Tangles of Truth

By Derek Hart

Tangles of Truth is a historical fantasy novel set during the early years of World War II. There is a central sword & sorcery element critical to the story, but the characters are European, intertwined in the events involving their countries in the most horrible war known to mankind. How they react, what they think, and especially what steps they take to make a difference, is what this novel is all about.

Rolf Leutnart is a German staff officer with the famed Afrika Korps and is General Erwin Rommel’s favorite interpreter, fluent in Italian, French, and English. Leutnart is assigned as the primary translator for Italian and German senior officers. While in Tunisia, Rolf meets and falls in love with Lorena Sebesta, an Italian Red Cross nurse. For her, however, the attraction is difficult, since she despises uniforms and especially Germans. However, the relationship grows and soon develops into a torrid love affair, as the war rages all around them.

After the fall of Tobruk, Rolf is approached by several shadowy figures that hint at things more sinister and possibly supernatural in Rolf’s background. He is tied to a birthmark in the shape of a wolf’s head, a secret society known only as the Red Pyramid, and an ancient curse from Egypt that has awaited his arrival for 5,000 years. Rolf’s past arises from the ashes of time, as he takes up sword and axe, to wage combat with demons, giant reptiles, and the wicked sorceress Nefastani. It’s a duel between wolf and snake, as muscle and instinct battle treachery and black magic, with the outcome of WWII hanging in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derek Hart
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463063842

Derek Hart

Derek Hart is the prolific author of 28 action and adventure novels, known for their historical accuracy, while still maintaining a high level of entertainment. Romance is also a vital part of Derek Hart's trademark style and his novels generally appeal to men and women alike. Mr. Hart authored Secret of the Dragon's Eye, his first novel aimed at all age groups, which met with instant success and outstanding reviews. The author has since followed with Secret of the Dragon's Breath, Secret of the Dragon's Claw, Secret of the Dragon's Scales and Secret of the Dragon's Teeth. The final volume of the 6-episode series, Secret of the Dragon's Wings, will be available in November of 2018. He has since started a new series, post-apocalyptic in nature, with Minerva's Shield and Nike's Chariot. The third installment, Apollo's Plague came out in November 2017. Abandoned was published in March 2018 and Game Over premiered in June 2018. List of published books: Secret of the Dragon’s Eye Secret of the Dragon’s Breath Secret of the Dragon’s Claw Secret of the Dragon’s Scales Secret of the Dragon’s Teeth Secret of the Dragon’s Wings Claws of the Raven Danger Cruise Favor for FDR Crooked Cross Factor Tracks of the Predator For Love or Honor Bound Tales of the Yellow Silk Element of Surprise Seas Aflame Ice Flotilla High Altitude Low Opening Tangles of Truth Shadows in Replay Flag of Her Choosing Tidal Trap Dangerous (Poetry) Executive Firepower The CARLA Conspiracy The Wreckchasers Minerva's Shield Nike's Chariot Apollo's Plague Abandoned Game Over Mercury's Wings Before the Dead Walked Books coming soon: The Samuel Clemens Affair Pearl and Topaz By the Moon Darkly Broadmoor Manor Neptune's Trident Operation Sovereign Primary Weapon Saturn's Fire Tails of Thaddeus Enchanted Mesa Eagle Blue Last Guidon Excess Baggage Container Carta Codex Shipwreckers Romeo Tango The 5x5 Gang Desert Salvage

Book preview

Dedicated to the words, I love you.

Don’t say them, unless you mean them.

For amidst all the tangles of life,

Only one truth yet remains.

Love.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Sincere gratitude goes to Astrid Schauder& Klaus Boeckle, who provided critical German language translation, as well as cultural and historical information, AND to Carla Malerba, who once again offered her valuable assistance with Italian translation, Brazilian customs, and research material for the Italian Red Cross.

Introduction

The crimson sun burns down with blazing heat,

I journey alone through rock and rubble,

Hoping to one day flee from this wasteland.

Oases arise from the center of my desire,

Yet these sources of pleasure never last,

Once again I am forced to wander.

Nothing lives long in this barren place.

Only evil flourishes beneath the surface,

I pray for fertile land, but all I find is sand.

