46. New Work, New Love
Main Cadet Establishment Lichterfelde
Berlin, German Empire
16 May 1940
"Good afternoon, cadets." General Werner von Fritsch's voice, as always, was cool and dry, with a hint of amused contempt. The assembled Lichterfelde cadets dutifully replied, "Good afternoon, Herr General," and Johann Volkmann looked over from the auditorium's wing at the General, rather unlike his predecessor as commandant, Rommel. Fritsch was a Prussian officer through and through, and had been a contender for Bock's post of War Minister for a time. Volkmann was unsure how to interpret his assignment to Lichterfelde - another step in the Lichterfelde Line, or a career dead cul-de-sac? Either way, he half-listened to Fritsch.
"Commencement and commissioning are approaching, and as such, I have taken the liberty of contacting a number of officers who served in the recent Polish campaign. They will conduct a series of lectures between now and commissioning. Your attendance at these lectures is expected." Fritsch made no effort to state it more strongly than "expected;" they knew what he meant at this point. "First of these lecturers will be Hauptmann Johann Volkmann, a 1936 graduate of this institution who commanded a platoon in Spain and a company of 7. Panzerdivision in the Polish campaign. In Spain, Hauptmann Volkmann won the Spanish Cross in Gold for a reconnaissance in force against Republican forces that resulted in the destruction or capture of an equally-sized armored element of Russian -" like many officers, Fritsch refused even to consider the word "Soviet" - "armor. In Poland, Hauptmann Volkmann was awarded both orders of Iron Cross for his rearguard action in the Lwow-Lublin region against the Polish armored brigade, leading to a successful counterattack by Generalleutnant Rommel." Fritsch left unsaid what he and Volkmann both knew - that inadequate flank screening by the armored force had made the rearguard action necessary. "Hauptmann Volkmann is a graduate of the General Staff Course currently posted to the Bendlerblock. Gentlemen, attention!" The sound of several hundred chairs scuffing followed as the cadets came to their feet, and Fritsch pivoted in place. "Hauptmann Volkmann, post!" Johann smartly marched across the stage, decorations polished and uniform immaculate as the day he graduated, stopping before Fritsch and saluting. "Take charge, Hauptmann," Fritsch concluded before returning the salute, taking a seat on the stage.
"Take seats," Johann began, slightly nervous. "As General von Fritsch has stated, I am Hauptmann Johann Volkmann. He has asked me to tell you some of the lessons of the recent Polish campaign from a company-grade officer's perspective. The most important factors that stand out to me are the importance of prewar training - once the balloon goes up, there simply is not time to train your soldiers to do their jobs - and the importance of keeping vehicles in fuel and repair. The actual rearguard action which General von Fritsch mentioned was made necessary by a threat to the divisional fuel detachment, which is, hands-down, the most important element in any armored division so long as they have a drop in their tanks."
Once he began, he rapidly relaxed, sharing his experience in Poland and, when asked, in Spain. It sometimes took a great deal of tact on his part, but he held back from criticism of his former superiors, no matter their failings... and in Eicke's case especially, they were numerous. He was surprised at some of the cadets' questions - everything from kitchen service in the field ("None, if you're lucky you rotate back every few days for a hot meal, otherwise someone cooks on an engine grate at night") to the classic crate-versus-crew argument ("Crew. The Russians, frankly, have better tanks than we do, but they can't shoot and they lack killer instinct"). At the end of it, Fritsch thanked him and politely dismissed him, a mix of professional approval and a distaste for one of Rommel's proteges, red-striped trousers or no.
He began the next day at the Charlottenburg house, rising before sunrise to take his motorcycle from the house across Charlottenburg, past Speer's renovated palace, to the Hochschule, where he had an appointment with his new commanding officer. He felt vaguely guilty walking through the corridors seeking the Military Engineering faculty. This was, in his father's perfect world, where he would have wound up. Finally, he found the faculty offices, a pretty blonde secretary glancing up at him in curiosity. Few visitors, apparently, came by at this time of the morning. "Can I help you?" she asked politely, stopping her typing. "I'm here to see Herr General Becker," he said, hiding his nervousness behind a stiff, official face.
"Really? And here I thought I was being drafted," she said, cutting the sarcasm with a quick, winning smile. "Please, take a seat, he should be in any moment, I'm surprised he's running late." He seated himself, and then moments later, she continued talking as she typed, "I'm Ilse. Ilse Klein, by the way. I'm sorry if I snapped at you, bad habit for a secretary, I know." She never once looked up from the typewriter.
Johann hesitated, unsure whether to use rank or name; he eventually decided to gamble and replied. "I'm... Hans Volkmann, and... I'm sorry if I came off as another stuffed Junker." He offered his hand, feeling slightly awkward with leather coat and gloves draped over one arm. She laughed and took his hand, giving it a brief squeeze before she resumed typing. "Takes a brave man to apologize for being a stuffed Junker these days... Hans."
Before he could reply further, a bustle in the corridor distracted them, and Generalleutnant Karl Becker burst through the door, carrying a leather folder under his left arm. "Volkmann, yes? Any relation to Peter or Ernst?" Johann sighed inwardly, coming to rigid attention. "Sir, yes, Herr General. My brother and father, sir."
"Please, no 'sir' sandwiches here, Volkmann. I'm a busy man, fewer words the better, please, come inside. Ilse, two cups coffee. Volkmann, sugar, cream?" Becker was apparently bustling, and Johann barely kept up with him. "No, sir, black is fine," he replied as he followed Becker into his office. Becker sat, stretching luxuriously for a moment. "Ahhh. Now, Volkmann. Welcome to the Munitions Office. You're a tanker and a staffer, not an engineer, but you asked for me. Why?"
