Echoes in the Shadows

15

Izler sat quietly, observing the tedious and capricious battle unfold with detached amusement. As a product of the generation that grew up after the Great War, he found it hard to comprehend the obstinacy of the old aristocracy and the sense of honor characteristic of the Prussian officer corps. To him, the entire display seemed nothing more than a farcical act between two fallen nobles, perhaps even tinged with a nostalgic longing for past glories.

Thus, the dinner passed in a tense, drawn-out silence. As a bystander, Izler watched the two officers' exaggerated performance and felt vindicated in his decision to forgo the meal. He also pondered on Major Klauberger's self-description as an old-school Prussian officer — ironically, quite an accurate self-assessment.

After the anachronistic aristocratic dinner concluded, reality resumed its course, refocusing on the original issue at hand — how a Wehrmacht officer intended to deal with his captured British pilot.

Major Klauberger's smile was languid, his gaze casual, betraying his lack of genuine interest in the intelligence value of the British pilot.

"I've said it before—I'll reprimand the British scoundrel who threw chocolate at my head right here in my office, in front of you," declared Major Klauberger as he stood and approached his prisoner of war. Passing by Izler, he leaned in and whispered something in his ear with a nearly triumphant tone, eliciting nothing but a scornful glare from the stoic Gestapo officer.

Izler now understood that the real culprit behind the ruin of his months of work wasn't Major Klauberger, but a box of British chocolates.

"I have a few questions I'd like to verify with you—if you fail to answer truthfully, or if your responses don't satisfy me... I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to hand you over to my Gestapo friend here, Captain Izler."

The detestable Major Klauberger once again began to exploit his Gestapo identity to intimidate others, without any cost to himself. Izler took a deep breath, firmly resolving not to let the Major have his way this time. He was determined to maintain his neutral role to the very end.

"How about it, Captain Izler? Why don't you share some of those interrogation techniques you're familiar with from your work with our brave British soldier? I think he'll be quite eager to cooperate with us after hearing them, to avoid unnecessary physical pain," Klauberger turned and smirked at Izler with ulterior motives.

"Sorry, but interrogation techniques? I know nothing about them!" Izler responded icily, his words hitting Klauberger like a blunt club, leaving him momentarily stunned.

"This... can't be! You are Gestapo, after all!" Klauberger's tone lost its earlier smugness, replaced by genuine disbelief.

"Who said being in the Gestapo automatically means expertise in interrogation?"

Izler showed no hesitation in undermining his own compatriot in front of the British pilot. After all, the well-known discord between the Wehrmacht, the SS, and the Gestapo was no secret globally, and this wouldn't make much difference.

"What do you do every day in the Gestapo then???" Klauberger confronted Izler directly, turning towards him.

"Well... I translate documents, crack codes, study incomprehensible radio signals and Morse code, then try to extract something useful from it all. I'm sorry, Major! I'm a technical officer. If it weren't for me and my colleagues tirelessly battling at the forefront of intelligence decoding, you wouldn't have seen that piece of intelligence paper, nor would you have caught this Englishman who threw chocolate at your head... So, I'm afraid I can't help you, Major! My Gestapo uniform is just a standard issue worth no more than 150 Reichsmarks, and it's not going to be of any use in your noble interrogation of this British aristocrat."

Izler shrugged helplessly at the Major, then walked towards the confused British pilot who didn't understand German. Speaking in fluent, standard London English to Lieutenant Langsdale, he said, "Did you know? You were personally shot down by our heroic Major here. But not for bombing German civilians or destroying homes. He was solely fixated on shooting you down because – last week, when you were air-dropping supplies to the resistance in the Netherlands, a box of chocolates hit him on the head."

After his remark, Izler briskly walked over to the Major's desk and, as expected, pulled out the British air-drop supply box from underneath it, tossing it at Lieutenant Langsdale's feet.

"Is this your handiwork from last time?"

Observing the British pilot's utterly thunderstruck expression, Izler felt a deep sense of satisfaction.