Konrad Feldpetzer
August 8th, 1943
Parisian Underground, France
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“So, is there anything I can do to help? I’m not exactly a big fan of sitting still,” I was currently talking with Erhardt.
I’ll admit that it was hard to focus with all the whispering, though. We were chatting in the public area of the Resistance base, in full view of everyone else. I had never been good with public speaking, specifically because I was supposed to be the center of attention when doing it and that never sat right with me.
Now, I was the center of attention yet again, except this time it was by a noticeably more hostile crowd and not on purpose.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to simply be speaking in front of my fifteen or so classmates in primary school instead of this.
“Well, I hate to say it, but even just putting you on a raiding party is effort enough,” Erhardt admitted, “Achilles is the one who organizes them and I don’t know where to start on convincing him to put you on a team.”
This is exactly what I had been expecting.
“So I just have to sit still until you convince him?” I frowned. Just because I knew this was coming, that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. And, boy, did it sting.
“That’s all you can really do, apart from introducing yourself to others,” he shrugged, giving me an apologetic smile.
I glanced at the room, filled with people. Many of whom were staring at me and whispering to others; and I knew by the look on their faces that most of it wasn’t positive. The hairs on my arm stood on end, the entire situation reminding me of when I first entered secondary school. I wasn’t craving to relive that day.
“And I also have the matter of finding you a place to sleep,” I heard Erhardt mutter.
“Wait,” I said, “Can’t I just sleep in that room again?”
He gave me a glance, “Eh, no. Those are my personal sleeping quarters. I just lent them to you for the night.”
“Oh, uh…” I didn’t really know what to say, but I did feel genuinely grateful, “Thanks for that. I hope it wasn’t too much of an issue.”
“No problem, Konrad,” the older man waved his hand dismissively. That’s when I became abruptly aware of the dark bags under his eyes. He must’ve noticed that I had, though, because he commented, “Don’t worry. I was sleep-deprived long before you came into the picture.”
I stayed silent for a bit, simply letting him think. The whispers were seriously getting to me, and I had the overwhelming urge to simply find an exit and just catch the nearest train home. But I knew that wasn’t an option, physically or morally.
“I think I could put you in the same room as Annette,” Erhardt mumbled. I glanced at him, confused.
“That doesn’t sound very proper…” I let the words fall out of my mouth in the semi-awkward tone they came out, since semi-awkward was better than sounding passive-aggressive.
“Well, you don’t have much time for properness when you’re facing the possibility of capture and execution every waking moment,” the man shrugged.
That comment sent a chill down my back and the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end. It had been like snow down my spine; I had been emotionally ignorant to the very real threat that came with being a rebel.
At least, with being a soldier, I had times where I knew I was safe and could sleep without worry. Now, if I were found along the rest of the rebels, I’d be killed. Maybe worse, since I was now considered a criminal by the actual crime of desertion and the perceived one of a murder.
Great.
“Is there any other room?” I asked hopefully. I pushed the other thoughts aside and just tried to be in the then and there. And, to be honest, I felt uneasy at sharing a room with any girl that wasn’t my sister. I had no real reason why, since even though mother had always said it was unproper, I hadn’t ever listened much when it came to other things.
Oh, mother.
I shook the thoughts from my head before I could even begin going down that path. I wouldn’t start grieving all over again. Mother was dead, and I had to move on.
“No. We’re still in the process of making room for new rebels and we’re stretched thin as it is, and it’d be too much of a distraction to move another person,” Erhardt told me.
I wanted to ask how it was too much of a distraction, but I knew by now that I was on thin ice regarding my position in the group and should’ve been grateful I was getting a room at all.
“Well, thanks again. For everything,” I shoved down the uneasy feeling, deciding that it’d be nothing.
“Again, no problem, Konrad,” he gave me a smile, “If anything, I should be thanking you. Simple logistics is like a vacation from the intensive research I do.”
“Who is this?” a female voice hissed from my side. I glanced at her, and it caught me off-guard.
