Lunch with Mussolini

by Derek Hansen

  ‘Don’t worry, Carl, the Captain always does.’ Gottfried gave Christiane’s father a wry smile.

  ‘All war is an atrocity, Herr Schiller,’ the young Captain replied. ‘Before you draw any conclusions, however, for I know that may sound like a strange observation for a soldier, it is my father’s wisdom not mine. I know you once met my father, but are you aware he won the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves on the Western Front? In fact, he won so many medals the weight of them on his uniform made it impossible for him to stand upright. He credits this fact for his survival, as the British bullets passed over his head. Yes, the bombing of Guernica was an atrocity, as it must be whenever human flesh is torn apart by flying metal. But militarily and strategically, it was both a success and a necessity. General Franco needed to capture Guernica and its industrial capabilities. For our part, it was a valuable lesson in the use of combat aircraft. That is why we sent the Condor Legion to Spain. To learn and put our theories into practice.’

  ‘Did you take part in the fighting?’

  ‘No, sir. I was there merely as an observer for the Lieutenant-General.’

  ‘Hah!’ exploded Gottfried. ‘Tell them how you used Tannhäuser to wipe out the Republican machine-gunners.’

  ‘No. If you like the story you tell it.’

  Christiane gasped. The young officer had refused his superior! And in such a manner. Now he was laughing at him. Christiane was appalled, but undeniably also fascinated.

  ‘Let me tell you, Carl, there has been nothing to match this since … I don’t know … since those cheeky Greeks used their hollow horse to get inside the Trojan walls.’ Gottfried began to laugh. It reverberated around the room. He was in his element telling stories. ‘Young Friedrich here decided to take a closer look at the Republican defences. He took a couple of riflemen with him. God knows how, but they got to within fifty metres of the enemy lines before they were spotted. A machine-gun opened fire on them. Luckily they were right by a shell crater and dropped into it. The machine-gun stopped firing. The trouble was, it had all happened so quickly, they had no idea where the machine-gunners were. On the other hand, the machine-gunners knew exactly where they were. Worse, it was getting dark, and once dark, they knew the Republicans would send out a patrol to finish them off. They didn’t know which line of withdrawal would provide the best cover. One of the Schutzes took off his helmet and held a clump of grass to his forehead for camouflage. Then very slowly he rose to peek over the rim of the crater. The poor fellow took a bullet between his eyes before he even had time to blink.

  ‘So, what could our gallant Captain do? I’ll tell you. He waited until it got dark. Then he launched into the Pilgrims’ Chorus from Tannhäuser. If Friedrich hadn’t decided to become a soldier, I tell you he would have made a fine tenor. He has a beautiful voice. The Republican machine-gunners thought so too, because when he finished they applauded. Friedrich listened to the applause, worked out where it was coming from and hurled stick grenades at them. That shut them up!’ Gottfried stopped talking, speechless as tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks. ‘Can you imagine it, Carl, laying flat on your back singing the Pilgrims’ Chorus: “Durch Sühn … und Buß hab ich versöhnt …” then BOOM!’

  ‘What did you do next?’ asked Carl, as soon as he managed to catch his breath.

  ‘We ran like rabbits. Very frightened rabbits.’ The young Captain rose to his feet and picked up his host’s bottle of Scotch. Without begging permission, he topped up their glasses and his own. Christiane winced. Her father was a stickler for formality and he would not have enjoyed the Captain’s presumption.

  ‘Why Tannhäuser?’ her father asked somewhat tersely. ‘Why the Pilgrims’ Chorus?’

  ‘I don’t think Wagner intended it, but in the Pilgrims’ Chorus he seems to capture the essence of everything that is good in the soul of man. If he doesn’t capture it, then at least he touches it. Has anyone ever heard it and not been moved by it? Also, it is probably one of Wagner’s best known pieces. My gamble was that the enemy could not fail to recognise and be affected by it.’ The young Captain laughed gently. ‘You may think it a bold gamble, Herr Schiller, but what was I risking? My life? At that moment, a wise gambler weighing the odds would not have bet on my existence continuing for very much longer. My life was all I had left to bet with, and it wasn’t much of a bet.’

