Nazi Assassins: Conflicted Morality; Divided Ethics

Christmas Revelations 1939

Wolfgang walked into the foyer, where there was a group of SS-officers all talking amongst themselves. He smiled at his vater who slowly blinked at him in acknowledgment amid his own conversation. He entered the study to find his bruder, Klaus, sitting in a chair, just staring at the fireplace, sipping at his glass of liquor.

Klaus looked up, greeting his minutes younger bruder with a wide smile. He stood, and Wolfgang motioned at his uniform.

“Looking sharp.”

Klaus waved him off, pulling him into a strong embrace, and then patted his back hard. “How is university, now that you served and Vater let you go?”

Wolfgang smiled. “It’s university. I do believe that specifies everything I need to say. I get my three meals a day and am not scooping muck from inside my trousers.”

Both brothers chuckled.

“I go back after the holiday,” clarified Wolfgang.

Klaus nodded, before glancing back at the fire. “Do you not think it is the purist? Nothing can escape it and that which is left is nutrients for more and stronger growth.”

“It is quite destructive though before it leaves behind the potential for growth,” remarked Wolfgang, his eyes on the fire.

Klaus smiled at his bruder and sat down, indicating the other leather chair. Wolfgang sat beside his bruder, and kept glancing over at his bruder who was blatantly just staring at the fire before them.

“Klaus —”

Klaus peeked his head to the side, but otherwise kept staring into the fire.

“How long has it been since you had…a burger and fries, smothered in ketchup relish?”

Klaus looked over at his bruder. His brows furrowed with a glance back to where the SS-officers were all talking.

“That burger and fries sounds disgusting,”

Wolfgang’s face turned sober, as if being smacked. He joined his bruder, gazing into the fire and that is all they did for dozens of minutes until Wolfgang heard the front door open. The laughing and jiving voices seemed to be distancing. He waited until the door closed, and all of the voices had been fully muffled as they still went farther yet. “Klaus, how long has it been since you had a burger and fries, with chili and bacon on it?”

“That burger sounds interesting,” remarked Klaus, with a glance at his bruder, and then back at the flames.

Wolfgang leaned forward in his seat. Even` with the house eerily quiet aside from the pops of the fire, Wolfgang still glanced towards the study’s door.

“There are rumors of the front lines,” started Wolfgang.

“There are always rumors. The Leader will sort them out,” came an almost automated reply, the voice disinterested.

“There are rumors of atrocities happening to our people as well as others.”

Klaus’ hand paused before his glass had touched his lips.

“There will always be problems. War is a messy business…” He took a sip.

“You know I was stuck doing office duty during my service. Vater wouldn’t let me go to the front lines. But you, you have been there. You have seen it. Stop with these rudimentary answers…” Wolfgang’s eyes darted cautiously out the doorway. “I know that we are doing horrific thi—”

There was a sound of glass shattering, and what could have been a tossed sack of potatoes. Wolfgang’s head whipped back to see his bruder on the floor, his body in a heap, quavering with weeping sobs. Wolfgang dropped to his bruder’s side. He tentatively reached for him, bouncing his hand away after touching his back. At no reaction, he reached over to his bruder, embracing him when he couldn’t be budged. Wolfgang snapped his eyes to the doorway, searching, even as his ears listened amid the sobbing.

“Klaus, if they come back and see you like this — let alone what dad will do. You have to get up.”

“Slaughtering… There is no other word for what we are doing!”

Wolfgang’s eyes bulged at his bruder’s raised voice, his head snapping back to the doorway yet again. He heaved his bruder up into his chair. Klaus sat there doubled over, his arms limp and his face just staring at the floor. When Wolfgang tried to release him, he began to slump forward again.

“You have to sit on your own. What do you mean by that? It’s not murder Klaus, it is war.”

Klaus’ body tensed and he rotated in his seat, snatching Wolfgang’s collar of his shirt.

“It’s murder when you walk into a farm house and open fire on the family coddling one another, terrified in the corner. It’s murder when you drag a child from her mutter’s arms put a bullet in the baby’s head, and then do the same to the now screaming mutter. Atrocities doesn’t begin to cover what we are doing!”

Wolfgang looked as best he could back to the doorway as he heard voices once more and the squeak of the handle to the front door.

“Klaus, Klaus. They are coming…”

“Even when you give warnings, they don’t always believe the messenger, and then cobblers, blacksmiths, tailors, they all are just being murdered in their own houses. Sometimes we are told to gather them up in the square, but usually we just go house to house.”

Wolfgang’s hands went to his own head, his fingers dug through his hair and into his skin, threatening to draw blood.

