Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Weimar Republic

Berlin, Germany. 1932.

He was starting to feel too old for this sort of thing. It felt strange to be one of the oldest men in these bars but Rudolf Klenzendorf had been listlessly wandering for too long. He had been in Berlin for too long without a purpose besides drinking the hours away.

The Great War? Undenkbar.

There was hardly anything great about Germany when the war was over. Besides a very small stipend from the government and a couple of medals for injuries in battle, there was nothing great about the poverty he found himself in. Not that Klenzendorf needed an exorbitant lifestyle. Sure he appreciated finer clothes and fine surroundings, but his time in the trenches had quickly caused him to get used to living rough.

His flat was nothing to write home about; it had a toilet and a kitchen, yes, but it was barren of many things. His mattress was secondhand and not entirely comfortable when he chose to rest.

Rudolf was thankful for his landlady; a kind, elderly Bavarian woman who had lost her husband some five months before he moved into the spare flat in her building. She understood his strife. She was gentle when it came to being late on rent. She even came to him with tea, brandy and a large piece of rationed bread on his worse days.

The bread tasted stale and dry as it hit his tongue but he understood all too well the reason behind her visiting. Some days, the soldier was no more than a ghost.

He didn’t know where the motivation to find these clubs came from. The traditional club scene brought some light into his life but it wasn’t enough. The drinks were too watered down, the women none that desirable. Not with all that rogue and lipstick. He preferred softer faces, natural beauty. Yet, it wasn’t the touch of a woman that Klenzendorf entirely desired.

His stature barely reached six feet. Thirty-nine years of age and the stress of war had aged him almost an entire decade, in his opinion. On the rare day he considered himself quite handsome but, on any other day, he did not see himself as more than a shell of the patriotic German who had joined the war effort the minute his country had declared war. He had been young, barely three days over twenty, and full of pride. That seemed to be another Rudolf Klenzendorf; not the one who donned his hat and coat and left his flat for the first time in three weeks for a night on the town.

He’d heard whispers of places for certain proclivities. They were the open secret around Berlin and, surprisingly enough, in his old regiment. Clubs with alliterative names such as the Cosy Corner. That was the underground club he found himself gravitating toward that night.

Rudolf was instantly met with a rush of warmth and the smell of tobacco and liquor; both scents he rather welcomed as he entered the bar teeming with handsome, predominantly young, men. Many of them seemed nearly twenty years his junior but they were all handsome and full of life.

He elected for the bar and ordered brandy to start. Beer would come later. He took out a pack of cigarettes and minded his first as he considered his course of action. Drinking seemed to be the best first option. Rudolf considered himself a charming man but only when he played up the role of the flamboyant lad he had been in his youth. It was becoming harder and harder to call on that boy again.

Before he realized it, he was on his third brandy and his second cigarette. The buzzing in his brain began to conceive a confidence he hadn’t naturally felt in ages. His fingers scratched at his head as he turned to examine the goings on in the bar.

Men touching, men even kissing and dancing with one another. How natural and welcomed it seemed to be. While it wasn’t uncommon in the army, yet it was certainly frowned upon if one was caught. Klenzendorf, in all his years, had not seen such brazen acts without retribution. It was tempting to join them. But they were all so young, so brash. He was a man advancing in age and a man from a different time. He couldn’t relate to any of them, it seemed.

Rudolf was on his fourth cigarette when he scanned the occupants of the bar again. He’d been chatting with a young man who had sat beside him but Klenzendorf could understand that this man was on the game.

Now, he’d had his small handful of encounters with men and women alike. Sex wasn’t foreign to him, nor did he repress himself from his urges. He’d been intimate with whores and with serious partners alike. Tonight, he was not sure if he would invite a whore into his bed.

He didn’t exactly recall the conversation with the handsome, boyish faced man with black hair and green eyes but it had resulted in the man leaving. Klenzendorf saw the opportunity for intimacy with another person pass him by. Who knows what could have happened if he’d given that man a few marks to share his company.

This next round, he ordered a beer and decided to nurse it. It was barely a fingertip’s reach away when it was disturbed by a patron settling beside him.

He couldn’t be older than twenty, not at all. His blond hair was coiffed and styled to the right with near military precision. If Klenzendorf had been his commanding officer, then he would have been impressed. The man was not traditionally handsome by any means, rather having a goofier and perhaps wild look to him. His blue eyes were wide and a bit unfocused; perhaps from a few drinks consumed earlier. His coat was off and revealed a white shirt partly unbuttoned with a white undershirt peeking out. His suspenders secured his trousers to his waist and his boots were worn but still impressive looking. Rudolf could tell those had been an investment and that the young man was more than proud of wearing them.

He wasn’t sure what made him turn his body to pay attention to the man, besides the disturbance of his drink.

His accent, from what Rudolf could tell, was not the typical hochdeutsche he was used to hearing in Berlin. It was more common and rural, not suited much to the urban local they both found themselves in.

“Entschuldigen, mein Herr,” came the expressive voice, “aber kann ich Ihnen ein Getränk kaufen?”

So formal for a proposition. Klenzendorf’s eyes traveled from the man’s face to his beer which was still calming from when it had been disturbed. It was still mostly full. The man did, as well, and he all too quickly realized the foolishness of his question. His head dipped as he recovered and asked, “When you’re finished with that one?”

He was more than amused at the change in tone. The older man took a hold of his drink and drained it to a third of the way empty. He grasped onto it as if it were a goblet and he were King Arthur. Some of his old bravado was coming back, undoubtedly fueled by the multiple drinks he had consumed over the past hour or so.

He offered a cigarette to the animated man, who accepted as if he had been given the Ten Commandments from God.

“I assume you’re not the best at this,” Klenzendorf insinuated, minding his drink and watching the man as he did so. A fair brow lifted and his eyes widened. His eyes told a deeper story than his face, if that was even possible.

The man had finished lighting the cigarette and was stifling a cough as he responded, “Why do you think that?”

Klenzendorf’s eyes rolled and he leaned his elbow against the bar. “You nearly knock over a perfectly watered down beer and suggest you buy me one without realizing I’m already drinking. And you look like an Englishman crossing No Man’s Land. How old are you? What is your name?”

A series of rapid blinks and then the man spoke. “Friedrich. I’m almost nineteen.”

“Well, Friedrich, that was a very valiant effort. You should get the Iron Cross for bravery.” Rudolf finished his drink and set it between them. He intently stared at Friedrich and Friedrich stared back. The amount of time it took for the younger man to realize Klenzendorf’s glass was empty was comical. He flagged down the bartender and asked for another beer.

Klenzendorf leaned to the bartender and asked for two schnapps. “For your nerves, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Friedrich remarked as he pushed Rudolf’s glass with his fingers. His blue eyes landed on the soldier’s brown. Rudolf was impressed by the man’s perseverance.

“Compared to me, you are a kid.”

He examined Friedrich’s face; youthful and full on the cheeks yet with delicate bone structuring that was almost feminine. His cheekbones were high and pronounced and his jaw strong and just as defined. But this Friedrich was not the feminine sort that would constitute for derogatory remarks. His energy, despite the way he sat and how one leg crossed over the other, held onto his masculinity and control. He was simply nervous. How endearing.

“So, Friedrich, what is it that you are doing here in the Cosy Corner, eh?” The beer and schnapps came simultaneously and Klenzendorf pushed one shot into Friedrich’s hand. Again it was as if the lad had been given a gift from God. “And how much do you expect me to spend on you?”

Friedrich seemed taken aback by Klenzendorf’s bluntness but not enough to be completely scared away. He took the shot and reached for another almost without a wince. His long fingers wrapped about the glass as if he were protecting it.

“Not a mark, unless you wish to buy me another schnapps.” He made a sound of approval as he swallowed down the second schnapps. Klenzendorf watched how he effortlessly swallowed the alcohol and refocused on him smoothly. “Quite good. Better than the beer. But anything is better than the beer here. Can’t stand it.”

The bartender obviously noticed and made a sound before retreating to the other end of the bar. Klenzendorf smirked as he took the new beer and drank from it. “You’ll get used to the bottom of the barrel if it’s the only thing left. You’ll crave it,” he remarked. “But seriously, kid, what are you doing talking to an old man like me?”

Friedrich’s shoulders rose and fell as he eyed the empty glasses. “I didn’t feel like speaking to my friends any longer.”

“Your friends,” echoed Rudolf, “are where?”

Friedrich’s head tossed as he turned himself toward the crowds of men. He squinted as he tried to find them through the dim lighting and inevitably gave up. His shoulders shrugged again. “Somewhere else. I saw you and figured— “

“Figured you’d buy an old man a drink.”

“Yes.” Friedrich abruptly stammered, “No. Nein. Not old. Definitely not old like my father. Or grandfather.”

Rudolf’s lifted brow and parted lips caused the younger man to stammer again. He raised his hand to stop him as he drained half the glass. “Okay, okay, kid. There’s no need to work yourself up over this.”

Friedrich rubbed his jaw and sat at the very edge of his seat. His eyes were downcast in a direction that, if Klenzendorf thought hard enough, would be aimed toward either his knees or his crotch. He wondered if that was intentional. He didn’t have to wonder too long as he saw the disappointment and embarrassment over Friedrich’s face.

The glass was placed on the counter and he offered his hand. “Rudolf Klenzendorf.”

Friedrich’s eyes lifted and Klenzendorf saw the light return to his eyes. Their hands met and it was as if Rudolf was smiling for the first time.

Friedrich was from a farming village near Magdeburg. He had a brother who was studying at university in Berlin and had decided to live there for some time. He did not entirely know what he wanted to do but his parents had figured his brother would be a positive influence on their daydreamer of a boy.

He was certainly animated as he spoke. He gesticulated as he told his story and spoke of the stuffy, educated students his brother tended to associate with. Klenzendorf could hardly see how this boy came from a farming town.

He was good to speak to and he captured his attention. There was something electric with how Friedrich spoke but also with how he allowed Rudolf to interject and speak. It was as if Friedrich would say something to prompt a response just so Rudolf could say something. He would lean his chin on his hand and be as intent as a God-fearing church goer. Never before had Rudolf had such a captive listener.

Two hours had passed since Rudolf had arrived and together, they had smoked his entire pack of cigarettes. The buzz in his head had remained steady but he did not feel out of control. For once, he wanted to focus on the handsome young man in front of him.

Throughout their conversation, the mention of sex was not dropped once. Neither man had made an advancement toward each other in that regard. They were simply talking, getting to know each other. Friedrich seemed more than happy to speak of his life and to learn about Klenzendorf’s time in the army. As they staggered into the late night air and walked side by side, it was something the younger man couldn’t stop laughing about.

They couldn’t be more than six blocks from Rudolf’s apartment building than the giggling became impossible to ignore.

“What the hell is so funny?” Asked Rudolf, one foot on the sidewalk where Friedrich was walking and another foot on the road. His hands were shoved in his trouser pockets and his hat concealed his face from onlookers. Friedrich, in contrast, did not wear a hat. Rudolf found he liked that; he liked how styled the man’s hair was and how it framed his handsome face.

“Do you want to know how old I was when the war ended?”

“No, I don’t want to know how old you were. Don’t you start making me feel like the old man,” Rudolf protested. It was in vain; Friedrich was laughing incessantly. It was almost a giggle. It was endearing. Rudolf pointed a finger toward the man and joined him on the sidewalk. Friedrich’s back leaned against a wall as he laughed out, “I was two. Almost three, perhaps? Somewhere around there."

“There you go doing something I told you not to do!”

There was no anger; Rudolf found it funny. He squarely stood in front of Friedrich. Their personal space was almost non-existent.

“How old were you, Rudolf? When the war ended?”

He liked how the ‘R’ just barely rolled when Friedrich said his name. His eyes softened.

“Barely older than you,” came his response. “Twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four,” echoed Friedrich. “I’ll be that in four years.”

“Five,” Rudolf corrected, his gaze falling to the other man’s eyes and down to his mouth. “You’ll be twenty-four in five years.”

Friedrich’s shoulders shrugged. "Semantics." His smile was utterly sweet. Like a girl’s, almost. A besotted girl’s.

They kept looking at each other, just like that, for an extended period. Rudolf wasn’t sure how long it was. He took a step in and fixed Friedrich’s collar. “There,” he remarked, “it’s in order now.”

“Danke.”

“Bitte schön,” Klenzendorf responded. He still touched Friedrich’s collar. He was waiting. Both of them seemed to be waiting.

It was as if a curtain was pulled back. Friedrich suddenly seemed to lose a nerve. “I must be going. It is late and my brother does not like me to stay out too late.”

Klenzendorf’s brows furrowed as the man moved from between them. He turned to face Friedrich as the man stepped around him. “Going home?”

“Ja. I must—it’s late. It’s too late. I’m sorry. Enschuldigung.”

For his part, Friedrich genuinely seemed sorry. He also seemed anxious as he shifted from foot to foot and dug his hands in his pockets. Rudolf could see his wrists knocking against his hips.

“Good night, then, Friedrich.”

“Freddy.” Friedrich’s throat cleared. “My friends call me Freddy.”

“Freddy?”

Friedrich tossed his head. “They’re obsessed with American movies. Fred Astaire. They call him Freddy because they think it’s cool.” Another toss of his head. “I don’t think it’s cool.”

“No, Freddy is very cool.” Saying those words made Rudolf feel strange. “Good night, Freddy. Perhaps we will meet again.”

The hope on Freddy’s face touched the soldier’s heart. “Tomorrow?” Came the hopeful ask that Rudolf had almost been unprepared to hear. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and gave a nod.

“Jawohl.”

Tomorrow came. They met again and drank at the bar. They smoked Rudolf’s cigarettes.

Two days later, Rudolf asked Freddy if he would dine with him in the afternoon. In broad daylight. He wore elements of his ceremonial uniform to impress the younger man. He closely shaved for the first time in months. There was barely a trace of stubble to be seen.

Dining with Freddy was almost as enjoyable as drinking with him. Freddy spoke and Rudolf mostly ate and listened. He joined in as they spoke about topical politics and as Freddy voiced his interest in joining the army for the next war.

“My parents always told me I had my head in the clouds,” Freddy said as he cut into his meat, tapping at it with his fork. Rudolf’s brows lifted as he chewed and offered, “The army is good for creating realists out of dreamers. I didn’t know what else to do but join up when the Archduke was killed. Made a man out of me.”

“Is that what you think it will do for me?” Asked Freddy after consuming two bites of meat. “Make me a man?”

“Friedrich, you’re more of a man than half of those I served with,” Rudolf offhandedly commented. Friedrich beamed at him.

They parted their lunch only to meet for drinks later that evening at the Cosy Corner. They had moved from the bar to a table in the back corner. There was a jazz pianist and bass player as well as a singer who obviously had more than a few drinks before beginning her set.

Rudolf’s arm was around Friedrich’s shoulder and he was smoking a cigarette with his free hand. One of Freddy’s legs were crossed over the other and he was drinking brandy as he listened to the singer, laughing as he noticed her brief stumbling over words and slurring vowels. Freddy, who had blatantly admitted to being a music lover, was making comments about how the songs were originally written and supposed to be sung.

“You are a critic,” Klenzendorf muttered, his cigarette between his lips. Freddy turned his head to his companion and rolled his eyes as he took the cigarette from his lips, placing it in his own mouth.

“I can’t give you anything but love. Baby. That’s the only thing I’ve plenty of. Baby.”

“You’re none better, Rudolf.” Again, the way Freddy pronounced the ‘R’ of his name caused Klenzendorf to smile to himself. He took Freddy’s brandy and finished it in retaliation.

They contently listened to the singer and Freddy muttered the words under his breath. “You should get up there, hm?” Asked Klenzendorf. “You know the words much better.”

Freddy handed the cigarette back to his companion and his head leaned against his shoulder, his eyes captivated by the subpar performer.

A few more songs went by and then the singer stumbled offstage. The pianist and bass player continued, soon joined by a trumpeter. American jazz permeated the air and some of the men began to dance. Freddy looked up at Rudolf and raised a brow, silently asking a question.

“Nein. Ich tanze nicht.” Rudolf cleared his throat. “If you want to, go ahead.”

“You don’t want to,” Freddy responded, “so neither do I.” He held his hand for the cigarette. Rudolf gazed down at him and took it from his lips. But instead of handing it over, he stubbed it out in the ashtray. Freddy’s mouth opened in mock shock and he sat up straight.

“That is it. No more for you.”

“No more what?” Rudolf questioned as Freddy finished what was left of the brandy, looking haughty and feigning upset. “What?”

“I’m upset with you. I won’t talk anymore. You’ve done me a great betrayal and I will not speak to you.”

“Come on, Finkel.” Rudolf’s arm moved around Freddy’s shoulder. The younger man shrugged it off. Rudolf repeated the gesture only to be shrugged off again. So, Friedrich was committed to this act.

“Friedrich,” came his stern, almost military command. Freddy’s chin had been lifted and he had angled his face away from view. Slowly, he gave into looking at his companion.

“Was ist falsch?” He asked, his voice high and haughty. Ever-expressive, theatrical.

Rudolf’s fingers moved through Freddy’s hair, threatening to mess up the styled nature that he liked so much. It was worth it. It brought Freddy’s face close to his. It caused Klenzendorf to angle his head and let the younger man press his lips to his.

It was perhaps the most chaste kiss Rudolf had experienced from a potential partner. He more than welcomed it but he didn’t push it further than that.

Freddy’s lashes fluttered as the kiss ended and as they looked to one another. Music was forgotten. Rudolf didn’t care for it.

Luckily for Rudolf, he had tidied up his flat earlier in the day. Yet that wasn’t what made him hesitant about bringing Freddy to his living space. In fact, he felt more confident than the younger man by his side.

Freddy, for his part, was almost dissociating from the new surroundings. Any confidence and comfort had been left behind at the Cosy Corner. His arms were at attention behind his back. Rudolf thought about Freddy’s mention of joining the army at the next war. He could make a promising soldier.

“Brandy?”

Freddy didn’t seem to notice he had been spoken to until Rudolf spoke again. He lifted his head and shook it from side to side. The anxiety was evident.

Klenzendorf poured himself a glass and downed it rather quickly, turning to face Freddy. His stature had changed. In fact, he seemed like a statue frozen in time. The older man’s brow furrowed as he walked close and touched Freddy’s cheek. Freddy’s eyes blinked rapidly as he focused on Klenzendorf, offering a ghost of a smile.

“Don’t be scared,” Klenzendorf said gently. Freddy’s blue eyes searched Rudolf’s for understanding. In the near month they had known each other, Rudolf had come to expect the truth to be revealed through Freddy’s expression.

“Hey,” he repeated, his voice impossibly tender, “don’t be scared.”

Freddy’s palms rest against his chest as they kissed. Slowly, they curled into the front of his coat and brought their bodies flush together. Klenzendorf’s hands went to Freddy’s back to steady them both.

They ended up on the secondhand couch and Freddy retracted as soon as they sat. The uncertain expression was still on his face. He allowed Rudolf to touch his face, his fingers tracing over his cheeks.

“We can just do this. Okay?”

The relief was paramount. “Okay.”

An understanding smile was exchanged. Once again, Freddy closed the gap and brought Klenzendorf into another kiss.

Chapter Text

                                                                                     Berlin. Summer 1933.

The feeling elicited from Freddy’s movements were indescribable. Rudolf couldn’t quite recall the last time a person had made him feel this amount of pleasure.

The sunlight caused the younger man’s skin to almost glow. The remains of a tan were fading from Freddy’s shoulders and back. He had disappointedly referred to it as his “country coloring”, lamenting on the unevenness of the coloration and on how sun spots would certainly appear. Rudolf happened to like the faint sunspots that decorated his companion’s shoulders and down his back.

His hips were moving of their own accord. It was as if Rudolf had lost all control of his body. But this was the best sort of loss of control. It filled him to the brim with absolute pleasure.

When he came to his release, he made sure Freddy experienced the same ungodly pleasurable climax he did. The sound from his mouth was indescribably arousing. Freddy’s bare chest collapsed against Klenzendorf’s own body and his arms closed around the older man’s torso and back. Klenzendorf’s chest was heaving as he fought to keep himself upright, his own arms around Friedrich’s body to keep them both still as they came down from their respective euphoria.

Klenzendorf was certainly not a Romantic nor was he a lover of the classics; but even he had to remark that the sight of Freddy with the white sheets pulled around the most intimate parts of his body was beautiful enough to be captured in a statue.

They had been together for near six months at this point. It was a relationship that suited them both well. Rudolf had worried that Friedrich’s youth would be a damming factor in the longevity of this relationship. However, he had severely underestimated Freddy’s devotion to him. In fact, on some days, it nearly scared him how much this nineteen-year old boy—in all regards a man, but his youthfulness would say otherwise—loved him.

