Jew.”
“I never shot anybody for being a Jew,” Rudel said, which was technically true but made him out to be less of a good National Socialist than he was. “If things were different …”
She interrupted him again. This time, she didn’t use any words, which didn’t mean she was ineffective. As Hans-Ulrich had discovered before, the difference between being blown and blown up was altogether delightful. “My God!” he gasped when she finished. “I don’t think I can see any more.”
“Oh, no?” she retorted. “Then how come you were watching?”
“A blind man would watch when you did that,” he said. “ Himmeldonnerwetter , a dead man would.”
“I’ve got a picture of that,” Sofia said, mocking him the way she so often did.
“When we go—if you go—I’ll miss you more than I know how to tell you,” Hans-Ulrich said once more. “You’re wonderful. I’ve never known anybody like you.”
“You should have started fooling around with Mischlings sooner, then.” No, Sofia couldn’t quit jabbing, even when she was way ahead on points.
“I don’t care what you are. I care who you are.” While Rudel said it, it was true.
By the way Sofia’s eyebrow quirked, she understood that better than he did. “Well, it’s a story,” she replied after a brief pause. Then she squeaked, but not in anger, because Hans-Ulrich was doing unto her as he’d been done by. She seemed to enjoy it quite as much as he had. When he finished, she nodded lazily and said, “I will miss you—some.”
“I’m glad—I suppose,” he answered, as gruffly as he could. But his expression must have given him away, because Sofia started to laugh. He went on, “I don’t know for sure we’ll be transferred. It just looks that way, with France sticking a knife in our back.”
“Germany never did anything to anybody, of course,” Sofia said.
“ Aber natürlich ,” Hans-Ulrich agreed. She fired a sharp look at him, then caught herself and laughed some more.
He hated getting back on the train and heading into Russia. He also hated changing trains at what had been the border between Poland and the USSR. The wider Russian gauge was deliberately designed to keep Germany from using her own rolling stock and locomotives inside Soviet territory. All the way back in the days of the Tsars, the Russians had worried about invaders from the west. That worry hadn’t gone away because the hammer and sickle replaced the old Russian tricolor.
When he got back to the airstrip, Colonel Steinbrenner greeted him with, “Have a good time on your furlough?”
“Yes, sir,” Hans-Ulrich answered—that one was easy enough.
The squadron commander leered at him. “I hope you didn’t do anything I wouldn’t enjoy.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Colonel,” Hans-Ulrich said blandly. “I’ve never been in bed with you.”
Whoops rose from the flyers and groundcrew men who heard that. Colonel Steinbrenner blinked. “You’re right,” he admitted. “There’s something I probably wouldn’t enjoy.”
Getting back to business, Rudel asked, “What are our orders, sir? What’s the latest news?”
“So far, all the talk about going back to the Siegfried Line is just that—talk,” Steinbrenner answered. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be real. The French are at war with us again.”
“Treacherous pigdogs!” Hans-Ulrich said. “Anyone who counts on a Frenchman for anything is setting himself up to be sorry.”
“And this surprises you because …?” Steinbrenner said. “The only good thing about it is that, for the time being, anyhow, it’s the same kind of war in the West it was while we went in and gave the Czechs what they had coming to them.”
Rudel had no trouble figuring out what that meant: “The froggies don’t have the nerve to go toe-to-toe with us.”
“Count your blessings that they don’t,” Colonel Steinbrenner replied. “Two fronts going full blast would cause us
“I never shot anybody for being a Jew,” Rudel said, which was technically true but made him out to be less of a good National Socialist than he was. “If things were different …”
She interrupted him again. This time, she didn’t use any words, which didn’t mean she was ineffective. As Hans-Ulrich had discovered before, the difference between being blown and blown up was altogether delightful. “My God!” he gasped when she finished. “I don’t think I can see any more.”
“Oh, no?” she retorted. “Then how come you were watching?”
“A blind man would watch when you did that,” he said. “ Himmeldonnerwetter , a dead man would.”
“I’ve got a picture of that,” Sofia said, mocking him the way she so often did.
“When we go—if you go—I’ll miss you more than I know how to tell you,” Hans-Ulrich said once more. “You’re wonderful. I’ve never known anybody like you.”
“You should have started fooling around with Mischlings sooner, then.” No, Sofia couldn’t quit jabbing, even when she was way ahead on points.
“I don’t care what you are. I care who you are.” While Rudel said it, it was true.
By the way Sofia’s eyebrow quirked, she understood that better than he did. “Well, it’s a story,” she replied after a brief pause. Then she squeaked, but not in anger, because Hans-Ulrich was doing unto her as he’d been done by. She seemed to enjoy it quite as much as he had. When he finished, she nodded lazily and said, “I will miss you—some.”
“I’m glad—I suppose,” he answered, as gruffly as he could. But his expression must have given him away, because Sofia started to laugh. He went on, “I don’t know for sure we’ll be transferred. It just looks that way, with France sticking a knife in our back.”
“Germany never did anything to anybody, of course,” Sofia said.
“ Aber natürlich ,” Hans-Ulrich agreed. She fired a sharp look at him, then caught herself and laughed some more.
He hated getting back on the train and heading into Russia. He also hated changing trains at what had been the border between Poland and the USSR. The wider Russian gauge was deliberately designed to keep Germany from using her own rolling stock and locomotives inside Soviet territory. All the way back in the days of the Tsars, the Russians had worried about invaders from the west. That worry hadn’t gone away because the hammer and sickle replaced the old Russian tricolor.
When he got back to the airstrip, Colonel Steinbrenner greeted him with, “Have a good time on your furlough?”
“Yes, sir,” Hans-Ulrich answered—that one was easy enough.
The squadron commander leered at him. “I hope you didn’t do anything I wouldn’t enjoy.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Colonel,” Hans-Ulrich said blandly. “I’ve never been in bed with you.”
Whoops rose from the flyers and groundcrew men who heard that. Colonel Steinbrenner blinked. “You’re right,” he admitted. “There’s something I probably wouldn’t enjoy.”
Getting back to business, Rudel asked, “What are our orders, sir? What’s the latest news?”
“So far, all the talk about going back to the Siegfried Line is just that—talk,” Steinbrenner answered. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be real. The French are at war with us again.”
“Treacherous pigdogs!” Hans-Ulrich said. “Anyone who counts on a Frenchman for anything is setting himself up to be sorry.”
“And this surprises you because …?” Steinbrenner said. “The only good thing about it is that, for the time being, anyhow, it’s the same kind of war in the West it was while we went in and gave the Czechs what they had coming to them.”
Rudel had no trouble figuring out what that meant: “The froggies don’t have the nerve to go toe-to-toe with us.”
“Count your blessings that they don’t,” Colonel Steinbrenner replied. “Two fronts going full blast would cause us
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