Pharaoh’s Lament

The Book of Menes

3064 BC

Prologue

The Wolf and the Cobra

The Nome of Suetekh

Upper Egyptian Empire

3065 BC

It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be.

Virgil

Darkness swept over the land. It was the middle of the day, yet the sun was blotted out by turbulent swirling clouds, sky blackened with unholy storms. Green and purple-hued lightning pierced the air, casting eerie prisms over the besieged city. Directly in the center of the walled fortress, an enormous temple rose upwards like the coils of a snake. It was fitting as such, for this was a society of serpent worshippers. In this, their most critical hour, all the citizens were gathered inside to beseech their snake god. Only the army was not in attendance, for they stood in formation to meet the invader.

Amidst chanting and discordant notes, scantily clad temple attendants were genuflecting before the enormous snake idol of Apep. The Cobra of Chaos had been carved from a gigantic solid block of obsidian. Special care had been taken to make the idol as realistic as possible, huge fangs and hypnotic emerald-green eyes being the focal points. The Cobra was positioned in its classic striking pose, the skin of the neck fully extended to form a flattened hood.

Before the craven image of an outlawed god, the entire population of the rebel kingdom Suetekh was sprawled flat, to beg the mightier god Seth to rescue them from certain destruction. The enemy was Lower Egypt, as Pharaoh Aha Menes waged war on their sect, swearing to stamp out all believers in serpents. Battles raged on the central plains nearby, the right flank anchored by the Nile River. In several pitched engagements, Suetekh’s High Priestess Nefastani had directed her army to hold its own against the vastly superior Egyptian forces. Black magic had provided an equalizing element. However, any losses Suetekh suffered could not be so easily replaced, as the Pharaoh’s, whose reserves seemed inexhaustible. The city-state needed intervention, hopefully from their horrible and insatiable Apep. The creature would require a sizeable sacrifice, which is why every Suetekhi female, between sixteen and twenty-three years of age, was lined up along one wall of the temple. They would be fed to Apep, to awaken his taste for human blood, and then the creature would be unleashed upon the interlopers.

A deafening hush swept over the gathering as the High Priestess Nefastani climbed onto the main sacrificial platform. Behind her, a vile monstrosity, too horrible to describe, slithered over the rising steps, to coil itself upon a large ceremonial platform. The Cobra was more than 100 feet long and its flared hood over fifteen feet across. The breeding and feeding of this creature was beyond any sensible explanation, but then the black arts were not meant for mere mortals to understand. Eons of evil were hidden within the liquid green eyes and thousands had died impaled on the six-foot fangs protruding from the snake’s cavernous mouth.

High Priestess Nefastani, as a contrast, was alarmingly beautiful, a woman of breathtaking physical endowments and curvaceous form. Her ebony black hair was braided with golden wires shaped as snakes and reached to the back of her knees. Every inch of her naked body was flawless, without blemish or mark or imperfection. With green eyes to match the snake-god, her presence was dramatic. With a strangely crafted scepter raised over her head, the High Priestess began to speak a mystic chant, in a language no human tongue would voice again. The Priestess moaned and her incantations were of vile unholy phrases. Her hands moved across her body, petting and inflaming perverse desires. The audience was spellbound, too horrified to move, too intrigued to look away. They swayed with her, the beat of drums and eerie wailing flutes moving the crowd to insane gyrations.

Nefastani opened her eyes just a bit, enough to look out over her adoring slaves. They were breeding stock, nothing more. To slay them by the hundreds would merely satisfy her for a moment. What she desired most was the annihilation of a people far to the north, across the great sea. For a mortal man resided there who had spurned her carnal lust for his seed. Nefastani would have her revenge, if it took all of eternity.

Her eyes caught motion from somewhere else. The golden double doors of the temple had parted just a crack, allowing her commanding general to enter. He kept his eyes averted as he neared.

Nefastani stepped lightly from the platform, meeting the commander on the bottom step. What news have you, Penlar?

The rains did not come, Sacred One, the officer reported, cringing.

What? Nefastani exclaimed. The heavens are raging with Seth’s storms.

Indeed, Sacred One, Penlar replied. The skies have never been so dark with anger. Yet not one drop of water fell. We withdrew from the plain and have taken position before our great city.

There is some greater force at work, Nefastani pondered. Her eyes narrowed, the pupils dilating. Horus or Re must have cast their power behind Menes. This revelation did not please her. I will unleash Apep to devour these interlopers.