Love was the right descriptor. It came quickly and subtly. It came in silent moments where Freddy would be sleeping beside him or after passing out on the couch having finished a bottle of schnapps. It came when they shared meals both in pubic as well as private. It came when they spent time with friends they had made at the Cosy Corner or when they drunkenly danced together at private parties their friends hosted. Freddy was a marvelous, almost scandalous dancer. Klenzendorf had drunkenly admitted to feelings of love after they had danced themselves onto the empty Berlin streets at nearly four o’clock in the morning. He could have sworn Freddy was crying as they kissed in the archway of his apartment building, but he would not embarrass him by bringing it up. He liked the vulnerability Freddy possessed. He liked damn near everything about Freddy. He especially liked how his name sounded on his lips and Rudolf considered that the ultimate proof of his love.

His name had been a source of embarrassment when he had been asked who he was named for. His mother, who was a born and bred Austrian, had been obsessed with the Crown Prince and had, apparently, been beside herself when he had suddenly died. As a little boy, Rudolf had seen a small display shrine for him as he passed the foyer. When he grew into a teenager, he had begun to see similarities between the portrait of the deceased Crown Prince and his own father. His old man was bald, like the portrait depicted, and had an impressive Habsburg-like moustache. Despite living in Germany and not Austria-Hungary, Klenzendorf’s mother had demanded he join the war effort the moment Kaiser Franz Josef declared it. Her allegiance was better suited for the ailing emperor of her homeland than Kaiser Wilhelm.

When Freddy said his name, however, it made Rudolf glad his mother had chosen it for him.

Many of the things Freddy said and did endeared Klenzendorf to him. It reminded him, in many ways, of who he used to be. Friedrich was full of energy and zeal that the old soldier had not genuinely felt in the years since the war had ended. Much of that time he could not remember. He had filled his hours, days, weeks, and years with mindless tasks and a futile search for meaning. With Friedrich, Klenzendorf genuinely looked forward to leaving his flat each day.

They didn’t see each other every day and nor did Freddy stay the night each time he visited. While the streets of Berlin were teeming with people of different orientations, there were many out there who would seek to denounce their very right to experience this relationship.

But it was easy enough for Klenzendorf and Freddy to ignore it now. It was easy for them not to care. The liquor still flowed and the music still played. The summer burned hot and they had taken the train out to the countryside for a few days. Their separate beds did not remain separate for long. If they made noise, no one commented about it. Even in civilian clothes, Freddy cut a rather handsome figure. He was starting to lose the boyishness in his face and he carried himself with the same height and command as Klenzendorf did.

“You’ll be a fine soldier,” Rudolf remarked one afternoon as they were reclining on the bank of the Ruppiner See. Freddy’s eyes were closed and he reclined on the blanket they had set out. Rudolf had propped himself up one elbow as he read a pamphlet he had been handed on their departure from the city. Denouncements of undesirables and drawings of said individual groups. Rather foul-looking drawings that made Rudolf want to throw the pamphlet into the waters. When he had spoken, Freddy’s head turned to his companion’s and one eye opened. The light and reflection of the water caused his skin to glow and appear smooth and fine. A fine marble.

“Why is that?”

“You stand tall like a statue; not hunched over like an old man. Your stance is strong. You’ll do well,” remarked Rudolf as he set the pamphlet aside. His black, circular sunglasses fell to the edge of his nose. Freddy reached over to take the pamphlet and briefly skimmed it.

“Am I Aryan enough? Manly enough?” He asked, haughty as he always was when he made fun of those Nazi fanatics on the street. He aimed this amusement toward Rudolf. That is all the older man saw in Freddy’s eyes; amusement and disbelief that anyone would take this propaganda seriously.

His thick fingers took the pamphlet away and tossed the paper behind him. They were angled toward each other now. “You’re more of a man than half of those I fought with in the trenches.”

That pleased Friedrich. He turned onto his stomach and rest his head on his arms as he closed his eyes once more.  Rudolf pushed his glasses up his nose and laid beside Freddy. The young man’s back rose and fell with each calming breath. He smiled when Rudolf’s mouth went against his right temple and his hand touched his shoulder. The already warm summer air continued to wrap around the two as they laid by the bank of the river.

With all this calm, it was easy to forget the storm clouds on the horizon.

                                                                                                 Berlin. 1935.

The Nazi Party had claimed dominance in the government and in the social sphere. It wasn’t uncommon to see sympathizers in the streets protesting another Jewish store or rallying for support. More fanatics, much like Schönerer had been in his youth. Except these people were furthering Schönerer’s work through their new vehicle; Adolf Hitler.

Freddy wasn’t the sort of person to pay close attention to these politics like Klenzendorf was, but it didn’t mean he was completely ignorant to what was going on.

It wasn’t uncommon for Freddy’s brother’s acquaintances to be harassed. Freddy, apparently, seemed to be the ideal Aryan and was praised rather than punished. Rudolf noticed the change in his companion almost immediately, however. He was reluctant to go to the clubs at night and opted for meals at outdoor cafes. More and more he began to isolate from the friends he had made at the clubs and opted for the comfort of his brother’s academically minded friends.

At least they were academically smart. Maybe Freddy didn’t share their mind for books but he shared their mind for survival. Looking back, perhaps Freddy had realized the danger before Klenzendorf was ready to verbally acknowledge it.

Rudolf considered himself lucky he hadn’t made many attachments to the people they met at the Cosy Corner. Many of them were beginning to be considered undesirable by the new regime.

As 1935 passed, however, the status of their relationship did not change much at all. Their closeness could be mistaken for a mentorship. In a way, that is also what it was.

Freddy had begun to ask more and more about Rudolf’s experience in the army during the war. One night as they sat with their brandies in front of the fire, he brought up the Wehrgesetz which had been announced by the government only three days earlier.

“Compulsory service,” echoed Rudolf after Freddy had introduced the law to him. “Sounds like what happened after the Archduke was shot. Well, you’ll have to stop insisting you wear my uniform to bed and get your own. I don’t find it nearly as attractive so don’t even try to bring it up.” He punctuated the attempt at humor by finishing his drink and reaching for the decanter to pour himself a new, fuller glass.

Freddy’s legs uncrossed for a moment. They were seated opposite from one another. The dancing flames illuminated the walls behind and around them. It made Rudolf’s face seem more far more tired and Freddy’s far more energetic.

“Compulsory service doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Freddy said. He passed his glass between his hands and opted to focus on that rather than on Klenzendorf’s face. Good thing, too, because were the twenty-two year-old to look up then he would see the shock on his partner’s face.

“Enschuldigung Sie?”

Freddy’s hands paused and, reluctantly, he lifted his head. “I’m saying,” he cautiously continued, “that maybe it isn’t a bad thing to go back into the army. Or join it, in my case.”

“Friedrich, I don’t think I’m understanding you.” Rudolf’s glass settled between his legs as he leaned forward. “You’d be joining the party.”

“I’m not joining anything besides the Wehrmacht. Doesn’t mean I’m a Nazi.”

Even the word sounded foul in Freddy’s mouth. Rudolf could almost taste the bitter poison on his tongue.  Freddy continued, “It means I’m a German. I’m doing my duty by serving my country. Besides, maybe there won’t be war.”

Rudolf’s laugh was automatic. “Of course there will be war! There will always be a war! Gott in Himmel— “

He drained the glass and then stood, going to stand by the fire. His hand pressed against the wall above the fireplace and he clenched the glass unbearably tight. Were he a stronger man, perhaps he could even break it.

“Rudolf— “

The shifting clued Klenzendorf into the fact that Freddy had stood and was moving toward him. It was confirmed by the hand on his back. He turned his head to look at Freddy.

“I’d rather wear rogue and green varnish than join the party,” Freddy said, making a gagging noise and sticking out his tongue in emphasis.

“You like that one singer with the green varnish,” Klenzendorf pointed out. Freddy’s eyes rolled and he knocked his hand against his partner’s chest. Klenzendorf eased up straight and gave his full attention.

Freddy’s hands were smoothing his shirt and the suspenders that laid against his chest. His eyes concentrated on the mindless task as he spoke. “I will join the army,” he said, “but I won’t join the party. I’ll be a simple German soldier. Just like you.” Blue eyes met brown. They were full of life. Klenzendorf envied that.

“Thanks for calling me simple.”

Freddy’s fist knocked against his chest in jest before Klenzendorf went in for a sound kiss on the mouth. He fixed Freddy’s coiffed hair and patted his cheek. “My soldier,” he remarked, looking over him. Then he pinched and tugged Freddy’s cheek, earning a tap to his own face and a laugh.

                                                                                          Berlin. 1937.

Freddy, as it seemed, didn’t have a choice when it came to associating with the Party. Neither had Rudolf upon his reenlistment. They had been made to swear an oath to the Führer the moment they had written their names down.

Klenzendorf had heard whispers of political prisoners being rounded up in 1935 and 1936. Now it was Jews, gypsies, and others deemed undesirable by Goebbels. Homosexuals were also considered in that regard.

Perhaps it was easier to align with the side that would shoot you in the back the moment they found out who you truly were. At least you could control when the gun was leveled at you.

                                                                                        September 1939

He drowned out the constant drone of propaganda with as much alcohol as his flask could carry. Freddy’s company used to be a grateful distraction, but he had been sent to Poland in September. For Klenzendorf, he found himself reinstated to his rank of lieutenant that he had been given near the end of the Great War. It was a prideful moment, to be sure, but something told Klenzendorf that it was a hollow reward. He would have to prove himself worthy of his former title by action.

                                                                                           April 1940

It had been nearly four months since he had seen Friedrich but Rudolf tried not to think of it too much. In fact, it was easy to forget it had been that long when bombs and bullets were ricocheting around him and he was firing the various weapons he had been issued. It was even easier to forget when he was promoted to Senior Lieutenant during the initial invasion of Oslo.

He didn’t know what was more depressing; not knowing how Friedrich was doing or the oppressive Norwegian atmosphere.

It had been some weeks since he had been able to send a letter to Freddy. In fact, he didn’t quite know where he was now. Last he heard, Freddy was stationed in Czechoslovakia. He didn’t say exactly what he was doing there and Rudolf didn’t ask. He did say, however, he had been given the rank of Oberstabsgefreiter—leading staff enlisted man. Not too shabby for a farmer’s son.

Soon, they were going over the Danish border with the intention of occupying Copenhagen. It was almost considered easy; King Christian X was not prepared for the mighty threat the German army posed and allowed the forces to take control.

They’d celebrated with drink, women, and music the night they took control. The senior officials were awarded with nice apartments throughout their time in the city. Rudolf, being one of them, was more than happy to have warmer quarters and the privacy. He was even happy to celebrate with his men. The comfort of being a senior official was getting to him. He barely remembered what living like a street urchin and struggling for money was like. Now it felt as if his coffers were constantly overflowing. His credit was good if he did not have the appropriate money. Those who were occupied peoples could not turn him down.

Many of the officials and soldiers took advantage as he did. Many of them saw the occupied land as rightfully theirs and given by God.

Paul Betzler was not one of these men. He was taller than Rudolf by three inches and had a great black beard on his face that gave him nearly a distinctive Russian look. But despite the likeness to their Soviet counterparts, he was more refined in nature. Klenzendorf liked him and his mutterings under his breath that critiqued their generals and the incompetence that was spat from their mouths.

He was a good man and an even better soldier. He listened to Klenzendorf and the two found themselves in an unlikely friendship. Despite Betzler’s lower ranking, Rudolf could confide in him and established a regular friendship. They spoke nearly openly about their personal lives and the people who mattered. They were drinking partners and, when the sounds of battle started, partners in battle. It was a frequent occurrence to hear Betzler echoing orders and backing up Klenzendorf when he needed it.

Betlzer mentioned his family time and time again. He had a wife named Rose and two children. His eldest, Inge, was twelve and his youngest, Johannes, was barely four years of age. At his next leave, he would be returning to Falkenheim for a visit. He extended the offer to Rudolf to visit, unless he had a family to return to.

Rudolf had simply smiled to himself and downed a beer. He didn’t miss the watered-down Cosy Corner beer at all.

Rudolf was an atheist but even he had to chalk up Freddy’s transfer as an act of God.

He had hardly believed his eyes when, after being driven away from Bjerkvik in mid-May, he saw the striking blue eyes and unmistakable severe posture on the road.

In contrast to Rudolf’s dirtied uniform and the unmistakable smell of gunpowder that clung to him, Freddy was in a pressed and cleaner uniform. His hat was neatly placed upon his head and he stood a few paces behind his commanding officers as they introduced themselves. His face was thinner than it had been the last time they had seen each other but it wasn’t from malnourishment or disease. Freddy’s jaw was more defined and his cheekbones stood out as if they had been carved with care by Michaelangelo.

Their eyes met over the smoky atmosphere as the two forces mingled, sharing cigarettes and stories as well as reunions.

Their reunion was understated and promised more later. For now, an embrace between friends was all that was shared. Then, filled with pride, Rudolf introduced Freddy to Paul Betzler and it was suggested they share a drink when they return to more comfortable quarters. Whenever that was to be.

That night, they could do nothing more than share a pack of cigarettes and words under a clear sky. They were not used to sleeping rough but they were also not used to being together after months apart. They barely got any sleep that night--Rudolf was too intent on catching up with Freddy and they had to be prepared for the British to move on them.

Klenzendorf was glad to see Freddy hadn't lost his humor. He'd known too many men who developed newer, darker personalities from the moment they saw combat. Hell, Rudolf himself had come of age during the last war and the grim reality of his situation never strayed. But, thankfully, Freddy was still Freddy. He was still smiling, still energetic as he moved about, and still talkative as ever. He even made light of the things he had seen in Czechoslovakia; moving Jews into ghettos and seeing resisting civilians put to death.

“It must have been hard for you,” said Klenzendorf as he passed his flask to his companion. Freddy accepted it and nearly drained the entire thing, shrugging when he finished and passing it back to Rudolf. “It’s not easy. But it’s what we’re told to do,” replied Freddy as he drew his knees against his chest.

He sounded like a soldier; following orders and believing in them because there had to be some sort of benefit to all of this. It had to be making Germany better. But when people like them were being carted away and punished, Rudolf wasn’t quite so sure. Neither, it seemed, was Freddy entirely sure. He could still see the uncertainty in Freddy’s eyes as he spoke but he didn’t call him out on it.

Freddy, as Rudolf was pleased to hear, had managed to get himself out of the task of moving the “undesirables” into ghettos. Rather, he had managed to talk his way into organizing training and education for the “desired ones”. Most of those included children and young people who were to be educated in the proper rules and laws of the great German army. They needed to keep their army strong, after all, and young minds were easily melded.

Though after some months in Czechoslovakia, Freddy had proven impatient with training the children. The teenagers and young men were much easier than ten year olds who had never held anything more than their mother’s skirt much less a knife. He had been lacking in the patience department and his superiors had carefully organized his relocation to Norway. The Germans had been taking heavy losses, especially at sea, and they needed him there rather than educating youth he had no patience or understanding for.

Freddy, as it turned out, was better on the front lines. He was more focused and certain with a gun in his hand and orders barked at him. He responded well under pressure and was observant of his surroundings. It meant he was smart. It meant he would survive longer than most.

He stayed as close to Rudolf as he could, opting to follow his command rather than that of an officer he did not know well. It wasn’t to say Freddy was disobedient but, rather, that he had certain loyalties.

Most of the time, it worked out for the two of them. Rudolf was experienced in battle and had a mind for anticipating enemy movements. Betlzer had commented how Rudolf’s instincts had saved many lives. It would be a matter of time before their superiors noticed and promoted him. Rudolf tried not to hold his breath. He understood how bureaucratic these things were.

Yet even Rudolf’s instincts could not protect both himself and Freddy from the inevitability of injury.

The German occupation of Norway was not without resistance by both the citizens as well as the Allied armies that were trying to push them out. In late May, the Battle of Narvik had resulted in Freddy being shot in the leg.

Rudolf was more than used to seeing people shot down. He tried not to let his emotions get in the way as he saw Freddy losing his balance and taking a knee. His head ducked as bullets flew around him until he collapsed on the ground, his hands going to compress his leg.

He was out in the open and vulnerable. It would be stupid to go to him. Rudolf had made a vow to himself when he rejoined that he would not leave a comrade behind. The fearful part of him regretted that vow as he commanded the men to move forward and he went to Freddy’s aid.

Freddy’s pallor was alabaster. His blue eyes were illuminated in a sea of white. The unmistakable scent of blood reached Klenzendorf’s nose as he settled beside him and examined the leg. It was salvageable—that much he could tell.

He’d shouted for a medic and insisted that Freddy not show fear as the medic scrambled over, ducking his head through the gunfire. Freddy had never been one for hiding his emotions. He was obviously scared.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’ll be happy, how is that?” He managed a grimace rather than a smile. It pained Rudolf. “Hope they give me the Iron Cross and a promotion,” coughed the younger soldier as he was helped to his feet, gritting his teeth and putting more weight on his uninjured foot as the medic took the brunt of the support. Rudolf stared at him, exasperated, and opted to cover them as they retreated to friendly lines.

“Get that bullet out of his leg, now,” commanded Klenzendorf to the medic. Freddy, who was pale and focused on his injury, barely acknowledged Rudolf as he and the medic went quickly to somewhere safer.

It was a stroke of luck that Freddy was shot where he was shot; another two inches and he would have severed an artery. He would have bled out without any hope of survival.

The other stroke of luck was that, besides temporary hearing loss from the explosions and bruises from dodging enemy fire, Rudolf was not seriously hurt. Sure, he'd also probably pulled a muscle but it was nothing compared to the numbers of dead and maimed. Many of their other comrades were not so lucky. Paul Betzler had only survived a shot to the head because a soldier had been in the line of fire. The poor kid didn't know what was coming to him until it pierced his helmet. The German army had taken heavy losses both on land and, as they discovered later, at sea. The Allied armies were vast in Narvik and the resistance of the Norwegians was only growing.

Rudolf opted to visit Freddy in the medical tent and was more than pleased to see he was able to stand with the aid of a crutch. He was smiling despite the obvious pain he was in.

“Good news is that I’ll be sent back to the capital to recover,” he told Rudolf as they shared a cigarette later that night, his leg elevated on a pillow at the end of his cot. Rudolf took a drag and held the cigarette to Freddy, who took it with two fingers and used it to gesture rather than smoke. "I'll still be in the country. They won't send me home."

“Is there bad news?”

Freddy’s face only brightened. “You’ll have to be the one to look after me. Orders of the medics.”

“I’m sure the generals will want nothing more than to assign me to be your personal nurse. Especially now that the Allies are pulling out.” Klenzendorf reached for his cigarette only for Freddy to lift it away from him. He grinned triumphantly and continued to wave it about as he spoke. “That’s your new assignment, didn’t you know? I heard it was direct orders from Himmler himself.”

“Himmler is in Berlin with his Gestapo playthings. I’d like to see him out here,” snorted Klenzendorf. He reached for the cigarette again to no avail. “Will you—“

He suddenly knelt on the bed to wrestle the cigarette from Freddy’s hand, earning him a laugh from the injured party. Quickly glancing about the medical tent and seeing they were given a modesty curtain, Klenzendorf drew it and swiftly kissed Freddy. The cigarette dropped from the younger soldier’s hand. He pressed his hand to Klenzendorf’s back, managing to ride up his jacket.

“Hey, hey,” murmured Rudolf, breaking the kiss for a moment, “easy. You’re hurt.”

Freddy carelessly replied, “I’m vulnerable. There’s a difference.”

“Gott in Himmel, what are we to do with you, Finkel, with you as vulnerable as you are?” Rudolf’s voice was low as he shifted closer. Freddy’s hand moved inside his jacket and over his chest, working at getting under his clothes just so he could touch him, feel close to him. Klenzendorf’s head bowed as he kissed Freddy again, easily leaning into the younger man’s touch.

It was the end of the year when both of them were promoted.

For his proven experience in battle and under immense pressure, Rudolf Klenzendorf was given the rank of Hauptmann—Captain. Friedrich Finkel was given the rank of Unteroffizier—Subordinate officer. The rank was a suggestion of Paul Betzler and Rudolf Klenzendorf, respectively, due to Friedrich’s utter devotion to the new captain. It was decided that Freddy would officially receive command from Klenzendorf. It pleased the two men greatly.

It was an arrangement which brought them many benefits. They received apartments where they did not have to live with occupied citizens. Rather, they lived by themselves and Rudolf was able to have access to the finer things. Of course he shared those with Freddy. What one reaped the other received.

They were also able to have access to their own privacy. Being Rudolf’s subordinate, it wasn’t uncommon for other soldiers or commanding officers to see Finkel by Klenzendorf’s side at all hours of the day or to hear him echoing orders from the captain. Just another soldier trying to make his way through the ranks by sucking up to his commanding officer, they supposed.

They didn’t know the half of it.

1941 began calmly. It was a suitable transition period for Finkel and Klenzendorf both as they grew accustomed to their new command and their new routines. War was different when you directly reaped the benefits of the towns and countries that you conquered. Their occupation of Norway and Denmark brought them a nearly nine months of comfort. During that time, when not fighting against the resistance or at Allied advances toward the surrounding territories, the two men were permitted to go on leave. Klenzendorf decided to take advantage of Paul Betzler’s offer from months ago and visit the charming town of Falkenheim.

