The British Lion Read Online Free PDF Page A

the office, noting how bare it was compared to his own: no books, no pictures, no plants, no soft settee, no rugs, nothing.
    “I don’t understand.” Hahn interrupted Koehler’s sightseeing.
    “Sir?” Koehler whipped his eyes back to his boss.
    “If you are fully fit, why are you asking to go back to Germany?” Hahn removed his wire-framed spectacles from his nose, signaling he’d finished with the written request Koehler had spent days composing.
    “As I say in the report, sir, I feel, with respect, that I could do more for the Reich back in Germany.”
    “You do say that, but you don’t say why.”
    “Sir?”
    “You don’t say why you think you’d be more useful in Germany than in London. If it was because you were no longer fit enough to do the job, well, I could understand that, but this . . .” Hahn lifted his index finger and then rested it on the file, as if it were a dagger jabbed into the tabletop. “This doesn’t tell me anything.”
    “I feel . . .”
    “You feel? Feelings don’t come into it, Major. Tell me what you know. ”
    Koehler shifted on the chair and looked at the brown carpet for inspiration; there wasn’t any there.
    “I just thought, sir . . .”
    “What you know, Major, what you know .”
    Koehler tried again.
    “I know, sir, that I’ve been here a long time.”
    Hahn nodded.
    “I also know,” Koehler continued, “that my work has been to the highest standard.”
    “Without doubt.” Hahn nodded.
    “And I think—”
    Hahn held up his hand for Koehler to stop speaking, and Koehler obliged.
    “That, Major, is the problem. You think. You don’t know, you merely think. Thinking, feeling, wanting: none of that matters when you are a soldier. Knowing matters. Knowing is the key.”
    “I know I am tired, sir.”
    “We are all tired.”
    “I know I miss my family, sir.”
    “Many men miss their families, Ernst. You still haven’t told me why you are different.” Hahn rested his finger on his temple, waiting for Koehler to continue.
    Koehler rocked slightly to the side and then shook his head, looking again at the carpet.
    “I want to go home, sir; it is that simple. I need to go back to Germany. I can’t do this job anymore. The last few months have shown me that I am not the right person for the role that I’ve been given. I can’t do it; I’m finished.”
    Hahn shook his head.
    “You have been ordered to do your job. The person who orders, it is he who decides when a job is finished, not the person doing it.”
    Koehler kept looking at the brown carpet. Tiny lines in the weave made it look like the plowed fields Koehler had seen far below when he had flown out of Moscow back to Berlin all those years ago.
    Another lifetime.
    Hahn opened Koehler’s file once more. He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk.
    “Your family are visiting you, are they not?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “When do they go back?” Hahn said without looking up.
    “Four days, sir.” Koehler’s mood lifted along with his head.
    Hahn leaned back in his chair studying Koehler, who stared back, unsure of what was coming next.
    “You are a good soldier, Ernst. Your men would do anything for you, your superiors speak highly of you, and you run a tight ship. Your work with the Jews has been extremely efficient and is to be commended.” Hahn toyed with the pencil again. “Your adventure last year with this Rossett character, exposing those resistance cells, was unconventional but effective. For that work, the Reich and the Führer are extremely grateful. You are being awarded Oak Leaves, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. Well deserved.” Hahn clasped his hands in front of him again, still holding the pencil, which stuck out the top like the plunger on a firing box.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Hahn stared at Koehler without speaking, for so long Koehler found himself shifting in the chair.
    “Am I dismissed, sir?”
    Hahn leaned back from the desk, then tapped the pencil