Menes’ Egyptians are at the gate, Priestess, Penlar stated firmly. We cannot prevent them from entering. Release Apep now, Sacred One.

Nefastani looked through the general, her emerald eyes glowing with pure demonic rage. Apep shall not be rushed, you fool. You must take all your men and surround the temple. Every soldier must fight to the death, until we have finished the ceremony. Only then can we be saved from Menes’ minions.

Yes, Priestess, the general replied, his fear of the woman far greater than the approaching Egyptians. We shall protect Apep until he is ready to strike. With that, the officer ran to the great double golden doors, exiting with shouted commands.

The din of combat echoed within for a moment, drowned out by the ear-splitting scream of Apep’s first nubile victim.

Nefastani returned to watch the steady parade of twenty young women to be consumed by the voracious cobra. Suddenly the priestess spotted the woman last in line who was not trembling in abject terror, but stood defiantly facing Apep, hands clenched in fists. The High Priestess signaled one of her assistants to remove the girl from the line.

I have use of such strength, Nefastani whispered to herself. Apep will fail, but not Buto. The priestess followed her assistants as they led the girl deeper into the temple. The sounds of armed conflict were very close and Nefastani was not yet out of the main hall, when the splintering of wood halted her procession.

The central doors cracked, and then caved in, Nefastani’s loyal General Penlar staggering in, his helmet missing. Streaks of his blood discolored a fine linen tunic.

Assiout is with Menes, Sacred One, Penlar cried out.

The Wolf! Nefastani hissed with surprise and something more. There was abject fear in her eyes. We are doomed. The high priestess pushed her cohorts forward, escape now her only focus.

The wounded Suetekhi officer came right behind the soldiers of Pharaoh Menes. They burst into the temple, swords soaked and dripping in blood. With cries of rage and murder in their eyes, the Lower Egyptians surged forward, continuing the slaughter. Penlar fell first, impaled by twenty spears.

The butchery unfolded with fountains and rivers of blood. Egyptian soldiers were consumed by blood lust. They slaughtered all the citizens gathered there, then surged forward. The men surrounded the giant cobra, slashing and stabbing violently at the unwrapping coils. The snake struck back, killing a brave attacker, and as Apep was busy engorging himself further, the squad of Egyptians hesitated.

From amongst their numbers burst a man known as Assiout. This warrior was well muscled, broad shouldered and definitely not Egyptian. His hair was long and blonde, with eyes of ice blue and the manner of a northern barbarian. As he swung his great battle-sword, a cry like the wolf’s howl emerged from his lips. The sheer weight of his attack prevailed, as the blade cut deep, slashing scaly hide. Suddenly the snake writhed, whipping its great head around, reacting to the pain. The stabbing continued, even more fiercely. The Egyptians joined the outlander, every soldier hacking with all his might, awash in blood up to their knees.

Far within the temple interior, Nefastani’s attendants had shackled the former female sacrifice to a giant pillar. The stone monolith did not support the building, but was positioned to restrain victims for torture. The young girl struggled with her binds for a moment, and then froze as the high priestess approached.

Nefastani stepped in close, suggestively licking the woman’s neck. The victim shrunk away from the wet advances, as the priestess undid the girl’s dress, petting, biting and sucking exposed breasts. Still, the captive did not scream and Nefastani was aroused and pleased. Her chosen mate would insure their strong bond in immortality. As the lust arose within the priestess, her form began to alter shape. Her skin changed to iridescent scales shimmering in the dim torchlight. From her shoulders sprang forth wings and Nefastani’s head expanded into a black hood. The priestess transformed into a winged cobra, with human male sexual organs.

The creature snatched the young girl’s hair, spinning the captive around. Then with a mighty thrust, violated the virgin. The snake-like being slammed against the girl, who screamed as she was violently raped. As the intercourse reached its climax, the head of the cobra came down hard on the girl’s neck, sinking fangs into her neck. The punctures were not fatally deep, as mystical venom coursed into the girl’s veins. In the moments following, the impregnated woman fell into a drugged sleep.

The earlier hideous transformation reversed itself and once again Nefastani was a woman of unquestionable beauty. The priestess rose up, her vampire teeth still dripping blood, the taste of forbidden sex in her mouth. She released the slumped form of the girl, passing the shapely victim to the attendants.