Friedrich was enchanted by the town and the people. They were not only simple country folk yet they were not the cosmopolitan urban dwellers of Berlin. Many of them minded their own business and lived only to survive and serve their country.

Rudolf found Paul’s family rather charming, as well. Freddy was more often than not stuck with Inge’s efforts to impress and little Johannes’s multitude of questions and fawning over his uniform. The other three adults, including Paul’s fiery wife Rosie, could not help but laugh as the little boy and girl took Freddy about and insisted he play games with them. Freddy was absolutely miserable to do anything but discuss war.

After many drinks, one night, he found Paul’s sympathies beginning to wane. The children were in bed and the adults were sharing drinks and speaking about the recent founding of a Gestapo headquarters in the town.

Klenzendorf did not know if he was too drunk and simply mishearing things but many of the ideas Paul broached sounded borderline treasonous. There were insinuations about propaganda being factually incorrect and that, in fact, the so-called undesirables hadn’t done a thing to deserve what the Nazis were doing.

Klenzendorf didn’t know how to end the discussion. It was dangerous territory they were diving into. Freddy, for his part, was only listening and not verbally reacting to what Rosie and Paul discussed with them.

Thankfully, Rosie knew when the conversation was getting a bit too controversial and dangerous. She used her charm to distract her husband and turned on the music player. Freddy instantly perked up and began to move his shoulders in a timely manner with the music. He extended his hand to Rosie and she took it. They led each other to the middle of the living room area and began to dance; shoulders shimmying to and fro as well as a few turns. Freddy had always been more of a dancer than Rudolf, who was more than content to watch his partner and newfound acquaintance dance together.

He and Paul didn’t stay seated for long. Rosie took her husband’s hand and pulled him in and Freddy copied the gesture with Klenzendorf, who finished his drink and shook his head.

“Come on, Rudolf!” Shouted Rosie, her arms thrown around her husband’s shoulders as he danced her in a circle. Freddy’s brows lifted suggestively. He wiggled his fingers for his captain to take.

“Come on, Rudolf,” echoed Freddy, grinning as the music kicked into a rather lively speed. It was probably the alcohol that led to Klenzendorf giving in and taking his partner’s hand, bringing him to dance on the carpet.

Admittedly, he was a terrible dancer. He was more stilted and stiff whereas Freddy was freer and certainly more loose. Shirts were unbuttoned and decorum forgotten. It was almost like being in the clubs again.

Paul had decided to stop dancing nearly an hour later. Had it been an hour, truly? Time seemed to fly when you were drunk and dancing.

Freddy had collapsed on a couch beside Rosie, his legs across her lap. Then Rosie tried to cover his with hers, and so on until the two collapsed into a fit of laughter and Rudolf could only sit on the floor and watch, his vision spinning and blurry.

At some point, Rosie had wrapped her scarf around Freddy’s neck and he’d stood up, batting his eyes and singing a song of Marlene Dietrich as he playfully strode toward Klenzendorf. The captain lifted his head as Freddy knelt before him, the scarf going around his neck. He could hardly concentrate on the words. Putting his hands on Freddy’s shoulders, to his drunken brain, seemed to be a good way to understand him. Friedrich seemed all too happy to finish the song with a brief kiss, earning Rosie’s laughter. Rudolf looked bewildered but welcomed it, punctuating the end with a two-fingered tap to Friedrich’s cheek and earning another kiss.

“It was how Marlene did it in ‘Southern in Morocco’,” Freddy slurred, joining Rudolf on the floor and leaning his head on his superior’s shoulder. The captain slung his arm around Freddy’s shoulder and mussed his hair, earning a displeased noise from the younger man. The captain looked at Rosie where she sat above them, her eyes watching them with something akin to fondness. Any fear had been forgotten hours ago when she had brought out the champagne. In fact, Klenzendorf realized as Freddy’s weight pushed him to the ground, there was no reason to be afraid. Their true allies were not the Italians or the Japanese; their true allies were here in this house in Falkenheim.

Rosie was bemused as Freddy seemed to claim Klenzendorf as a mattress. She laid her body on the couch and gazed at them. “How sweet love is,” she remarked as she closed her eyes.

Yes, indeed, how sweet it was.

Chapter Text

                                                                  November 1941. The Eastern Front

“It’s colder than Krampus’s tit out here.”

A cigarette burned away on Rudolf’s mouth as he spoke, puffing out smoke into the grey air. He was overlooking the snowy terrain before them and the dull colored uniforms of their fellow comrades marching forward. Even their winter uniforms could not entirely keep out the chill that seemed to seep into his bones and marrow. He wondered how people could actually survive in this tundra.

There wasn’t much to see thus far. The Russian wilderness seemed to be flat and unending as they made their way deeper into the Soviet Union. Spare huts and poor excuses for villages cropped up occasionally but it was mostly trees and barren landscape that greeted them.

Flanking him was Freddy and Paul, respectively. He relied on Freddy’s laugh and was amused to hear Paul’s response. “Colder than a whore’s heart. Enough to make your prick fall off all the same.”

With his beard and his hardened glance, Paul seemed to fit into their surroundings. Rudolf had offhandedly commented they should send him to infiltrate the Soviet Army. Their unit affectionately called Betzler ‘Our Russian Bear’. The Russian Bear was finally home, it seemed, but not to make his bed and hibernate.

The Red Army had broken the fragile peace with Germany and they found themselves on opposite sides of the war. It had been a decree from the Führer that the Wehrmacht retake the Soviet lands that, in truth, belonged to Germany. It wasn’t like the army could refuse. It would be a huge territorial gain as well as an advantage over the Allies.

“Better not bring that up to your Rosie,” Rudolf commented as they began to walk forward, hearing echoing orders to keep walking and not stop. Tanks and trucks steadily rolled to the back and sides of the advancing army. If he wanted to, Klenzendorf could have opted to get in a truck. Something about sitting for miles and miles before action was to happen drove him a tad stir crazy. As soon as they had crossed the border and through the first few villages, he’d abandoned a truck and opted to walk with his men. Obediently, dependently, Freddy had followed him.

“She’s had my prick since she married me,” snorted Paul as they walked. His gloved fingers rubbed together. Rudolf could tell he was playing with his ring as he often did when he spoke of his wife and family. “You don’t seem to mind it,” Freddy piped up, “that she’s got you like that.”

The corners of Paul’s eyes crinkled, showing the lines that had begun to form on his young face. He wasn’t as young as Freddy, who was turning twenty-six in three months’ time, but he was not as old as Rudolf. There was still life and potential in his eyes despite all he had seen and done. He was full of ideas. Ideas, Rudolf was more than certain, that would get him killed if he confided in the wrong people.

                                                                              Five months before. Poland.

Those drunken chats in Falkenheim had not ceased when they returned from leave. Rather, in rare moments they found themselves away from their comrades, Paul would quietly dismiss reports of prison camps and executions of so-called traitors. He would comment under his breath how weak the Führer must be to fear a group of people who had not given his existence a mere thought before he’d made a fuss in the streets.

“Careful,” Rudolf had told him one night as they shared a drink together. Freddy had still been nursing his injury, which flared with pain every so often, and taken to his apartment instead of joining the two men. “You’re a good man, Betzler, but good men should know when to be smart men.”

“A good man and a smart man can be one in the same.” Replied Betzler as he had leaned over to refill his glass. “And such a man can step up when he sees something that is not right.”

 Klenzendorf’s brow lifted as he tried to make sense of his friend’s words. Paul had continued. “You don’t like what’s happening, Klenzendorf. You’ve got just as much to lose as any other German.”

The tension was immediate. “I might not agree with all the things the Führer does, but I’m a part of his army. I fight for my country and for him.”

“You fight for the persecution of your countrymen.”

Rudolf could not help the laugh. “According to the Führer, they never were our countrymen.”

“Then by that logic, you’re not mine,” Paul had retorted sharply. “And neither is Finkel.”

The crackling of the fire and the scraping of the table were the only sounds as Klenzendorf had abruptly gone to his feet. His eyes had been blazing like the flames of his fire. His jacket had been unbuttoned and slung lazily off one shoulder. His unkempt appearance and reaction contrasted greatly to Paul’s contained reaction.

“What are you accusing me of, soldat?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Hauptmann.” Paul had set his glass aside and rose to his feet. “You’re a loyal German. Finkel is a loyal German; loyal to a fault. But I’ve noticed his loyalties lie more closely with you than with anyone else.”

Klenzendorf had to struggle through the buzz in his brain to formulate a coherent retort. “He sees me as a mentor and a friend.”

“A close friend.” Paul had nodded. “A warm bruder, to anyone who can see clearly.” Another hand lifted to stop the retort on the tip of Klenzendorf’s tongue. “I’m not going to report you. You’re a good man, Rudolf, and so is Finkel. You were nothing but kind to my family. You and I are a lot alike, in that way. I would do anything to give my children and my wife a better Germany, just as you would do so for Sub-officer Finkel.”

Klenzendorf had rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, trying to re-dominate the conversation through silent look alone.

It didn’t work. Paul had continued, “I look at you and I don’t see the hateful devil the Führer says you are. I see a soldier who deserves his command and the respect he’s given. You give a damn about the lives of the men you serve with. That’s more than I can say about other superiors. I would have been dead in Narvik if it weren’t for you and so would many other men. I might not understand many things but I understand love. Love is the strongest thing in the world.”

His blue eyes had lost their focus for a moment. Rudolf recalled feelin the defensive walls coming down as his friend spoke. “You said,” the captain had finally said, “that you would do anything to give your family a better Germany. And what do you think that Germany is?”

Paul had refocused on Rudolf as he was questioned. “I think that Germany is one that includes people like you and Sub-officer Finkel. And Jews. And those who have opinions and lives that might not match mine, but who should be able to express them. Those who love and want to live. That is what a great Germany is, Rudolf.”

The words had struck him in the manner a bullet struck its unsuspecting target. If it had truly been a bullet, his chest would have exploded from the pain it brought. Was it truly pain? Rudolf had done his best to mask his internal reaction through a hardened expression.

Paul had placed a hand on Klenzendorf’s shoulder and squeezed. His eyes—Rudolf would never forget—were nearly forlorn. It was an expression rather unbecoming of the man he had come to know over the past few years. The soldier then retrieved their drinks, filled their glasses to the brim, and offered one to Rudolf, who had taken it slowly. Their glasses clinked together and they drank, silently, together. Brothers-in-arms still despite the world outside

                                                                         Now. November 1941.

  No matter how many times they tried, it was as if their shovels could not dig into the dirt. The trenches needed constant maintenance. Artillery fire caused rampant damage. They had been ordered to construct a solid defense but that was rather difficult when the temperature was a frigid -7 degrees Celsius. Keeping their weapons from freezing was almost as time consuming as keeping themselves from freezing. Fires did not help the cold that seemed to burn any bare flesh that was left exposed.

Rudolf had, by his own estimation, gone through three packs of cigarettes a day until the middle of the month when he was told that supply trucks would be delayed due to an incoming storm. He would have to ration them wisely, which was not what the captain wanted to hear. Freddy had, helpfully, offered his own ration of cigarettes which Rudolf was thankful for. Freddy had never been much of a smoker. He only tended to share one or two with Rudolf or other comrades. Now he opted for taking swigs of his superior’s flask of brandy to keep his body warm. Rudolf noticed how he would constantly be in motion, as well, almost as if he were dancing.

“Keeps the blood moving,” Freddy replied one day, his feet repeating a pattern that could be mistaken for a Charleston. It was a poor attempt, however, but Klezendorf found that Freddy was right. That night, when the cold kept him awake, he opted to repeat the movements in his own stilted way. To Freddy’s credit, it kept his body moving.

The same couldn’t be said for their other comrades. There were hundreds of cases of frostbite being reported as the cruel Soviet winter barreled over the trenches. Their superior officers had severely underestimated the winter and, as a result, the men were poorly dressed. It wasn’t uncommon to hear a cry of shock when a man discovered his fingers had gone black and numb. As the days and weeks progressed, amputations were becoming as common as injuries from battle.

Rudolf had to admit that the Soviets were a determined people. It made sense, after all, that their strength was the Wehrmacht’s weakness; they knew this sort of weather and were vastly more prepared for it. The bodies left in No Man’s Land were layered in furs that the Wehrmacht graciously scavenged. But no amount of scavenging furs and other scraps of clothing could prepare them for how vicious their former allies were.

Whereas before, in Norway and Poland, Klenzendorf seemed to rarely fear injury, he woke each morning finding a new bruise or a new scratch. Freddy, too, was not left unscathed. He had healed from being shot nearly half a year ago but the constant cold and strain of battle wore his body down. It wasn’t uncommon to see him limping or rubbing at his leg and ankle to soothe the pains. His face was often red from the cold and his gloves nearly burned through from repeated firing of his gun. Even his wrists and shoulders suffered from the kickback of his weapons or the repeated hoisting and aiming.

One night, in Klenzendof’s tent, the captain saw the extent of what the offensive was doing to Freddy’s body. Under lamplight he properly observed the dark circles under the younger man’s eyes and how stiffly he moved as he went about making Rudolf’s tea or preparing other rationed meals. Rudolf extended his hand to stop Freddy, who placed down the mug and gave full attention.

“At ease.”

Freddy’s shoulder marginally relaxed as Rudolf looked over him. He offered his companion the tea and poured a suitable amount of his brandy inside. It was easy for them to have constant access to the good alcohol; the perks of being a captain. It was the one luxury Klenzendorf could rely on in the middle of this frozen hell scape.

Freddy took a large drink from the cup before offering it to Rudolf. “Don’t want you to freeze out here,” he said, his teeth slightly chattering. Rudolf turned to find a fur blanket—really a cloak taken from a dead Soviet—and draped it around Freddy’s shoulders. In return, Freddy stepped closer to Rudolf and shared that warmth of the bear fur with him.

For the first time in quite a few days, tenderness and comfort settled around the two as they sat on the ground. Klenzendorf had managed to get two proper cots allotted for his and Freddy’s personal use inside the tent. It was assumed that Freddy would not be sleeping in exposed conditions like many of the other soldiers; Klenzendorf had argued that Friedrich Finkel was too valuable as a sub-officer to be exiled into the elements. He would need his loyalty and his observational skills to report any orders from high command. Freddy needed to stay close to him at all times.

It probably wasn’t helping conceal elements of their closeness but Rudolf knew, in this winter, there would be more pressing things for high command to think about than two Aryan men insisting on sharing a tent.

“You need new gloves,” Klenzendorf commented as his hands found Freddy’s. “Your hands will freeze and you won’t be able to hold a gun, much less bring me tea.”

“Because the real necessity is your tea,” Freddy replied, the chattering subsiding as his body warmed up. Rudolf brought his tea to his mouth and savored the warmth which traveled down his throat and into his aching stomach. He was craving a full meal; a warm meal of more than military rations.

Outside, the wind howled. They could almost hear the complaints of soldiers and the barked commands. Inside the tent, it was not of their concern.

Klezendorf passed the tea to Freddy and touched the leg that had been injured. His gloved fingers massaged the spot, eliciting a hiss of pain from Freddy as his fingers strayed close to the spot of impact. “Easy. Still tender.”

“I know,” replied Rudolf, “you tell me that all the time.”

“And you still don’t leave it alone.”

The captain’s shoulders moved up and down. His fingers moved to the inside of Freddy’s thigh, staking their claim there. Freddy’s body angled closer toward Rudolf’s in response.  Their foreheads pressed together though the cold prevented either man from entirely feeling the physical sensation of their touch. Their hearts understood and that mattered more.

Rudolf’s head found its home on Freddy’s shoulder and the younger man’s arm brought him closer. Freddy’s free hand still clutched the tea safely. No need to waste good tea or brandy.

It was easy to become distracted by the warmth their bodies created. Rudolf didn’t notice Freddy had nearly finished the tea until the cup was placed into his hand. He removed the hand from Freddy’s thigh to finish the cup, placing it aside so his hand could return to where it had settled.

“If we were in Berlin,” Rudolf said absently, “there would be a large fire going. We’d be in a bigger apartment with a huge fireplace.”

“Why an apartment?” Questioned Freddy. “Why not a house? Give us a house.”

“A house, then,” Klenzendorf conceded. Freddy was satisfied. “What does it look like?”

Rudolf scoffed, “You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to buy the Betlzer’s house from them because you fancied it.” He felt Freddy shifting his weight and readjusted his head on the man’s shoulder. Freddy’s fingers drummed on and squeezed his arm as he spoke.

“It’s like the Betzler’s. But it’s a bit grander. There’s enough room to entertain if we’d like to but it’s mostly for show. There’s a room with a fireplace and it keeps burning when it’s cold. It keeps everything warm.” Freddy’s head turned to look down at Rudolf. The captain didn’t budge, content to imagine they were in that house right then and not in a tent on the Eastern Front and backed into a corner.

Freddy continued, his voice low and absolutely comforting to Klenzendorf’s nerves. “You have your office but even that’s warm. You don’t have to wear a jacket and neither do I. We have a radio that plays all the best songs. Not that folk crap you like.”

“I don’t like it,” countered Rudolf, his eyes opening, “I tolerate it.”

“You like it. You played all that Austrian country scheiße when I was recovering. I wanted to blow my brains out.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. Wouldn’t want to get another sub-officer when I have you perfectly trained,” grumbled Rudolf. He looked up at Freddy and squeezed the spot he was holding. Freddy gently inhaled through his nose and sighed, giving his companion his full attention. “What?”

“If we get sent back to Berlin, or Paris, I’ll find us that house. Ja?”

“Paris,” Freddy commented, “is for generals. You’ll have to get on your knees for High Command to get us stationed there.”

“A noble sacrifice for some luxury.” Rudolf brought Freddy’s gloved hand to his lips. “I’ll do my duty gratefully.”

“The ultimate proof of devotion,” sighed the sub-officer. He touched Rudolf’s chin and smiled before kissing him.

Kissing, Rudolf thought as Freddy eased his back onto the insulated ground, was another way they could find warmth. Removing clothes was a terrible idea in this shoddy excuse for shelter but it was probably for the best they kept their intimacy to moments like this. It promised much more for the future when they got that house and the proper privacy they deserved.

As the days and weeks progressed, the situation seemed more and more hopeless to Klenzendorf. Even Freddy, who was typically full of energy, was not immune to the drastic downturn the Moscow campaign had taken.

It was more likely to see their comrades die from disease and cold than by battle. Klenzendorf had expected to see these men die by the dozen and had steeled himself. He’d mentioned to Freddy many times to prepare himself for the sights he would see. But no matter how much warning was given, nothing could prepare Freddy for the sight of frozen, deceased bodies scattering the landscape and staining it with their blood and body fluids.

As they advanced in the direction of Moscow, Klenzendorf could feel his body and his mind wearing down and his allegiance waning. In moments of desperation and with failure on the horizon, the true stupidity of their superiors were coming out. Commands to advance or retreat created a confusing and conflicting environment. Plans of attack ended up costing more lives than saving them. The Soviets pushed them hundreds of steps back as the Wehrmacht seemed to take only twenty steps forward.

He began to understand Paul Betzler’s perspective more and more as they reached 1942. The High Command was useless. Their generals were incompetent. It would take something large for Rudolf’s faith to be completely decimated.

                                                                                  March 1942

Even in the Great War, Rudolf had not experienced an injury that utterly devastated him to his core.

He should have trusted his instincts the minute he received the orders to advance on Moscow despite the Soviet counteroffensive pushing their ranks back. Their salient projected defiantly toward the capital that, according to the generals, would be taken in a matter of weeks. They had to keep the faith and keep fighting. All this despite the grounded Luftwaffe planes that would have offered them much support in their attack as well as the unreliable weapons that were still malfunctioning from the devastating winter. Also, never to forget, the dwindling number of men who had died from disease, cold, battle, or a combination of all three.

He didn’t know whether he preferred the mud or the snow but neither helped his mood as they planned to meet the Soviets in the middle, intending to snuff them out and take a shortcut toward the capital. It seemed to Rudolf that the generals were delusional in thinking the Soviets were that weak.

He didn’t hesitate in voicing his concerns to his superiors; perhaps there was another way to advance on Moscow without going right into the jaws of the enemy. The men were exhausted and reeling from the winter. The advancements had done nothing but wear them down. Their morale was too low. Maybe even a few more days of rest would do them some good.

He was threatened with demotion if he ever spoke out against his commanding officers again.

Paul had vouched for him but it earned him verbal warning as well. Freddy stayed silent; ready to defend Klenzendorf until the threat of demotion was barked at him.

It was barely a week later when Rudolf’s instincts were proven right.

The retaliation of Soviets had been underestimated, as all aspects of the campaign had been. Their weapons cache had also been misjudged.

At some point in the battle, Klenzendorf realized, he couldn’t find Freddy. For the first time in the campaign, the smoke and violence of battle had parted them. But Freddy would be fine; Freddy was a capable soldier. He was smarter than he was often given credit for. He had listened well to Rudolf’s advice. Freddy had to be fine. He needed to be fine.

Klenzendorf couldn’t allow his concern to distract him. Distraction was what got men killed.

