The trip back to Germany was slightly surreal.
Me and Reuben just wanted to sleep, but were constantly awakened with snacks or champagne, by endless train stewards with swastikas on their armbands.
"Thank you, leave it and go!" I finally snapped.
We finally got to Berlin, our train, much to my shame having taken precedence over all civilian trains, several troop trains and even one with red crosses on a white background, displayed all over it, which had to pull over to let us pass.
Another bloody band was playing at the Bahnhoff, more speeches, and the smartest of the Liebstandarte SS received us very correctly and escorted us off to our temporary quarters on the Unter Den Linden with their polished boots. Thank God we didn't have to goose-step.
"Is this what you imagined your homecoming would be like, Reuben?"
He offered me a tired smile, and I could have bit my tongue. This couldn't be to his liking either. But shipwrecked in the Atlantic, I suppose he couldn't have hoped for any homecoming at all.
Soon we are courteously taken through a labyrinth of identity checks, to be kept waiting for two hours in the ante room of our Great Leader. There is a hive of activity, Staff officers and clerks are scurrying back and forth with sheaths of papers and rolls of maps. Very senior officers are pacing up and down on the carpet, waiting impatiently to be seen.
Us two u-boat scruffs sit quitely by. We know too well our own depth.
Reuben turns disconsolately to me:
"Now I really could use a cigarette , Herr Kaleun."
"Couldn't we all, lad."
We both looked up and snapped to attention. It was General Guderian. The Victor over France. Some of the Army boys say that he rides his panzers as fast as Indian ponies.
"Sir!"
"At ease gentlemen," he nodded towards the huge oak doors.
"You're next. But don't be long. There's a lot going on...."
Lt de Bunsen, U-46
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