  ‘Still you survived, Captain, and doubtless you learned from the experience. What else did you learn in Spain?’

  ‘Enough to fill volumes of reports which I know the Lieutenant-General will never read. Enough to learn that the outcome of any battle is usually determined by two factors. Firstly superior armaments. Tanks will usually defeat rifles and machine-guns. But more importantly, battles and wars will more often than not be won by the side which makes the fewer mistakes.’

  ‘What about the quality of the soldiers? Do you not take that into consideration?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Herr Schiller. Perhaps the greatest lesson I learned in Spain was this: never, under any circumstances, put German soldiers in a position of fighting alongside the Italians. I was also a guest of the Italian motorised corps at Jarama in February when they mounted their flanking attack on Madrid. What a disaster. Fortunately I could see it coming and hijacked a despatch rider’s motorbike. Further to your point, if I’d had one hundred thousand Saxons as my troops we could have cleaned up the mess in Spain in a week.’

  ‘At that stage, the entire Reichswehr barely numbered one hundred thousand, at least officially,’ cut in Gottfried drily. ‘But the point young Friedrich is making is valid. In a situation where soldiers are more or less equal in ability, the side which makes the fewer mistakes will win. And that need not necessarily be the best equipped.’

  ‘Are we going to invite the young lady to join us?’

  If the Captain’s question caught his companions by surprise, it was nothing compared to the shock Christiane felt. Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. She wanted to turn and run but knew that option was no longer open to her. She had been caught red-handed in the act of eavesdropping. But how could he be so rude? How could any friend of her uncle be so thoughtless and tactless? Her ears burned.

  ‘Is that you, Christiane?’

  She took a deep breath, and found courage in her sudden dislike for the impudent young officer.

  ‘Yes, Father.’ She pushed the door open and entered. ‘I wasn’t sure it was the opportune time to interrupt you.’ She turned to greet her uncle, formal in the presence of the stranger, but her uncle wouldn’t have a bar of it. He’d risen from his chair the instant she’d entered and now rushed to embrace her.

  ‘My dear Christiane! Dear God, look at you! You grow more beautiful every day!’

  ‘Please Uncle, you embarrass me!’ She nodded towards the Captain who now stood with an infuriating smile on his face.

  ‘Oh, take no notice of him. He is an arrogant and rude upstart of no consequence. I will introduce you in a moment. What’s this?’

  ‘A present for you, Uncle. It’s nothing. Open it later.’ Christiane had overlooked the flies. Fishing may be fine for a young girl, but it was hardly an appropriate pursuit for a young woman in her twenties. How many times would she be made to look a fool in front of the stranger?

  ‘Nonsense! I know it is not a toy car. If it is, it is identical to the one I gave your brother two or three Christmases ago.’ He opened the box and examined the contents. ‘Oh Christiane, they are beautiful and doubtless equally lethal. Look at them! What fish could possibly resist them? I will add them to my collection. I have had your flies mounted in glass cases and hung on my study walls. Thank you once more.’ He drew Christiane to him and kissed both her cheeks. She saw that he had at last noticed how flushed they were but he, at least, had the good manners not to draw attention to them.

  ‘Now let me introduce you to my young friend and comrade in arms, Hauptmann Friedrich Eigenwill. His father is also involved with the Dresdner Bank.’

  ‘Hauptmann
Eigenwill,’ she said, as frostily as good manners permitted.

  ‘Fräulein Schiller.’ He clicked his heels together and bowed stiffly. Then turning, he addressed her father. ‘Herr Schiller, I formally request the hand of your beautiful daughter in marriage.’

  Christiane’s mouth fell open and her eyes flared wide in astonishment. Was there no limit to this appalling man’s impudence?

  ‘Really, Friedrich!’ Even her uncle seemed put out. ‘Sometimes you go too far. You shame me. I insist you apologise.’

  ‘I apologise. To you, Fräulein, and to your father and your uncle. It was not my intention to be rude. But I do have good reason.’