It wasn’t distraction that led him to the next moment. No one could have foreseen the massive explosion hitting only three feet from where Klenzendorf was standing.

He knew all too well what the shockwave of a bomb was like; the intense heat and the force with which a human body can be thrown back. But he wasn’t prepared for the sort of pain that penetrated his body, particularly his face.

For all the men he had seen die, Rudolf had never considered what dying would be like. He had seen men die screaming for their mothers or fathers, quietly choking on their own blood, or by disappearing in the middle of an explosion; not leaving a trace that they had ever existed in the first place.

He wondered if there would be anything left of him to mourn. Would his body be too badly mangled to be identified? Would any trace of him be left? Was Freddy okay? Was he, too, dead? Klenzendorf was an atheist but he felt grief for the fact he would not be able to see the young man’s face again.

It was then, Klenzendorf realized, that he couldn’t possibly be dead. If he was dead, would he be able to consider these outcomes? Wouldn’t thought be completely unreachable? If he was dead, he would return to the darkness from which he had come and he would simply cease to exist.

When he opened his eyes, he knew there was something wrong instantly. It wasn’t the cramped feeling in his joints or the fact that the right side of his body was throbbing that clued him into his new reality. It was the look on Freddy’s face.

To his utter relief, Freddy was not badly hurt. There were red marks on his face that could only have come from the blast of an explosion. His lip was split and his left cheekbone was a harsh purple. Though his arm was in a sling, it did not seem badly injured. Freddy seemed to show no concern for himself but, rather, for his captain.

“Rudolf.”

His ears were still ringing. He could barely hear his own name. Instead, it was dull and almost clogged as if water were trapped inside his ear canal. It ached terribly, too. As he tried to turn his head to the side, it caused him to groan in pain. Slowly he felt the binding of the bandages against the right side of his face. Touching them reconfirmed it.

But the bandages were not completely around his head. No, rather, it was as if there was a makeshift eyepatch covering his right eye.

“A mirror,” rasped Rudolf. His throat was dry. He barely sounded human. He saw his hand reaching for Freddy, who attempted to dissuade him by taking his hand and lowering it.

“You need to rest, Hauptmann.”

“Give me a mirror, dammit,” ordered Klenzendorf, coughing through the roughness in his throat. Freddy uncharacteristically flinched and released his partner’s hand. He seemed to take an eternity to speak next, unwisely rousing Rudolf’s ire. When Rudolf shouted again, he did not hesitate. He found a mirror and, obediently, held it in front of Rudolf’s face.

His face was bruised and red. The patches of red stopped where the makeshift eyepatch had been secured over his right eye. Rudolf’s fingers reached to touch it as he looked at himself.

“What’s underneath it?”

By that time, a doctor had come to the bedside. “Hauptmann, it is unwise to remove the bandage now. Your eye sustained damage and must heal.”

“How much damage?” Klenzendorf began to sit up. Freddy aided him, readjusting the pillows so he could rest his back against them. It was unwise for the injured captain to do so and he grunted at the strain and soreness in his back. Later he would come to realize that his bones were badly bruised and two of his ribs had been fractured from when he had been blown back by the explosion.

The doctor was hesitant to give the full extent of the damage. So Klenzendorf asked again: “How much damage?”

He didn’t have to ask a third time.

When the explosion had gone off, Klenzendorf had been three feet away. He had raised his arm in reaction to the shockwave and to protect himself in the futile manner he could. His right hand had been predominantly covering the left side of his face while his forearm shielded his nose and mouth. A combination of heat blast and shrapnel had rushed toward his face and impacted his right eye. If he truly concentrated, he could feel micro-shards of the bomb had imbedded in his eye. But that was if Rudolf truly focused. The color of his iris was fading from a brown to a light blue. There was no way to save the sight in his right eye.

It was a reality that crashed over him. After the doctor left to tend to other, more seriously wounded men, Rudolf sat on the cot in utter shock. Freddy stood beside him helpless. For the first time, he could do nothing for his captain.

There were no words that could make the situation any better. Freddy couldn’t simply get him a new eye and repair his eyesight. Rudolf couldn’t use his willpower to heal his eye. This wasn’t anything either of them could fix.

It was impossible for Klenzendorf to sleep that night. Freddy, too, seemed to be unable to rest though they did not say anything as they sat together on Rudolf’s bed. The next day he asked the doctors if there was truly no way to save his eyesight. No, they told him, there was nothing they could do.

From that attack, he learned as he regained his strength, nearly half the men in their regiment had been killed or taken captive by the Soviets. For those who were taken captive, it seemed they were as good as dead. Their enemies were a brutal and vicious race. Rudolf had heard stories through their time on the front; how they would skin men alive and, sometimes, eat their flesh raw while they were still breathing. He wasn’t sure how many of the stories he believed but he knew that people who lived in this sort of environment were an entirely different breed. They were certainly an unforgiving people.

Paul Betzler had not died. Despite everything, he had survived with only mild injuries. But there was something that had drastically shifted in the man’s personality.

On the day Rudolf was to be officially released from medical, Paul was in a new uniform and had his few things with him. He had been ordered to Italy to help Mussolini’s men defend the country from the British. But even as he gave the report, Klenzendorf could tell he didn’t intend to follow those orders.

The manner in which Paul bid him goodbye was something that stayed with the captain. He had been surprised when their handshake turned to an embrace as when Paul had told him to look after his wife and children, if anything were to happen to him. And with that, his only other friend was gone.

It didn’t take long for Klenzendorf and Freddy to be called into the general’s quarters. Backed miles away from Moscow into a conquered town, they were ushered into the relative warmth of an occupied house.

Any formalities were skipped. Though Klenzendorf had fought well and bravely, sacrificing much for the Reich, there was a grave concern about his ability to lead when he could not see out of his right eye. It would impair his obvious sight and general safety. If his safety was compromised, what was to say that the lives of his men wouldn’t be compromised as well? A cripple couldn’t lead.

Klenzendorf argued that he was not a cripple. He did not lose any limbs. He walked with a slight limp and it would be some time before his ribs entirely healed but he was working to get back into fighting shape. He was a soldier and there was still a war going on. If old men could fight, so could he. His ability was not compromised just because his right eye was going blind.

Yes, Klenzendorf was loyal indeed. He loved his country. He had proven himself in, now, two wars. But if he had lost sight in one eye, what was to say his left eye wouldn’t be compromised in a future battle? Then what would the army do with him.

Bless Freddy. Bless Friedrich Finkel because he spoke up on Rudolf’s behalf.

“The captain has been training his left eye to be more dominant,” Freddy reported quickly. “He has been making remarkable progress each day. His shooting skills have never been better.”

It was true; Klenzendorf had been practicing drawing and shooting with his handgun to get used to the feeling of seeing out of his less-dominant eye. It wasn’t natural but it was coming along. He even offered to prove it.

It wouldn’t be necessary, said the generals. Rudolf would be sent back to Poland to heal and a reassessment of his condition would occur in a month’s time. Freddy, too, would go with him to heal from the fracture he had sustained. The sub-officer would write reports on any changes in Rudolf’s condition.

Klenzendorf supposed it was a comfort that Freddy was permitted to go with him. It was a victory, albeit a weak one.

It wasn’t an official discharge but, as the reality settled over him, it was a polite discharge.

They returned to their station in Poland on inactive duty. It drove the captain to near insanity.

As he often did, he drank. But now he began to drink more than he usually did. Rudolf would spend his time indoors rather than outdoors. He would be up all hours of the night and sluggish during the day as he waited for the inevitable papers of discharge to arrive.

The discharge papers seemed to be an inevitability; a noose that perpetually hung over his head. What good was a soldier with no eye, his general had said. A liability, he had been called. If he had no use as a soldier, then what was he good for? He would sit and do nothing as more lives were wasted for a game of chess? Freddy's life could be one that was lost in this game. 

They were so easily manipulated and used for the gain of a leader that would not hesitate to have them executed the minute he found out who they really were. 

In May, Rudolf stumbled after getting up from his chair. His flask and his gun, which had not been secured in his side holster, clattered to the ground. Freddy put down his newspaper and rose to help his companion to his feet.

“Let me go.”

“I’ve got you. You’re drunk—“

“I said let go, Freddy,” insisted Rudolf. Freddy didn’t notice how deep in his register the captain’s voice rested. It was almost a rumbling. It was darker than usual.

“Rudolf, you’re done. Go to bed—“

Rudolf’s hand pushed against Freddy’s chest to ward him away. The sub-officer stepped back in surprise as the captain exclaimed, “Get away!”

They were staring at each other as if on opposing sides; separated by hundreds of miles even though they stood mere feet from each other.

Klenzendorf had never yelled at Freddy like that in his life. Of course they got into disagreements but the older man had been patient with Freddy and vice versa. If he did get frustrated, he always apologized. It was never directly Freddy’s fault even if a mistake had been made.

Now, Freddy looked at him as if he were a different man. His eyes were wide and he was reeling inside. The shock was replaced by the expression of a person emotionally cutting himself off. Through his cloud of drunkenness, Klenzendorf could see the wrong he had done.

“Freddy—“

Instead of staying to hear the excuse, Freddy rubbed his jaw and turned to exit the room. Rudolf got his bearings and went after him, focusing on keeping his steps steady and even. Within a few paces he managed to catch up to the younger soldier in the foyer. His hand went to Freddy’s shoulder and waist.

“Friedrich—“

The shrugging off was sudden. Freddy turned so Klenzendorf could see the utter conflict and pain on his face. “Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean you have to make me miserable as well,” snapped the officer. One arm folded across his chest. His free hand rubbed at his jaw then pushed through his hair, doing anything to distract the twenty-nine year-old from Klenzendorf. Blue eyes searched for some sort of coherence. For his part, Rudolf stood there and waited for the younger man to speak. “I’m sorry I pushed you,” he said when he realized Freddy wasn’t going to say anything.

Pale fingers extended toward him as Freddy spoke. “It’s not just hard for you. It’s hard for me too, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this anymore than you like living this way. I don’t like what this war has done to you.” The fingers pushed through blond hair. “I don’t like being here watching you suffer because you can’t prove yourself. But it doesn’t mean you have to do nothing about it.”

“What do you want me to do, Friedrich?” Asked Rudolf. Freddy began to pace toward the unlit fireplace. It was gated off. He braced against the mantle as Rudolf continued to barrage him. “You want me to catch the next train to the front and beg them to not demote me?”

“I don’t want you to wallow like you have nothing left to live for.” Freddy still did not look at him. “You’re still a soldier. Injured, yes, but you’re still a goddamn soldier. They can’t take that from you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Klenzendorf shot back. “You aren’t the one who lost an eye due to negligence.”

“You’re the one who survived that explosion.” Freddy faced him this time. “You survived and other men didn’t.”

That didn’t make Klenzendorf feel any better. He felt the thirst for something stronger than brandy. Absinthe. He hadn’t had that in a long time. Vodka, maybe. Something that would burn on the way down. Something that would take away the feeling of failure and uselessness.

Any thoughts toward his next drink were interrupted by Freddy’s hands on his arms and Freddy’s mouth on his own. By the time he realized what Freddy was doing it was too late. There was space between them once more.

“You’re a soldier, Rudolf. You’re named after a prince, for God’s sake. You told me over and over that your mother named you for one of the greatest princes Austria ever had.””

He couldn’t help the bitter reaction. “A prince who took the easy way out when things got hard,” Klenzendorf pointed out. “Not a good example, Friedrich.”

 Freddy’s expression was incredulous. “You haven’t taken the easy way out,” he pointed out. “But you’re on your way to it, aren’t you? Giving up before the battle has been decided. Drinking your life away over some perceived failure.”

Rudolf did not respond to that. Freddy had once again come close to him and removed the eyepatch from where it rested over his face. The red marks had faded considerably. There had been no scarring there. The same could not be said for the rest of his body.

Though he recoiled at the uncovering, Freddy did not. In fact, the sub-officer touched the area underneath the useless eye and focused on it with his own sight.

“You’ve never given up before. Don’t do it now. Don’t give into the fear. Fight it. Like you always have. As I know you will continue to do, Hauptmann. You're not a weak man. You're the strongest goddamn soldier I've ever met. Do not give in that easily."

Klenzendorf marveled Freddy’s words. “How is it,” he asked, “that you’ve become such a strong man, Finkel?”

The tension that had rooted in Freddy’s body melted at the soft turn Klenzendorf’s tone had taken. His palms smoothed up the captain’s chest, fingers touching his suspenders to fix where they had previously twisted. “I met a great man who told me the same thing.” When their eyes met again, there was a smile shared between the two men.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Rudolf said, his voice markedly more affectionate than before.

“You’re forgiven," Freddy said, avoidant and making light of the apology. "Against my better judgement.”

The brief, half-smile let Klenzendorf know that, despite the words, he was forgiven. Mostly.

One of Freddy’s hands had gone to Rudolf’s face. The older man leaned into the touch and shut his eyes. Despite the odds, despite the unknown future before him, he still had Freddy. All of the military power in the world could not separate them. A Soviet bomb could not. They were untouchable.

 Klenzendorf leaned his forehead against his partner’s and mirrored his gesture. Though his eyes were closed, it was as if he could feel the warmth from Freddy’s smile on his own face.

“Ich liebe dich,” Rudolf said, breaking the quiet intimacy. His heart was aching for the words to be expressed now. It was a relief that brought emotion rushing forward. His nose brushed against Freddy’s cheekbone. The sub-officer’s hand covered his wrist while his other brought Rudolf’s hand against his heart. Klenzendorf continued, “Ich liebe dich, Friedrich, und alles, was ich bin, verdank ich dir.”

The inhale Freddy took was sharp and Rudolf could swear he was attempting not to cry. Once he opened his eyes, he found he was right. Freddy’s eyes were reddening and his face was growing red blotches as it often did when he was attempting to repress emotion. He seemed to nod repeatedly as he tried to gather his response. Freddy began to trip over words that became a mumbled mess. Rudolf found it endearing as he always had.

“Danke,” was the only coherent word that the younger man could respond with.

Tomorrow he could be discharged. He could be thrown out of Poland, out of Germany, out of Europe for all he cared. At the end of the day if Freddy still stood by his side, then Rudolf could stand to see the morning come. The sun would rise and he would fight again.

Chapter Text

November 5th, 1943. Ahrensfelde.

Normally his mornings began calmly and quietly. That is how it had been since they were sent home from Poland. It was how it had been for six months, almost to the day. This morning, Klenzendorf started his morning with something akin to a shout. Instinct told him the Soviets were closing in and that he should grab his gun to defend himself.

His attempt at grabbing where he believed his gun was resulted in the captain rolling out of bed and collapsing harshly onto the wooden floor. Klenzendorf groaned at the impact. His hand harshly hit underneath the bed to find his Gatling gun, half-blindly reaching for the weapon. The yelling only became louder and more distorted in his mind. 

“Finkel!” Rudolf called. How had the younger man not jumped up at the sound of the screaming? How could he still be asleep? “Friedrich!”

The shouting had reached its climax and the door opened.

The shouting, it turned out, was Freddy singing to him. In his hands was a plate with strudel and a lit candle. The strudel was not elaborately made; the apples and glaze meant to be inside pooling on half of the pastry and the golden outer layer partly burnt. From where he half-laid on the floor, he could see all this and smell the conflicting scents of burnt pastry and delicious, freshly made dessert. 

Klenzendorf pushed himself to an upright position and squinted his good eye to focus on Freddy. He was partly dressed; wearing only his white undershirt and hastily buttoned black trousers with no shoes to cover his barren feet. His hair was lazily coiffed and short tendrils draped over his right eye. His expression was proud and his cheeks were red. In fact, his complexion was red. 

The captain hoisted himself to sit on the bed, noticing a tug at his lower back and a pain in his arm. His body had truly gotten more and more sore since they had been sent away from combat. Perhaps it was his age catching up with him. It had to be. After all, today was his fiftieth birthday.

Freddy had stopped singing and came over with the plate, bending down to offer it toward Rudolf with a pleased smile. “Alles gute zum Geburstag,” the younger man greeted, bestowing a kiss on Klenzendorf’s cheek before handing him the plate. Rudolf’s head nodded up and down and he found himself smiling at the strudel on his lap.

Fifty years old. Today he was a fifty-year old captain who had received the Iron Cross and other decorations for his work, and injury, in battle. Today he was alive and he still had half his sight. He still had most of his dignity. He had a wonderful man who had been by his side for nearly eleven years. How in God’s name had Freddy dealt with him for this long, Rudolf would never know.

He was brought out of his thoughts by another kiss, this time to his mouth. The deliverance of it momentarily surprised the captain and he placed his hand on Freddy’s shoulder to keep him still. Freddy had been quite spontaneous lately and buzzing with more energy than usual. This morning was no exception.

“Thank you.” He blew out the candle to eliminate the threat of fire and set the strudel aside. “Is this why I dreamed something was burning? You almost burned down our house?”

Freddy sucked his teeth and tsked, “You must not want your second present.” 

“Two presents?” Rudolf asked as Freddy began to set one leg on either side of his body. His hands moved to the sub-officer’s hips and underneath his undershirt. Under his hands he could feel Freddy’s quick intake of breath drawing his stomach in. Rudolf’s hands were cold and coarse whereas Freddy always seemed to run warm. What a pair they were.

“Two,” agreed Freddy, who was slowly easing Rudolf down on the bed. The older man’s eyes rolled as he mocked, “I thought that song was my present. Sounded like a herding call.”

The captain’s arms were forced over his head, much to his bemusement and intrigue. Freddy’s fingers tapped against his skin and Rudolf raised his brow in reply. “I yield.”

“Of course you yield. That was my plan.”

“Was it also your plan to scare the shit out of me with that singing? Christ, I thought the Red Army was charging up the steps.” 

Freddy’s brow furrowed. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Not when I heard it clearly. You still need singing lessons.” Klenzendorf said matter-of-factly.

That earned him another sucking of teeth from Freddy and the younger man complained, “Are you really using your birthday to make fun of me? I made you strudel.”

“I’m fifty-years old as well as your superior officer; I can make fun of you as much as I like.”

A haughty look came over Freddy’s face again. A certain movement of the man’s hips elicited a groan from Klenzendorf. He couldn’t even move his hands to get a better grasp on his partner. That was unfortunate; especially when Freddy dismounted him. “Well, then, I suppose—“

“Freddy, no.” Groaned Rudolf. Freddy sat on the edge of the bed and looked over his shoulder like a scorned mistress. His shoulders dramatically shook as he fixed his undershirt and trousers. “Friedrich—“

“Don’t ‘Friedrich’ me!” Another dramatic sigh from Freddy, who stood at the side of the bed. “I was going to give you such a wonderful birthday. I had such plans for us today. There was a good bottle of wine from France to be opened but—“ He batted his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “—I suppose it’ll have to go unopened!”

At that point, Rudolf had eased himself to a sitting position and was looking at Freddy as if he had been deprived of water. He slowly eased to his feet and took the man’s hand. Freddy’s eyes squinted as he watched Rudolf kiss his knuckles, losing the bid not to smile. Rudolf’s mouth moved to the back of Freddy’s hand, then his wrist and the dip in his elbow. With a sudden pull, he managed to turn them back on the bed. The air filled with both of their laughs and the sound of the plate being disturbed. Rudolf paused only to move it to the bedside table and then moved between Freddy’s legs, kissing his mouth and his neck.

“Hang on, it’s your birthday. I had a plan--!”

“Plans change. New strategy,” Klenzendorf murmured against Freddy’s mouth. Gratefully, Freddy accepted the kiss and urged Rudolf closer. The captain could feel the excitement between the two of them. They were pressing together, making themselves known to one another. The barrier of clothing was becoming more and more irksome by the minute. Again, Klenzendorf thought, why had Freddy bothered to put clothing on?

Freddy’s undershirt was soon cast aside. His legs hooked around Rudolf’s hips and he beckoned him closer, deeper, nearer to him. Freddy kissed the spot by his ear and breathed, “Happy birthday, darling.”

Rudolf passed his flask to Freddy and reached over to the pastry. There were, probably, a couple bites left. They could finish it off between the two of them. He ripped off a flaky, partly burnt bit and sucked the apple glaze from his fingers. His pack of cigarettes were right beside the plate, too. He’d open it after they finished the strudel. 

Freddy barely flinched as he finished what was in the flask. Rudolf could tell he finished it by the scrunching of his nose and look of confusion mixed with disappointment. Despite his twenty-eight years of living, sometimes Freddy truly embodied the energy of a teenager. His youth seemed to radiate off him lately. It might have bothered Rudolf at another point in life. Now, actually, he found himself thriving on Freddy’s quick quips and humorous way of looking at life. He was less self-conscious and more apt to act younger than his age. He didn’t take life as seriously as he did before.

Being on leave for months after he was injured was a contributing factor to this change in perspective. Given space from the frontlines, Klenzendorf was able to rest and to look at how the war had devolved. It was making fools of men he might have otherwise respected. It showed him how his superior officers were all delusional madmen who cared about nothing but glory and advancement within the Reich. Even men who were not full-blown believers were acting foolishly in front of Gestapo officers or people who were two-degrees separated from Hitler himself.

