“All this ‘could have’ and ‘may have’ talk of yours is what bothers me most. The uncertainty of what ensued from the whole affair is what makes me restless, not to mention that some of our squadrons have men on short leave. For the first time in my career I’m feeling anxious,” Meier admitted, finally sitting down for a moment to give it some thought. He looked up suddenly, staring into Schmidt’s eyes with his own steely gaze, but he was looking further than his subordinate’s face. A moment passed before Meier made his eventual decision. “Schmidt…”
“Yes, sir?” Schmidt replied quickly, eager to know how the commander would save them all from embarrassment.
“Take three men you trust. I need sharp men, in brains and brawn, my friend. Men like you. They must understand the trouble we are in. This is a PR nightmare waiting to happen. I — and probably you as well — will most likely be dismissed if what this little shit managed to do under our noses comes out,” said Meier, going off on his tangent again.
“And you need us to track him down?” Schmidt asked.
“Yes. And you know what to do if you find him. Use your own discretion. If you wish, interrogate him to find out what madness steered him to this stupid bravery — you know, what his intention was,” Meier suggested. He leaned forward with his chin on his folded hands. “But Schmidt, if he even breathes wrong, put him out. We are soldiers after all, not babysitters or psychologists. The collective well being of the Luftwaffe is far more important that one maniacal pissant with something to prove, understand?”
“Completely,” Schmidt agreed. He was not just appeasing his superior, but was genuinely of the same mind. The two of them did not come through years of tribulation and training in the German air corps to be undone by some snot nosed airman. As a result, Schmidt was secretly excited about the mission he was being given. He slammed his palms down on his thighs and stood up. “Done. Give me three days to assemble my trio and from there we’ll report to you on a daily basis.”
Meier nodded, suddenly looking a bit more relieved at the cooperation of a like-minded man. Schmidt replaced his cap and saluted with ceremony, smiling. “That is, if we take that long to resolve this dilemma.”
“Let’s hope the first report is the last,” replied Meier.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Schmidt promised as he left the office, leaving Meier feeling considerably lighter.
Once Schmidt had chosen his three men, he briefed them under the guise of a covert operation. They must keep knowledge of this mission from all others, including their families and colleagues. In a very tactful manner the officer made sure his men understood that extreme prejudice was the way of the mission. He chose three mild-mannered, intelligent men of differing ranks from different combat units. That was all he needed. He did not bother with details.
“So, gentlemen, do you accept or decline?” he finally asked from atop his makeshift podium, perched on a cement elevation in the on-base repair bay. His stern expression and subsequent silence conveyed the weighty nature of the assignment. “Come on, boys, it’s not a marriage proposal! Yes or no! It’s a simple mission to find and exterminate a mouse in our wheat silo, boys.”
“I’m in.”
“Ah, danke Himmelfarb! I knew I chose the right man when I chose you,” Schmidt said, bullshitting his way through reverse psychology to push the other two. Thanks to the prevalence of peer pressure, he was eventually successful. Soon after, the red-haired imp called Kohl clicked his heels in his typical ostentatious manner. Naturally the last man, Werner, had to yield. He was reluctant, but only because he had plans to do a bit of gambling in Dillenburg during the next three days and Schmidt’s little excursion cock-blocked his plans.
“Let’s go get this little prick,” he said indifferently. “I beat him twice at Blackjack last month and he owes me 137 Euros anyway.”
His two colleagues chuckled. Schmidt was pleased.
“Thank you for volunteering your expertise and time, boys. Let me get my intel tonight and I will have your first orders ready on Tuesday. Dismissed.”
Chapter 7 — Meeting the Murderer
A cold, black stare of fixed and beady eyes met Nina’s as she gradually emerged from her blissful sleep. No nightmares had plagued her this time, yet she’d awoken to this horrid sight nonetheless. She gasped when the dark pupils embedded in bloodshot eyes became a reality she thought she had shed in her slumber.
Oh God, she mouthed at the sight of him.
He responded with what would have been a smile if there had been anything left of his facial muscles, but all she could perceive was the narrowing wrinkle of his eyes in a friendly acknowledgement. He nodded courteously.
“Hello,” Nina forced herself to utter, although she was in no mood for conversation. She hated herself for silently hoping the patient had lost his ability for speech, just so she could be left alone. After all, she’d only greeted him in a show of propriety. To her dismay, he answered in a hoarse whisper. “Hello. Sorry I frightened you. It’s just that I thought I wouldn’t ever wake up again.”
Nina smiled without moral coercion this time. “I’m Nina.”
“Good to meet you, Nina. I’m sorry…it is difficult to speak,” he apologized.
“No worries. Don’t speak if it hurts.”
“I wish it hurt. But my face is just — numb. It feels…”
He took a deep breath and Nina could see great sorrow in his dark eyes. Suddenly her heart ached for the man with the molten skin, but she dared not speak now. She wanted to let him finish what he wanted to say.
“It feels as though I’m wearing someone else’s face.” He wrestled with his words, his emotions in turmoil. “Just this dead skin. Just this numbness, like when you touch someone else’s face, you know? It feels like — a mask.”
As he spoke, Nina imagined his anguish and it made her shun her previous wickedness of wishing him mute for her own comfort. She imagined everything he had told her and put herself in his place. How horrible it must be! But regardless of the reality of his suffering and inevitable handicap, she wanted to keep a positive tone.
“I’m sure it will get better, especially with the drugs they give us,” she sighed. “I’m surprised I can feel my ass on the toilet seat.”
His eyes narrowed and wrinkled once more, and his gullet expelled a rhythmic gallop that she knew now to be laughter, although the rest of his face showed no sign of it. “Like when you fall asleep on your arm,” he added.
Nina pointed at him with a determined concession. “Right on.”
Around the two new acquaintances the hospital ward bustled with the morning rounds and delivery of breakfast trays. Nina wondered where Sister Barken was, but said nothing when Dr. Fritz entered the room with two strangers in professional attire and Nurse Marx at their heel. The strangers appeared to be hospital administrators, one male and one female.
“Good morning, Dr. Gould,” Dr. Fritz smiled, but he lead his team to the other patient. Nurse Marx gave Nina a quick smile before turning her attention back to her work. They drew the thick green curtains and she heard the staff members chat with the new patient in relatively hushed tones, probably for her sake.
Nina frowned in vexation at their incessant questioning. The poor man could hardly articulate his words properly! Still, she was able to overhear enough to know that the patient could not remember his own name and that the only thing he remembered before he caught fire was flying.
“But you came running in here, still on fire!” Dr. Fritz informed him.
“I don’t remember that,” the man replied.
Nina closed her failing eyes to heighten her hearing. She heard the doctor say, “My nurse retrieved your wallet when they sedated you. From what we can decipher from the charred remains, you’re twenty-seven years old and from Dillenburg. Unfortunately, your name has been destroyed on the card, so we’re unable to ascertain who you are or who we should contact about your treatment and such.”Oh my God! she thought, enraged. They barely save his life and the first conversation they have with him is about financial trivialities! Typical!