Johann shifted in his seat. "Ah... because... sir, the Panzer II just doesn't do it. I mean, against the Poles, fine, but the SOMUA is a different beast. Peter mentioned you... thought maybe..." He fell silent, floundering under Becker's dubious gaze. Finally, the general shifted in his seat, tapping his finger on the desk. "Well... Volkmann... what would you say we need to change about the armor program?"
Johann immediately replied, "Sir. A tank is made of three components, really. A gun, an engine, and armor. The Panzer II is armed with an automatic cannon, but it's just a glorified machine-gun. I'd take a breechloader that will do more than scare footsloggers any day. Second thing is the engine. The petrol engine we're using now... it's fine for cars, but hit it with a sledgehammer and it'll light up like a cigarette. Most of my losses in Poland were due to engine brew-up. And armor... the Panzer II, even the up-armored IIF, is just up to the Reds' forty-seven, let alone the SOMUA. The SOMUA is supposed to be a full-blown tank, not a scout like the Reds'. To face that, we need something with a little thicker skin. So... sir... bigger gun. Diesel engine. Thicker plate." He finished, running out of words, watching Becker's reaction. The general surprised him, grinning ear-to-ear. "Welcome to WaPrüf 6, Hauptmann." He began scribbling on a notepad. "Ilse will type it up, I'm sure... I'm rarely in the Bendlerblock... but you're headed for Essen, Volkmann. Ever been there?"
"Yes, sir. Finished gymnasium there before I went to Lichterfelde."
"Mm, yes. Quite. Well, our next-generation tank is there. Should be in full-swing production soon. Want you to give it a thorough shakedown, see what the Kruppianers have missed. Travel orders and all that, check with Ilse. Any questions?" Johann blinked at the abruptness of it. "Sir... what's my exact role?" Becker blinked in irritation. "Test driver, gunner, general dogsbody. Anything else?"
Volkmann nodded. "No, sir. Yes, sir."
"Good, get out, let Ilse know I've got more for her." Becker waved his hand in dismissal. "I'm a busy man, Volkmann. Dismissed." Johann beat a hasty retreat to the office anteroom, where Ilse looked up expectantly. "He likes you then," she concluded before he could say anything. "Short appointments are good." Her cheek dimpled as she continued. "Well, go on, what's the story?"
"He says you're supposed to draft up the orders." She stood, moving quickly and efficiently into the office; he could not help but watch her walk as she passed. She was either used to men staring at her backside, or didn't mind, as she smiled on her way back. "Pity you won't be in Berlin longer, Hans." He blinked. "Why not?"
"Because you don't
look like a coal-miner or a blacksmith." She dimpled and smiled again. "Well... I'm not leaving tonight or anything," he hedged, then took the plunge. "As a matter of fact, I'm quite free if you are." She laughed, head tipped back. "Why, Hauptmann, are you blushing?"
"Ilse!" came the voice from Becker's office. "Less talk more type!" She sat, glancing at the hand-written scrawl and sliding a sheet of paper into the typewriter from a stack on her desk, all marked with the Kaiser's black eagle. "Can you follow directions in town without getting lost?" she asked, typing away. He scrambled to pull a small notebook from his pocket, nodding and pulling a pencil from her desk. "Fire away," he nodded.
"Well, to start with, I'll be ready at six..."
At six sharp, he pulled up outside of her apartment block, and she came down the stairs in a light yellow dress. "What! You didn't mention a motorcycle, Hans," she laughed, offering her hand and stepping into the sidecar without even a pause. "How the neighbors will be scandalized!" By the way she sat and grabbed her hat to make sure it stayed put, it fazed her not in the slightest, so he didn't waste more time than required to grin before kicking the starter over again. The bike coughed, then caught, and they were on their way.
One of the advantages of his family's newfound wealth was that he could afford his choice of movie theaters; it was an excellent summer for German film. Inspired by the Polish campaign of the year prior, and, according to word of mouth, the Chancellor's discreet funding, Fritz Lang had just released what was perhaps the best-funded version of the "Fridericus" fad which had swept Germany since the War. Appropriately enough, Lang's work - released in two parts, but simultaneously, and generally shown as a double-header - was entitled simply
Fridericus. Lang was dismissive of the movie, wanting to return to the spy movies and detective dramas which had occupied him since the beginning of the decade, but in Germany's current patriotic mood, it was a guaranteed success even if it was not also the best movie in Germany in a year full of good movies. Johann found some of the military details unbelievable - that cannon simply made men fly backwards with their hands thrown skyward, for instance - but overall found it a thoroughly enjoyable movie, especially given the company.
Halfway through the film, at the intermission, Ilse had slid close to him, leaning on his shoulder, and by the peace with Peter III, their hands were intertwined. At the end of the movie, he looked down to see she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and when he gently shook her, she murmured sleepily, "Sorry, long day, have to get up early for homework." She blinked, yawning and standing, and he smiled. It was easily the nicest evening he had spent in quite a while. "Come on, let's get you home."
When they reached her apartment block, windows lit up at the sound of the motorcycle, and a few angry faces peered out. Ilse stood and leaned over him, giving him the briefest of kisses. "Good night, Hans, and thank you. You have my address, so no reason for you not to write from Essen." She smiled. "Stop by Monday to pick up your orders, okay?" He nodded, somewhat dazed from the kiss, and floated home.
