This is the third sequel to my award-winning Wattpad Featured Story, 'Posted As Missing', an intense adventure/romance set in the turmoil of World War One Europe.
I've grown tired of blood-and-guts war stories, so I've written this series to examin...
Oh, Fuck! David thought as the two officers continued directly toward him. But, my cover is perfect as long as I remain calm.
"What is a young man doing out of uniform?" The major asked. "Have you an exemption?"
"I'm Swiss." David reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his passport, handing it to the major.
"And what are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to keep our economy alive with the drop in tourism and exports. I'm selling Rolex watches." He lifted his left arm to show his.
"And where are you trying to sell them?"
"In this area, I have contracted with a jewellery shop in the centre of town and one in Mannheim." He twisted his wrist. "These are certified as the most accurate wristwatches in the world, and they're easy to sell." He chuckled. "Much easier than my colleagues have found trying to sell their artillery fuse mechanisms. They report many small munitions factories, but with nobody authorised to purchase."
David looked down at his plate. "Excuse me a moment; my lunch is getting cold, and the trout is delicious. Have you had the opportunity to enjoy it?" He took another bite, then looked up as he savoured it.
The major shook his head as he opened the passport. "No, unfortunately. It's too rich for my pocket." After comparing the photo to David's face, he laid the document on the table. "We're sorry to have interrupted your lunch. There was concern about the Prince's security."
David nodded, put his passport into his pocket, and as the two officers walked back to the generals' table, he returned to his lunch. The young one must be the Prince. He's receiving far too much attention from the others for it to be otherwise. And too young to be a general without a royal connection.
Shortly after David had finished his last bite, the waiter arrived with an assistant to clear the place setting. "For the sweet course, we have a choice of Apfelweintorte or betrunken Aprikosenkuchen."
"The drunk apricot pie sounds intriguing. What is it?"
"Dried apricots are soaked in wine overnight to plump them, then they're baked in a pie."
"I'll have that. And would it be appropriate to have some whipped cream on top?"
"That's how we serve it, Sir." He lifted the carafe and poured the last of the wine into David's glass. "And you'll find this Liebfrauenmilch is also a fine accompaniment for the pie."
After the waiter had left, David took a sip of wine to analyse it. High acidity, but also high sugar. Like Michael explained; without the acidity, it would be cloying, and without the sugar, it would be too tart. I must visit Herr Valckenberg to learn more about this wine.
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After David had finished his lunch, he rose and walked across the room to the generals' table, catching their attention with his approach. "I'm sorry to have caused you concern."
One of the white-haired generals replied, "I found it odd to see one so young in a place such as this."
"Youth doesn't exempt one from wanting to enjoy high quality, nor does it exclude one from having the means to do so." David offered a formal nod and a smile. "I'll leave you to enjoy the remainder of your lunch without further need for concern."
He smiled inwardly as he turned and headed toward the lobby. It may work. Maybe intrigue one of them. Nothing lost for trying.
Upstairs in his room, after refreshing, he pulled the map of Worms from his satchel, unfolded it and laid it on the table to study.
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After he had plotted a route through the maze of streets, he put on his overcoat, folded the map with his route outward and slipped it into his pocket. The day had warmed, and he enjoyed the occasional sun shining between the buildings as he headed toward the northeast corner of the city. Maintaining direction through the maze of curving streets became easier after he had caught sight of the steeple of Liebfrauenkirche.
He paused at the edge of the first vineyard and marvelled at the scene. Rows of uninterrupted buildings pausing for vines, then recommencing on the other side. Islands of vines in a sea of buildings.
Continuing along Maximilian Straße toward the church, he searched without luck for a building that might be the winery, then he stepped into a vineyard and walked between the rows to a small group of women pruning vines. "Where would I find Herr Valckenberg?"
One of the women raised her arm and pointed her curved knife toward a group of low buildings across the vineyard. "His office is over there." She turned to find the sun. "He should be back from lunch now."
David followed her point with his eyes, then thanked her. As he continued through the vineyard toward the buildings, the river came into view down the gentle slopes. A little farther along, he paused to watch a deep-laden peniche heading upstream, its cargo the same rounded piles of black as he had seen at Oppau Coal for the chemical plant. Or for any of the other factories.
He headed closer to the river, and from the edge of the vineyard, he looked down on rows of rail cars and a steady stream of men carrying artillery shells from them to the line of peniches moored along the wharves. This site is so recently established they have no gantries, so they must load by hand.
As he watched the yard engines shunting cars up and down the set of switchbacked rail lines on the slopes above the river, a loaded peniche let go its mooring lines and headed downstream in the current. They have a conveyor belt in both directions. Mine the coal from Occupied France, and use it to produce explosives to send into Free France. So much work and materials being focused on destruction. What marvels could be built if this were focused instead on construction. If the enmity were turned to friendship; the hate turned to love.
David shook himself from his thoughts, and he did a quick look around. Best I get out of here lest I be seen as suspicious. He turned back toward the buildings, following between the vines and occasionally looking over his shoulder until he came to a work road which led him back to Nibelungenring.
He followed it to the buildings which had been indicated by the woman, and beside a wide arched entryway, he saw P.J. Valckenberg emblazoned in red letters on the cream-coloured wall. The doors were open, so he walked into the courtyard and stood in its middle trying to decide which of the several doors to try first.
His deliberating was cut short when two black touring cars entered the courtyard, and German soldiers stepped out of them.