Prepare her, the High Priestess commanded. The offspring of Buto shall awaken when Seth once again walks the earth.

A special crypt was opened, the unconscious girl laid within, then covered with hot wax. Into that substance was poured a mixture of mysterious and foul black ooze, laced with lotus petals. Nefastani supervised the procedure, while fists and battering rams pounded on the doors of her inner chambers. The sarcophagus was closed and slid into a chamber set into the floor. The stone cover was then returned into place and sealed. The attendants pushed the altar back over the hidden burial site.

The doors finally gave way, Egyptian soldiers bursting among the women. Swords impaled and slashed, killing everyone, with the exception of Nefastani. None were able to look at her to deliver a death blow. Instead, eyes averted as best as possible, the men bound her hands and led her out of the temple. They passed the severed head of Apep, but the priestess paid no attention. Outside, Nefastani shielded her eyes from the light.

The sun had returned, a few white clouds moving across the blue sky. The inhabitants of Suetekh had been massacred, bodies beginning to bloat in the heat. Weapons and equipment were scattered everywhere, the litter of combat stark as a reminder. Blood stains splashed ground and walls alike.

By the city square, standing with red and white crown upon his head, was the conqueror, Pharaoh Aha Menes. His commanders stood around him, flushed with the victorious battle, but wary of surprise attack. They had witnessed many strange and horrible things during this campaign.

The officer leading the temple raiding party approached his leader, bowing deeply. What is your pleasure, Great One?

Report, Pharaoh Menes commanded. The man held a presence well earned. He too had fought with prowess, hands stained with the blood of many Suetekhi defenders. Pharaoh was middle-aged, having seen almost forty years, but now was on the verge of uniting both Upper and Lower Egypt.

The city is ours, Great One, the commander replied. Assiout slew Apep and all within, all except Nefastani.

Bring her to me, Menes commanded warily.

The commander signaled his men to march the prisoner forward. All eyes were turned to watch the captivating lustful presence glide forward. Her body made men sweat with desire and only the Pharaoh’s presence maintained discipline.

Aha Menes swallowed deeply as the Priestess stood before him. He too wanted to take her, to pleasure himself with her. Shaking his head, trying to clear the wanton thoughts, a hand suddenly rested on his shoulder.

Nefastani recoiled, hissing and rearing back at the mere sight of this latest arrival.

The man was like no other near him. His hair shown as if spun from gold. He had deep blue eyes and fair skin burned by the sun. The winds and cold of the north flowed in the veins of this barbarian, where only legends of fierce white storms and longhaired beasts originated.

Menes immediately regained his poise. Ah, Assiout, there you are.

Yes, Great One, the outlander replied, his accent strange. He wore a breastplate of gray metal, covered in drying blood. His sword was long and heavy, sheathed to the belt around his waist. His loins were girded in a black leather kilt, dark leather boots to protect his feet and shins.

Apep is dead? Menes inquired, already knowing such was the case.

Indeed so, Great One, Assiout replied. Then he cast his gaze on Nefastani.

She moved backwards again, her shoulders cowering and a loud hiss escaping from between clenched teeth. The Priestess twisted in the grasps of her guards and captors. Her wish was not to fight, but to flee from his ice-cold stare.

So the Priestess lives, Great One, Assiout said.

Menes was fascinated by Nefastani’s reaction. Yes, Assiout. I wish to take her back to Memphis, to prove that we have conquered the infidels and brought union to both nations. I wear the white and red crown together.

Before anyone could prevent him, Assiout unsheathed his great sword. With a leap, he swung the long blade over his head, releasing a howling battle cry. There was a vicious arc to his swing, the cutting edge severing Nefastani’s neck, decapitating her. The beautiful head sailed through the air, a curse frozen on the lips of the high priestess. Green drops of blood sprayed everyone within ten feet of the slaying.

You are slain, foul whore of all that is vile, the barbarian snarled behind curled lips. I shall forever await your return.

All stood frozen in place, none more shocked than Pharaoh Aha Menes. He slowly raised his hand to wipe away an emerald smear near his lips. There was a burning on the skin and a small welt rose.

Menes’ eyes narrowed. You took action without my approval, Assiout.

