Lovers in Arms (Extended Edition) by Osiris Brackhaus

Author:Osiris Brackhaus [Brackhaus, Osiris]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781622340460
Publisher: Fantastic Fiction Publishing
Published: 2013-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

August 1943, Spreewald, von Biehn manor

Of course, Frank didn’t stay in the bedroom as he had been told.

He had gone back there initially, but then sat on the corner of the bed, wondering if it had been a good idea to trust Johann, after all.

In the end, it was plain, old curiosity that won out against any better sense or knowledge.

So Frank slid out of the room again, listening for any conversation he could overhear, or any other noises that would warn him there was something wrong. At first, it felt as if the place was completely deserted, not a single sound to be heard in the early morning. But then there was von Biehn’s voice, bellowing in rage, and Frank couldn’t suppress the smile that involuntarily crept onto his face. Apparently, the unexpected visitor was currently getting a tremendous portion of Johann’s not so friendly mood.

“You brainless idiot!” he heard him shout in German, somewhere in front of the manor. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

There was such honest-to-earth anger in Johann’s voice that Frank had to admire his sheer guts. If anybody got a whiff of what really was going on, no connections whatsoever would be able to save Johann’s neck. And yet, he was out there, delivering a performance with such gusto that it would have reaped stellar reviews on any stage.

“Who sent you here?” von Biehn demanded outside, repeating a little louder as apparently no satisfactory answer was delivered on the spot. “On whose orders are you here?!”

As stealthily as he could, Frank slipped down the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitor. Johann made enough noise to give him a rather accurate idea of where they had to be standing.

Together with the huge windows and the rather opulent flower boxes they were sporting, it wasn’t too hard to find a place where Frank was sure not to be spotted by accident.

Outside, in the brilliant morning sun, Frank could see Johann standing there in nothing but the shorts he had been wearing. Red with anger, he faced a young man in uniform who didn’t look at all as if he had expected this kind of welcome.

“So if the letter requesting all participants to respect my wish of some solitude to prepare the meeting has been signed by the Reichsmarschall himself—you think this doesn’t apply to you?”

Now the young man was actually blushing, though it looked as if he did so out of pure anger.

“You know perfectly well that I am the Reichsmarschall’s aide de champs,” the surprise visitor spat back with enough emphasis to make his neatly parted hair fall into his face, “and you know why I am here.”

“I don’t give a damn on why you are here, boy,” Johann retorted coldly, making a great show of how utterly unimpressed he was, and managing pretty well. “Now get off my grounds!”

Once again, Frank had to force down a chuckle. If nothing else, German was a great language to yell and curse in.

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