Hitler. What an idiot. The more time Rudolf spent in Poland hearing reports from both fronts, the more he laughed at how moronically deluded the Führer was. Of course he could never make these comments in the office he was forced to work in; that was treason. That would result in him getting sent to one of those camps.
For as much as he tried to keep ‘out of sight, out of mind’, it was impossible to ignore the talks of camps deep within Poland and other parts of the Reich. Jews, gypsies, political prisoners, and countless others were being shipped to these camps. Of course they would die there; he’d heard enough of Goebbels’s propaganda to know that death was the only means to an end for these people; people like him and Freddy as well as people not. It didn’t matter; they were being punished for merely existing. It was sickening.

It didn’t make him proud to be German at all. He wanted nothing more than to drain the German blood from his body when he heard these various rumors and boasting from officers who had, in fact, been assigned to these camps. 

Klenzendorf shook the thoughts from his brain as he reached for a cigarette and his lighter. He noticed Freddy rising from bed and grumbled, “Where are you going,” with the cigarette between his lips.

 Freddy shook the empty flask between his hand and plucked the cigarette from Rudolf’s lips, placing it between his own and puffing on it in mockery of his partner. “For wine, dummkopf.” 

The captain rest his arms behind his head as he watched Freddy pull on his trousers. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Of course I do.”

“No,” Klenzendorf said, rolling onto his side, “you don’t. We’re not expecting anyone.”

Freddy shrugged as he fastened his trousers together. He removed the cigarette to exhaled, letting it dangle from his fingers. Rudolf allowed himself to gaze at Freddy’s body. His chest and his stomach were pale. He looked healthy; healthier than he had been at the front. Over the past year, the two of them had gotten their strength back. Being able to eat three square meals, plus a bit extra, certainly helped. They’d grown comfortable in Poland and even more comfortable when they had been sent back to Germany. There was a small unit of Wehrmacht soldiers stationed in the village that worked in the communications office and kept regular training regiments. There was a possibility they could be called back to the front at any moment. They had to keep their skills sharp. Though Rudolf knew this wouldn’t be his reality; apparently, not having one working eye meant he was could no longer give commands on the field of battle.

Klenzendorf had taken the past year to train his left eye until it was on par with how his right eye had been. He could expertly shoot targets, complete hand-to-hand combat, and fight just as well as he had done before. His drinking was better than it had been but he still found himself filling the period between meals with several nips from the flask or from a bottle. He didn’t allow himself to get into a complete drunken stupor; he knew he had to be prepared for anything at the moment’s notice. 

“We’re not expecting anyone,” he repeated, reaching toward Freddy and pulling him in by the belt loops. He sat up and held onto the sub-officer’s hips, looking up at him with a cocked brow. Freddy’s face was flushed and warm but he was staring down at Rudolf as if he had the control. Regardless, the captain’s mouth pressed against Freddy’s navel. His eyes knowingly watched his partner for a reaction. Inwardly, Rudolf was pleased by the flush of Freddy’s face and the look of near submission in his eyes. He pressed his mouth against the area of skin again and used his thumbs to try and coax down the trousers without unbuttoning them. “Stay,” Klenzendorf insisted in a low chest voice, “ in bed. That’s an order.”

Tobacco smoke wafted toward his nose. The cigarette still dangled between Freddy’s fingers. That was changed when he placed it between Rudolf’s lips, interrupting the seduction.

“I’ll be back.” Freddy pushed his hand through Rudolf’s hair and left the room, humming something indiscernible as he descended the stairs. Rudolf’s good eye followed where the other man had gone and he laid back against the sheets. One hand laid across his bare chest while the other was slightly above his head. Outside the window of their bedroom came the sounds of the morning starting in the village. Women bringing their children to school or going to work, vendors starting to peddle their wares, men who were not at war making their way to their jobs or to training. Life was still going on as if there was no war happening. People were living, having birthdays, being with the ones they loved. Life hadn’t stopped.

It was a struggle he had dealt with at the end of the Great War; what was a soldier without a fight? What was the point to sitting around all day waiting for action? 

Rudolf had known nothing but war. He’d found odd jobs after the war had ended but nothing that got his blood going like the purpose of war and serving his country. Back then he had been so proud to don his uniform. Now he felt as if he were wearing a cheap costume. He wondered if Freddy felt the same way or if he was still full of zeal and excitement. Thoughts moved to the end of the war. Should Germany win, there would be a new world order. The Reich would spread its control over the world and mandate the rest of their lives.

That was where panic struck him like a bolt of lightning. It seared into his chest and his heart. How much longer would they be able to live like this under a widespread Reich? Would they still be able to enjoy the same ease and privacy as they were now? Would moments like this be changed completely or left alone?

Rudolf was glad he was not as expressive as Freddy. If he was, the latter would have noticed the depth of his panic the minute he reentered the room clutching the bottle of French wine and a white envelope. Luckily, Freddy only seemed to briefly hesitate.

“What are you thinking about?”

Klenzendorf’s head turned and he sat himself up on his elbows to meet his partner’s attention. How easy it was to don the mask of leisure and pleasure. He filed the thoughts of the future away and focused on the now. 

“You. In these sheets. Naked.”

Freddy went from pleased to insulted in a matter of seconds. “And not my expensive wine I had ordered directly here? Honestly, Rudolf, I go through all this trouble to get good wine and you don’t even acknowledge it—“
“You,” Rudolf interrupted, “in these sheets naked. Drunk off half the bottle. I’m drunk off the other half.” He reached to beckon Freddy over and leaned in to kiss the man’s shoulder and neck the minute he sat on the bed. He kept his eye open once he spotted the flash of white paper. “What is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s addressed to you. Found it under the mail slot,” came Freddy’s breathy response. He tilted his head to give Rudolf room and held the two items to the side. 

Klenzendorf’s right arm slid around Freddy’s waist. That hand moved across the sub-officer’s bare abdomen and down into his trousers, which elicited a shuddering gasp from Freddy’s mouth. Rudolf’s other hand, meanwhile, took the envelope and managed to open it. He’d always been good with his fingers.

With expert split focus, Rudolf read the letter while moving his hand steadily on Freddy’s arousal. He was able to focus on the message written cleanly and clearly while also acknowledging Freddy’s needs. As he got to the middle of the letter, Rudolf’s eyes widened. 

“Shit.”

His hand stilled. Freddy, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, lolled his head toward Rudolf and kissed his jaw to regain his attention. He covered his captain’s hand and tried to make it move again. 

 It didn’t work. Rudolf retracted his hand and properly sat up to reread the message. He scanned through it multiple times. He barely even acknowledged Freddy’s impatient groan, “What is it? What’s so important?”

The captain turned his head and held the letter toward Freddy. For a second, the younger man felt fear when he more closely focused Rudolf’s face. Was it a demotion? A dishonorable discharge? Worse; was it a summons for arrest? Logically, he knew, they wouldn’t receive the pleasure of a warning letter if that were the case. The Gestapo would gladly have barged into their home and hauled them away to a prison camp.

“What is it, Rudolf?” Freddy asked again, all thoughts of sex gone as he anxiously awaited a response. He took the letter and read through in a panic. His eyes couldn’t properly digest the words until he settled on something that looked familiar.

Falkenheim.

    February 1944

How funny life was.

It had been years since they had last stepped into Falkenheim Before Paul had been deployed to Italy, he had told Klenzendorf to look after his wife and children. To keep them safe. Rudolf had doubted he would be able to fulfill that promise, especially after he was injured and his role in the war thrown into limbo. To tell the truth, he hadn’t thought much about Rosie and her family for nearly two years. 

Now here he was; standing at her door to greet her. He and Freddy had arrived in the morning and Freddy was content to stay behind and settle into their apartments. They had both agreed to take separate flats in order to keep up the guise of their professional, working relationship. 

His knocking was answered by the woman he had come to see. She was dressed in the style Klenzendorf recalled; a fashionable red blouse paired with trousers instead of a skirt and white and red shoes. Her lips were painted a deep red though the rest of her face was not quite as made up. One hand rest against her hip and she clenched the door handle as she came nose-to-nose with Klenzendorf. It was as if she was inspecting him. 

“Frau Betzler.”

“Ja?” There was a flash of recognition but it was quickly gone. “Who are you?” Her voice was cautious. 

Klenzendorf removed his hat. “I’m Captain Rudolf Klenzendorf. I had the honor of serving with—“

There came the recognition. Rosie’s head nodded, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with her acknowledgement. “Oh, yes! Yeah, the captain friend of Paul’s!” She released her anxiety and gave a little laugh. Rudolf found it quite charming. He smiled easily and gestured toward the home behind her.  “May I come in? Is it a bad time?”

“Oh, no! No, it’s fine. The children are at school. Please—“ 

Rosie allowed him inside and closed the door behind him. She walked ahead, chatting about the house being a bit untidy and telling him she would pour them both a drink. Drinks at nearly midday? Klenzendorf knew he liked her for a reason when they had first met.

Though a little over two years had passed since they had seen one another, it did not seem as if Rosie had aged a day. She seemed more tired, yes, but her energy radiated through her. She reminded him of Freddy in that regard. 

He was handed a glass of wine and they both muttered a, “Heil Hitler” with less enthusiasm than expected. It was good wine. Rudolf commented as much as they both took a seat in the sitting area. Rosie recline on the couch while Rudolf opted for a chair. 

“Is it Paul? Is that why you’re here?” It was the first question out of her mouth. 

“No. I haven’t heard from him in two years.” Rudolf placed the wine glass down. “Last I heard, he was in Italy.” That, too, had been two years ago. It wasn’t as if they had kept in contact. Klenzendorf hadn’t exactly sent him a forwarding address and neither had Paul. It had been better that way; the less attachment the better when either man died.

Rosie’s shoulders sagged but she kept her energy and overall cheeriness. “A lot happens in two years,” she remarked, sipping her wine. She used the glass to gesture toward Klenzendorf. “Lost an eye and a man. I can relate to one of those things.” 

The captain found himself trying not to stammer. “I haven’t—Well, yes, I’ve lost an eye.” He smoothed the front of his uniform. “Little—incompetence on the front. All the cold. Freezing fingers off as well as brains, apparently. All limbs. Cold and bombs. All—“

Rosie’s manicured hand waved. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. So, where is your soldier? I vaguely remember you both stumbling out of here at dawn after sleeping on my floor.” 

“Sub-Officer Finkel,” Rudolf said, “is readying my office. I have been transferred here to oversee the training of the Hitlerjugend.”

Rosie had lifted her wine glass to her mouth and paused when Rudolf gave his reason for being here. Her brows lifted as she processed the news. She kept the wine glass between her hands, her fingers tapping the rim and sides of the glasses. “Oh?”

The captain nodded. “I remembered meeting you and thought to call on you. Your husband told me once to look after you and your family if I ever came to town again.” He gestured about the room as if to prove his point. Rosie’s smile was tight in response. Her lips pressed together and she wet them as she absorbed the information given.

It was, for lack of a better word, uncomfortable to wait for her response. Klenzendorf took out a silver cigarette case and gestured with it in silent request. The look in Rosie’s eyes cued him to place the case back in his jacket pocket. He cleared his throat and continued to ask, “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, like any wife whose husband is at war and has rumors floating about him.”

“Rumors?”

Rosie finished her wine and immediately refilled it. “Officers from the army have visited my home for the past two years. The visits were common at first but then they spread out to at least once or twice a month. I gave them a stern talking to and they rarely come anymore.” She seemed to smile at that. “No one’s heard from him; not his superiors, his comrades. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard from him, but I had to ask.” 

Her words were full of concern but nothing in her tone or her general demeanor supported it. Klenzendorf observed as Rosie gesticulated with the glass in her hand. She had been rather theatrical when they had first met and it wasn’t surprising she was playing up her underlying emotions. 

“What rumors are there about Paul?”

Rosie’s eyes stayed fixed on her swirling wine. “He’s a deserter,” she answered after a few beats. “A traitor.”

“Paul isn’t a traitor,” Klenzendorf replied at the tail end of her words. “He’s a loyal soldier.”

He almost missed Rosie’s stifled laugh. She noticed him noticing. Rudolf couldn’t recall a time he was so still in his entire life. Not even when he had been unconscious in a hospital bed had he been this rigid and unmoving.

“—You know where Paul’s sympathies lie,” Rosie’s voice was softer as if worried they would be overheard. There was a dangerous undercurrent to her words. It insinuated much more. 

Klenzendorf shifted so he was leaning toward the woman, arms on his thigh and an assumed look of gravity on his face. “Is he acting against his command?” 

“Aren’t you acting against yours?” Rosie countered, her voice calm but strong in its direct statement. She wasn’t one to wilt; no, she stood strong whereas anyone else would shrivel. The strength emanating from her was enough to force Klenzendorf to back off his questioning. 

The captain stilled at her accusation. He had to admit that he had very little right to question Paul’s actions when his own sympathies toward the regime were swayed. “At least I’m not overt with it. I prefer to be alive, not a dead man walking.” He refilled his glass. 

Rosie watched him as if she could pull out another accusation to counter his statement but there was nothing about the captain that she could pick apart. For all intents and purposes, despite a bit of swagger that could be explained away by constant drunkenness, there was nothing about Rudolf Klenzendorf that could suggest his sexual preferences. Of course it was ridiculous to assume such things about a person. But to a Nazi, anything about behavior that even remotely spoke against heterosexuality was a treasonous offense. Freddy walked on thin ice as it was but, due to his injuries in battle, it could be explained away as a malady of combat. If he hadn’t been so friendly and helpful, too, then perhaps he would have been under the Gestapo’s radar years ago.

“Sometimes we need to do the things that scare us,” Rosie replied, “because they’re the right things.”

Rudolf’s glass landed firmly on the table. Droplets of wine splashed onto the fine wood. “You’re saying you’d prefer a husband who was a dead traitor? Your family would be ruined.”

“I’d be proud to have a dead, ‘traitor’ husband who was brave enough to fight for his fellow countrymen. I’ve read his letters. You don’t think I know what the government is doing? Hauling men, women, and children to camps to never be heard from again. And for what? For believing in something? For having faith and for wanting to live in peace?”

“This talk is dangerous, Rosie,” Rudolf warned. 

“What will you do? Turn us both in? Leave my children orphans?” Her voice softened at the mention of her children. “You may do that, but you will never forgive yourself. And neither will your sub-officer. If you both survive, that is.”

She stood and collected both their glasses, snatching Rudolf’s from where it sat. “And you’ve ruined my coffee table. You’re not the best guest.” Rosie turned to take the cups to the bar cart and braced against it after setting them down. Rudolf watched her sharp shoulders pressing against the fabric of her shirt. For a second, he could not see her breathing. Her shoulders did not noticeably rise and fall like Freddy’s did. Freddy was so overt with his existence. Rosie, on the other hand, was subtler. Her strength was concentrated into the right moments.

He stood and smoothed the front of his uniform, ensuring his jacket was properly fastened. His fingers touched the medals he had been awarded. He’d earned them but for what? What was it all leading to?

He stepped to her side and remained silent until Rosie gave him her attention. “You’re not going to turn him in. Nor I,” she instructed. It wasn’t a questioning statement; it was a direct order. 

“I’m not,” Rudolf confirmed. 

“And I won’t say anything about you or your sub-officer.” Rosie straightened and fixed her sleeve. “But if I even suspect you will say something about Paul or I, I won’t hesitate to go to the Gestapo headquarters right here and town and say there are two homosexuals serving the Führer. Got it?”

Klenzendorf’s lips twitched upward. “Got it. In exchange for your silence, I’m sure my subordinate officer would like to meet you again. He raved for weeks about your taste in all things domestic. Dinner should suffice.” 

“Dinner it is. Tomorrow night. I’ll cook,” Rosie responded. She offered her hand to Rudolf. Her grip was stronger than he thought. Her painted nails cut against his skin. He inhaled sharply in pain. Rosie only smiled. She knew what she was doing. She meant to seal this deal in blood.

Dinner went without a hitch and, it seemed, that Freddy was never the wiser about the underlying understanding between Rosie and Rudolf. They all chatted, laughed, and shared two bottles of wine and half a bottle of schnapps that they had sheepishly brought from their apartments. 

As the weeks and the first few months of their new posting passed, Rudolf fell into a routine and a growing comfort in the town of Falkenheim. During the day he trained the young men of the town in all strategies he knew for war on the frontlines. It seemed more and more likely they would be sent there, especially to the Eastern Front to block the Soviets from any further advance.

The war, in all truth, was not going the way the Germans wanted it to go. The Americans were an even more formidable force than previously expected. Damn the Japanese. It was getting harder and harder for Klenzendorf to keep from making comments about the recruits meeting incompetent generals and commanding officers as they were deployed to their various postings. He drank openly in front of them yet managed to operate training weapons without fail. 

Freddy was his constant echo and seemed to be one step ahead of him at all times. He was attentive to his role as Klenzendorf’s right hand man and as the example when it came to explaining various tactics and strategies to the young men. 

The citizens of the town soon became familiar faces rather than strange ones. Unfortunately, this also meant becoming acquainted with the Gestapo officers in the area.

These men weren’t exactly run-of-the-mill Gestapo that Rudolf had met on the streets of Berlin. Sure they wore Gestapo clothes and donned all of the pins and pomp that was common of the Gestapo and S.S. officers but they were not the sort that Himmler would be proud to call his. 

They all seemed to be clones of one another with the same cropped haircuts and pencil-thin mustaches that shallowly emulated the Führer’s and the High Command. Cheap knockoffs, Klenzendorf would joke to Freddy in the privacy of his own apartments. Yet for all their jokes, they knew to take these men seriously. Already, within the first month, they had executed ten people for having “anti-Reich” sympathies. It was a dangerous time, indeed.

When Rudolf told Freddy about Paul Betzler, the sub-officer was taken aback at the suspicion that he would have turned against the army and their country. But not for the reason anyone would think.

“His family would be put in danger. Do you think he knew that?” Freddy questioned, spooning potatoes on Rudolf’s plate. Despite their separate apartments, they always seemed to share dinner together. 

“I think he’s an idiot for doing it,” Rudolf grumbled, cutting into his meat after Freddy sat back down. “He could get himself killed. And what would happen? All of his pension would be taken away from Rosie and his two kids. They’d starve on the street and be outcasts.”

Freddy pondered the thought and scrunched his nose. “Would you let that happen?”
That brought Rudolf pause. He tapped his fork against his cut of meat then placed it in his mouth, chewing on it in thought. He made a grunting noise as he said, “If I gave them even a bit of my help, the Gestapo would be on our doorstep. Then what good would that do any of us?”

Freddy’s shoulders raised and lowered. He attended to his meal for a bit, content to listen to Rudolf as he continued on, “There’s a time to be smart. Paul is a good man but he isn’t good at keeping himself alive. Wherever he is, he’s being hunted. He better not come back here if he knows what is good for him and his family.”

But even as the thought was left to dangle between them, Rudolf found himself watching Freddy as the young man ate. If roles were reversed and Klenzendorf had been put in Paul’s position, would he be able to betray the Reich in order to do the right thing? Could he risk Freddy’s safety like that? Could he risk both their safeties even more than they were already being risked? 

They both cleared dinner and settled for a nightcap in Rudolf’s office. Papers and communiques were abandoned on his desk. Training plans for the Hitlerjugend were abandoned and unorganized. Both men leaned against the desk side-by-side and shared a bottle of whiskey between each other. They didn’t speak about Paul any longer; rather, they opted for silence and the mere presence of each other. An hour later, Freddy was too drunk to even walk down the stairs. He said he would sleep on the couch. It was the last thing Rudolf recalled before he stumbled toward his own bed and collapsed onto the mess of blankets and pillows. 

Rudolf found himself dreaming that night of the scaffold in the middle of the town square. Hooded bodies hung from one row of gallows. Soon, there were endless rows that filled the square. He wandered through them as the air grew colder and more grey. Various patches and written criminal statements were pinned to the corpses. Occasionally, Rudolf swore he could feel limbs touching him as he walked by. A brutally cold breeze cut through the rows of bodies all packed together. 

He stood in front of one row of gallows, somehow compelled to stop walking and to look up. One body did not have a hood. He came face-to-face with a stark white paper with bold, black print:

    Feigling und Verräter

The body without a hood lifted its head. There was no mistaking the black beard and hair. Paul. 

“Rudolf.”

The voice was nearly demonic. Klenzendorf took a startled step back only to back into something. Rather, someone. He turned to see another body without a hood. It was the face of the man who had been pictured on his mother’s shrine in the parlor; the Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary himself. His temple was blown away and a bloody, burned hole remained. His eyes were unfixed and his hand gripped the captain’s shoulder. “Coward,” he rasped, something inhuman about his voice.

Fear gripped Klenzendorf as he staggered back. Another hand grabbed him and, suddenly, he felt nothing. It was as if he was not existing. When he next came to, he was above the standing figures of the Crown Prince and Paul Betzler. Something around his own throat felt tight and as if it were strangling the breath out of him. It was a noose; taught and digging into his flesh. It burned into him and brought blood to the surface. He found himself gasping for air and trying to pull off the noose to no avail. 