Indeed, Great One, the barbarian replied, turning to face the pharaoh. Let me also give you advice without you asking for it. Destroy this city. Leave no stone upon another. Wipe away any trace that Suetekh ever was a part of any kingdom. Let no scribe record this battle. Forbid the mention of this place or time. Then, if the one true God smiles upon your rule, you may never face the darkness that Nefastani was preparing for the world.

Menes watched the muscles ripple across Assiout’s chest and knew the man spoke with passion and faith. While still a foreigner, the northlander was a trusted advisor.

Menes turned to his best general. Tultek, make it so. First put a torch to every building. Then seal the temple and destroy every arch, every wall, and every barrier to the desert. The power of Horus will bury this wicked place with the sands. Go.

The officer ordered the army to disperse and the immense task was undertaken. The engineering feat that had built Suetekh would be erased, first by Menes’ army and then by the forces of nature. Fires burned from every building, while the siege engines were used to bring down the walls and gates.

Pharaoh Aha Menes, Assiout and the main Egyptian army marched north, to return to the capital of Memphis. General Tultek remained, however, until no stone sat upon another. All that was left intact was the great central temple, which was sealed. Exactly seven days after the final Egyptian soldiers departed, an unparalleled Ghibli sandstorm engulfed the ruins of Suetekh. The swirling winds and tons of driving sand pummeled the area for three straight months. When the storm finally passed, only immense dunes of fine sand remained. All trace of Nefastani’s city of snakes had vanished.

Assiout was not to be placated, however. Once, years earlier, the young warrior had fallen desperately in love with a dark haired, dark skinned beauty named Rena. The woman was already betrothed, but they pursued their love anyway. It ended in tragedy, not from discovery, but from jealousy. The Priestess Nefastani had taken a lustful fancy for Assiout, who rejected her advances. So, to exact revenge, the devil-spawned harlot prevented the lovers from ever being together again, by cursing their hearts with guilt and doubt.

Assiout never forgot this injustice, for his greatest love vanished under the strain of recrimination. Distraught with anger and loneliness, the barbarian headed south, searching everywhere for his woman. It was all in vain, for he never saw Rena again. In his travels, Assiout killed every serpent he encountered, as well as finally slaying the High Priestess Nefastani herself. This campaign to destroy all followers of the snake would continue until he inexplicably disappeared.

However, deep within the dark interior of the buried temple, a young woman lay in black-lotus induced sleep. Within her womb, waiting for the call of future demons, was the spawn of Buto, who would also be known as The Slayer. It would take a force of unimagined evil to give birth to this vile creature. No matter when that was, or how long it took, the forces of darkness had created their ultimate destroyer. Once unleashed, the world would tremble at such death, despair, want and hunger. From the slathering jaws of doom would come revenge. Nefastani had made certain of that. Waiting for all descendants of Assiout, Menes, and the bloodlines of Egypt, the cobra sat coiled in the shadows. The day when it would strike was unknown. Yet one day, Nefastani would arise again and exact cruel punishment from beyond the ages.

Chapter 1

Barbarian from the North

Tunis, Tunisia

October 1, 1940

Appearances are often deceiving.

Aesop

North Africa - a land of perpetual summer and balmy winds along the turquoise blue Mediterranean. Here, during the dawn of ancient history, civilizations had flourished. Now, thousands of years had passed and the winds of time had swept away any sign of once-fertile lands. Even with the fading of kings and mythical beings of yore, some things had not changed. Now new nations flexed their muscles of conquest and the civilized world was once again locked in mortal struggle. The symbols were different, but the intent was eternal. The forces of good and evil would struggle forever.

For a young German officer, this desert brought an opportunity unimagined. Along these very shores, from Morocco to Egypt, great armies and rulers had fought countless battles. History, ancient and modern, was his for the asking.

Hauptman Rolf Wolfgang Leutnart removed his cap, as a virtual waterfall of sweat cascaded down his forehead. He wiped his brow with an already soaked sleeve and moved away from the harbor front. As Rolf found refuge from the sun under one of the bazaar awnings, he had time to survey his immediate surroundings.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, Rolf quoted the Chinese proverb to himself.

