The knight of all countenance returns albeit just for a while.
It was a mercilessly humid night, the air dense yet sufficiently apologetic wafted in through Faustian vents, dispelling even the most fragrant of taciturn notions in the process.
Bodies passively languished amidst the apparent despair, emitting grace fuelled eulogies in a decidedly uniformed fashion, rising slowly albeit surely into a strident choral passage, a Wagnerian respite; the last great yearnings of “Tristan and Isolde” unrelentingly echoed throughout the cavernous Hades that Berlin had become.
A door suddenly came ajar, uttering ambiguous cursive as it folded firmly upon the
lacquered tail cloth of an officer’s jacket. A man of slight build and tenacious disposition
languidly came into view, discarding his coat upon the human refuse that solemnly coerced each and every crevice within the room into a state of unwilling abandon.
He spoke, diligently in a dulcet tone; inquiring as to where he could find one Lieutenant Colonel Werner, who was reportedly present at this very location.
“Is there a Lieutenant Colonel Werner here?”
It was but a matter of mere seconds before a rather squat individual fervently arose from a concrete grave, seemingly wrought out by some rogue soviet shell. Removing all trace of fatigue from his battle weary eyes, he proceeded to gaze upon the newcomer with a masterfully retinal disdain, purveying his worth with an inquisitive flair, no doubt fuelled by a sociological inclination.
It was at this tangent however that the vocal meanderings of his fellow miscreants abruptly came to a halt, leaving solely the impressionistic silence that held an overwhelming monopoly over the barren cityscape intact, only to be broken by the sporadic bursts of asthmatic machineguns.
“I am Colonel Werner! If you cannot address me with my proper title and with pitch perfect compliance, I doubt that we’ll get along too well if not at all.”
The slight man fell back as if a bullet had penetrated his waif like figure, his certainty misled as he was now wary of divulging the information he was ordered to convey. For the men in this room were no longer men; they were barely humanoid; indistinguishable from the shrapnel laden corpses that lined the streets outside, illuminated by a single candle as if to accentuate the morbidity of their surroundings.
Upon seeing the man’s reluctance Werner rose to the occasion; casually refitting his jacket onto his rather sizable frame with little other purpose than to intimidate the newcomer. He blatantly adored the military paraphernalia with which he found himself adorned, convincing himself that he was of Prussian stock, aristocracy lost amidst the trivialities of menial service.
“Speak damn you! Or have you come to serve the needs of the red machine? Whose incessant cogs and Semitic coils have spoiled our wondrous land! Do you not see that we are busy carrying out the Fuhrer’s commands, the wishes of the Fatherland! Tell me child what brings you here? Speak with the verbosity of the Valkyries if you dare!”
Werner broke into a hearty laugh; thoroughly dismissive of the slight man’s purpose as he began to spout nonsensical platitudes in regards to his own worth, attributing disproportional accounts of sexual voracity to his personage, recalling tales of the countless bourgeois harlots with whom he had his way.
The other men within the room, reanimated by the newcomer’s curious presence soon joined Werner in a secular hymn, espousing on the beneficial aspects of being the bastard sons of the western world; the playboys of dementia, a perfect Aryan sonata that even Goebbels could not compose.
The slight man further disenchanted with the occupants of the room, sought to leave, however he was cajoled into joining his countrymen for a verse of “Das Lied der Deutschen”, an all too optimistic ode to Germanic resolve for what was the direst of situations.
The newcomer restrained by this new found dignity, lost all sense of his predestined mission, preferring to pander to the xenophobic horde that stood before him, blissfully unaware of the sentient truth, for their war was over.
It was a mercilessly humid night, the air dense yet sufficiently apologetic wafted in through Faustian vents, dispelling even the most fragrant of taciturn notions in the process.
Bodies passively languished amidst the apparent despair, emitting grace fuelled eulogies in a decidedly uniformed fashion, rising slowly albeit surely into a strident choral passage, a Wagnerian respite; the last great yearnings of “Tristan and Isolde” unrelentingly echoed throughout the cavernous Hades that Berlin had become.
A door suddenly came ajar, uttering ambiguous cursive as it folded firmly upon the
lacquered tail cloth of an officer’s jacket. A man of slight build and tenacious disposition
languidly came into view, discarding his coat upon the human refuse that solemnly coerced each and every crevice within the room into a state of unwilling abandon.
He spoke, diligently in a dulcet tone; inquiring as to where he could find one Lieutenant Colonel Werner, who was reportedly present at this very location.
“Is there a Lieutenant Colonel Werner here?”
It was but a matter of mere seconds before a rather squat individual fervently arose from a concrete grave, seemingly wrought out by some rogue soviet shell. Removing all trace of fatigue from his battle weary eyes, he proceeded to gaze upon the newcomer with a masterfully retinal disdain, purveying his worth with an inquisitive flair, no doubt fuelled by a sociological inclination.
It was at this tangent however that the vocal meanderings of his fellow miscreants abruptly came to a halt, leaving solely the impressionistic silence that held an overwhelming monopoly over the barren cityscape intact, only to be broken by the sporadic bursts of asthmatic machineguns.
“I am Colonel Werner! If you cannot address me with my proper title and with pitch perfect compliance, I doubt that we’ll get along too well if not at all.”
The slight man fell back as if a bullet had penetrated his waif like figure, his certainty misled as he was now wary of divulging the information he was ordered to convey. For the men in this room were no longer men; they were barely humanoid; indistinguishable from the shrapnel laden corpses that lined the streets outside, illuminated by a single candle as if to accentuate the morbidity of their surroundings.
Upon seeing the man’s reluctance Werner rose to the occasion; casually refitting his jacket onto his rather sizable frame with little other purpose than to intimidate the newcomer. He blatantly adored the military paraphernalia with which he found himself adorned, convincing himself that he was of Prussian stock, aristocracy lost amidst the trivialities of menial service.
“Speak damn you! Or have you come to serve the needs of the red machine? Whose incessant cogs and Semitic coils have spoiled our wondrous land! Do you not see that we are busy carrying out the Fuhrer’s commands, the wishes of the Fatherland! Tell me child what brings you here? Speak with the verbosity of the Valkyries if you dare!”
Werner broke into a hearty laugh; thoroughly dismissive of the slight man’s purpose as he began to spout nonsensical platitudes in regards to his own worth, attributing disproportional accounts of sexual voracity to his personage, recalling tales of the countless bourgeois harlots with whom he had his way.
The other men within the room, reanimated by the newcomer’s curious presence soon joined Werner in a secular hymn, espousing on the beneficial aspects of being the bastard sons of the western world; the playboys of dementia, a perfect Aryan sonata that even Goebbels could not compose.
The slight man further disenchanted with the occupants of the room, sought to leave, however he was cajoled into joining his countrymen for a verse of “Das Lied der Deutschen”, an all too optimistic ode to Germanic resolve for what was the direst of situations.
The newcomer restrained by this new found dignity, lost all sense of his predestined mission, preferring to pander to the xenophobic horde that stood before him, blissfully unaware of the sentient truth, for their war was over.
