Karl poured himself another cup of coffee as the young officers banged their fists on the breakfast table. The men were in boisterous moods this morning.
Tedrick Bamm, a newly consigned officer, stood to toast his comrades. “The girls don’t call us the stud-bulls for nothing. I saw some tempting new cows to plow in the field last night.” He raised his coffee mug, flexing scrawny biceps.
“I’m ready, Bamm. There’s plenty of me to go around,” said Hans Müller, wagging scraggly blond brows. Recent luck with the ladies had fed Müller’s ego to monster proportions. He claimed his blue eyes made every girl at Hochland Home swoon.
Unit leader Loritz Kortig stood and cocked a hip against the table. “Gentlemen, please. We should be more civil when discussing our most sacred responsibility.”
Karl eyed the officer over the rim of his cup. Kortig was Karl’s youngest unit leader, well connected, and already the father of two Lebensborn children. Would he rein his own men in?
“Our duty is clear,” Kortig continued, placing a hand over his heart. “We’ll make sure our women receive honorary cards and Mother’s Cross medals. In return, we can enjoy the pleasure of their company as often as possible.”
The men burst into raucous laughter and pounded on the table.
“These young women,” Karl said, in a mild voice, “should any of them choose your acquaintance, serve the Führer, just as you do.” The men clapped their mouths shut and trained their eyes on him. “They deserve your respect.”
Bamm snapped to attention. “Yes, Gruppenführer!”
“Of course, Gruppenführer.” Müller walked over and refilled Karl’s coffee cup.
“I meant no disrespect, Gruppenführer von Strassberg.” Kortig dipped his head as he took his seat.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the dining room were the scraping of forks and knives against plates and the thuds of coffee mugs hitting the table.
Karl folded a thick piece of bacon in half and gulped it down before turning his attention to the latest issue of the National Observer.
FOR THE FUTURE AND GLORY OF THE REICH
The Nazi philosophy of life, having given the family the role in the State to which it is entitled, must take measures to preserve the sanctity of German blood on German soil. We rely on men and women of good will, who, through high moral purpose, honor the commitment to create new life. Whether married or unmarried, all women of pure blood who bear children for our Führer, with the assistance of racially unobjectionable young men, shall be deemed heroic. The State will do everything in its power to care for these women and the children they bear to preserve this valuable national wealth…
Tossing the paper aside, Karl finished his coffee. The grounds were bitter when they hit the back of his throat.
“I apologize again on behalf of my men, sir. Our eagerness gets the best of us.” Kortig pointed to the article as the men murmured their agreement. “It will be our honor to attend tonight’s mixer, dance with the ladies in attendance, and let nature take its course for the glory of the Reich.”
“Don’t let their willingness fool you,” Karl cautioned. “Most are husband hunting.” Although why a woman would want Kortig, Bamm, or Müller for a husband was beyond him.
“Rumor has it a few are interested in you, sir,” Bamm added helpfully.
At thirty, Karl was four years past the recommended marriage age and had fathered no children. His subscription to the Lebensborn program was high enough to be uncomfortable, and several senior officers had begun pressuring him last year.
“Berta couldn’t stop talking about the mysterious Gruppenführer von Strassberg last night.” Müller straightened his jacket. “She’s a wild one, that Berta.”
“I’ll leave her to you, Müller,” Karl said with a wink.
“Try not to get into too much trouble, gentlemen,” Karl added as he stood. “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” The soldiers saluted. Roughhousing, they pushed at each other as they exited the room. A chorus of whistles and footfalls echoed down the hall.
Karl sank into his chair. The men were right about one thing: Most of the women at Hochland Home were ready and willing. A tipsy pair had approached him last night, suggesting he take them, one after the other. They were shrill and desperate, and only wanted him because of the uniform he wore. Karl turned them down and escaped to wander the halls in peace.
Then he’d stumbled across that young Schwester in the nursery. He’d watched her unravel as she crooned to an infant in a lovely, aching voice that went straight to his gut. He probably should have given her privacy, but he’d been unable to turn away.
She’d seemed innocent with her tawny hair loose around her shoulders and was painfully thin beneath her stiff nurse’s apron. But her eyes … they were like a cat’s, a warm moss green and tilted up at the corners. The tears clinging to those thick lashes had made them more beautiful.
The young Schwester’s mouth, on the other hand, was as effective a weapon as his Browning. She’d lashed out at him without any attempt to check her temper. It was an unbelievable risk, mocking the Führer so boldly.
She was spirited. Obviously intelligent. An exciting and scary combination, although he was damn sure she wouldn’t care about his opinion.
Karl snorted. He’d do well to stay away from her. It was fortunate next week’s meetings in Berlin meant he’d be away from Hochland Home. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, and an affair was out of the question. As beautiful and compelling as the young lady was, she was bound to get herself into trouble if she couldn’t curb her tongue and impulsive nature.