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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Operation Ganymede - 19. Chapter 19 - The Weight of Relief
Arnfried, humiliated by Lefeuvre’s demands, receives an envelope meant to confirm his mission and escapes further ordeal thanks to Schmidt’s sudden arrival. With Heissler, he leaves the Oflag by car, torn between relief at being free and a growing guilt over Lefeuvre’s uncertain fate. The early return to the manor deepens his inner turmoil.
The trek back to the library was steeped in a heavy silence. Each step down the corridor echoed with the sting of humiliation, a fresh wound piled atop the one Dettmann had dealt the day before. Arnfried, the Hitlerjugend lad, tried to keep a stony front, but his face betrayed an inner wrestle—the ache of swallowing vile handling again for the sake of his mission’s win.
Lefeuvre, striding ahead with a breeziness near insulting, made it all the bitterer. The French officer acted like what’d just happened was a trifling nothing, a routine shrug-off, stoking Arnfried’s sense of being dirtied.
They reached the library door where Heissler waited, having tidied the desk proper. Without a word, Lefeuvre locked it tight, the key’s click in the bolt a sharp nudge of their bind.
Then, casual as you like, the officer pulled an envelope from his pocket—ready-made.
- Here, what I promised, he said, handing it to Arnfried.
Arnfried, eyes glued to it, unsure, couldn’t help a murmur:
- What? T… the stuff you mentioned?
- Aye, you never know. Best take it now.
Heissler, watching without a clue, saw his leader grab the envelope with a shaky hand, like it was a live grenade.
With no fuss, Lefeuvre turned on his heel, scarpering quick, keen to get back to his own patch. His exit left a thick hush, the air buzzing with strain, though they knew they’d see him again when the library reopened, shut behind them now.
Arnfried, envelope still in grip, stood rooted, his mind swirling between relief at maybe holding his triumph’s key and shame at what he’d stomached to get it. Heissler, more practical in his curiosity, piped up:
- What’s that?
- T… - the… mission thing.
Heissler nodded, half sold but impressed at how his team leader had pulled it off so quick—judging by his watch, a keepsake from his “boys’ tests”*.
Lefeuvre had barely gone when Schmidt, the brown-shirt chap, popped up, his face alight with expectation.
- Well? Found anything? His eyes raked over the pair.
They swapped a wary glance. Heissler, fixed on the envelope Arnfried was fidgeting with, waited for a cue. Arnfried, thrown by Schmidt’s early turn-up, stammered:
- Er… yeah, we… we’ve got something.
Without a second thought, he thrust the envelope forward. Schmidt snatched it with a smug grin, giving it a quick once-over before pocketing it—swift enough to startle Arnfried. Why not read it now?
- Archh… GUTTT! the man crowed, triumphant. Good, your mission’s done. Come on!
A puzzled look passed between the lads. Arnfried cast an almost wistful eye at the library door, a fleeting thought zipping through: goodbye to that “everything” this afternoon?! No more forced stripping for the French officer? The sudden twist flooded him with quiet relief.
- OK OK… we’re with you!
They trailed Schmidt, who wasted no time steering them out. Arnfried felt a load lift, the thought of dodging Lefeuvre’s yoke a blessed reprieve. Heissler, loyal as ever, tagged along without a peep, his gaze curious but true to his team leader, who’d just aced the job.
The trio crossed the courtyard, the adult’s boots ringing with purpose against the boys’ faltering tread. Arnfried, despite the ease, wondered about the envelope’s guts—what secret or tip it held that’d spared him a darker fate. For now, thanks to it, he was free—free from answering here, at least.
At the Oflag gate, a service car waited, engine purring soft, a Wehrmacht driver in spotless kit at the wheel. The lads, gobsmacked, watched Schmidt wave them in.
- For us?
- Ja, hop in, Schmidt replied with a flick of his hand.
Barely a nod swapped, the driver gunned it, and the car peeled away from the camp sharpish. Arnfried and Heissler sank into the back seat, lost in their heads.
Arnfried, adrift in thought, couldn’t fathom how it all clicked so neat. He glanced at Heissler, who seemed miles from any fretting, caught up in the scenery whizzing by. Arnfried eyed the driver then, guessing his age. Older than his dad, for sure.
A muddle settled over him, peering out the back window as the camp gate shrank, and—almost despite himself—he drifted back to Lefeuvre, that prying hand no longer a threat. But a nag gnawed: would Lefeuvre cop trouble over that envelope? Though sore at him for his moves, Arnfried felt a budding guilt. He half hated himself that the Frenchman might land in a fix because of him. A tune of remorse played in his mind, sending a shiver at the thought of being to blame for his woes.
The car hit the main road now, the notion of reaching the manor in under half an hour—two hours ahead of the 3:00 p.m. plan—adding to the lad’s jumble. He nibbled his lip, a tic of rising worry, as his thoughts tumbled over each other.
Heissler, still easy, didn’t seem fussed by the recent past, soaking up the moment, this newfound freedom. Arnfried, though, was split—relieved to dodge more shame, yet weighed by guilt over Lefeuvre’s fate.
The road rolled on, Bavaria’s trees and fields flashing by, lending a false calm to Arnfried’s inner storm. Each mile edged him closer to the manor’s safety, but also to the truth of what he’d been through—and the fallout his deeds might bring for a man he’d likely never see again.
*Entrance exam for the Hitlerjugend, a step before the medical check for joining the ranks.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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