  ‘Really. We would be interested to know what could possibly excuse such behaviour.’ Christiane did her best to look aggrieved and haughty, but the young Captain took not the slightest notice. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. To her further surprise, he stepped towards her and extended his hand. She hesitated, but had been reared too well to refuse it. She allowed him to take her hand.

  Immediately, a change seemed to come over the Captain. He softened. Where she had only seen arrogance and insolence she now saw sincerity and charm. And what charm! Christiane was utterly confused.

  ‘You see, Fräulein, when the war comes, we will have our one hundred thousand Saxon soldiers and probably more, all of whom will look handsome and magnificent in their uniforms. All of them will seek to marry beautiful Saxon girls and you, Fräulein, are as fine a prize as any man could wish. Do you blame me for endeavouring to establish prior claim?’

  Christiane listened spellbound, and wasn’t aware that the Captain still held her hand captive until he’d finished. She withdrew her hand immediately. His voice had a sincerity about it which helped calm the anger within her. But she was still a long way from forgiveness. She was unaccustomed to being humiliated. It was a new and entirely unpleasant experience.

  ‘I accept your apology, Captain, though regret the necessity for it.’

  ‘Don’t be too harsh on him, Christiane, though God knows he deserves all he gets.’ Uncle Gottfried put his arm around her and led her to a chair. ‘I must confess, I like his unpredictability. I can always count on young Friedrich for truth and contrary opinion. Nowadays, that’s as rare as salmon in the Rhine. We’re producing automatons.’

  ‘Captain, you said if I may quote you, “when the war comes”. You believe there will be a war?’

  ‘Yes I do, Herr Schiller. But it is an opinion the Lieutenant-General does not share.’

  ‘And what is the basis for your belief?’

  Christiane settled back into her chair to listen, relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention, and flattered that her father permitted her to remain. Such talk was the province of men and her father had always discouraged similar discussion within the family. This was a rare opportunity. Besides it gave her the opportunity to examine the tall, aristocratic young officer more closely. He was handsome enough, but not in the same class as Dietrich Schmidt. His accent suggested his family came from Leipzig though at times his sächsisch was barely detectable. What impressed her most was his confidence and sophistication. He was the antithesis of Dietrich. Once more the little girl inside her began to dream and wonder.

  ‘Herr Schiller,’ the young officer began, ‘I believe the cause of the next war will be the same as the last—the dream of Grosswirtschaftsraum.’ He paused to see what effect this observation had had. He wasn’t seeking agreement but disagreement. He had no intention of spending the rest of the day engaged in a political debate with his host, a debate which he would not be permitted to win. When he got no reaction he continued.

  ‘From the German point of view, the creation of a large, economically self-sufficient, unified Germany is an admirable aspiration, particularly as it would also be militarily impregnable. If you are not German, however, it is a fearsome prospect. The question is, how far will the foreign powers allow our Führer to go? Herr Hitler is making great capital out of the cause. How could any loyal German not support such a dream? Will the foreign powers allow us to bring all German-speaking people into the Fatherland? Will they stand by and allow the Führer to bring Austria, the Sudetenland, and anywhere else that has a German-speaking population into the Reich? And how will Hitler cope with the question of East Prussia? A wise man would not count on France or England giving their blessing to any of this. So what does a wise man do, because we cannot have our Lebensraum, our living space, without it?

  ‘The Führer has already shown us what he intends to do. Already, we have remilitarised the Rhineland and introduced conscription in direct contravention of the Versailles Treaty. Our armaments production has increased fivefold—maybe tenfold—in just the last few years. Our weaponry, our tanks, our artillery, our navy, our airforce are fast becoming the most advanced and most powerful in the world. Hitler has the means to realise his dream of a unified Germany, and I believe he will use it to take on France and England once more if they object.’

  ‘It is my opinion that they will back down,’ cut in her father. ‘They have no will for war. Furthermore, they are not unaware of the strength of our military. Of course they will protest, but I believe we will achieve a unified Germany without a shot being fired.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘What do you mean, “what then”?’ Carl Schiller was obviously irritated. As far as he was concerned his argument had ended the debate. He looked to his brother for support but found none. Indeed, Gottfried seemed amused by his discomfort.

