There isn’t much to do on a submarine and Hershel knew the best way to avoid cramped spaces was to go inside his mind. He could stay there for hours, his own idea space where interesting things happened. In the Hitler Youth they frowned on free thinking. It wasn’t something one advertised. Hershel knew the end of the war was coming. Hitler had started a fight on two fronts and the German army didn’t have the resources to fulfill impossible strategies dreamed up by a madman. Somebody had to assassinate the Fuhrer before Germany was destroyed, but it would not be him and he would not talk about it; not to anyone.

Instead, he would listen to Wagner and read The Republic. Perhaps Lieutenant Wenz would join him for a nightcap. Moments later, Wenz knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

“Herr Commandant.”

“Don’t call me that. Let’s enjoy a drink as friends. I received our orders, two days ago, via Enigma. We have been given a suicide mission.”

“What’s your plan, then.”

“My Plan? There are only orders, you know that.”

“But you think differently, I’ve seen it and you are a survivor, not a monkey who does tricks for the man in charge.”

“Be careful Wenz; I sent a man to the brig for speaking ill of the Fuhrer today.”

“Only because you had to. A commander cannot tolerate insubordination, but you have even less respect for him than you let on.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself. Your powers of perception are accurate.”

“What’s your plan, then?”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

“My powers of perception, remember? And you know I keep my mouth shut.”

“You do,” Hershel smiled. “I know I can trust you.”


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