He gets cleaned up and visits the POWs.

Graeber takes a shower. And the water was hot. The water that twirls down the drain is gray, and chunks of Russia go down with it. When he’s dressed up again, he finds someone who shaves his face and cuts his hair. If not for the unpleasant weather outside, he might’ve felt back at home, either as a victorious war veteran or on a relaxed furlough.

When he’s all cleaned up, he returns to the lobby area, finding the officers are still in their meeting. So, he wanders around the building, which eventually leads him to a well-lit, windowed room near the back. When he looks outside, he sees a larger storage room, a large shack, he supposes with two men standing outside, armed with Mauser rifles and dressed in clean uniforms. It only takes a second for Graeber to realize this is where the POWs are being held. So, he goes ahead.

There is nothing formal or civilian-like about Graeber’s approach. He addresses the soldiers as they look at him with some interest, but their interest wavers when they realize he’s just a volunteer from the front. “Guten Tag,” Graeber says without smiling.

“Guten Tag,” one of them says. “Was machst du hier?”

Graeber shrugs, showing disinterest in a complete subject with his adventures as a soldier with rare free time. “I heard there was a girl here. Came to talk to her.”

One of the soldiers looks around. “Where’s Felix?”

Graeber makes a face. “I replaced him for the day. Why?”

The other soldier sticks a cigarette between his lips. “Felix usually comes over and fucks her. Takes him forever, but it gives Adam and me a second to walk into town.”

“You guys don’t stop him from that? Isn’t that incredibly dishonorable as a soldier of the Wehrmacht,” Graeber says, expecting some weight to be thrown with his words, but both soldiers don’t show any regard to the question. “Do you fuck her, too?”

One of them laughs, Adam. He flashes his ring finger, and something gold dimly reflects off the ambient light. “Married.”

“No interest,” the other chimes. “Why should we care? They’re all sub-human. If Felix gets his rocks off some Russian pussy, what difference does it make against the war effort?”

“Whatever,” Graeber deflates. “I need to talk to her.”

They laugh at him, and Adam checks his watch. “The officers will be done with their meeting soon. How badly do you get yourself relieved?”

“I have someone at home,” Graeber loosely recalls Isabelle to them, his so-called French lover in the West. They seem much more keen on learning who she is than Natasha in the shack. Graeber dismisses the barrage of questions, though. And with a bit of convincing, they let him side.

“Otoydi,” Adam shouts into the room as he unlocks the door. “Yesli u tebya net zhelaniya smerti.”

“Sprechen Sie flieẞend Russich?” Graeber asks as he steps into the threshold.

Adam nods. “Ich spreche ein wenig,” but says no more. Instead, he points at the girl, dressed loosely in a faded blue sundress in stockings. He snaps his fingers and gestures for her to come closer.

She comes over, the others looking at her sadly like they’ve seen this unfold. Adam shouts at her. “Hässliche Schlampe,” and then he smacks her. “Yeshche odin kliyent dlya vas.”

Natasha looks at Graeber, but there is no sign that she knows who he is. Adam smacks her again. “We’re talking to you!”

“Izvini!” She yelps, holding her cheek.

“You can step out,” Graeber tells Adam, but he shakes his head.

“We’ll take the others away. Have them dig up some more graves so you can get some private time,” Adam pokes his head out. “Louis! Let’s give our new friend some privacy and take these communist fuckers for a walk.”

In seconds, it’s Graeber and his not-enemy Natasha. They both stand awkwardly in silence as new rain comes in.

“Hello,” she finally whispers.

“Hallo,” Graeber steps back. “English?”

“Some,” she tells him. “Here for fun?”

There’s a primal desire that comes into his core and warms him. All considering Natasha wasn’t the “ugly bitch” Adam had called her a few moments ago. He inhaled slowly and then exhaled loudly.