  ‘Would the Führer be happy then, do you think? If the foreign powers cave in, don’t you think that will only feed his ambitions? What of the thousand-year Reich? What of his dreams of a Herrenvolk, of a master race? Of a Weltzeitalter, a new world age dominated of course by German culture and morality? My father once told me that Germany can defeat any country in the world, but we can’t defeat every country at once. Do you think the whole world will cave in, Herr Schiller? Do you think America and Russia will give in as easily? I do not, and regrettably I don’t think our Führer does either. Yes, Herr Schiller, war is inevitable. The only question is, with whom will we make war?’

  ‘That’s enough, Captain. Gottfried, I don’t know why you put up with him.’

  ‘Carl, that is precisely why I put up with him.’ Gottfried laughed to defuse the situation. ‘You don’t have to agree with Friedrich. Half the time I’m not even sure he agrees with himself. But it’s good to hear an opposing voice. They’re all too rare these days.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Carl agreed reluctantly. ‘But to use your words again, Captain, a wise man would be careful where he expressed his opinions. And that is a caution I extend to you, Christiane. It is not a bad thing that you heard Captain Eigenwill’s somewhat free analysis, but you are not to repeat so much as a word of it.’

  ‘Your caution is not necessary, Father.’ Christiane had been thrilled at being allowed to take part in the discussion, even if only as audience, and she was in awe of Friedrich. His performance had been spellbinding, nothing less than she’d expect from a senior lecturer at university. But this brush with reality distressed her, particularly the talk of war. The Captain made war seem inevitable and with all her heart she wanted that not to be so. His words chilled her. She slipped from admiration to apprehension, and the little dreams she’d been allowing to unfold in her head now seemed ridiculously childish. Her father and uncle were stiill watching her so she continued. ‘I too find the Captain’s opinions distasteful. I do not believe the Führer wants another war. He wants only what is right. Why shouldn’t the German people be one again? Why shouldn’t we unite and nurture our own race?’ Christiane did as she was expected and echoed her father’s views. It would never have occurred to her to do otherwise. ‘We would be in our home on Prager Strasse right now but for the Jews.’

  ‘Ah, the Jews! A cunning race no doubt. A race of cheats and deceivers.’ The twinkle was back in the Captain’s eye and Christiane wasn’t sure whet
her he was agreeing with her or mocking her. She allowed him to continue.

  ‘You have heard no doubt of gefillte fish? The Jewish wife buys a fish too small to feed her family. So what does she do? She strips the flesh off the bones and mixes it with bread and anything else she has handy. Then she puts it back on the bones to make the little fish look like a big fish. See how Jewish mothers even cheat their own families?’

  Gottfried burst out laughing. Even her father was amused. But Christiane was furious. She smiled weakly. She didn’t know what gefillte fish was and so didn’t understand the joke. Once more the Captain was making fun of her and that was unforgivable. No one, certainly no man, had ever treated her in such a cavalier fashion before. Colour rushed back to her cheeks and in her anger she found the confidence to strike back.

  ‘Is the Captain staying for lunch?’ she inquired. ‘If so, please excuse me. I’ll go and tell mother to add some bread to the salmon we’re having.’ She left the room with as much haste as dignity would allow.

  Chapter Eight

  The day Untersturmführer Dietrich Schmidt was due to meet with Christiane, he awoke with a young woman’s naked body pressed against his back. Her arm hung slackly over his. At first he couldn’t remember which one she was, then a smile spread slowly over his face. He felt the soft flesh cushioning his back like pillows. Yes, she was the one with the big tits. What tits! Like zeppelins, and on such a fine stem! Slowly memories of the previous night came back to him. He’d been insatiable, rampant, and the steel in his member had neither flexed nor faltered. If only it was always like this! They’d fucked like rabbits and he’d even screwed those magnificent tits. He laughed softly at the memory of their drunken contortions. Last night he could have fucked anything. He’d never felt so high in his life. He wondered if the money he’d paid her extended through to morning, and even if it didn’t, he decided he’d fuck her once more anyway. True, she’d already given him his money’s worth, but hadn’t he returned it in kind? Her orgasms certainly hadn’t been faked. Ha! She should pay him!