Panzerfaust

Chapter 53 - The Reichsprotektor

Part IV of the Panzerfaust Series

5th of June, 1947, Rome, Reichsprotektorate of Italy, Greater German Reich

warning: bad parenting and nsfw a la Otto Skorzeny

'All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.'

The Skorzeny family is seated - once again - by the breakfast table together basking in the morning Italian sun of their villa overlooking the sunny Piazza Venezia - its marble walls as cold and radiant as his wife across him. Motherhood made Sophia Skorzeny even more beautiful than she was when he married her; green eyes shining with warmth, elegant features prominent as she holds a wedge of orange to their son's lips, beaming when the toddler licks off the juice of the fruit before sinking baby teeth in it. 

'Do you like the tangerine, Schatzie?' 

I chose right when I picked a Queen for my dynasty.

Reichsführer Otto Skorzeny thinks as he watches his son nod into his mother's hand holding the snack - cranky this morning with teething, molars breaking through sensitive gums.

'Use your words, Oskar.' Otto tells his firstborn. 'You know how to do it.'

The child huffs with annoyment towards him, turning all his attention back to his mother.

'I like my oatmeal.' Armin von Fölkersam says, digging into his bowl with a zest. 'I can fit three scoops into my mouth at once.'

'Entschuldigung, Reichsführer, but Sturmbannführer Wünsche is here to speak to you.' Klaus Müller says, saluting by the door. 'Shall I let him in?'

'Onkel Max?' Oskar says, raising his deep blue eyes from the flesh of the fruit on his plate.

The fine porcelain rumbles from the fist slamming down on the wood, causing his family to flinch at the table. The sudden movement leaves the Reichsführer with an ache from his shoulder to the back of his ribs, a parting gift from one of Benito Mussolini's bullets. 

That bloody oaf fooled us all.

Skorzeny's recovery was long and still ongoing; and he refused to acknowledge that claim of Dr. Brandt's that he no longer should serve active duty. I am still strong, stronger than this.

'He is not your Uncle.' Otto hisses to his son. 'Your uncle is named Alfred and he lives in Vienna. Do not ever call Max Wünsche that again.'

'Anya, anya, anya!' The mouth of the toddler curves down as he begins to wail in a high pitched voice, even after his mother picks him up into her arms. 

 Cat green eyes sparkle in anger at him as Sophia Skorzeny stands to leave the table with her son coddled to her chest. 

'May I leave the table too, Vati?' Armin von Fölkersam asks in a tiny voice, not daring to raise his eyes from his plate, still half full.

'After you finished your meal, you said you like it.' 

'Guten Morgen, Reichsführer, Guten Morgen, Armin.' A loathed voice says way too jovial to be believable as their guest is lead inside by the loyal Bursche. 

Italy had done good for Max Wünsche; the Sturmbannführer's perfectly combed hair shined with a golden light, the slight tan of his skin visible under the uniform jacket, the last two buttons undone under his annoyingly perfect face.