A somewhat short brunette girl wearing what looked like a button-up shirt and jeans that looked surprisingly fierce for her stature.
“Oh, Annette,” I heard Erhardt acknowledge the girl.
Oh god. Was this the girl I was going to be put with? Great. How was she going to react when she learns that I’m going to be sharing a room with her? I shuddered at the thought.
I simply stay silent, staring at the girl and glancing at Erhardt. He gave me a look that was similar to a teacher’s when one of the students couldn’t introduce themselves. I choke out an introduction, and it came out surprisingly well, “Joining.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Okay, not an introduction but it was a start.
“What?!” Annette turned to Erhardt, “Letting a Nazi walk so freely is enough of a risk! And you’re letting him join, too!?”
I felt my blood start to boil, but I managed to keep calm, “I’m not a Nazi. I barely was to begin with, and I’m not one anymore.”
She wheeled on me, not missing a beat, “Once a Nazi, always a Nazi.”
“Good, because most German people aren’t even Nazis,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. Does this girl even understand how it works? Does she just deem any German person a Nazi?
I turned to Erhardt, saying in German, “So are you going to tell her?”
He seemed to snap out of a stupor he had been in (not sure, too focused on Shorty) and simply replied, “Yes” likewise in German.
“You’re sharing a room with him,” Erhardt abruptly dropped, catching both of us off-guard. She looked surprised, and then angry. Before she could say anything, the older man started walking off. Spluttering, Annette walked after him, completely ignoring my existence.
I looked at them, the feeling of dread pooling in my stomach. I’d have to deal with her?
I was brought out of my thoughts when someone shoved into me. I turned to see who it was and it was a burly, redheaded colossus, er – man, walking past me, lugging someone over his shoulder.
I caught a glimpse of the man’s face and I could’ve sworn I had seen him somewhere before.
I froze for only a moment before realizing that I had no idea where the dormitories were. I’d have to ask around, but that meant facing some hostility from the rebels. Mulling it over for about a minute, just standing there, I eventually just backed down and went to find Erhardt.
It wasn’t too hard, since I could hear Annette screaming at him.
“Why did you put the Nazi in my room!?” she cried, from down a hallway.
“He’s not a Nazi, Annette. He didn’t even know most of what was going on,” I heard the older man defend me, and I felt a little bit better. Knowing that, as long as I didn’t fuck up dramatically, I had some support from Erhardt assured me that I’d get through this.
What was this, exactly, I was yet to know.
I got to the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner, seeing a room that seemed to be a lounge room. The more I looked, the more I noticed that it seemed to be a hub room. A big board rested on one of the walls, with papers pinned to it by thumbtacks outlining materials needed and ideas.
Erhardt sat in a chair next to a table, obviously looking exhausted. Annette was standing in front of him, hands on her hips, back turned to me.
“And, as though it’s not bad enough that you’re making me share my room with Nazi,” she spat the last word like a venom, which was understandable, but still hurt; I wasn’t even much of a Nazi to begin with, “You’re making me share my room with a boy! It’s improper!”
“Annette,” Erhardt started, pinching the bridge of his nose, “First of all, it isn’t your room. It’s a room you’re occupying. Second, it’s a luxury of yours that you’ve had a room all to yourself for this long. All the other rebels have to share the room with one, maybe two, other people.”
She started tapping her foot irritably.
“Third, I’ll tell you what I told Konrad. I don’t care what’s proper or improper. For all we know, we could be found and executed tomorrow. And we’re already being pulled thin as it is.”
I decided that now would be a decent time to pop in, so I strolled down to the room. I made sure that I walked with my chin high and chest out, essentially telling my instinctive want to cower to go away. I desired nothing more but to simply shuffle away, somewhere familiar.
“Ah, Konrad,” Erhardt greeted me, his voice sounding even more exhausted than when he left a few minutes ago.
I discreetly glanced at Annette, and she was glowering at me, muttering insults in French too quiet for me to understand.
“I came to ask where the dormitories are,” I said.
