Dangerous Territory

BOOK THREE: LORRAINE - Letters from Maizières-lès-Metz

He whispered, "I bet it's going to be a horrible winter."

Moblit had a passive smile for him. "That's two months away. Hopefully the battle will be over before then."

Jurgen pessimistically said, "We probably aren't going to live long enough to see it snow."

"I plan to," Eren said assuredly. "I have too much to live for now."

Franz perked up from his letter. "Do you mean your wife?"

In his mind, Eren was picturing Levi and that tiny, enigmatic smile of his, but he knew he could not say anything about that. He forced up a smile. "Of course. Louise hasn't been to my hometown yet. I'd like to take her to Cuxhaven, settle down, and enjoy the rest of my life."

"And start a family?" asked Moblit.

Eren held back from rolling his eyes. "Yes, of course. A big family. Five, maybe six children."

Nack Tierce chuckled. "Why stop there? I read that if you have seven sons, Adolf Hitler himself will be the seventh son's godfather. That's my goal."

Dieter walked by and teased, "You'll end up with a wife so ugly, Hitler will take one look and declare her a subhuman cow."

"Hey! I'd obviously marry a wife worthy of Hitler's approval, with wide hips so she can give me seven sons as soon as possible."

Eren glanced down at the gold band on his finger. "It's good to think about the future."

Moblit patted Eren on the shoulder. "You'll make it, sir. After all, you have the Devil's luck."

Now, Eren really did roll his eyes. "That again?"

"Eat!" Thomas insisted. "Join us, Herr Oberleutnant. Or is that not allowed anymore?"

Eren gave a shrug and walked toward the kitchen. "Socialism means we work as a team, a community, a family, none more or less worthy than the other. Until an officer higher ranked than me says otherwise, if I want to eat with my brothers and comrades-in-arms, I'm going to!"

Thomas smiled proudly as Eren walked by and clasped him on the shoulder. "To comrades!"

The platoon cheered as Eren joined them like he used to, sitting at a long table. He removed his officer's cap so he was the same as the rest of them, their commander but also their friend. Thomas served out bowls of soup, while the platoon laughed and told dirty jokes.

"Thomas, this soup is amazing!" a tall and stout Stabsgefreiter named Jarnach declared, stunned by the savory taste.

Thomas beamed with a proud smile. "I'm so happy you enjoy it. I wrote the recipe down for my mother back in Berlin. With any luck, people back home are eating this same soup right now. Imagine that!" he said with a laugh.

Armin looked at the bowl analytically. "What is that unique flavor?"

"Very French, yeah? It's a special blend of herbs. This is why I'm so picky about bringing all of my herbs. Back when we were in Paris, while all of you were drinking wine and hiring whores, I was touring the city, eating at world-famous restaurants and talking with the chefs. My dream is to bring this unique French taste back with me. One day, I'll take over my parents' restaurant, and when I do, I want to serve meals from all the places I've visited: Italian noodles and sauces, French pastries and bisques, Polish sernik and sour cucumber soup. After the war, I plan to travel to all the lands Germany has conquered, learn their flavors, and bring those back home."

"That's an ambitious goal," Moblit praised.

Thomas turned over to Armin. "You and your grandfather will have to come by again and try some of my food."