Klaus’ face morphed, and he burst out laughing. “You little punk! Prank me again and I’ll give you the boot!”

A couple of faces looked into the room, with a few more standing in the doorway to get a better look.

“I got lost in the fire and he comes up screaming, BOOM! I nearly had a heart attack!” Klaus shouted and burst out laughing again before slapping Wolfgang on the back with a flash about his eyes.

“Go get me another glass, book nerd!” he shouted with another chuckle and shake of his head, shoving Wolfgang towards the doorway.

Wolfgang blinked, looking at his twin bruder in confusion, but then walked out of the study to retrieve a glass from the kitchen, earning riotous laughter.

He froze as he pushed past the door to find his mutter standing there, hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes at him. Realization struck him.

“Mutter I jus—”

Her arm snapped up and out, hand flat and heels struck one another as her back straightened, with her other hand slapping at her own side.

“Hail Hitler!”

Wolfgang hesitated a fraction of a second, earning his mutter’s eyes widening. Then there was a series of the other officers jumping to salute, the sound of their boots and sides slapping.

“HAIL HITLER!” cried everyone in the house.

Wolfgang had said it at the same time as them, looking above his mutter’s head. He stood there in salute, frozen, daring not to look her in the eyes again. He could hear her approaching though.

“If I hear you speaking ill of our leader… Promise me you won’t be this foolish again. If your vater or anyone else were to hear… Promise me.”

“I promise, mutter,” whispered Wolfgang still in salute.

His mutter touched his shoulder, squeezed, and then patted him. You always were my good boy. Now I need you to be a good man.” Wolfgang clenched his teeth, bulging his jaw muscles slightly. There was a slap to his jaw, hard, like only a female can deliver. “Don’t you dare make a face like that to your mutter. Now go get your bruder’s glass and fill it for him. It wasn’t right for you to scare him with making those sounds,” she remarked, knowing dripping from every syllable.

“Yes mutter,” he replied, and did just that.

Wolfgang returned to the hall where the SS-officers were gathered, his bruder leaning on one, laughing hysterically at a joke one had made of the Allies. He sobered as his younger twin approached. There was a look of betrayal from all of the SS-officers at him. He didn’t respond to them, merely handing the glass to his bruder. Both hands extended with one taking the glass and the other smacking him upside the head, a fraction of a second later.

“Wolfgang, never try that shit again.”

Wolfgang didn’t wince, or really respond to the smack, except looking back at his bruder and nodding respectfully.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” Wolfgang glanced at the other officers. “I’m sorry for wanting to learn.”

His bruder slapped him upside the head again.

“Don’t be a smart-ass!”

He walked into the foyer to find his vater and the other, older SS-officers staring at him. His vater’s eyes burned, but he merely shook his head. Wolfgang snapped to achtung and then marched out of the house.

***

Once outside, after he robotically opened and shut the door, he marched a few paces down the snow shoveled walk, and then relaxed to a typical pace and cadence. He walked in thought, noticing someone putting candles on the front yard’s largest pine tree. He sighed to himself, smiling at the man who was doing it, nearly hanging from the tall ladder.

It was a distance later that he saw trucks full of fencing material and other building supplies, as well as the trailers each was pulling onto the house’s property a few hundred meters off from the house.

As he approached further, the sound of hammers and pneumatic tools could be heard. He walked into the snow, passing the sparse trees on the property, to a section he remembered being a sweeping field of grains and corns depending on the year. Now he was watching buildings framed in, what looked like towers of some kind still just frames, and men working on a fence. The fence was over three meters tall, topped with barbed wire. He looked with sweeping eyes in horror at what he was watching.

***

“What could be the purpose of such a compound?” shouted Wolfgang as he entered the house, the snow stomping off of his feet as he entered, dropping snow all over the floor as he’d taken the straightest and shortest path back, a straight line through the property, chilling his ankles and pushing snow up into and on his pant legs with each step.

Wolfgang’s mutter peeked from the kitchen, then burst through the door with it swinging behind her, wooden spoon with dinner still steaming on it, raised at Wolfgang. She was screaming obscene profanity at Wolfgang about him messing up her floor and with guests at the house on top of that.

A strong hand touched and then gripped her shoulder, cutting her off mid-rant. His vater did nothing but blink slowly and slightly shake his head. His mutter blushed, and quickly bustled into the kitchen again, the door swinging nearly shut but not fast enough to cut off more profanity and banging pans onto the oven’s range.

“You have upset your mutter. That is something I have to deal with.” He motioned at the mess on the floor. “This is something you will have to deal with. Go fetch a mop and handle it.”

