walked into the Oranienburg Women’s Prison. Before the death of his brother he had served as a Ship’s Officer in the Italian Navy in one capacity or another his entire adult life and that had including commanding a Destroyer. A powerful winter gale on the North Atlantic was the most fearsome thing a man could face, and he had done that many times. So, Amedeo knew that he had little to fear in a place like this.
When he arrived in the visiting room Amedeo was a bit surprised by appearance of Gudrun Himmler. When Nan had told him what had happened to her as a child, she had made Gudrun sound like some kind of ogre. The woman he saw was not like that. She would have looked harmless except there was not like that. To Amedeo, she looked like a deflated balloon in human form until he saw the pinched look on her face. Something about it suggested that she was incredibly bitter about her predicament.
“Just who are you supposed to be?” Gudrun demanded when she saw Amedeo through the shatterproof glass that had been reinforced with what looked like chicken wire. They were able to talk through a staticky intercom that made private conversation impossible. That was probably by design if Amedeo had to guess.
“I wish I could say that I was pleased to make your acquaintance Signora, but I am not” Amedeo said, “I am Capitano Amedeo Giovanni di Sovioa of the Italian Regia Marina.”
Gudrun just stared at him through the glass.
This was no way to talk to someone, Amedeo thought to himself. He understood the reason for it, that didn’t mean that he had to like it though.
“What a complete load of shit” Gudrun muttered to herself.
“Regardless of your opinion of me, you possess certain information that would be of great help to an acquaintance of mine…” Amedeo before he noticed the expression on Gudrun’s face change. Like if he had just said something incredibly funny.
“So, that little skank found a catspaw to ask her questions?” Gudrun asked, “You are just the same as all the rest I’m sure, falling for the damsel in distress act while convincing yourself that you are the only one she spreads her legs for.”
Amedeo could see the smirk on Gudrun’s face. She found that quite funny and had a high opinion of her own cleverness. She had no idea that Amedeo had been expecting her to behave this way and had come prepared.
“You have been stuck in this hole, or one like it, for the last decade” Amedeo said as he opened his briefcase and looked through the papers before he found the envelope he wanted. “You clearly don’t really know Annett at all. She didn’t ask me to come here today, but I can see that filling in the blanks that exist in her past will help her get on with her life.”
“Why should I?” Gudrun asked smugly.
“Before I came here, I did a bit of looking myself” Amedeo replied, “Called in a favor or two that my family has in both high and low places. Do you want to know what I learned?”
Gudrun just gave him that mirthless, smug smirk in reply.
“I learned that there is one thing you actually care about” Amedeo said before opening the envelope.
Gudrun’s expression never changed, she thought that all of this was funny.
With that Amedeo held the letter up against the glass for Gudrun to read. Her smug satisfaction vanished in a heartbeat and her face turned white as a sheet.
“Is that a joke?” Gudrun asked, her former confidence shaken.
“I can assure you that this is very real” Amedeo replied, “I told you that I called in a few favors, that included with Paul VI. With what you were convicted of it wasn’t even a heavy lift to convince him that you were deserving. You continue with your refusal to cooperate, and your excommunication becomes official.”
Gudrun stared at him through the glass with a look of shock on her face. Of all the things that had been said to her to get her to divulge what she knew about her father’s experiments, no one had come at her at this angle. She had been adamant that her father had been a great man, ahead of his time. At the same time using her knowledge of the details to needle the only survivor, Annett Pfenning. Amedeo just wanted to free Nan of this madness because he had seen the effect that it still had on her. Finding out that Amedeo’s father had learned of her past had basically caused Nan to shut down. She had told Amedeo the truth, but it was said with total detachment which had been extremely disturbing.
“Now, we are going to have a frank discussion” Amedeo said, “Simple things, like names, dates, and you are going to leave nothing out.”
