Otto was in a good mood. A rare treat. He had been to visit Ursula again last night and things must have gone well, thought Brehmer wryly. Otto was always in a good mood when things went well with Ursula. Funny how in spite of all the big important things one was supposed to have one's mind on...like fighting and winning a war...people's creature comforts still ruled them. Food and drink, shelter and sex...give a man enough of those and he was liable to remain quite reasonable. Deprive him of any one of them and he became thoroughly hard to live with...or work with.

Otto's good mood meant things would ease up a bit now for Brehmer, Martin, and Bruno, and that was good.

Brehmer had seen Ursula in the office a few times, though they had hardly spoken, and he had noticed her sizing him up from a distance. She had looked at him like a large hound contemplating its next meal. She must think he was the big war hero. This could be problematical if they ever found themselves alone together, because Otto regarded Ursula as his personal territory (whatever she thought about it), and the last thing Brehmer wanted to do was alienate the one man who could sanction and properly arrange his return to Germany. It was a very frustrating situation. He needed Otto, and he owed him, but Otto just wouldn't let him go. No...best stay away from Ursula altogether. That was the best policy. Brehmer didn't like her very much anyway.

There was someone else he did like. The girl at the bakery. They had spoken several times and he had the feeling she liked him as well. Brehmer was getting very lonely stuck in this huge American city where he knew no one except a few German agents.

Accordingly, he was pleased when Otto asked him to go out and get some food, and he went off whistling merrily.

Bruno raised an eyebrow to see that. "Well, well. The lad's somber mood has passed. Excellent! I was afraid we'd have either a duel or a suicide here if he got any grimmer," he joked. "What could it be that's got him perked up?"

"He must still be overjoyed that your horse won," quipped Martin, who was busily studying photographs of American aircraft production lines...long lines of P-38 Lightnings and B-17 Flying Fortresses. They looked like damned good airplanes to Martin. Brehmer had not had a chance to take on these high tech birds back in 1940.

"You think so...?" puzzled Bruno. Bruno was not the brightest light in Chicago, thought Martin, but he was still a good man when action was called for. And that could be any day now.

As for Brehmer, he'd not had sex or anything remotely like it in a very long time. So long that it had begun to assume a sort of mythical place in his cosmos. He had concentrated instead on keeping himself in peak condition, as a fighter pilot must, and he kept up a daily regimen of calisthenics and long walks when he could get away from his duties. Otto had a way of always finding one more thing for Brehmer to do, mostly office work of an utterly tedious nature, sifting through papers, endless papers...all of which proved in no uncertain terms that the USA was an industrial giant second to none. Far too many airplanes were rolling off those assemby lines to comfort Brehmer. Some of his old squadron mates might well be meeting them soon in the increasingly embattled skies over Western Europe. Apparently they were shipping hundreds of them to Russia as well, and the news from Stalingrad sounded worse every day. Troubled times.

But all these thoughts vanished from Brehmer's mind when he walked through the bakery door and saw Kathryn smiling at him. (He knew her name from the tag she wore on her blouse.) She was like a breath of fresh air. He blushed a bit, said "Hello, Kathryn," and tried to look busy examining the rolls and pastries.

"Hello yourself," she replied brightly. "Can I help you find anything? We have the most delicious cheesecake today. You should try it."

"Oh. Cheesecake is it? Well...yes. We could use some of that."

"Why not sit down and have a piece now with a cup of coffee?" She gestured toward the small tables at the front of the store. "I've seen you walking sooo briskly back and forth, and it's my opinion you could use a break now and then. How about it?"

"Well...yes. Why not? I will. Thank you." Brehmer walked over to the tables with his hands full of rolls and nearly fell over a chair while smiling back at her. "Idiot!" he thought, "I'm such an idiot!"
He sat down and tried to recover his aplomb. One roll had fallen on the floor. He wondered if he should pick it up or...

"Oh, I'll take care of that," she said, laughing merrily, and she scooped it up and deposited it in a wastebasket. "Not to worry," she said, as he began to apologize. "Really, it doesn't matter at all." Brehmer watched her in a state of wonder. She really was the most beautiful thing he thought he had ever seen. Very dark Auburn hair and grey-blue eyes and just a few freckles. A classic Irish girl of a certain type, very sweet and respectable. Not like Ursula. Ursula was bloody dangerous. This girl was the antithesis of danger. Why then was he afraid of her?

When she brought his coffee and cake she asked if she could join him. He was surprised and at the same time delighted.

"It's my break. I've got 15 minutes...or maybe a bit more if no customers come in. It's been slow today."

"Well, I'm glad of that, Kathryn. Really I am."

"You know," she said, smiling at him roguishly, "you have me at a disadvantage."

"I do?" blurted Brehmer. He was quite at a loss.

"I don't know your name," she said with a giggle. "Whereas you do know mine."

"Oh, of course! I do apologize! I am Jur...uh...I am Wally Krupinski. And you are Kathryn..."

"Kathryn McConnell," she replied. "Krupinski...that must be Russian or..."

"Polish," said Brehmer. "Well, Polish-American, really. And you are Irish, of course..."

"Part Irish. My mother is Italian, from the old country. My father is second generation. His parents came over on a boat from Ireland back in the 1800's. They landed in New York, then eventually came out to Ohio."

"That must have been quite an adventure," said Brehmer.

"It certainly was," agreed Kathryn. "There was great prejudice against the Irish at that time in America. So many were crossing over." (A bit like that with the apes and monkeys now, thought Brehmer, but he said nothing.)

For the next few minutes Brehmer sat spellbound as Kathryn told him all about her family, her own growing up in Chicago, her neighborhood and friends. He was getting a glimpse into another world, a world that seemed remarkably homelike and peaceful, a world that had little or nothing to do with the war that had brought him here.

"And what do you do?" she asked after a bit. "Besides keeping very, very fit," she added, eyes twinkling.

"I work for a jewelry engraver," said Brehmer. He had to say something. "It is machine jewelry engraving. Really quite simple. It's a temporary port in a storm."

"And what would you like to do?"

"I...I would very much like to fly," said Brehmer. It was the truth, but not in the way she would take it.

"Oh, so would I," she said enthusiastically. "Wouldn't it be wonderful. Oh, but look at the time...I have to get back behind the counter now, I'm afraid. It's been lovely talking to you, Wally. We must do it again."

"Yes," he said, getting up and giving a slight formal bow. I should like that. In fact..." he took a deep breath. "I wonder if you would do me the honour of going out to...a show, as they say?"

"Why...I'd be delighted! How about on Sunday? Is Sunday good for you?"

"Sunday is perfect for me," said Brehmer. It damned well better be. No matter what Otto had in mind. "Shall I meet you here...at..."

"Two O'Clock," she said. "Meet me at the front door at two O'Clock."

"Absolutely," said Brehmer. "Two O'Clock sharp. Sunday."

He went to the counter and paid for his cake and coffee, mumbled a few more things which he couldn't remember afterward, and left walking on clouds. At least 10,000 meters high, that's what it felt like.

Kathryn watched him go. The other girl, Norma, observed her closely. "Good lookin', isn't he?" she commented.

"I think he's the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my whole life," said Kathryn, very quietly.

Norma shook her head and grinned. "Girl, you've got it bad. If it don't work out, at least give me his phone number after you get over it."

Brehmer was three blocks away when he realized that he still had not bought any food to take back. He plunged into the nearest store, bought a general assortment of whatever looked half reasonable and headed for the office, double-time.

* * * * *