“Why is there a compound being built on our property? It’s outrageous!”

“Because the leader wishes it!” boomed an officer of the same rank as Wolfgang’s vater.

His vater glanced at the man, nodding, and then at his son, not saying a word.

“Why couldn’t it have been built in town with the rest of the buildings?”

The officer snorted.

“You are at university. I thought that was supposed to make you smarter, not fucking stupider.”

The officer’s eyes went large as Wolfgang’s vater spun on his heels to face him. Simultaneously, the other officers stepped away, giving them a wide berth.

“My son is what?” he asked in a calm tone that made the spine crawl.

Wolfgang hated it when he used this tone. A tone eerily soft with obvious aggression and malice dripping from every enunciation.

“Richter, he—”

SS-Brigadeführer Richter wide stepped to directly in front of the man in a single step. He leaned forward, leaving a small step between them, staring into the other man’s eyes. His tone was softer yet, nearly a whisper.

“That’s right. That is our surname. That is his as well and I do not take kindly to you insulting my son…regardless if he was permitted to leave the SS and pursue knowledge for the leader.”

Muscles tightened in Wolfgang’s vater’s face as he finished letting the words trail.

The other SS-Brigadeführer’s eyes grew wide, and he huffed, stepping back.

“It wasn’t that,” he protested, obviously thinking quickly. “He insulted his bruder making a scene, embarrassing him, and then he had the audacity to do it to his own mutter, by which he has embarrassed you twice.”

“To be embarrassed would mean I would think that anyone around me’s opinion matters or has any bearing on my life. Do you think you have any control of my life?”

The other SS-Brigadeführer again huffed, but stayed where he was, no further words, only a blatant scowl wrinkling his face.

“Exactly. Now, does everyone wish to display to me that this is Christmas or would they like to reminisce about the happenings in my house while they take off their uniforms and build the compound with what is left to wear…”

There was a bustling of movement, and then a chorus of Christmas carols began to be sung at a pitch and volume indicative of the fear. There was one lone man unmoving.

“Or did our leader appoint you to run the compound? Perhaps he made a mistake? Should I phone for the office and check on your behalf?” continued Wolfgang’s vater after a slight pause.

Again the other SS-Brigadeführer huffed, before turning away as well, his lips singing before his back faced the home owner’s.

Once eyes were gone, Wolfgang’s vater closed the gap between them, cupped Wolfgang upside the head, and then outright smacked him with quick strikes half a dozen times. Wolfgang did flinch with each strike, but didn’t shirk and didn’t proclaim.

“We do as our leader requests with a happy disposition regardless of the inconvenience. Or did we need to investigate that university that I am sending you to, which I am having to pay for, need I remind you?”

“No, vater. Everything is taught in an approved manner.”

“Then knock this foolishness off or you will be out there building and I’ll make sure you only get hand tools…”

Wolfgang stared at the floor, and gave a curt nod. Satisfied, his vater spun on his heels, walked to the hall, and then burst into the verse that was being sung at the same cadence as everyone else. Glasses were carried from the kitchen on a platter and all of the officers now in the living room took one, singing and drinking.

Wolfgang entered, seeing the tree with flickering candles and a collection of mounding presents under it. His vater and bruder had embraced SS-officers near their stations, and were rocking back and forth singing in chorus. He fained a smile, and sat in one of the chairs facing the Christmas tree. A moment later, a wadded up napkin hit him in the head. He snapped a glare over to find Klaus motioning with his head, opposite his motion with the other men. Wolfgang scowled in misunderstanding, but turned to find his vater glaring daggers at him. He immediately jumped up, and walked over to Klaus. They embraced and began to sway, Wolfgang stumbling over the words with a sheepish glance towards his vater, not satiated, but at least not wanting to yank him by his collar anymore.

***

It was a few hours later when SS-Brigadeführer Richter gathered everyone’s attention. He called his wife and the staff of the house into the living room. They all looked mighty uncomfortable around the SS-officers.

Once everyone was gathered, he walked over to the presents. He looked around at everyone gathered.

“We live in trying times, of hardship, but of a brighter future because of our great leader and his vision. You know I suck at these speeches, again it’s something our leader specializes, not me. I will just say that it is pleasant to have you all here in my home celebrating Christmas with me.”

Whooping and cheering burst out. SS-Brigadeführer Richter’s eyes were glued to his wife’s who was looking around nervously at the outburst. “SS, Achtung!”

The room thundered with sides slapped, and boots colliding.

“HAIL HITLER!” rang every man in that room with their hands and Frau Richter following suite, somewhat delayed, as did her two housemaids.

