‘We were just telling Karl here about the Ostfront,’ Friedrich said.
Karl was the most junior officer. He was a young Untersturmführer who reminded Johann of himself as he had been when the war began—only Karl had left the training school at Bad T?lz at an even younger age. Johann had seen many young faces on the battlefield in recent months, and he had fought alongside many Kameraden who were inexperienced, such as those among the ranks of the 1st SS Panzer Division Hitlerjugend, a Waffen-SS armoured division drawn from the Hitler Youth, which had only been combat ready since March that year. Johann took it as a sign that Germany’s losses were far greater than could be sustained if they did not win the war soon.
‘Were you there when Kharkov was recaptured?’ Karl asked Johann, his eyes suddenly bright in the candlelight. His tone was full of the eagerness Johann found often accompanied a young Leibstandarte soldier’s unfamiliarity with the harsh realities of war.
Horst answered for him. ‘Johann has been just about everywhere the Leibstandarte have been. He’s one of the oldest hares around. Isn’t that right, Johann?’
‘I could say the same about you, Horst,’ Johann said with a smile. ‘And yes, I’m beginning to feel very old.’
They laughed. ‘Nonsense,’ Horst said. ‘There’s plenty of fight left in both of us.’
The Hauptsturmführer interjected. ‘With Operation Lüttich imminent, we shall find out soon enough,’ he said, and everyone around the table, except young Karl, gave a sombre nod in agreement.
A moment later, as if wishing to turn the subject away from the war, the Hauptsturmführer asked, ‘Have you heard from your wife yet, Johann?’
Johann had made no secret of the fact that the last letter he had received from Ava was dated close to three months ago, soon after his last brief period of home leave that May, when the Leibstandarte had been withdrawn for a period of rest and refit. He might have thought little of it, given the intense fighting in Normandy since early June, but Ava had been in the habit of writing to him regularly and he knew other soldiers of the Leibstandarte who had received letters from home as recently as two weeks ago.
He sat back from his food, thinking about Ava again, recalling the music she had played for him on his last visit and how it had mesmerised him as he watched her slender fingers drift over the piano keys, caressing them as he longed to be caressed. How impatient he had been for night to fall so they could be alone together.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the message he had received from Volker, whom he had contacted recently to ask if he would call on Ava. Not knowing she was safe and well kept Johann awake at night more than usual, and he envied Volker that much. Having married Trudi Scheffler in the spring of 1942, his friend’s position afforded him a closeness to his wife that Johann could only dream of. Having seen so little of Ava during the two and a half years since they were married, coupled with the almost daily uncertainty of whether or not he would live to see her again, was difficult enough. To worry for her as he did, and to be so helpless to do anything about it, was almost too much to bear.
He unfolded the slip of paper and offered it up for all to see. ‘I received this message from a friend in Munich just yesterday,’ he said. ‘He informs me that my wife’s family home has been boarded up.’
‘Munich?’ Friedrich said.
Johann nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Well then, as long as the house is still standing, you’ve nothing to worry about. Didn’t you hear? Munich was bombed during several raids a few weeks ago.’
‘Does your wife have any family outside the city?’ Horst asked. ‘Perhaps she and her parents went to stay with them.’
‘Yes,’ Johann said, thinking back to his wedding day, when he had been introduced to Ava’s uncle, a man called Heinz Schr?der. ‘She has an uncle living in the countryside on the outskirts of Gilching. It’s about fifteen miles west of the city.’
‘Well, there you go,’ Friedrich said. ‘I’m sure that’s all it is. Your wife and her parents have simply been upset by the bombings and the displacement from their home.’
‘But Ava could have written to me just as easily from Gilching.’
‘I think you’re worrying too much,’ Horst said. He topped Johann’s wine up. ‘Here, have another glass and try to relax. With all that’s going on, I’m sure there must be a hundred good reasons why your wife hasn’t written to you.’
The young Untersturmführer spoke then. ‘Why don’t you send a message back to your friend and ask him to call at her uncle’s house? Perhaps he could see if she’s there for you.’
Short of deserting his post to go and look for Ava himself, Johann knew it was all he could do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight