Panzerfaust

Chapter 28 - En route

'Most likely just pink eye. My daughter had it too.' 

'Maybe. But I don't want him to suffer complications later with his sight.' Stroking up her fingers through the dark hair on the small head, Boris cooed in his sleep. 'You have a daughter?' 

'I have two daughters.' 

'That's... wonderful. But I want a medical professional's opinion too.'

The Obersturmbannführer's grey eyes are fixating on her for a minute before nodding.

'Fine. I'll send out a patrol for a doctor. But most likely they'll return with a Jew, you know that, right?' 

Oh no. Panic clenches her throat and she struggles to keep her voice rising two octaves higher. 

'You're right - it's most likely just pinkeye. We're almost in Warsaw anyway; I can take a train to Berlin from there and see a doctor.'

'That's not possible. I received command to relocate to Czechia instead of going home to Berlin. You can travel freely from Prague to Berlin - I cannot say the same about Warsaw. I cannot let you travel alone, I'm sure you understand - I vouched for your safety.'  

'Well, I...'

'Pardon me, Frau Skorzeny, but when I said no, I did not meant convince me. This in not up to discussion - even if I appreciate your negotiation skills - please refrain from using it against me.'

'It's good to finally eat something that did not came from a can, isn't it?' 

The thick soup - borscht - was warm and savory on her lips, and the white dough baked crispy brown was heaven after weeks of dready black bread. 

Sophia wondered if she marched up to her designated room where Baby Fölkersam was sleeping and refused to eat supper with her captor, that would have made a difference.

Most likely not.

It was hard to ignore the truth in Peiper's words - he was not her husband and he does not have to put up with her banter or change his route in a whim. It would be foolish of me to demand such thing.

'Yes, it is.' Joachim Peiper was quite handsome when he was smiling, and appeared to be at least a decade younger. For how long must he wear a uniform? Since he was eighteen? Twenty? 

'Your Russian is quite good, Frau Skorzeny. My compliments.'

'Thank you. But please call me Sophia, I think we're past formalities now.'

'With pleasure. Well, then Sophia; I wonder if I can ask a favour from you.' Puttin his spoon down and reaching into his breast pocket, he straightens a worn piece of paper on the table. 'My brother died in Danzig and left me this:  I cannot read Russian, but I can recognize his handwriting. He hid this from his comrades so I suspect there is more to his death than what his commander told me.'

'Why would you trust me with something like this?' Taking a sip from the glass of water on the table, she furrows her brows in speculation. 

'Well first, because you're a woman. You word against mine - if God forbid things go sour between us - will stand for nothing. Second, because you already proved you have enough wits to rescue a bastard child from the Red Horde;  I do appreciate honour in the fairer sex too.' 

Steel grey eyes clash with cat-green ones as they both size up each other over the steaming soup; this is the most straight-forward conversation they had ever since they met. 

'Alright, let me see it then.'

The weathered piece of letter is written in Cyrillic cursive, almost in a native level's proficiency. 

'Where did your brother learned Russian, Herr Peiper?' 

'Jochen. My name is Jochen. In Junkerschule Bad Tölz, graduated three years my senior, part of his training required him to master the language.' 

Well, he did for sure.

'He is writing this for someone named Bubi.'

'That's me, go on.' Lighting up a cigarette, the officer puffs smoke above his head before offering her the pack. 'It was my nickname by my brothers; both my elders. They're all dead now.'

How strange; Otto was the youngest of his brothers as well. I bet they have more than common than what meets the eyes.

Shaking her head no to the cigarettes, she turns back to the writing.

'Someone named Teddy is closing up on him. He uses a word that can only be described as 'blackmail' or 'pressured'. Penal code 213. I have no idea what that is - but he was accused of it and to wash his name - your name - he must do the only honourable thing to do.'

'I know what it is. It's the penal code of unnatural sexual behaviour in the SS; it's code of the pink triangle. Teddy is Theodor Eicke.' He stands up abruptly, circling the room like a caged animal. 'His own commander blackmailed my brother to commit suicide to put pressure on me.' 

The silence is heavy in the room, only the clock on the wall beats away the minutes.

'That is... horrible. That man needs to face charges for his actions!' Sophia speaks up at last.

'Even military judges cannot bring a dead man to court.' 

'But your brother...'

'Got a hero's burial. He saved our honour after all.' Sighing, he buries his face in his hands for a good minute. 'Thank you for your help, Fra Sk... Sophia. I'll take it from here.' 

He snatches the paper from her frozen fingers and leaves the room without any more words.

Notes

flódni, sweet cake of askhenazi jewish origin

macht nichts: it does not matter; in german

We'll accompany Sophia for a little while Otto is sulking in Siberiahunting Stalin, m'kay?