The men who looked up at him had black eyes. They were not human. They were not the men he had come to know. 

Klenzendorf’s own vision was beginning to blacken with each tightening of the noose. He clawed at his bloodied neck and rasped pathetically for breath. His lips began to form words he didn’t even know.

Desperately, he tried to work beyond the blackening of his vision. Across from him there appeared another hanging body. But this body had no noose. It was as if it was suspended limply in the air. The man seemed broken almost in half. His abdomen was a bloody mess. His face was flecked with blood as well and his eyes were icy, unfixed. In a moment of clarity, Rudolf could recognize the man.

Freddy.

Freddy.

Freddy.

“Freddy!”

He was on the floor again. It wasn’t cold; there was a fireplace that was big enough to heat the entire apartment. It had been set earlier in the evening. Yet, Rudolf felt so cold where he laid. 

“Rudolf?”

Apparently, Klenzendorf had taken blankets with him when he had fallen out of bed. They laid in a pool around him and clutched to his heaving chest. His eyes, both the blind and still seeing one, were wide with panic that gripped his very being. It was as if he was experiencing a heart attack. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a man his age to have a heart attack, but it wouldn’t be a noble way for him to die.

There was a presence beside him that touched his face. The captain flinched away from it. He focused on the feeling of closeness and realized it was Freddy. Freddy’s face was tired and his eyes were still dilated from the copious amount of drinks but he seemed entirely sober to Rudolf. 

The captain could not say anything. He stared at his partner and let him touch his face, checking to make sure he was otherwise okay from the fall off his bed. Freddy’s arms encircled him and drew him into his chest. Rudolf immediately leaned his body against his companion’s and held onto his arm, pressing his fingers into the solid human flesh that embraced him. 

It took some time for his breathing to get under control, to realize that all of it had been a terrible night terror. Night terrors were not anything new; typically, Rudolf could overcome them with barely a flinch or an acknowledgement they had even happened. This one was different.

He touched Freddy’s abdomen and up to his throat. No blood, no bullet holes. Nothing. He was whole. Yet it had seemed so real. 

Freddy allowed Klenzendorf to touch him and brought the man’s hand to his face, giving a reassuring nod and weak smile. Don’t be scared, his eyes said, don’t worry. I’ve got you. 

Yes, Freddy, Rudolf wanted to say, you do. But for how much longer?

Chapter Text

1944. Falkenheim

Rudolf had always preferred the summer months. There was vibrant life, the sun radiated more heat, and there was more meaning in existing. The spring, on the other hand,  held the remnants of winter and this winter had been particularly hard. Influenza had hit Falkenheim particularly hard from late February to April. Many of the old people and children had been particularly struck by it. There were a few deaths; Inga Betlzer being one of several.

Klenzendorf and Freddy had spent some time with Rosie since they were stationed in the town but rarely did they see the children. Little Johannes was turning ten and Inga was shy of turning sixteen when she died. Dying of illness was a terrible way to go. When he died, Rudolf thought, he wanted his end to be quick. He didn’t want to suffer like the little girl had.

They had gone to the funeral out of respect for the entire family. It was a very small affair with only Rosie, Johannes, a priest, and the two officers attending. Despite everything, there was an undeniable feeling of guilt Rudolf experienced as the little girl’s coffin was lowered into the cold earth. Paul had told him to look out for his family if he could, to make sure they safely came through this war. How would Paul forgive him when he found out one of his children would not be greeting him when he returned from wherever the hell he was? Klenzendorf drank a bit more that night. He was sullen and quiet. Freddy didn’t ask; despite the sub-officer not liking children very much, he would never wish death upon any of them. Especially an innocent girl who had merely gotten sick.

It seemed, through the winter and the spring, that their world was dying too. That day in June when they received word the Allies had landed on the beaches of Normandy. Klenzendorf could feel the looming inevitability of invasion from that day and every other day that followed.

He did not recognize how this realization had affected him until it began to be pointed out by Freddy. He was more lenient with the Hitlerjugend who were training under them. There was a group of older boys, none older than eighteen, that were a bunch of regular psychopaths. They gleefully listened as Klenzendorf instructed them on killing blows and how to use explosives for maximum damage. The captain would give into their questions and go off on tangents about the sights he had seen in the war. When they boys ventured into the woods for camoflauge training, Freddy told his captain that maybe, just maybe, he was indulging the cruelty a bit too much.

But what did he care any longer? It wasn’t as if they were going to get the chance to flex their muscles in the field of battle. These children—because that’s what they were—were Hitler’s last resort. They had all the potential to be fine men of the German army but the advancing Allied forces would not permit them to grow into that potential. Again, Klenzendorf drank as he watched the boys pummel each other with false weapons.

It was in August that little Johannes Betzler joined the Hiterjugend Training Weekend. Rosie had given Klenzendorf firm warning to watch out for her son. He was small and full of zeal but by God was he so young. Though he looked predominantly like his mother, his eyes were remarkably Paul’s eyes. The way he looked at Klenzendorf, Freddy, and the other adults with silent contemplation was exactly how his father would listen to superior officers.

What set him apart from his father was his enthusiasm for the entire cause of the Reich. Of course it was mostly boasting from a little boy but Klenzendorf heard Jojo’s enthusiastic shouts of “Heil Hitler” and queries over the lessons Fraulein Rahm had taught the boys.

This sort of training was in Rudolf and Freddy’s wheelhouse; they had done it time and time again for young recruits and comrades in Poland and in Ahrensfelde, but never before for children this young. It made him sick as he watched these little boys burning books in the early nighttime. How gleefully they threw books of scientific and scholarly works into the ashes and flames. Nothing would quell the sickness he felt besides another nip of his flask.

Trench warfare was an absolutely stupid lesson to teach now. They would hardly be fighting in the trenches at the front with the Allies advancing as they were reported to be. At least they would be getting experience with explosives. Better they learn the proper way to ignite and throw now rather than when the Soviets or Americans were two steps in front of them.

What he could not expect was Johannes Betzler jumping in the middle of his training exercise and taking the hand grenade from his possession. In truth, Rudolf could have done more to stop him but the utter shock of this little boy taking a weapon the size of his arm froze him into place. Freddy, too, was frozen in stead as they watched the boy run several feet away and throw the grenade. His aim was, predictably, poor and it hit a tree, bouncing back to his feet. At least it was a practice grenade. It wouldn’t kill him, Klenzendorf knew, but he wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

He couldn’t see beyond the blood that stained the left side of his body but Rudolf understood that whatever was below was there to stay. Once a medical truck had arrived, they loaded Johannes onto a stretcher to be taken to the local hospital in town. Once the boy was cleaned up and his wounds were stitched, Rudolf was able to get a better look at him. “His mother is going to kill me,” he had remarked to Freddy and to the doctor. Rosie loved her children to a fault. Johannes was her last one. Her vengeance upon Rudolf and Freddy, but particularly Rudolf, would be swift and merciless.

Rudolf didn’t necessarily throw a fit when he was demoted but he did have a few choice words to say in the confines of his own apartment. Freddy, as he always did, listened and attended to the captain as he ranted about for nearly an hour, quieting only as he sat at the dining table and took the glass of brandy Freddy had poured for him about half an hour ago. Freddy also decided to put on the phonograph in order to eliminate the tension from the air.

Klenzendorf lifted his eyes as Freddy’s body began shaking to the music. His shoulders began to shimmy, his fingers snapped, and he began to step from side to side. The rhythm was moving through his body and that body moved to where Klenzendorf sat. The back of Freddy’s hand tapped against Rudolf’s arm in a silent attempt at encouragement. Rudolf’s brow raised as he watched his companion shimmying against him. It was too ridiculous to watch with a straight face.

Distracted enough, the captain found himself pulled onto his feet by Freddy. “Is this your attempt at cheering me up, hm?”

“Is it working?” Freddy punctuated, turning over his shoulder and posing in a manner rather becoming of a film starlet. It evoked images of Marlene Dietrich. Klenzendorf’s eyes rolled and he let Freddy pull him in to dance. He found himself moving his own body in mirror image to Freddy’s as the music played. Movement by movement, Rudolf was giving into Freddy’s dance. And by the time the song was done, the frown and tense mood was completely eradicated and replaced by relaxed smiles by both parties.

Freddy winked in response and pulled away from the captain, rounding him to pick up the empty glass of brandy. He perched himself on the edge of the table and held the glass between his fingers, almost dangling it. “Let’s drink tonight,” Freddy suggested as the next song on the record began to play, “and dance. Like at the Cosy Corner, ja?”

The Cosy Corner seemed like a life ago. Two lives ago, perhaps. Klenzendorf had not danced since then, he didn’t think. Properly dance, at any rate, with Freddy. The idea was certainly tempting. He accepted the glass and found another while Freddy poured the good brandy. Better off accepting the demotion drunk and dancing than sober and still.

Neither of them particularly wanted to go to the Reichsjugendamt the next day but it was better to be demoted to an office setting than penalized. But it didn’t mean either of them had to take it too seriously. Especially considering Rudolf was the one giving the orders in the office. He didn’t, technically, have anyone to report to. He was his own superior officer. Fraulein Rahm was there, of course, but Rudolf would always be her superior. Rudolf and Freddy took advantage as soon as they noticed they were at the top of the chain of command.

Of course they would complete the daily tasks they needed to complete. That was an absolute given. But it didn’t mean they had to take working in an office of children as seriously as being on the frontlines.

They were to receive daily reports and orders from the capital when necessary and relevant. Most of the daily tasks were delivering conscriptions to the remaining young men in town and overseeing the training of the Hitlerjugend—from afar. Rudolf would merely supervise while Freddy was entrusted to a majority of the personal training.

Besides working somewhat with the Gestapo, in regards to responding to rumors of Jews or other enemies of the state, there wasn’t much that mandated their attention. The first week of being in the office was relatively calm. Rahm mainly dealt with the Clones and the other children while Freddy would work on training plans or take orders from Rudolf. They found their ways to pass the hours.

When the office was empty, especially in the middle of the day during lunch, they found their time to be alone. Rudolf’s level of caring was depleting with each report from the frontlines. He could blame it on the amount he drank, on shell shock and war wounds if anyone cared. But he doubted the children would have the time to notice or care; Fraulein Rahm had their rapt attention. It was the part of having her around.

Freddy’s mood for dance extended from the apartment to the office. Once they had gotten situated with their roles, Freddy opted for playing music to fill the sound of work. Of course he would dance. Klenzendorf, too, was guilty of not acting as “official” as his title would otherwise suggest; enjoying drink and fine food as well as acting rather casually instead of with the seriousness of a soldier. Again, the children did not seem to notice or care.

It was on one of these casual days that Rosie Betzler graced the office with her presence and Klenzendorf with a knee to his groin. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be happy with her son being seriously hurt on his watch. As if demotion wasn’t bad enough. Truthfully, Rudolf would rather go back to the front in the dead of winter than take Rosie’s sharp knee to his balls. Little Jojo would be volunteering at the office and effectively being nannied by Rudolf. At least, that was the suggestion in Rosie’s tone. Rudolf knew better than to question her. Truthfully, it was better than this little boy coming under the influence of sycophants in the Hitlerjugend or sitting at home with nothing to do. At least he would be able to keep his promise to Rosie and Paul both with some peace of mind.

Jojo didn’t receive his entire attention, of course; there were many things he had to do. But it would be a lie to suggest Rudolf wasn’t growing fond of the boy. Freddy might not like children at all but Klenzendorf had a soft spot for some of them. Though perhaps his patience was solely reserved for Paul and Rosie’s son. He was a smart kid who was eager to do something for a cause he, seemingly, believed in. Many of the questions he asked were good questions—good if one were a strict believer in the Nazi ideology. The Gestapo would like him. Rudolf knew he couldn’t let that happen. Thankfully, Fraulein Rahm kept him busy.

Rosie would occasionally come by but it was only a time or two to check on how Jojo was doing or to drop him off in the morning. Klenzendorf slowly became conscious of the fact Rosie’s presence around town was becoming scarce. When Jojo came into the office in the mornings, neither the captain nor his subordinate officer saw Rosie.

Whatever she was doing, she was risking her own safety as well as her son’s. But perhaps that is why Rosie’s face was not seen as much around the town; whatever she was doing, she was doing well to keep her son out of it.

Time passed as it always did and the news did not get better by the day. The air was getting colder, as well, and more than the cold was rolling into Falkenheim. It seemed to Rudolf that not a day went by without an arrest or a hanging. He could nearly smell the paranoia in the air. The older boys were shipped off on trucks while their older, injured and traumatized counterparts returned with wounds that would never heal. Klenzendorf could sympathize.

It felt almost wrong to train the boys in the art of war. But if a moment of doubt encroached his mind, he thought it was better they were prepared for a surprise attack and invasion. It would give them a chance to defend and dignify themselves. It gave them hope.

Even that thought made him feel sick. He was giving these boys false hope. If it did come to invasion, Klenzendorf hoped these boys wouldn’t suffer long.

It seemed that his superiors didn’t want to accept the reality that they were being closed in. Not that Rudolf was surprised; none of the High Command were realists. They were all dreaming of glorious victory for the Reich. Certain death by Soviet or Allied hands wasn’t even a current possibility. Nonetheless, Rudolf began to see to it that Falkenheim was preparing for the inevitable. Preparations would start slow, at first, but at least they would be put in place.

He allocated much of the research and procuring to Freddy. He could rely on him to do that while Rudolf worked on battle maps and plans.

Knowing your enemy was the way toward beating them. With his experience at the Eastern Front, Klenzendorf had some idea of how the Soviets would attack and what direction they would come from. Of course, he needed to account for the Americans as well. And the British. And anyone else who might side with them.

In a way, he was glad the barrage of information was keeping him busy. He would rather be busy than not doing anything at all.

Freddy, too, seemed to do better when he was busy. It was the reason Klenzendorf was giving him so many tasks to do around the office or through town. Nothing that interfered with the Gestapo; both men would avoid them as much as they possibly could. That was proving to be a difficult task in and of itself, however, with the paranoid reports of Jews, communists, or traitors being sent into the office day in and day out. It was draining to have to come into contact with those people. It was drawn out and irritating but it kept both Rudolf and Freddy busy.

Their nights were quieter than their days. It was tiring to speak about the day’s events when they both experienced the same things together. Lately, Rudolf contended with Freddy filling their nights with music. Though he did dance with him, he found himself more content with watching Freddy drinking his schnapps and dancing as if he did not have a care in the world. It made him envious with how free he was. He had always been jealous of Freddy for that. No matter how light he felt, those moments seemed to be brief and fleeting. He was too weighed down to this reality whereas Freddy seemed to float above it all.

Sometimes he thought Freddy floated too high above it. He wondered where his head was or if he was grounded in reality at all. It was one thing to be distracted from everything going on around them but it was another thing entirely to be distanced and distracted with one’s work.

German Shepherds. He’d asked for German Shepherds to help protect the city in case of invasion. He’d mentioned it to Freddy once at home and then a few times in the office. Having large dogs that could attack the advancing Allies would be somewhat useful. It could buy them time. Rudolf had asked Freddy if he could procure enough German Shepherds to defend Falkenheim. Seemed simple enough. That’s what he thought until Freddy had proudly come in with a small group of old German shepherds that lived on the outskirts of the town. He hated yelling. It wasn’t Freddy’s fault. Truly, Rudolf should have been more clear. He hated seeing the look on the sub-officer’s face when he raised his voice but it wasn’t his fault, at the end of the day. None of their heads were in the right spaces.

When Freddy joined him for lunch, his first reaction was to apologize.

“You don’t deserve to be yelled at that way.”

Freddy’s eyes lifted as he set Rudolf’s plate down in front of him on the table. “I should have known you meant dogs, not people,” Freddy justified.

Rudolf covered the other man’s hand as he started to pull away. “No, you were right to think people. They could help us. More numbers.” His fingers tightened on Freddy’s hand. “That was very smart of you.”

He could almost feel Freddy’s body relax from the pride. “I’ll find actual dogs tomorrow. I’ll call into the cities.”  

“Thank you. For everything you do.”

Freddy’s smile was warm. He returned the tightening of Rudolf’s hand and glanced toward the doors to the office. They were closed for privacy. He brought the captain’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles in a show of fealty. 

Lunch was eaten in comfortable silence rather than tense. As Klenzendorf settled with his drink and his uniform redesigns, Freddy busied himself with cleaning the office. It was nearly an hour later that Rudolf’s phone rang. He felt his blood run cold at the tone of the call.

“Rudolf.”

The voice was panicked yet also contained a measured amount of calm. The paradox momentarily baffled Klenzendorf but he couldn’t allow it to stun him for too long. “Frau Betzler,” he replied. Freddy’s head lifted from where he was reorganizing the bookshelf. “Is something the matter?”

“You told me Paul told you to protect us if you possibly could. Now you need to make good on that promise.”

His hand tightened on the phone and he readjusted in his seat as if that would help him hear more clearly. “Rosie,” Rudolf asked slowly and carefully, “is everything alright?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds though it seemed to last far longer. “Take care of my children.” And then there was silence.

The shock on Rudolf’s face must have been concerning because Freddy was at his side in no time at all. “What happened?” He asked.

Rudolf’s eyes met Freddy’s and he stood abruptly, grabbing his own coat and hat before gesturing for his partner to do the same. They didn’t explain anything to Fraulein Rahm when they left, only stating they would return presently.

It would be a lie to say that Rudolf’s heart wasn’t racing out of panic. Yes, Rosie held a lot of sway over him but it never meant he wanted to see anything happen to her. Promise or no promise, she was just a woman trying to raise her son.

That is when his brain fixated on the words he heard her say over the phone. ‘Take care of my children’, she had said. Children. Why had she said children when she only had one living child?

The more time he had spent in this town, the more he understood the underground resistance that had sprung up. He knew that Rosie had never liked the policies which were put into place. She didn’t need her husband’s influence to decide that; Rosie didn’t need anyone to determine her point of view. She was a strong person. Perhaps she was a stronger person that Rudolf ever was or ever could be. If he knew Rosie as he knew Paul, then he knew she was in trouble for demonstrating these values.

It didn’t take that long of a walk to find any trace of Rosie. With her shoes and her hat, she was easy to find in a crowd. Her fashionable apparel made her stick out. Both Rudolf and Freddy stopped in their place and stuck in the small crowd which had formed in front of a department store. Being led out by clearly marked Gestapo officers was a group of two men and two women. The fashionably dressed woman walked out with her head held high. Even from a distance, Rudolf could see there was no fear in her eyes as she was led into a car. The next group to walk out of the department store was a group of five men, one much taller than the rest. Gestapo officers, obviously.

“It’s Rosie,” Freddy said under his breath, incredulous. Rudolf looked at him and lifted his hand to stop him from making any sudden movements. With his fingers, he gestured toward the Gestapo officers. “Where do you think they are headed?”

Freddy’s eyes followed the line the group of men were walking. His brain was slow in responding but the realization crossed his face just as suddenly. As the cars left and the crowd dispersed amongst themselves, the captain and sub-officer moved forward. The familiar sight of Rosie’s bike caught Rudolf’s attention. He didn’t know where the decision to take it came from but he hoisted it with a strength that came from elsewhere.

He also didn’t recall the walk to the Betzler home. Though he adopted a calm demeanor and did all of the talking, there was something about confronting the Gestapo agents that unnverved him. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what they were trying to discover. There was a hope that burned inside the captain that maybe, just maybe, Rosie didn’t have anything to hide at all. She had misspoken over the phone and the only reason he was there was to make sure Jojo was okay. Though the minute he laid eyes on the boy, Rudolf knew Jojo was anything but okay. He had been acting just as suspiciously and that morning had only proven there was something being hidden in the Betzler residence.

When “Inga” appeared, Rudolf instantly knew what Rosie had meant. How could she have been so stupid to put her family at risk like this? It was the only thing he could think of as the teenage girl attempted a smooth explanation for her sudden appearance. Rudolf had half the mind to see Freddy’s reaction. To his shock, the normally emotionally available sub-officer had an unreadable expression. Come to think of it, his tone had been vacant of energy from the moment they saw Rosie being led into the car in front of the department store.

Stepping into Inga’s room felt as if they were stepping into an imposter’s space. Rudolf and Freddy had been aware of Inga’s death; seeing this child taking her name and handing over her papers felt quite wrong. As Freddy grounded himself in a chair, Rudolf was the one who took charge over the situation. His good eye focused on the dark-haired girl as she handed him “her” identification papers.

There was some likeness between them; the dark hair made a big difference to anyone who knew Inga. He questioned her on her full birthdate. She’d gotten it wrong. His good eye lingered on this “Inga” after she spoke.

It was as if he were at a road diverging into two paths. He could expose her as being a liar. Then what would happen? She would be hauled out and killed by the Gestapo officers or sent to one of those camps. If she was killed, would she be killed in front of them right here? His mind went to Jojo. The little boy was not a good liar at all. He was currently terrified, nearly shaking where he stood. Klenzendorf could feel it from where he was standing. The tension and fear was thick in the air.  It was suffocating. Rudolf’s brain went back to the diverged path. He could almost see her body on the floor in front of them. He could almost hear Jojo screaming. He could see the potential promotion this revelation would bring. It made him feel sick.

