Dangerous Territory

An Officer's Perks

(Cultural note: The Germans refer to a man as "Negro." Today in America and some other countries, this term is offensive, but in other nations, and in the 1940s, this was the preferred terminology. This is a good example of the evolution of the English language when it comes to labels. So, Eren is not being racist by calling him a Negro. He's using the proper term for the time period.)

It was barely noon when the drinking started. The clouds and fog had cleared away, the sky was a vivid blue, and Eren found himself the center of a massive celebration. Jean was showing off his new officer uniform, Armin was getting plied with drinks to celebrate his promotion, and many of Eren's platoon wanted to see his new Iron Cross.

"Did you really get close enough to the Americans to see their watches?"

Eren chuckled as he drank a beer. "I could have stolen their Rolex and showed it to you."

"Steal their gun next time! I want to see a real Smith & Wesson."

Enlisted and officers mingled, and it spilled out into the streets, which brought more soldiers who did not mind an excuse to have a drink. Soon, Eren was being cheered by men he had never seen before. It really reinforced the feeling of fraternity. They were all Germans, all Aryans, all one people.

There was a nice feeling of nationalistic pride in that.

"We need food!" Greiz declared. "Nicolo's is nearby."

Holger cheered. "That place is the best."

"Come on," Samuel urged, grabbing Jean and Eren by the shoulders. "Officers only. We'll walk there."

"Eren shouldn't walk," Jean insisted.

Eren turned over to Jean with wide, surprised eyes. Since Eren arrived to take command of the platoon, Jean had always addressed him formally as Leutnant or Jäger. Rarely did he call him by his first name, and never in public.

Eren wanted to protest that he was in the middle of listening to an interesting story from one of the new recruits, but Jean suddenly bellowed out.

"Floch! Get over here. You better not be drunk."

Floch leaped forward like an eager puppy with eyes only for Eren. "Do you need to be driven somewhere, Herr Oberleutnant?"

Eren did not want to seem rude to the men who were trying to welcome him into their little club. He turned to the soldat who was talking and patted the young man on the back. "Tell me the story later," he said, just before getting dragged away.

They drove just a few streets over, enjoying the sunshine, the old charm of Metz, with autumn leaves fluttering down. They came to a large restaurant, elegant décor, definitely not the sort of place normal soldiers went to. As they stepped inside, sure enough, Eren saw mostly men in fine suits, ladies wearing stylish dresses, and German officers.

A waiter showed them to a booth, where they crowded in, trying to fit them all. They glanced through menus, and after a few minutes a young, blond man wearing an apron walked up with a beaming smile.

"Greiz! You old rascal, I thought it was you. Back again for my burgundy? I'm running out of bottles of the '28 and down to a single bottle of the '29."

The broad officer sitting at the end of the semi-circular booth stood up and gave the man a hug. "Jean, Eren, this is Nicolo de Marley. He runs the best damn restaurant in the city. Well, his parents do, technically, but he runs nearly all aspects of the business these days."