Leutnart stood two inches over six feet, with golden-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, a fine specimen of Aryan blood and therefore, the perfect propaganda tool. His sandy-yellow tropical uniform had been immaculate before he had flown from Naples, but now it was wrinkled and stained dark under the armpits from constant perspiration.

Tunis was busy with activity. A small German transport ship lay moored to the wharf, as the advance reconnaissance detachment for the newly formed Deutsches Afrika Korps was disembarked. Under the command of General Wilhelm Ritter von Thoma, this miniscule force was on a fact-finding mission for the Fuhrer. Motorcycle units, with several armored cars and trucks, were steadily being unloaded by crane. While independent scouting missions would be undertaken to survey the British capabilities, a number of German specialists had been sent to evaluate and, if possible, bolster the sagging Italian morale.

At 23 years, Rolf Leutnart was considered bright and energetic. He was officially the new headquarters staff interpreter, so besides his native tongue, Rolf possessed fluent skills in French, English and Italian. His mother was from Italy, his father Austria. Rolf had excelled in university, receiving high marks in all his classes, but especially languages. Not as well publicized in his dossier was his love for ancient mythology, Roman and Greek culture, as well as Norse and Germanic lore. Naturally, with such a broad range of historical dialects, Rolf was also an avid student of history, especially ancient Egypt. Upon graduation, he had decided to pursue the field of archaeology.

However, when Hitler came to power and the call went out for able-bodied men to join the Third Reich’s burgeoning military, Rolf eagerly enlisted. This action greatly dismayed both his mother and father, though for different reasons. His mother Valeria was filled with the fears all mothers hold, that her precious son would be killed or maimed. On the other hand, his father Klaus was proudly Austrian and wanted no part of the German New Order. Klaus kept his thoughts securely between father and son, but it strained their historically close relationship.

Rolf sighed, returned his peaked cap to his head and walked purposefully away from the wharf side. He carried a small attaché case, which held his orders and some letters of introduction inside. Rolf resisted the temptation to ask for directions, or flag someone down for a lift. Instead, he continued to walk resolutely forward. Inside his stomach butterflies did cartwheels, for he had no earthly idea where he was heading.

The German officer strolled along the Avenue de France, stopping several times to study the terraces with their cafes, lined with plants. Rolf halted abruptly, astonished before the shops in the souks, where the perfume agents bartered. The young man was even more surprised when several supposed clumsy vendors sprinkled him abundantly with the strange odors of the Far East.

Then he passed amongst the bustle in the vaulted narrow streets, where a strange crowd of Tunisians in chechia herded women whose faces were completely shielded behind black veils. Somehow Rolf ended up in the Medina, the native district with its countless mosques and street urchins. Feeling instantly uneasy with his surroundings, Leutnart turned abruptly and hurried down a side alley. He burst out onto a fairly busy thoroughfare, once again trying to spot anything familiar.

After several hours of passing one whitewashed building after another, Rolf was relieved to see an Italian flag and Red Cross banner flying over what was most certainly a hospital. He would tuck away some of his pride and ask for directions there. The five-storied building was indeed a medical center, with ambulances and lorries parked all along the street in front of the main entrance. There were men in wheelchairs, or standing on crutches, enjoying the occasional sea breeze and ample shade.

Just then Rolf heard a scream, a woman’s cry. He looked to his right, where he spotted a young Arab man running towards him, a wooden box tucked under his arm. Behind him, a female Red Cross nurse was pursuing. Rolf dropped his attaché case on the hot shimmering pavement and tightened up his right hand into a fist. Just as the dark-skinned teen was parallel to Rolf, the German officer decked the fugitive with a tremendous punch. The blow knocked the youth out, sending the unconscious body flipping over in a backward flop. Even more athletically impressive than the display of fisticuffs, was Rolf’s ability to catch the sailing wooden box in midair.

The Red Cross nurse stopped running and approached Rolf warily. As she grew closer, the captain felt his tongue go dry and his palms begin to sweat. He was certain that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He spotted the Croce Rossa Italiana Giovanile arm shield sewn to the left sleeve of her uniform. Over the pocket on her blouse was a woven patch triangle, with the words Volontari Cri Cusano.

"Buongiorno," Rolf said, his greeting in flawless Italian.

The nurse was surprised at his Italian. She did not like uniforms and especially German ones. "Buongiorno," the woman finally replied quietly.

