Just Visiting

Somewhere, on a winding mountain road near Neuschwanstein, three German SS officers were on a late night snack run. In the morning, was the date of an important meeting with other SS generals and Himmler himself.  It was of high importance, and it dealt with the issue about concentration camps that would be captured by enemy troops.

It was cramped in the Schwimmwagen, and SS Hauptstrumführer Kurt Liechtenstein (a.k.a, me) was left with the task of driving. “Why me?” I complained in German. If I was anymore tired, I would be like ‘screw Das Reich, I’m going to sleep!’ and the Schwimmwagen would fly off the road and tumble over the mountainside. The only thing left: a crumpled-up Schwimmwagen and three more non-action related casualties. Not a ‘picture on top of the fireplace mantle’ kind of moment.

SS Strumbannführer Karl Gerhart had the luxury being in the passenger seat and said in German, “Because I’m your superior, and I ordered you to drive.”

And SS Brigadeführer Hans Schubert was asleep in the backseat, snoring away, his cap carelessly tilted over his eyes. The only sounds coming from him were snores while he cuddled an MP-40 like a teddy bear, which isn’t the best idea. Fortunately, the weapon was unloaded.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone for that late night snack run,” I said. I had no idea why they had to get smoked meats and cheese at 3 AM in the morning, but I suspected it was the general’s odd eating behavior. Hans always got hungry very early in the morning.

Nonetheless, the Schwimmwagen’s headlights soon shone upon the walls of a small mountain town and the car pulled up to a shop and the

two still awake SS officers got out.

“The grocery won't be open at 3 AM! That would be madness! Who would wake up that early to open up that shop?” I said.

“Hans would,” replied Karl.

“Yeah, but… still,” I said. “C’mon, do you really think they’re going to be open this early?”

“No, but… we can’t let the general down,” said Karl.

“Mmmmmm… Knight’s Cross…  mmmmmm… Yes, my Führer, I will accept it…” mumbled Hans unconsciously in German.

“Oh, good, he’s having the Knight’s Cross dream again. Now he’ll start to…” but Kurt was interrupted as a Hans began singing.

“The flag on hiiiiiiiiigh! The ranks tightly… closed! The SA marches with quiet, steady… steeeeeeeep. Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries; March in spirit… within our ranks. Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries… March in spirit within… our… raaaaaaaaanks!” Hans somehow belted out an out-of tune version of the Horst-Wessel Lied without waking himself up. What he could do amazed many other men, including I and Kurt.

“Only three verses left,” said Karl. He gave a sympathetic look at me and said, “Let’s go check the door.”

As Hans continued to belt out the anthem, occasionally stopping as he received more awards to his Knight’s Cross, Karl and I were reading a small sign on the door.

“Monday-Friday, Open at 8 AM, closed 10 PM. Saturday: Open at 8 AM, closed 12 AM. Sunday: open at 9 AM, closed 8 PM,” I read.

“Well, you were right,” said Karl. “I should’ve taken it straight from you.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be open,” I said.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out,” said Karl.

“If that was supposed to be an insult, I don’t feel insulted,” I said.

“It was rhetorical,” said Karl bluntly.

“Oh…” I mumbled, now somewhat confused. “Well, regardless, we should probably get back to the castle before it gets too late.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Karl as he and I got back in the Schwimmwagen. He suddenly noticed he was in the driver’s seat. “Wait, how come I…”

“Look, do you want to get back to Neuschwanstein or not?” I asked impatiently from the passenger’s seat.

“Yes, but…” began Karl.

“Then drive, mighty Strumbannführer!” I said, extending a hand towards the road.

Karl rolled his eyes as he started up the Schwimmwagen and zipped out of the town and down the mountainside road.