That is why he told her that her recitation of the birthdate was correct, even though it was days off of the correct date.

He’d promised Rosie and Paul both that he would protect their children. This girl had done nothing to him. Regardless of who she was, she needed protection. Rudolf had a promise he needed to fulfill.

The fear he felt when Deertz momentarily told him to wait was palpable. He had almost no choice but to start to hand the papers over. That was it. He couldn’t keep his promise. He silently wished for Rosie and Paul to forgive him; he was too weak to keep his promise after all.  He couldn’t be as strong as they were.

But he had given the Gestapo officers too much credit. They were distracted by the book. If there was anything Rudolf was thankful for, it was Jojo’s obsession with finding out more about Jews. Now things were connecting. His suspicions from the previous weeks and months were finally making sense. The Gestapo left the two Wehrmacht officers and the children alone. Rudolf offered vague warning to them both before he left, Freddy following behind him. He couldn’t say anything about Rosie now. There was no point to further scare the children. But the truth under it all was that Rudolf couldn’t bring himself to tell Jojo that his mother was a traitor to everything he believed in.

He didn’t sleep very well that night. Closing his eyes, he could only think of the fate that awaited Rosie.  His thoughts would then turn to Jojo and the girl pretending to be Inga. Rudolf didn’t realize how he was turning from side to side until a hand and a tired voice brought him out of his semi-dreaming state.

Freddy was not fully awake. His eyes were half open and his hand had crawled up to rest against the captain’s neck. His body had turned inward toward Rudolf’s and he was partly laying on his chest.

“Hey, why are you awake hm?” Rudolf’s fingers brushed over Freddy’s cheek and through his hair.

“Could ask you the same thing,” mumbled Freddy. He was trying to wake himself a bit more, that much Rudolf could tell. “What are you thinking about?”

The captain hesitated. “Nothing of importance.”

“Lies.” Freddy sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It persuaded Rudolf to fully sit up as well. Dawn was nearing. Very faint rays of light were starting to shine into the apartment. Sunrise was an hour or two away. Who knew what the new day would bring. Rudolf had a feeling it wouldn’t be anything good. “Are you thinking about what happened today?”

“Yes.” It was useless to lie to Freddy. Rudolf’s head leaned against the headboard and his hands slid over his face. He desperately needed to shave. Just something to clean up his face and feel better. “You know they’re going to execute her.”

Freddy was quiet. Rudolf continued, “She did it to herself. Her husband told me to keep her safe and I couldn’t do that. She is too damn stubborn for her own good and now look what’s happened.”

“They didn’t find anything to execute her for,” Freddy commented.

“They don’t have to have found anything in her home. If they find anything on her person, she’s done for,” Rudolf countered. “She couldn’t leave well enough alone. She had to bring her son into it, as well. You know what’s going to happen to him? He’s going to be an orphan and starve in the streets unless the Gestapo get back to them first.”

Freddy was fully awake at this point. He sat up on both of his knees, the sheets pooling around his lap. “You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t think that’s what will happen? He’s a ten-year-old kid, Friedrich, what do you think he’s going to do to afford food? He won’t.”

Paul’s words rung in his ear. Rosie’s voice mixed with her husband’s. Protect our children. Protect our family.

But how could he protect them when it was putting both his and Freddy’s lives at risk?

“Maybe they won’t find anything,” Freddy suggested. “Rosie is smart.”

Not smart enough to hide her activities, apparently. Not smart enough to avoid the Gestapo. Rudolf looked at Freddy and the gleam of hope on his face. He wished he could still feel that glimmer of hope. He wasn’t sure how much Freddy believed his own words. Could he truly believe that Rosie would get out of this unscathed? Even if she did, she would be watched like a hawk.

Klenzendorf rubbed his hand over his face again and looked at Freddy. He thought of all the steps they had taken to keep their own relationship under the radar. They had been safe and careful. They hadn’t had to worry about situations such as this. This self-preservation had worked for twelve years. He couldn’t understand how that sort of self-preservation was lost on Rosie who had much more to lose. His mind returned to Paul. There was no doubt Paul was involved in the same sort of business. Again, the lack of self-preservation baffled the captain. For all he knew, the same fate awaited Paul. He never dared to ask Rosie if she heard anything from her husband. He didn’t want to know. The less he knew of his former friend, the better.

Freddy’s hand came to his shoulder and squeezed the skin. The captain didn’t react nor move. Rather he allowed his partner to silently comfort him and coax him out of the thought spiral plaguing him. Freddy’s other arm snaked around Rudolf’s chest and he rest his chin on his shoulder. Rudolf’s head turned to look at Freddy. “I’ll go to the jail tomorrow,” he said quietly, “inferring on her well-being on behalf of her children.”

Freddy responded with a positive hum. He laid back on the bed, pulling Rudolf down with him, and readjusted the blankets around them both. Despite Freddy seemingly falling back asleep easily, Klenzendorf found it difficult for his mind to be at ease. Instead of relaxed, he felt the pit of dread growing in his stomach. He hadn’t felt this dread since June 6^th. Briefly, he thought of his dream from months ago. The gallows stood out so starkly in his thoughts. It only caused the pit to grow larger and larger.

He rose from bed three hours later and readied himself for the day. As soon as they both had dressed and eaten, they made their way toward the town jail in an attempt to ask after Rosie Betzler’s wellbeing. It turned out they did not need to ask.

The gallows that had been such a daily staple were filled with freshly hung corpses. There was no mistaking the red and white shoes of Rosie Betzler swinging freely.

With that sight, the air felt unmistakably colder. The sky was greyer. And Rudolf felt the last shred of loyalty blow away in the wind.

The winter seemed more bitter than it ever had before. The only other winter that had felt this cold was the one they had experienced on the Eastern Front.

Despite his thoughts he had shared with Freddy, Rudolf made sure to keep eyes on Jojo from afar. It didn’t seem right to go to him when the Gestapo was watching them more closely. Rudolf knew how they operated all too well. It was better for the boy if Rudolf kept his distance. If he heard any rumblings of the Gestapo going back to the Betzler residence, he would take action.

For now, his focus was better suited on protecting the town from inevitable invasion. The sounds of battle were getting closer and closer by the month. Then the time ticked down into weeks and then days. It wasn’t uncommon to hear ammunition firing in the distance. The Allies had crossed the border by way of the West while the Soviets were coming from the East. They had lost France. They were losing everything. The party was coming to an end.

It didn’t mean they had to stop dancing. Freddy tried to keep the mood in the office light despite Fraulein Rahm’s fears about Berlin falling. Rudolf marveled over Freddy making comments to the children in an effort to keep their spirits raised. Freddy had never liked children and yet here he was making them smile in the face of inevitable defeat. At night, in the comfort of their home, he worked to redesign their uniforms. Even on his birthday, he said he wanted to finish the uniforms and do a final fitting to make sure they were both up to standard.

The phonograph played solemnly and quietly as Rudolf stood in the sitting room. He was as still as could be while Freddy carefully sewed tassels into his sleeves and cape. That, itself, took nearly an hour. Freddy, thankfully, was good with his fingers and made quick work of it. He pulled back once and returned with a small pink triangle between his fingers.

Any other time, Rudolf’s heart would have given out at the sight of that patch coming anywhere near him. He knew what it meant, what it symbolized. But instead of fear, he accepted the placement on the right side of his body. His eyes met Freddy’s and he gave a nod for his partner to carefully sew it on his uniform. It was prominently placed underneath his officer’s badge. It was where he wanted everyone to see it.

Freddy, on the other hand, wanted the entire world to see his pink triangle. He chose to elaborately decorate his uniform and cape with the triangles. They would fly in the wind. There would be no mistaking who Freddy and how he felt about it. He was proud.

There was no telling how much time would pass before they would don these uniforms. Klenzendof’s gun was also completely redesigned. The logistics were figured out. The only thing left to do was to wait.

They had taken off the uniforms and hung them up within reaching distance in case the attack was to come sooner rather than later. When Freddy returned from hanging up the uniforms, Rudolf had two glasses of brandy ready in his hands. “Something for your hard work, Sub-Officer Finkel,” he explained, handing the glass to Freddy. Freddy’s fingers had small, almost undetectable punctures from accidental needle jabs. Only Klenzendorf saw how hard Freddy worked. Only he understood the importance of this project.

Freddy clinked his glass against Rudolf’s and they both took a drink. “That was four months of my life I’ll never get back,” joked Freddy. It was a somber jest. They both knew it.

“I appreciate it, Friedrich. I always do. You’ve done a great job.”

Again, Freddy nodded in thanks. His eyes went to the phonograph as a new song began. The crooning started. It was so familiar. It came as if from a dream.

I can’t give you anything but love. Baby. It’s the only thing I’ve plenty of. Baby.

Both Rudolf and Freddy’s eyes lit up with recognition at the singer and the lyrics. “The Cosy Corner,” Rudolf said before Freddy could verbally react. He finished his drink and set the glass down, his hands open toward the other and his body starting to move to the slow music. Freddy stifled a laugh which ended up sounding nearer to a snort. Rudolf gave him a look as he stepped nearer, putting Freddy’s glass down and taking his hands. He set one of Freddy’s hands on his shoulder and then held onto his waist, leading him into a waltz. He began to hum the tune of the song into Freddy’s ear, eliciting a laugh and sigh from Freddy as they pressed closer.

It was another life ago entirely. The Cosy Corner had been a simple place in a simpler time. They had both been so young then. That was laughable; Rudolf had hardly considered himself young at thirty-nine years of age. Now he looked back on those times and wished so desperately he could have appreciated the simplicity of it all.

“Rudolf?” Freddy’s voice pierced the veil of his thoughts. He hummed in response as they danced.

“What is it?”

Freddy’s arms went around his neck. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Again, Freddy sighed in his ear. The music provided a suitable cover for the delayed answer. “For not dismissing me at the bar that night.”

Rudolf’s head turned to look at Freddy. “Thank you for giving an old man a chance.”

Freddy’s eyes rolled. “You’re not old. You’ve never been old.” He sobered. “—I love you.”

Something in the declaration pulled at his heart in a way it had never pulled before. It hurt him. It was a foreboding pain. His eyes burned and his chest felt hot as Freddy looked at him in such a trusting and open manner.

“And I,” Klenzendorf said, “love you.”

Freddy’s lips curved into a smile. He kissed Rudolf once on the mouth and the two leaned their foreheads together as they continued to dance. Even as the record ended and no more music played, they danced until the candle ran out and shrouded them in darkness.

Chapter Text

Each morning and each day was the same throughout the winter, it seemed. As winter transitioned to an even colder spring, Rudolf found it more and more fitting for the state of their country. The once-glorious Reich was no more. The true colors were finally being shown.

Their time in the office decreased in early April and by the last day of the month, it was all finished. There was no need for Rudolf’s attendance there now that the Führer was dead.

It came over radio the next day and that was that, it seemed. Rudolf accepted the news without visible shock. Something inside had clued him into everything ending this way. Freddy was surprised but his reaction was muted compared to Fraulein Rahm and the children, specifically the Clones. They acted as if their own father had died. In a way, he supposed, a father had died if a German looked at the Führer in that way. Millions of Germans did. Now they were without their father. They were without proper leadership. The war was as good as lost to them. The battle would be at their doorstep soon enough.

Bombs from battles only another town away had been dropped. There was damage to the older buildings and it led to many people being displaced. There were already women and children who had packed as many things as they could in an attempt to flee. There was hardly order any longer, no matter how hard the remaining soldiers tried to keep control.  All they could do was protect structurally weak buildings and supervise the exodus from Falkenheim. They had to make sure as many able-bodied people remained to defend those who could not leave. It was out of morality, at this point, instead of protecting the Reich. The Reich no longer mattered.

On the second day after the Führer’s death, that is when the town was fully breached.

Rudolf had hardly slept since the new year, if he was being honest. Time had passed both too slowly and too quickly. It was no surprise he couldn’t sleep on the morning of May 1^st. Freddy was able to sleep but not well at all. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be awake for an hour or two before returning back to uncertain sleep. This particular morning, he joined Rudolf with a cup of coffee. They sat in silence, allowing their senses to fully awaken as they shared the cup of coffee. They somewhat dressed for the day, opting for simple trousers and undershirts. Klenzendorf had no intentions of leaving the apartment unless it was absolutely necessary. Maybe he would go along to see how the defenses were holding up. Primitive defenses, such as sandbags against weakening structures, and cheaply made anti-tank spikes littered the streets. It was a pathetic defensive strategy but at least it showed they were doing something to defend the town. There wasn’t much they could do besides wait and defend to the last man. It wouldn’t be long for that to happen. What good was a defense when only children and old men were left to guard?

 It wasn’t long before the first gunshots and impact of heavy artillery began to echo. Screams and shouts accompanied it. There was a shared look and the two men went to dress themselves in their uniforms and retrieve their weapons.

Freddy attended to Rudolf first, ensuring everything was stitched and appropriately showing the way they had planned and designed. He fastened the cape on his shoulders and ran a brush over the uniform to ensure it was clear before dressing himself. This time, Rudolf took the cape and ensured it was fastened on Freddy’s shoulders. Freddy’s eyes watched him as he put the helmet on his head and secured it. “Can’t have you losing that, can we?” The captain asked, patting the helmet firmly. Freddy winked and offered a warm smile.

Rudolf noticed the way the corner of Freddy’s eyes crinkled as he smiled and how he watched his partner with devotion. When they had first met, the lines had not formed when he smiled as they did now. The passage of time was a fascinating thing. Rudolf could have sworn that Freddy was the energetic young man of nineteen—nearly twenty, he had added all through the night and days after-- he had met in a Berlin bar. Now he was a proper man of thirty-one; a proven soldier and companion anyone would be proud of. He was someone Rudolf was proudest of.

Freddy placed Rudolf’s helmet on his own head, securing the plume. He squinted as his eyes moved over his partner’s face to the point where Rudolf began to wonder if there was something the matter. The sub-officer turned around and began to rummage through the drawers until he retrieved something that resembled a small brush with a black stone. Klenzendorf squinted to get a better look but was unable to as Freddy neared him and instructed, “Close your eyes.”

Now there had been a particular night at the Betzler’s where a cordial visit turned into Freddy drinking a bit too much and persuading Rosie to make up his face. “Rudolf likes me pretty,” he had said, words sloshing into each other and bookended by laughter as he had flailed on the floor while his partner opted for a chair. All the more amused by the idea, Rosie had retrieved a small brush and a circular case which held a sort of black clay. She had moved the brush through it a few times and moved it against Freddy’s lashes and lined his eyes until they had made his eyes stand out starkly against his pale skin. It had made him look quite pretty, if Klenzendorf had to admit. Freddy had fretted the next morning how it stained his face and made him look positively gaunt, but had beamed when Rudolf commented on how rather pretty he had looked. He wondered, himself, how he might look with the slight enhancement to his eyes but had only dared once to try it alone. It didn’t turn out so well.

 “Trust me,” Freddy responded, “I’ll make you look fearsome.”

He wasn’t one to ever doubt Friedrich; especially now. Rudolf closed his eyes. “If you blind my good eye, I’ll have you sent to the Eastern Front.”

“Oh,” Freddy’s voice hummed, “well it looks like the Eastern Front is being sent to us, schatz.” His fingers moved deftly over the lining of Rudolf’s eyes; first one then the other. “Open.”

Rudolf did so. “Look up,” instructed Freddy, craning his head to get a better look. His fingers moved to line his captain’s lower lid.

“Ouch.”

Freddy paused, his eyes widening. Rudolf met his gaze and slowly smirked at him, laughing and earning a jab to the chest. “Scheißkerl,” cursed Freddy. “Bastard! Do that again and I’ll actually blind you.”

“I yield, Sub-Officer Finkel.” Rudolf looked upward and allowed Freddy to finish his lower eyelids. He blinked when Freddy was done and turned to the mirror to look. He liked it but it felt too clean. Too polished. Something in the captain brought him to swipe his thumb against the black line, smudging it much to Freddy’s chagrin. Rudolf lifted his free hand to halt him and continued to blur the line on both lids until it was to his liking. It darkened the area around his eyes. If he had to be honest, he felt fearsome.

 “Perfekt,” Klenzendorf said under his breath as he stepped backward. Freddy got a better look at him and echoed, “Perfekt.” His hand settled on the captain’s shoulder and they looked at one another; nearly forgetting about the sound of artillery coming impossibly closer. Their apartment began to rock with each blast. Rudolf could see the slight dilation of Freddy’s eyes at a rapid fire of an automatic gun. His hand went to his partner’s face. “Sei stark,” he instructed gently, stepping around Freddy to retrieve their guns and the mounted radio.

“Following your lead, Captain,” Freddy replied. He took the handgun and loaded it then made sure there was enough ammunition holstered in his holster. After making sure the radio was properly holstered and working, their eyes met. Instead of anxiety over the bursting bombs and the rattling of their building, they both were quite calm. More than calm, in fact, they were more energetic and excited than ever.

They got to the door together and Klenzendorf began to play the radio, the volume turned obnoxiously loud; Pachelbel’s Canon in D. He grinned at Freddy and opened the door widely, both of them stepping out in time with one another. “—Onward, Finkel, onward!”

There was something about the rush of combat, the rush of battle, that reinvigorated Rudolf from the moment he saw it. It was horrible and disgusting but all the same, it made him feel alive and whole again. For all of his planning—and all of it had gone to shit thanks to the protestations of others—he had to admit that nothing felt better than the loose strategy of improvisation. There was nothing to truly defend; no Reich to fight for. If anything, Rudolf had to keep Freddy and as many civilians as he could safe. There was nothing they had done to ask for the Russians on their doorstep. They shouldn’t be punished for a war they never asked for.

The town was not the place they had come to almost a year and a half ago. The colorful buildings and the banners were all replaced by destruction and chaos. Bombs were bursting and the color was replaced by red; a sickening red that could only be produced by the human body. It was nothing new to either of them; they did not let the show of violence phase them in the least. If anything, it drove the pair of them onward into the rubble and into the fray; Freddy always half a step behind Rudolf, who led the way with confidence into the unknown slaughter. He could only predict it was a slaughter. There was no way the town could hold up against the heavy artillery shells being fired upon them, toppling their homes and upending the tranquil lives they believed so strongly in.

Banners fell around them and were crushed with the brick and mortar they had been held up by. Intermittently strewn throughout were crouching citizens of all ages; young, old, in-between.  Those who had fought before and those who had never held a gun in their lives.

Rudolf’s own gun fired mindlessly into the air. Better a bullet land in the rubble than in the body of an innocent.

It was as his gun rapidly fired and Pachbel’s Canon in 8 played on that he came to the conclusion that he was done fighting. His blood ran hot and thick for the thrill of battle but not for the thrill of killing. Once, so long ago, Rudolf had believed he was not a true soldier until he had taken the life of the enemy. He had certainly preached this to the boys who came under his tutelage over the preceding years but rarely had he believed in what he was saying. Rarely did he believe in anything that he had told these boys to believe in. What good was the burning of books, of destroying access to the knowledge that would expose them to the wider world around them? They would grow old, feeble, and stupid. They would rather lead the world into darkness and mayhem than order and light.

As he stood on a pile of what had once been a fountain, he turned his head to examine the field around them. It was hard to tell the sky from the cloud of dust that choked them moment by moment. Klenzendorf’s fingers made sure his gun was ready to fire and found his attention dragged to his right. Johannes. Little Jojo Betzler was staring at him in bewilderment.

He was wearing the coat of a soldier, the hat of a soldier. He looked so much like his mother but with the eyes and the gravity of his father. This little boy who he had not originally cared for always seemed to be in his presence. Not haunting him, no, but reminding him of what he was leaving behind with each hour that passed. For as much pride as he took in being a soldier, was everything he had done to this point worth it? Was it worth twisting an innocent boy’s mind to make him believe in a regime that had killed his own mother? Had Rudolf done enough to keep his promise to Paul?

Jojo’s eyes met Rudolf’s. With a cigarette clenched between his teeth, all he could do was smile and give him a look of triumph. Yes, he would keep Jojo safe. He would make sure at least one weapon could never harm another person again. No bullet issued by the fallen government would be used to take another life. Not the life of a Jew, a gypsy, a homosexual, anyone.

He aimed his gun wildly in the air, ensuring to aim only for the highest structures so the fragments would not take any unnecessary lives. It was freeing to feel the kickback and the cacophony of gunfire against the blaring music from his radio. Freddy’s shouts were triumphant and he, too, fired his handgun randomly above the heads of everyone. Klenzendorf moved onward, as did Freddy. It was the end of all things; why not end it with a bang?

It was quite the choice of words but it was true. Everything was ending; nothing mattered any longer. Who would punish them for disobedience? Hitler was dead; his generals, too, were either dead or too cowardly to face the inevitable end. For the first time in years, Rudolf Klenzendorf felt the ties that bound him to the Nazi regime breaking completely. Each small act of rebellion—neglecting paperwork, questioning his superiors, each moment spent with Freddy—had tugged on his ties day by day, hour by hour. Now with each bullet he fired, those ties were completely breaking. It was a painless separation and the sweetest release.