Erhardt raised an arm, pointing to a hallway to our right, “You go straight, and then should find a large room. Take a left there, and then you’ll find the waking room. From there, the rooms should be easy to find. You’re staying in B12.”
I nodded, filing away the directions in my mind, “Thank you.”
He was right, too. After a bit of walking, I found the rooms. There were three hallways, named A, B, and C respectively. I just had to walk down the B hallway and found the room, with ‘B12’ spray-painted on the door in as neat a manner as possible.
I reached for the handle, but hesitated. It felt like a confirmation. That the second I opened my door and made the room my new home, I was kissing my past life goodbye. I pondered that for a moment; was my past life really all that good?
Maybe yes, maybe no, but it was familiar. And familiar is good. But my old life was gone, at least for now.
So I took the plunge and opened the door, walking in.
The room was somewhat small, maybe a few paces across. A messy bed was on the left, and there was a table filled with clutter on the opposite side of it. A smaller end-table sat in between the two, and crude oil lamp sat on it. A few shelves were sprinkled around, and a several candles were placed, obviously used.
A few posters were haphazardly posted to the walls, depicting brave French soldiers from the Great War.
As I got closer, I noticed that the main table was actually not a table, but simply another bed piled high to the point where you could barely tell what it was.
I also noticed that a pistol was strapped to the steel bar headboard. Getting a closer look at it, I noticed it was a Ruby pistol. It looked weathered, and there was a small piece of tape on the slide with writing on it.
Before I could read it in full, I heard the door open.
“What the hell are you doing?” I heard Annette’s voice.
“Wondering why you have a firearm,” I replied, gesturing to the Ruby pistol.
“It’s personal,” she replied curtly. She seemed a bit calmer than before, so I assumed that Erhardt had managed to talk her down.
I took an educated guess, using my own background as a basis, “Family heirloom?”
The girl flinched, and her eyes hardened. “None of your business,” she growled.
“Seems like an authentic model from the trenches of the Großer Krieg,” I said. My uncle had served in the Great War as a common infantryman and had frequently told me stories about acts of heroism when I was younger. That was all before he died, though.
I’ve barely been on an active battlefield, and prior to this my only experience had been as a medic’s assistant. But even with that small glimpse of war, I knew that my uncle had drastically understated or even cut out some parts.
Once you’ve had a grown man bawling in your arms, screaming and crying while their blood soaks your tunic, you’re never quite the same.
“Listen here, you li-” I waved my hands before she could continue.
“I’ll stop asking about it, alright?”
She just nodded slightly, seemingly calm again. Or at least as calm as she could get.
I turned around to move all the clutter off the bed. I guess it’s really mine now.
As I did my best to clean it, I tried to just talk casually, “So, what was Paris like before… all this?”
I heard her flop onto her bed as she sighed, though I wasn’t sure if it was of longing, exasperation, or simply exhaustion. She then followed it up with, “A lot better, that’s for sure”
Apparently, she was a lot less angry while talking about the city. At least I hoped.
“People weren’t afraid to walk outside,” she started, and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was far too deep in memories to remember who she was talking to, “You didn’t sleep at night worrying that tomorrow, they’d ship you off to the death camps.”
I winced at the mention of them, though she didn’t notice.
“It was always bustling; even in the middle of the night, people would be walking, visiting late night shows, or driving,” she sighed again, and this time I could tell it was one of longing.
From the descriptions she was giving me, I could barely imagine the city prior. At least the latter ones. Being, or at least appearing like, a pure Aryan meant that you didn’t sleep with such fears. If anything, you slept even more soundly knowing that the state would support you should anything happen.
I, for one, never really believed in all of that. I just accepted it, though, and didn’t bother questioning it.
After a while, she seemed to be completely immersed in the Paris of her memories, having fallen silent, and I had completed my task of cleaning the bed. I had piled all the junk in the corner, with it having consisted of clothes, papers, and I had even found the odd toy here and there.
I stared around the room as she started talking again, my mind finally accepting it. This was my home. For now, at least, if only to fix the mistake I helped make.
One thing was for sure, though; I needed to get rid of the soldier outfit.