Schei?e!
There is nothing to do but leave. One step backward. Then another. One more and the door swings shut on its hinges and he’s standing in the corridor swallowing bloody spit and a good portion of his pride while he gasps for breath as though he has just been kicked in the Hoden. Voices erupt on the other side of the door, an argument, but it’s just noise to his ears. Some foreign language of betrayal.
It’s almost noon and he has no interest in food or company, but he must do something. So he takes twelve steps down the corridor to the officers’ mess. It’s a compact room to the left of the kitchen, connected by an opening in the wall used to pass dishes back and forth. Commander Pruss, Captain Lehmann, and Colonel Erdmann are already seated at the far table, looking out the observation windows while two other officers play poker as they wait for lunch. Werner Franz is busy setting the table. Lunchtimes are staggered, the first at 11:30 and the second at 12:30. The cabin boy often wolfs down his own food in the kitchen before or after, depending on the rush.
Max’s face must still be filled with alarm because Werner’s eyes grow round and he opens his mouth as though to ask what’s wrong. Max is still flushed and out of breath, but he decides to pre-empt the conversation. He says the first thing that comes to mind only to regret it seconds later. “Werner went with me to engine gondola two this morning.”
The cabin boy is startled, like he’s been shot, and the officers assume varying expressions of horror. It takes a moment for Max to register his mistake. And one more to find a course correction.
Werner is frozen in place. His hand trembles a bit, and Max fears he will drop the plate in his hands. Or begin crying. Just hold it together, kid, he thinks.
“He was quite brilliant actually.” Max tosses his cap onto the table. Smoothes out the dent in his hair left by the snug band, and drops into the nearest seat. “Didn’t even flinch when he went down the ladder. I almost pissed myself the first time I did that midflight. The kid’s a natural.”
This isn’t entirely true. Werner had been terrified and made no effort to hide it. But the accolade has its desired effect on the officers. They turn to Werner. Assess him. Max can almost hear them take stock. He’s tall. Hardworking. Werner will be broad shouldered in a few years, and clearly he knows how to keep his mouth shut. This is the first anyone has heard of their little adventure. Many young men would have bragged about such an escapade.
And slowly the look on Werner’s face changes from betrayal to confusion to understanding.
“I do recall sending you to fetch Zettel for the repair,” Pruss says to the cabin boy.
“I misread the note,” Werner confesses. He fidgets, barely able to maintain eye contact. “I was in a hurry. But Max fixed the problem.”
“The lid on the engine telegraph dial was loose, so the gauge wasn’t pressurized. It was a minor fix. I’d guess we won’t have any further issues with it.”
“A risky thing taking young Werner with you.” Pruss pushes his spine back against the padded banquette. He glares at Max with no small amount of displeasure.
Max could explain that the decision had been coerced. That it was Werner’s clever form of blackmail that forced his hand. But then he’d also have to explain his quarrel with Emilie. And he is too exposed already, his pride smeared all over the kitchen floor. So he shrugs and takes responsibility for the decision instead. In truth he is contrite—it was a deeply foolish thing to do—so there is no guile in his voice when he says, “I wasn’t much older when my commanding officer had me dangling from the Vogtland to repair a broken porthole. I was feeling nostalgic this morning and thought I’d test the boy. If a reprimand is to be given I’m the one who deserves it.”
Commander Pruss is not satisfied, but he is interested. “So trial by fire, Herr Franz?”
The cabin boy ducks his head. Tries not to grin. “I do feel a bit singed.”
He’s greeted with laughter and one raucous slap on the back that almost sends the plate shooting right out of his hands and into the wall. He grabs it at the last second and stands tall before the second barrage of laughter. Werner Franz is, for a few short moments, one of the men.