Ficlet: First Meeting
Jul. 22nd, 2024 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosanicusStarted writing this in my phone notes late last night. Today was the last day of term and I am very hopeful for the imminent restoration of my creative juices, but in the meantime please enjoy this attempt at a vital missing scene from Flies East...
I don't think this is my headcanon per se, which is why it's not going on Ao3, but I had a good time imagining EvS lounging on an armchair in the officer's mess watching Biggles like a cat with a mouse. Little did he know!
“This new recruit - you say he was found in a restaurant?”
Von Faubourg nodded, a smug twinkle in his eye. “Quite a stroke of luck, is it not? To think Broglace should chance on such an opportunity. Brunow will be a great asset to our operation.”
Hauptmann von Stalhein - Erich to very few - fought the urge to sneer. Count von Faubourg was a fool, that was plain, but he was the commanding officer. Erich was not eager to be brought up on charges of insubordination; he would not let this man break him. “It seems almost providential,” he offered. “When is he to arrive? I assume the relevant checks have been made.”
“Oh, don’t fret,” said von Faubourg with a hearty chuckle. “You can be rather broody over the new recruits, Erich. I’ve taken care of the details.”
This was almost an invitation to do the opposite. Erich clicked his heels together and, after his dismissal, made his way - slow and deliberate as ever - towards the officer’s mess. The click and drag of his twin walking sticks was a useful part of the ruse. Men always thought they knew where he was, and where he wasn’t.
He slid into an armchair by the fire and dug the palm of his hand into his thigh. For all that the injury was a sham, affecting a limp put a good deal of strain on his joints.
It wasn’t difficult to spot Brunow in the crowd. A slim, fair youth stood at the bar radiating nervous tension. He was engaged in conversation with a fellow leutnant, faintly familiar, his face out of sight. Erich fitted a cigarette into his holder and lit it, letting the match burn close to his fingers. He smoked quietly for a few minutes, eyes on Brunow’s back.
It was not only his dislike of von Faubourg which fostered his suspicion of this new arrival. Any man who would defect from his own country would suffer the same scrutiny, and doubly so this man - one who had already been dishonourably discharged once in a pitifully short career. Were it not for his tenuous German heritage, Erich had no doubt that the man would be destined for long days at the labour exchange.
The man was hardly difficult to surveil. He drank slowly and without enthusiasm, perhaps tired from his long journey, perhaps revealing some inner turmoil over his circumstances. When he turned his head to listen more closely to his companion, his profile struck Erich as almost delicate. He could not have been more than nineteen, at a generous estimate. The war had made rush-job men out of plenty of boys.
“You know, if you stare at him much longer, he might start charging you a fee,” came a familiar voice.
Erich repressed a snort. Leffens clapped a hand on his shoulder and continued, sotto voce, “He’s an odd bird, that one.”
This was promising. “How so?” Erich asked. His cigarette was smoked down to the end; he made a show of replacing it with a new one, offering Leffens one from his own case, and lit for them both.
“Well,” said Leffens, after a satisfied exhale. “He’s only been here a short while. I suppose it might be nerves. But he seems jumpy, and not the way we pilots expect. More as if he worries about getting a knife in the back.”
“Hm.” Inconclusive. A man with Brunow’s record might well fear violence. He certainly hadn’t made many friends in the service, although he was making up for lost time now. Erich could see a few empty glasses before him, and the officers surrounding Brunow seemed amused enough by his words. That might have been more to do with the Britisher’s dire pronunciation than the content of his speech, but it was notable nonetheless.
“Do let me know if you figure it out,” said Leffens, with some finality. The man was not a friend. He nodded a farewell and fell into step with Mayer, who drew him into a conversation which rapidly became far too technical for Erich to follow. Leffens always turned in early. It made it easier for Erich to find him when El Shereef needed transport.
The bar grew slowly emptier as the evening wore on. Erich smoked another cigarette.
Surveillance was an old habit. It was difficult to do it subtly in such a confined space, and so Erich did not bother. It mattered little to him if Brunow noticed that he was being watched; in fact, that would be all to the good. He was Brunow’s superior both in rank and in society. Men who knew they were under suspicion were more volatile, true, and that made them dangerous. But it also made them stupid.
He stood, pushing himself upright on both sticks. As he made his slow, shuffling way to the bar, one slipped against the floor and scraped, a harsh noise. Brunow turned, startled. His face, delicate in profile, was startlingly young and almost girlish. And yet the strain of war had taken its toll - small lines were carved into the soft skin around his hazel eyes.
Erich raised an eyebrow. “Leutnant Brunow?”
The man clicked his heels. It was a blessing that they were inside, hatless, and Erich did not have to suffer through Brunow’s attempt at a proper German salute. “Ja, hauptmann,” he said.
“A pleasure,” said Erich. He spoke English, with the accent which he was expected to have. “Count von Faubourg was most effusive about your recruitment.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, sir,” Brunow replied. “You are Hauptmann von Stalhein, yes?”
“Just so,” Erich agreed. “You have heard of me?”
“Only that you are the Count’s chief of staff,” said Brunow. He drained the last of his glass. The signet ring on his finger made a dull clink against the side as he set it down.
“I am he,” said Erich. He studied Brunow’s face for a long moment. The delicacy of his features was almost deceptive, he decided. There was a steely strength behind his gaze. “I am sure we will cross paths from time to time, as you settle in to the aerodrome. You must feel free to tell me of any concerns.”
“Must I?” Brunow asked. Then he flushed, red suffusing his face. “Apologies, Hauptmann. It has been – a very long journey, and I am not at my best.”