“You are in the company of women.” SS-Brigadeführer Richter walked down the center of the men in their varied positions of achtung, with the package clasped behind his back. “You are men, not animals…” He slammed the present hard enough into an officer’s gut to earn an uncontrolled huff, but not hard enough to damage even the wrappings, or any other minuscule reaction aside from the involuntary. “Ruhrt euch, SS-Untersturmführer Becker.” The man’s arm lowered, and his legs parted to a more comfortable stance. He took the package.

“Thank you, SS-Brigadeführer Richter,” he remarked respectfully.

SS-Brigadeführer Richter nodded as he turned and pulled another present. He looked at the name, and then walked over to the SS-Brigadeführer from before, who had returned to ruhrt euch at his own desire, after shouting his reverence. SS-Brigadeführer Richter held out the package. The mere years older man looked at it, and then looked up at SS-Brigadeführer Richter with puzzlement.

“Are we not brothers? Take it, SS-Brigadeführer Richter.”

Wolfgang and Klaus’s onkel took the package.

“Thank you, bruder.”

SS-Brigadeführer Richter nodded at his older bruder, and returned to the pile of presents.

***

He handed out all of the presents, ending with the one for his wife, which he had moved a number of times to sit on top of other presents and handed out the ones beneath it. He stood looking at her and gave the command to open them.

Everyone eagerly pulled at the bow strings and then there was the crinkling of paper. He looked around with an amused smirk, that turned to a satisfied smile as there was controlled outburst of excitement. One officer held a wooden box with a new pistol in it. Another had a beautiful knife with the swastika carved into hilt and sheath. The others’ presents ranged from those to a blanket, with the blanket officer showing the same amount of genuine excitement, commenting on how heavy and warm it felt to another officer who held up a handmade notebook with pen and ink, geeking out over its craftsmanship, remarking it could only be German work.

SS-Brigadeführer Richter looked to his wife who still hadn’t opened hers yet. She looked at him expectantly and he nodded at her with a slow blinking nod. She gently untied this present with an obviously rougher bow, and tighter knots. She smiled as she struggled with the knots. SS-Brigadeführer Richter produced a folding knife, holding out his hand. She handed him the present and he sliced through the center knot of the bow. The string fell away and he gingerly handed back the present, careful to not disturb the wrapping. Eyes were now watching them, the room going romantically silent.

As the wrappings dropped halfway and then away to the floor, she gasped, looking up with tears in her eyes.

“But… the factory was destroyed… how did you manag—”

“Open it honey.”

She gently did and then covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes and then a sob breaking through. SS-Brigadeführer Richter stepped forward, taking his wife in an embrace.

“It’s time to sing carols outside to the large pine. The candles are finished,” barked the elder SS-Brigadeführer Richter, eying his younger bruder as he ignored the rest of the room, focused blissfully on his wife’s reaction.

The room emptied and then Frau Richter pulled her head away from his chest. She looked down at it and opened the box fully. A seaman’s folk song chimed away, and the glass sculpture swayed up and down a piece of straightened and blooming, glass piping up out of its head with each rise, and then dropping back down as it did so.

“Do you not like it?” he asked gently. “It is the great white whale, Moby-Dick, your favorite book. I made sure they made it look as realistic as possible. Look, its even blowing a misty exhale from its blow hole.” He looked at her puzzled as she shook her head, still covering her mouth, tears dripping rivers down her cheeks, and off her jaw. She then looked up at him nodding.

“It’s perfect! I can’t believe you did this! Where on earth did you hide it Herr Richter?… I want to know right now,” she barked defiantly.

He chuckled.

“I shall never cede…”

She coughed a giggle, and then cried again while she smiled up at him, shaking a finger in his face.

“You tell me right now herr. You aren’t supposed to hide things from your wife.” She looked down at the sparkling whale as it swam to the beat of the music. “Especially when it turns your beloved into a blubbering mess…”

The music stopped and SS-Brigadeführer Richter reached up, and gripped its twist crank in his fingers. A moment later the music started again, and tears flowed harder still.

“With everything going on, how??”

SS-Brigadeführer Richter bent down and kissed the top of her head, whispering, “A man has to have his own secrets if a woman won’t tell him how she makes food so good he can’t leave home and has to bring it with him wherever he goes…”

Frau Richter coughed another giggle, this time slapping his shoulder. “That’s just an excuse… You didn’t want to have to eat military gruel.”

He nodded.

“True.” He put his arm around her waist and she looked up from her music box. “But I could have brought along any cook. I needed my wife.”

She smiled up at him, and then he bent down, kissing her gently.