He wished, above all things, that the separation did not involve the casualty of others. Despite the lightness of his heart, he could not help but feel weighed down by the sight of the young bodies strewn about like broken dolls. The shocked faces of old men, including those of the shepherds from months back, frozen into eternity as they crumbled on the broken foundations of Falkenheim.

His head turned to ensure Freddy was behind him. The ecstasy on his face was intoxicating. He was overjoyed as he lowered his handgun. The cape with pink triangles flapped wildly behind him, whipping in the air. An explosion behind the sub-officer created a halo of brick and dust around his head. By God, Rudolf was enraptured by him in a way he had never experienced before. His head turned at the rumbling of a tank and he aimed his gun just ninety degrees from it, firing at a crumbling church. The ducking of heads was almost comical. Conflicting shouts in German and Russian bounced from every corner of the makeshift battlefield. Oftentimes they were interrupted by gunfire and explosions as the Allies crept closer and closer to conquering them.

The streets were unrecognizable anymore. Klenzendorf couldn’t tell where he and Freddy were walking through. If he focused too closely on the change of landscape, he would be caught off-guard and it could mean death.

To say Rudolf had no intention of dying that day would be an ignorant assumption. He thoroughly expected to be punished. He expected, at least, to be shot and injured. Perhaps dying, yes, but there was the part of his brain that denied the possibility from happening now. He and Freddy had gotten this far without dying. He’d survived far worse in his life and had only lost sight in one eye. There was some force in the universe on his side. There had to be something looking out for him and Freddy. Was it God? That Rudolf could not be certain about. But if they did escape this entire disaster with their lives, there was a chance he could step into a church as he had when he was a boy. Maybe he would become a devout Christian instead of a devout atheist. Who cares if God did not like that he laid with a man. Would God punish him for love after repenting for worse sins?

What did he care for God now unless God showed him He truly existed? If He existed, He would spare him and Freddy both. They would be able to walk through a storm of bullets and emerge untouched.

He felt drunk on the thoughts of being untouchable. They had survived the Russians before and they would outlast them here. They would emerge from this war together.

His gun fired wildly around and his own laughter matched the sound decibel. As the battle continued around them, Freddy’s laughter pierced through the veil. It was further away. When had Freddy been separated from him?

 Rudolf’s body faced the way he had come from. Freddy was a mere ten paces behind him. Both men ducked their heads at the sound of rapid gunfire almost encircling them. They heard the grunts and shocked cries of men and even two children as they were impacted by bullets. Children were hit. Klenzendorf didn’t allow that thought to stick as he reached his hand out toward Freddy, gesturing for them both to take cover behind a wall.

No sooner did Freddy’s hand take his own than a strangled rasp left the sub-officer’s mouth. His eyes nearly bulged in shock and he arched toward Klenzendorf almost unnaturally. Another round of shots fired and it earned one more strangled rasp from Freddy’s mouth. His mouth was filling with red which began to dribble down his chin. His eyes remained on Rudolf as the handgun and the radio dropped completely from his grasp. His body collapsed pathetically to the ground. It was as if he could not hold himself on his feet any longer. Freddy’s hands and legs were twitching while his chest rose and fell in panicked, choked breaths.

Rudolf’s instincts kicked in far before his emotions did. A surge of adrenaline shot through his bloodstream as he hoisted Freddy to his feet, finding the man could not stand at all. The next best option was to drag him toward the coverage of the wall. His gun was all but forgotten in the chaos as he pulled the dead weight that was Freddy Finkel to the relative safety of the wall. He sat him upright against the wall and knelt before him to get a better look at his current status. As soon as he did, he felt the emotion peaking along with his adrenaline.

Freddy had always been somewhat pale but now he was ashen. Blood trickled from his mouth as he struggled for breath. Klenzendorf quickly pushed aside the officer’s cape to see an exit wound on the right side of his heaving chest. The cape laid half on the ground and half on Freddy’s unmoving legs. Choked, wheezing noises left Freddy’s mouth as he struggled to speak and breathe. Rudolf removed Freddy’s helmet and smoothed his hair off his forehead, leaving a trail of dust from his fingers. One hand cradled Freddy’s cheek while the other pressed against the exit wound. Upon further examination he saw how limply his partner was sitting against the wall. There barely seemed to be any engagement of his spine. He seemed like a broken doll.

He had seen men dying of wounds like this. But this was impossible. Freddy was not dying. Freddy was not bleeding nor was he grievously injured. None of this was reality and if it was, God was not real. God couldn’t be cruel enough to turn the tide in such an unexpected instant. He would not allow Freddy to be shot down and suffering as he was now.

Freddy let out a cough and Rudolf could feel flecks of blood staining his face. He wiped Freddy’s lips and urged, “Breathe." He heard himself shouting for a medic. there had to be a medic. Every goddamn battle had a medic.

There were none. He had not seen a single medic on the battlefield. This wasn’t an organized defense of the town. They were not on the frontlines.

Freddy’s red mouth tried to form words but he ended up sputtering and moaning in agony. His blue eyes squeezed tightly shut and he clutched Klenzendorf’s hand against his chest. It stole the very breath from Rudolf’s lungs and caused his eyes to burn as if they were on fire. A sharp, familiar wetness raged at his eyes as he forced himself to look upon the dying man. Freddy Finkel was dying; it was undeniable. Yet he wanted to deny it. Rudolf wanted to deny it desperately. This was all too terrible to be reality. War was terrible, yes, and men died. But Freddy Finkel was not like other men. He wasn’t just another nameless name on a tombstone or a name to be toasted at the day’s end.

“Look at me. Friedrich, look at me.”

Rudolf’s hand clenched onto Freddy’s as he urged him to open his eyes. He almost wished he hadn’t requested that. He didn’t want to see the pain and the fear those eyes were now displaying. Freddy had never been good at hiding his emotions, after all. How could Klenzendorf expect now to be any different?

The explosions were quieting around them. The shouting of the enemy was more coherent. There was screaming of women, children, and men alike; screams of pain, of grief, of order and command.  It was something he couldn’t focus, and wouldn’t, focus on. They didn’t deserve his attention. The hand on Freddy’s face stroked his cheek and swiped the blood from his lips. Freddy’s breathing became more shallow, sharp, and slow. His eyes were fixed on Rudolf but started to lose focus.

“No you don’t,” Klenzendorf insisted, taking the tone of a commander, “keep your eyes open, Finkel. On me.” He could only hold onto so much command as his emotion began to overcome his bid for order and calm. He swore that Freddy was trying to smile but it turned into more of a grimace. It pierced his heart worse than any bullet or any shrapnel. Something cold dripped from his eyes. It was undeniable that panic was overwhelming Rudolf’s body. The cold, cruel reality that Freddy was dying hit him like a bomb. Everything came into sharp focus. The red on Freddy’s mouth screamed out at him, taunting and laughing as it choked the breath from the sub-officer’s body.

It was a terrible thing to see Freddy’s reaction to him crying. The utter brokenness as Rudolf pled through tears, “Friedrich, bleib bei mir.” He leaned closer so their foreheads touched and he swore he could hear the slowed beating of Freddy’s heart. “Du bleibst bei mir. Bitte.”

Freddy inhaled sharply and a sound akin to a sob left his mouth. It made the captain clutch his hand terribly tighter. “Rudolf,” came Freddy’s rasping, choking voice. It was heartbreakingly weak. It hurt worse than any wound. Rudolf used to love how Freddy said his name. He would relish it. Now he wished Freddy would never say his name again if it meant he could live. He forced himself to meet his partner’s eyes. “Don’t be scared,” whispered the dying man. Despite everything, Freddy smiled.

Orders shouted in broken German threatened them both to stand. Klenzendorf’s Russian was close to non-existent but he knew how to ask them to wait. He’d heard it many times as a plea before a wounded man was put out of his misery. Now, this time, Rudolf was the one pleading. They needed to allow this one mercy. He knew, logically, the Russians would not give them mercy but he needed one more miracle. One more moment and then they could do what they wanted; they could shoot him dead so Freddy would not have to wait for him a moment longer.

But there is no God. If there was, Freddy would not be dying. You will never see him again.

Klenzendorf felt hands forcing him away from Freddy. Then it was as if he was watching himself from outside of his own body. He grabbed onto Freddy in vain until he was forced back. There was a ripping noise as more than half of Freddy’s cape tore. His fingers grasped the triangles tightly as the Soviets hoisted him away. Three more soldiers stepped around him and in front of Freddy, muttering and laughing at his condition, presumably. It filled the captain with rage and a newfound courage. He thrashed in response, turning to punch a Soviet in the face and earning a fist to his nose in return. He was hit in the stomach and subdued. His vision went black and he felt himself being hoisted upright. From his good eye he could see guns drawn and pointed at Freddy’s head.

This is now how he wanted to remember Freddy. It wasn’t how he wanted to see him. Yet he forced himself to watch. He forced himself to meet Friedrich’s eyes one final time. In that split second, he saw the young man who had bought him a watered down beer twelve years ago at an underground bar in Berlin. He existed for but a moment. And then, with two gunshots at close range, he was gone.

 It was remarkable to see there was still an area of green in the town. There was rubble around it but Klenzendorf found himself relishing in the fact that there was still life in the midst of all of the death.

After a brief beating for his disobedience, the soldiers had brought him toward a building that, he thought, had been a meeting hall. There was a small courtyard where the uniformed Germans were being kept. He saw many of the men with a range of injuries; minor, severe, and mortal. Some of them had bloody noses while others had broken limbs. Their faces were pale despite the amount of dirt and sediment on them from the preceding battle. As more were brought into the courtyard, it became crowded with stone-faced soldiers. Captain Klenzendorf had been seated on a pile of bricks and rubble. He found, as the reality settled around him, that he was still clutching the segment of Freddy’s cape in his hands. His brain flashed images of stuffing the cape into his jacket pocket as the soldiers turned their attention, and their guns, from Freddy to him. Now as he sat, he found holding it to be a grounding force.

Freddy was dead. That was one thing he was certain about. Death was the only certain thing he knew. As much as he felt he should be openly grieving, he couldn’t as he held the cape between his hands. His thumb stroked the triangles lovingly, tenderly as if he were stroking Freddy’s cheek. They were as soft as his skin had been. His brain flashed an image of Freddy in bed in the mornings. He would be on the verge of sleep and waking but he would have the most content look on his face all the same. Now he wondered if Freddy had been faking sleep and just wanted Klenzendorf to wake him with a tender touch every morning.

On occasion Klenzendorf would see the Soviet soldiers mingling with American soldiers. He could tell because of the two conflicting accents and the confusion shared between the groups of men. Often they would be gesturing toward the Germans with confusion and anger. They obviously were disagreeing. The Russians did not seem to be backing down. Klenzendorf had never known the Russians to back down from anything; that much was evident by how they had taken over Falkenheim.

Then he began to see groups of German men being pulled to their feet and ushered out of the courtyard. Where they were exiting, Klenzendorf recalled, was the back of the meeting hall. There would be nothing but a brick wall. It was almost a dead end. It was the perfect place to execute a group of men all at once. A mixture of resignation and a dose of fear settled in his chest as he watched groups of men being forced to their feet and brought out of the courtyard. It wasn’t long after that a command was given in authoritative Russian and shots rang out. Klenzendorf tightened his hold on the cape. His thumb stroked the fabric of the triangles repeatedly until the last moan of pain was silenced. Periodically he saw American soldiers come in and argue with a few of the Soviets only to turn and leave. Better to not see the goings on and claim ignorance than witness them.

He felt the bitter irony on his tongue and nodded his head. It was all fine; it wouldn’t matter soon.

His eyes lifted toward the sky and it was as if he were seeing the sunlight and the blue of the sky for the first time. It was beautiful when the dust had all settled. The day was even warm. Klenzendorf’s eyes blinked as he got used to the bright light. As he lowered his head, he heard a voice he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again.

“Captain K?”

The breath was stolen from him as he saw little Johannes Betzler stepping down the line of injured men. Thank God he was not hurt. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him except, what Klenzendorf assumed, was a healthy dose of shell shock. His heart ached for the boy. This wasn’t something a child his age should see. The ache in his heart quickly transfigured into an open, bleeding wound. None of what happened to him should have happened. He shouldn’t be standing in front of him in a soldier’s coat. How had he managed to get a soldier’s coat to fit him? The captain’s stomach turned and he tasted bile on his tongue.

“Heya, kid,” he greeted. His voice was lighter than it should have been; an attempt at normalcy in spite of all the chaos. “Look at all this commotion, huh?” He glanced at the cape in his hands as Jojo sat beside him, his body on edge and his eyes wildly looking about.

“What’s happening?”

This he could answer for certain. This he knew for sure. “Hysteria, my friend. We’ve come to the end.” He closed his fingers around the cape. “Party’s over.”

The party had been over for years. Now the final guests were being ushered out.

His good eye focused on Johannes and what he was staring at. A couple of feet away, more men were being hoisted to their feet. Klenzendorf recognized one in particular who had black hair and blood staining his ears; his name was Franz. He was only eighteen. He had been one that Klenzendorf deemed a psychotic sycophant. Now he was a scared little boy. He was terrified. The captain wouldn’t be surprised if he was pissing his pants in this moment. Franz was begging the Soviet soldier that he had no part in any of this; that he wanted to go home and he was sorry. To spare him.

Jojo’s eyes were wide as he refocused on the captain. “Are you scared?” Klenzendorf asked. No answer. “Hey. Don’t be scared.” It drew the ten year-old’s attention away from the men who were being readied to die. It was a small act of mercy Klenzendorf could perform. He felt his throat tighten as Jojo’s blue eyes met his tired ones. The eyes that reminded him so much of Paul.

He hadn’t been able to protect Rosie. He couldn’t have been able to protect Inga. Klenzendorf had broken his promise to Paul at nearly every turn. And now here was the last of his legacy. In fact, here was the future of the German people sitting in front of him. What a future he was leaving behind; a future of ashes, destruction, and confusion as the ones left behind would have to figure out the truth and how to move on. What if he hadn’t agreed to serve in the army again? What if he and Freddy had just stayed on the riverbank that day and he had never mentioned his army career at all? What if they had left Germany and never returned? Would Jojo still inherit this shame and ashes? Would he still believe in the hatred that Klenzendorf’s generation had brought about?

Not all of his generation. Rosie and Paul had been the ones to see through all of it. They saw through the lies and they were brave enough to fight against it while Klenzendorf hid behind his uniform and his drink. While he sat back and did nothing, Paul and Rosie were strong enough to do something. Rosie had given her life for another person’s. Even as her body had swung from the gallows, she died knowing she had saved at least one life and one future. She had loved her son so dearly that she fought for a better world. Paul, too, was fighting for a world Jojo could be proud of; where he could be friends with a girl who was Jewish. And what had Klenzendorf done?

You loved.

It wasn’t enough. He didn’t see it as enough.

Loving is always enough.

The voice in his head changed. How sweet love is.

Rosie

Regret flooded through him. She was right, after all. Love was the strongest thing in the world. Loving was enough. Perhaps Klenzendorf hadn't loved enough. He could have done much more.

“I’m sorry about Rosie. She was a good person.”

Not ‘your mother’. She was more than that. Jojo didn’t understand now but perhaps one day he would. Rosie was more than just his mother. She was a goddamn savior.

Klenzendorf watched how Jojo’s face began to shut down much as it did when he disagreed with someone, mainly his mother. The captain removed the hat from his head and it made the little boy look at him. He offered a smile and insisted, “An actual good person.”

Because that is who Rosie was and who Paul was. They were actually good people who did something to combat all of this. Regret filled Klenzendorf’s chest and he looked at Jojo with urgency for the boy to understand what he was trying to say. His mother was not the enemy. She never had been. She loved him so dearly and she loved humanity so dearly. If she had not, she would have reported Klenzendorf and Freddy the minute she saw the truth of their bond. Even now, Klenzendorf realized how grateful he was to her. Underneath her harshness and her determination, she had been the most wonderful person he had met. No wonder Freddy had taken such a liking to her.

His hand squeezed Jojo’s shoulder and the little boy threw himself into the captain’s arms. His sniffles and sobs were muffled in Klenzendorf’s neck. The captain murmured quietly that it was alright. It was. He felt more confident in that than anything else in his life. Jojo would be okay. Everything was going to be okay for him. He would survive this. He would carry on with that girl who was hiding in his house. Both of them would be safe.

Klenzendorf looked around as more movement was happening around them. Soon enough the Soviets would be coming their their area of the courtyard. Jojo was wearing a soldier’s coat. He would be caught up in all of this. Perhaps he could keep his promise to Paul and Rosie. He could keep the last member of their family safe after all.

He collected himself and mentioned Jojo’s book. It took the boy off-guard and, the captain swore, almost made him laugh. He saw the impulse of wanting to laugh being swallowed down. “I’m sorry for laughing at it.” He patted Jojo’s back and touched his face. He wasn’t hurt; just dirtied from the battle. Good. Klenzendorf couldn’t let himself die knowing that Jojo was hurt. If there was a God and he saw Rosie, she would kill him for allowing her son to have another scratch on him.

The captain stood Jojo up and looked him over. No scratches, no bruises. Nothing. He was upset but otherwise alive and that was what mattered He held onto his shoulders and offered a smile. “Run home and look after that sister of yours,” instructed the captain with fondness. “Okay?” Jojo nodded. It was his last command to his little volunteer. There was much else he wanted to say to the boy he had grown fond of. He only wished that Jojo understood what he was doing. He hoped that he would find peace just as he was about to.

In an instant, he stripped the coat off him and tossed it behind into the rubble. Klenzendorf shouted at Jojo to get away, calling him a ‘Jew’ in the most disgusted tone he could mutter. He’d always been rather dramatic. He could almost recall Freddy teasing him that he should be the one in the cinema films. The cape dangled from his pocket. It brought him strength to carry on as he shouted loudly for Jojo to, “Get away!”

A gun was pointed at him as he was asked what was going on.

“He’s a Jew!”

“Do you know this Nazi?” The soldier asked Jojo. He was Russian but he spoke German. Jojo began to stammer but Klenzendorf carelessly interrupted, “No, I don’t know this dirty Jew” with as much hate as he could muster up. Anything to get Jojo out of this area and away from the executioner’s bullet. For good measure, he spat at the little boy. Rosie would certainly have had his head for that.

It earned him a punch to the face which knocked the breath out of his body. He landed on the grass with a gasp. His nose throbbed and he felt blood seeping from it. It was probably broken. Not that it mattered.

His mind went to the cape. Most of it was still in his pocket. Hands grabbed under his arms and began to drag him away. Klenzendorf lifted his head and saw the soldier dragging a screaming Jojo away. A smile crossed the captain’s lips as he saw Jojo disappear on the other side of the wall. He was safe. He was alive.

As soon as Klenzendorf was dragged out the opposite was, he was hauled to his feet. His head swam and he nearly fell back to the ground but he was pushed into the mass of men lined up against the wall. Many of them had fearful eyes. Some were stoic while others were shaking. The young men were crying. Some held onto one another. Klenzendorf stood at the head of them as one of the last men brought in. He stared at the line of Soviets in front of them with their guns drawn.

He lifted his chin as the order was given to aim. Natural panic gripped his chest as his brain comprehended the situation. Every natural instinct told him to run but he willed himself to stand strong. He was a captain. Once he had complained to Freddy that getting discharged would be the worst thing to happen to him. Many times, he had complained that the honor of an execution would be better than any discharge.

Another order was shouted and the Soviets took up their positions to fire. It elicited a sound of shock from the younger soldiers. Klenzendorf inhaled deeply and found the cape. He looked down at it for a brief moment to make sure he saw the pink of the triangles.

Freddy had been so insistent to decorate his uniform with them. They were a hateful symbol. Freddy had wanted to take it back. If he was going to die, he wanted to die with the High Command knowing just who had faithfully served the German people. Now, it gave Klenzendorf the courage to face his own death.

Rudolf.

His eyes closed at the sweetness of his name. How ironic it was he was to fulfill the fate of his namesake. His lover was long dead and now he was about to die by a bullet. His mother had been correct in naming him after all. But even now as Freddy's voice rang through his head, he still felt his name had never sounded better than it had being said by Friedrich Finkel. What he would give to hear his voice again. What he would give to have Freddy standing by his side at the end of all things. He held firmly onto the cape. Soon. Soon enough. Soon. 

The bullets ripped through his body. All he felt was agony. He allowed himself to react. There was no use in holding back any longer. There was no use in anything. All he had left to do on this earth was complete. The darkness did not come immediately. But as it slowly took over his vision, he thought of the light of the day. He thought of the blue of the sky and the blue in the eyes of the man he loved. His last coherent thought was of Freddy lying in bed beside him as the morning sun shone through the window. His eyes would open and he would smile. And he was like the sun. After the dark of the night comes the light of the sun.

Don’t be scared.

He wouldn't have to. He would never be scared again.