Erich waved a hand dismissively. “You are fortunate that I am in a good mood,” he said. “Go and sleep, Brunow. Tomorrow, you will have no such considerations."
I don't think this is my headcanon per se, which is why it's not going on Ao3, but I had a good time imagining EvS lounging on an armchair in the officer's mess watching Biggles like a cat with a mouse. Little did he know!
“This new recruit - you say he was found in a restaurant?”
Von Faubourg nodded, a smug twinkle in his eye. “Quite a stroke of luck, is it not? To think Broglace should chance on such an opportunity. Brunow will be a great asset to our operation.”
Hauptmann von Stalhein - Erich to very few - fought the urge to sneer. Count von Faubourg was a fool, that was plain, but he was the commanding officer. Erich was not eager to be brought up on charges of insubordination; he would not let this man break him. “It seems almost providential,” he offered. “When is he to arrive? I assume the relevant checks have been made.”
“Oh, don’t fret,” said von Faubourg with a hearty chuckle. “You can be rather broody over the new recruits, Erich. I’ve taken care of the details.”
This was almost an invitation to do the opposite. Erich clicked his heels together and, after his dismissal, made his way - slow and deliberate as ever - towards the officer’s mess. The click and drag of his twin walking sticks was a useful part of the ruse. Men always thought they knew where he was, and where he wasn’t.
He slid into an armchair by the fire and dug the palm of his hand into his thigh. For all that the injury was a sham, affecting a limp put a good deal of strain on his joints.
It wasn’t difficult to spot Brunow in the crowd. A slim, fair youth stood at the bar radiating nervous tension. He was engaged in conversation with a fellow leutnant, faintly familiar, his face out of sight. Erich fitted a cigarette into his holder and lit it, letting the match burn close to his fingers. He smoked quietly for a few minutes, eyes on Brunow’s back.
It was not only his dislike of von Faubourg which fostered his suspicion of this new arrival. Any man who would defect from his own country would suffer the same scrutiny, and doubly so this man - one who had already been dishonourably discharged once in a pitifully short career. Were it not for his tenuous German heritage, Erich had no doubt that the man would be destined for long days at the labour exchange.
The man was hardly difficult to surveil. He drank slowly and without enthusiasm, perhaps tired from his long journey, perhaps revealing some inner turmoil over his circumstances. When he turned his head to listen more closely to his companion, his profile struck Erich as almost delicate. He could not have been more than nineteen, at a generous estimate. The war had made rush-job men out of plenty of boys.
“You know, if you stare at him much longer, he might start charging you a fee,” came a familiar voice.
Erich repressed a snort. Leffens clapped a hand on his shoulder and continued, sotto voce, “He’s an odd bird, that one.”
This was promising. “How so?” Erich asked. His cigarette was smoked down to the end; he made a show of replacing it with a new one, offering Leffens one from his own case, and lit for them both.
“Well,” said Leffens, after a satisfied exhale. “He’s only been here a short while. I suppose it might be nerves. But he seems jumpy, and not the way we pilots expect. More as if he worries about getting a knife in the back.”
“Hm.” Inconclusive. A man with Brunow’s record might well fear violence. He certainly hadn’t made many friends in the service, although he was making up for lost time now. Erich could see a few empty glasses before him, and the officers surrounding Brunow seemed amused enough by his words. That might have been more to do with the Britisher’s dire pronunciation than the content of his speech, but it was notable nonetheless.
“Do let me know if you figure it out,” said Leffens, with some finality. The man was not a friend. He nodded a farewell and fell into step with Mayer, who drew him into a conversation which rapidly became far too technical for Erich to follow. Leffens always turned in early. It made it easier for Erich to find him when El Shereef needed transport.
The bar grew slowly emptier as the evening wore on. Erich smoked another cigarette.
Surveillance was an old habit. It was difficult to do it subtly in such a confined space, and so Erich did not bother. It mattered little to him if Brunow noticed that he was being watched; in fact, that would be all to the good. He was Brunow’s superior both in rank and in society. Men who knew they were under suspicion were more volatile, true, and that made them dangerous. But it also made them stupid.
He stood, pushing himself upright on both sticks. As he made his slow, shuffling way to the bar, one slipped against the floor and scraped, a harsh noise. Brunow turned, startled. His face, delicate in profile, was startlingly young and almost girlish. And yet the strain of war had taken its toll - small lines were carved into the soft skin around his hazel eyes.
Erich raised an eyebrow. “Leutnant Brunow?”
The man clicked his heels. It was a blessing that they were inside, hatless, and Erich did not have to suffer through Brunow’s attempt at a proper German salute. “Ja, hauptmann,” he said.
“A pleasure,” said Erich. He spoke English, with the accent which he was expected to have. “Count von Faubourg was most effusive about your recruitment.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, sir,” Brunow replied. “You are Hauptmann von Stalhein, yes?”
“Just so,” Erich agreed. “You have heard of me?”
“Only that you are the Count’s chief of staff,” said Brunow. He drained the last of his glass. The signet ring on his finger made a dull clink against the side as he set it down.
“I am he,” said Erich. He studied Brunow’s face for a long moment. The delicacy of his features was almost deceptive, he decided. There was a steely strength behind his gaze. “I am sure we will cross paths from time to time, as you settle in to the aerodrome. You must feel free to tell me of any concerns.”
“Must I?” Brunow asked. Then he flushed, red suffusing his face. “Apologies, Hauptmann. It has been – a very long journey, and I am not at my best.”
Erich waved a hand dismissively. “You are fortunate that I am in a good mood,” he said. “Go and sleep, Brunow. Tomorrow, you will have no such considerations."
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