Rolf smiled and held out the wooden crate for her. "Per favore."

Lorena Sebesta’s eyes narrowed, as she sized up the German officer before her. He was so typically German, it was nauseating. Still, he had a pleasant smile and his blue eyes were filled with warmth. In fact, he was quite handsome, in a boyish way, though he smelled of cheap perfume.

Rolf was completely entranced. Her hair was wrapped in a ponytail and shown deep brown, with lighter shades of sun-induced highlights. She looked him over with expansive and seductive brown eyes. The nurse’s uniform did nothing to play down her curvaceous body and she had been blessed with ample endowments. He desperately wanted to kiss her full moist lips, then down her neck and.…

Lorena took the box, as he leaned towards her. "Grazie," she thanked him, with a little nod.

"Scusi, per favore," Rolf said, his Italian superb, but the words came haltingly.

"Dica?" Lorena replied, asking what she could do for him.

"Come vi chiamate?" Rolf inquired boldly, asking for her name.

She looked intently at him, but did not resist answering. "Mi chiamo Lorena Sebesta."

Rolf grinned. "Mi chiamo Rolf Leutnart."

They briefly shook hands and Lorena finally smiled. "Grazie," she said again, holding the box out.

"La signorina? Rolf decided to ask her for directions. Per favore, dove sta lo stato maggiore il quartiere generale Italiano?"

Lorena giggled and replied, "In fondo alla piazza, Signore." She pointed towards the fountains and behind the bubbling water sat a huge, official-looking building, with several Italian flags flying out in front. He noticed that a new German swastika hung limply over the main doors.

Rolf blushed. If he had only looked to his right, he would have seen the Italian Headquarters immediately. He sighed, but his ego was repaired instantly as Lorena patted his wrist. She shook her head, while touching the corners of his mouth to force a smile once again.

Lorena was quite attracted to this German. His charm was not an act, his manner very appealing. She stepped aside to let him pass, aware that she was wishing they could talk a little while longer. There was something about him and it brought indecent thoughts to her mind. Then, as Rolf retrieved his case, the realization of what he stood for, shocked Lorena back to reality. He was a soldier, wearing the uniform of the German Army. The swastika and eagle over his breast pocket glared at her.

Rolf sensed that the pleasant moment had passed, just by looking at her frown. He followed her eyes to rest on the emblem over his pocket. Instead of clicking his heels, as was the customary German military salute, Rolf bowed slightly and took her hand. He lightly touched his lips along the surface of her knuckles, and then said, "Arrivederla, Signorina." With that, he left her, heading straight for his objective and the beginning of a new assignment with tremendous responsibilities.

Lorena watched him go. She was still listening to the formal goodbye, said so politely and warmly as to disrupt her assumptions. Her hand tingled with the sensation of his gentle kiss.

As Rolf continued on, he suddenly pulled up and turned. Lorena was startled at his abrupt about-face, which caught her completely by surprise. He tipped his hat, smiled broadly, then waved.

Lorena couldn’t help it. She waved back. Then, disgusted at falling for such an innocent gesture, she spun around and stomped off towards the hospital. Lorena threw her free hand up in the air and spouted, "Il guerriero! Bah!"

Rolf strolled up the stone steps and stepped through the doors of the headquarters building. In the large foyer, he stopped to get his bearings. Several ceiling fans turned slowly overhead, barely moving the hot stale air. The tiled floor was polished and he could see his reflection. There were guards on either side of him, but their eyes faced front, ignoring his entrance.

Leutnart straightened, and then took three measured steps to the desk before him. He clicked his boots loudly, coming to attention and said, "Heil Hitler! His salute was crisp and precise. Then, as quickly as possible, Rolf followed it with, Buongiorno."

The Italian clerk was taken aback by the abrupt Teutonic opening, then quick switch to warm Italian. He just stared.

Leutnart smiled to himself, deciding not to play the harsh German taskmaster. He opened up his attaché case and pulled out his orders, written in German and Italian. Handing them over to the clerk, Rolf patiently waited for a response. He couldn’t help but remember the nurse Lorena. He closed his eyes momentarily, to recapture the vision of her smile and gorgeous features. Rolf decided, then and there, that he would pursue a future opportunity to speak to her. She was a vision of grace and poise and he wanted to find out more about her. He pondered for a moment. There was something familiar about Lorena, but he couldn’t place it.

