Take Me Home

20. Nightmare

Hamburg, Germany, 2300 hours, 1st Parachute division: To the respected commandment of the Airborne and Infantry Forces:

Kurt Student, Richard Heidrich, Hermann-Bernhard Ramcke:

Regretting to inform you the loss of Josef Axel Schafer, missing in action during mission over south England, reportedly around 2100 hours. Planes failed to find target, no source of evidence survival was optioned. Age: 18 years   Height: 5'8   Birthday: August 12th, 1923    Weight: 136 lbs   Sex: Male   Wife: None   Children: None   Disabilities: None   Eye color: Green  

Signed,

General Dennis Peter Muller

The letter was thrown onto the desk as a German soldier threw the pen across the room, standing up and walking away. He walked over to a window and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and putting it in his mouth. He stared out the window, looking outside as rain pattered against the window and made it hard to see the other infantries and squadrons training. His brown eyes narrowed as they looked only at the glass and saw a tired, worn face that carried sorrow as well. He had blond hair that looked grey with the rain pounding against his reflection and a tall, strong figure that stood upright as he stared.

He pressed one hand against the glass, feeling the coolness of it. Then he lowered it and brushed off his green uniform he had been in for the past few days, straightening the rank on his shoulders. He turned, walking back to his desk and picking up the letter. He read it over one more time and then placed it gently into a white envelope, writing an address onto it and sealing it. He put the letter into a pile of even more letters, too many to count. They would be sent to a factory where more people would read them and then wright more letters, only to the families of the lost soldiers.

He ran a rough, scarred hand over a thin, light colored goatee as he stared at the desk. He had thought he would be fine, writing about the deaths of soldiers caused by this war. But he had ended up writing about his brothers and his comrades and his friends. He had fought alongside some of these men. He had watched some of them die. They died as a hero. They died for Germany's future. He clenched his fist and then gripped the chair and spat his cigarette onto the ground. Heroes. What was a hero? He walked over to his shelf, looking for something strong for him to drink. Everything was already empty, he wasn't shocked.

Dennis Muller looked away from the shelf and at the doorknob as it rattled and a younger soldier walked into the room without knocking. Walking past the older soldier without a word, the younger one headed over to the pile of letters. Muller recognized the younger soldier as one from his own infantry, one of his Pilots, Dieter Schafer. He had a thin frame but a sturdy build and dark hair. Muller knew why one of his best Pilots had abandoned his crew during a rare break. News must have gotten out already.

The soldier turned to Muller, holding a ripped open letter in his shaking hands and looking down at it with his shocked hazel eyes. His clear skin reflected the few candles that lit the room, a few tiny freckles meeting the light as the Pilot opened his mouth, eyes on the letter as he read. Muller took out another cigarette, lighting it and waiting.

"Gen...General..." Muller had never seen Schafer so upset before. Tears formed in the edges of his hazel eyes as he began shaking his head. He was one of the best Pilots he had, but he was a sensitive boy with a soft heart. He was respected as well, so that's why Muller didn't yell at the soldier for barging into his room. He would have yelled at any other soldier. Not this one.

"General Muller, you can't call this a death letter. He-He is missing. There, There is hope, we can find a way, I could fly over the part where he fell, I know he's sti-" Schafers voice cracked as he lowered the letter and met Mullers serious gaze. "He isn't dead. My brother survived. I know it, sir." He finished, bringing up a hand to wipe away a tear before it fell.