19th February 1978
Near Oranienburg, Brandenburg
It looked like a university campus until you got closer and noticed that the concrete buildings had few doors or exterior windows. It was also ringed with chain-link fences topped with concertina wire. Despite it being a clear winter day, there was little warmth in the sunlight, and it felt as if despair was oozing out of the walls. Amedeo Giovanni pushed that out his mind as he walked into the Oranienburg Women’s Prison. Before the death of his brother he had served as a Ship’s Officer in the Italian Navy in one capacity or another his entire adult life and that had including commanding a Destroyer. A powerful winter gale on the North Atlantic was the most fearsome thing a man could face, and he had done that many times. So, Amedeo knew that he had little to fear in a place like this.
When he arrived in the visiting room Amedeo was a bit surprised by appearance of Gudrun Himmler. When Nan had told him what had happened to her as a child, she had made Gudrun sound like some kind of ogre. The woman he saw was not like that. She would have looked harmless except there was not like that. To Amedeo, she looked like a deflated balloon in human form until he saw the pinched look on her face. Something about it suggested that she was incredibly bitter about her predicament.
“Just who are you supposed to be?” Gudrun demanded when she saw Amedeo through the shatterproof glass that had been reinforced with what looked like chicken wire. They were able to talk through a staticky intercom that made private conversation impossible. That was probably by design if Amedeo had to guess.
“I wish I could say that I was pleased to make your acquaintance Signora, but I am not” Amedeo said, “I am Capitano Amedeo Giovanni di Sovioa of the Italian Regia Marina.”
Gudrun just stared at him through the glass.
This was no way to talk to someone, Amedeo thought to himself. He understood the reason for it, that didn’t mean that he had to like it though.
“What a complete load of shit” Gudrun muttered to herself.
“Regardless of your opinion of me, you possess certain information that would be of great help to an acquaintance of mine…” Amedeo before he noticed the expression on Gudrun’s face change. Like if he had just said something incredibly funny.
“So, that little skank found a catspaw to ask her questions?” Gudrun asked, “You are just the same as all the rest I’m sure, falling for the damsel in distress act while convincing yourself that you are the only one she spreads her legs for.”
Amedeo could see the smirk on Gudrun’s face. She found that quite funny and had a high opinion of her own cleverness. She had no idea that Amedeo had been expecting her to behave this way and had come prepared.
“You have been stuck in this hole, or one like it, for the last decade” Amedeo said as he opened his briefcase and looked through the papers before he found the envelope he wanted. “You clearly don’t really know Annett at all. She didn’t ask me to come here today, but I can see that filling in the blanks that exist in her past will help her get on with her life.”
“Why should I?” Gudrun asked smugly.
“Before I came here, I did a bit of looking myself” Amedeo replied, “Called in a favor or two that my family has in both high and low places. Do you want to know what I learned?”
Gudrun just gave him that mirthless, smug smirk in reply.
“I learned that there is one thing you actually care about” Amedeo said before opening the envelope.
Gudrun’s expression never changed, she thought that all of this was funny.
With that Amedeo held the letter up against the glass for Gudrun to read. Her smug satisfaction vanished in a heartbeat and her face turned white as a sheet.
“Is that a joke?” Gudrun asked, her former confidence shaken.
“I can assure you that this is very real” Amedeo replied, “I told you that I called in a few favors, that included with Paul VI. With what you were convicted of it wasn’t even a heavy lift to convince him that you were deserving. You continue with your refusal to cooperate, and your excommunication becomes official.”
Gudrun stared at him through the glass with a look of shock on her face. Of all the things that had been said to her to get her to divulge what she knew about her father’s experiments, no one had come at her at this angle. She had been adamant that her father had been a great man, ahead of his time. At the same time using her knowledge of the details to needle the only survivor, Annett Pfenning. Amedeo just wanted to free Nan of this madness because he had seen the effect that it still had on her. Finding out that Amedeo’s father had learned of her past had basically caused Nan to shut down. She had told Amedeo the truth, but it was said with total detachment which had been extremely disturbing.
“Now, we are going to have a frank discussion” Amedeo said, “Simple things, like names, dates, and you are going to leave nothing out.”
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Amedeo is a very dangerous man, when he chooses to be. Calling those favours with the Pope is a brilliant move. Gudrun considers herself to be a devout and loyal Catholic, discovering that the Pope himself disagrees with that viewpoint, and is perfectly willing to consign her immortal soul to the deepest, darkest pits of hell for her part in her father's crime, has broken her.