The Italian soldier stood up finally and walked towards a set of double doors, beckoning for Rolf to follow. He did so quickly. Upon entering the spacious room, Rolf realized he had been ushered into General Balotta’s office, the only senior commander of Italian forces outside of Tripoli. Rolf yanked off his cap and decided to click his heels lightly, refraining from the Heil Hitler. Instead, he executed a military salute and said, "Buongiorno, Il Generale."

General Balotta rose from behind his desk, holding out his hand, which Rolf took. They shook hands and Leutnart immediately liked the firmness and enthusiasm behind the outstretched fingers.

"Guten tag," General Balotta welcomed Leutnart.

"Grazie, Rolf replied. He continued on in Italian. You flatter me with my native tongue, but I prefer to speak in Italian, at least for now. Il Capitano Rolf Leutnart reporting for duty, Il Generale, sir." Rolf stated his introduction.

General Balotta smiled and pointed to a chair. Sit, sit. I will send for some refreshments.

"Grazie, Il Generale, Rolf replied, as he took the offered chair. Leutnart opened his attaché case and pulled out the letters of recommendation. When Balotta returned from ordering tea, Rolf handed the portfolio to the general. I have been sent ahead of German assistance, to make ready a situational report. General von Thoma will oversee the reconnaissance missions. My only duty is to improve communications, by heading a staff of translators."

General Balotta had been casually leafing through the documentation. You come highly recommended, I see, young man. I will only ask that you strive to translate accurately what you hear. From both parties!

Rolf nodded. "But of course, Il Generale."

From what I have heard so far, your Italian is native, the general observed.

Quite correct, sir, Rolf beamed. "La Madre is from Stresa."

That made the general smile. Then you have Italian blood coursing through your veins. I will trust such a blessing will offset your Germanic narrow mindedness.

Again Rolf smiled. It was too hot to get angry over words meant only to test him. "Actually, Il Generale, sir, my father is Austrian and very proud of not being German. I have not always seen this as an advantage, until now."

General Balotta roared with laughter, his belly shaking with the reverberations. "I like you, Il Capitano. I think your Generale von Thoma has made a wise choice."

"Grazie, Il Generale, Rolf said. I have been sent to improve communication between our two great nations, while evaluating where German experience might improve our joint effectiveness."

General Balotta smiled. "Well-rehearsed, Il Capitano. I will see to it your comforts are provided for and that you are escorted anywhere you desire."

"Grazie, Il Generale. Rolf stood up again, studying intently the huge map behind the general. The British seemed poised to take the offensive."

"They do not have the men and equipment necessary for such a move, Il Capitano, Balotta stated. Very soon, you will see our army move back into Egypt and take Alexandria. If we had a few of your panzers, we would be assured victory."

"I cannot speak for Generale von Thoma, Il Generale, Leutnart replied. His findings will go directly to the Fuhrer. Adolf Hitler will decide what men and equipment to commit, as well as who will lead them."

General Balotta walked over to stand next to Leutnart. "I can only hope that your Fuhrer takes this enterprise seriously, Il Capitano. Perhaps Guderian?"

Rolf smiled. The avid proponent of blitzkrieg was not apt to be assigned a nursemaid operation like North Africa. Whoever Hitler chose for maintaining the stability of the Italian colonies would need to be adept in holding a defensive position. There would never be enough men or equipment allocated for offensive operations. No, the Fuhrer had other plans for his victorious armies. From discussions with his comrades, Rolf was certain that Russia was next. Men and equipment were being transferred east at an alarming rate. If it weren’t for his skill with Italian, Rolf most certainly would have been one of them.

General Balotta walked with Leutnart to the front steps of the headquarters building. "I look forward to your insight, Il Capitano Leutnart."

"Grazie, Il Generale," Rolf said, saluting.

Where are your things, your bags? Balotta inquired.

"Still down on the docks, I should imagine, Il Generale," Rolf replied.

I will have someone see to them, Balotta stated. "Officers are billeted in the quarters next to the hospital. Corpo d’Armata di Manovra is prepared to hold onto North Africa, until our German allies can join us in victory. And I am prepared to provide your every need until then. Your room will be prepared immediately. Why don’t