Flooney Island 1940

Heimkehr

In the captain's quarters, Andreas was carefully flipping through a palm-sized, worn, leather-bound book with yellowed edges, his handsome eyebrows drawing together in a frown, his ocean-blue eyes showing a hint of confusion.

Leston stood at the door watching him for a long time, until Andreas' slightly annoyed gaze fell upon him, prompting him to reluctantly back off.

"Although he looks similar, upon closer inspection, my Colonel Xince is still a bit more handsome," Leston walked up to the slightly impatient colonel, handing him a steaming cup of coffee.

"What's wrong, is there something incorrect with what he wrote?"

After taking a small sip of his coffee, Andreas spoke lightly, "I wonder, how can people possess such abundant emotions? This has always puzzled me."

Leston laughed and said, "You're too proud, Andreas. You could stand to lower your noble head a bit."

"Do you think so too?" A barely perceptible trace of melancholy flashed through the colonel's eyes.

"Not at all."

"Then why say that?"

"Just teasing you." The major sat beside him, his voice brightening, "You just haven't seen your rose yet. Like... the one right beside you."

Leston smirked, sipping his coffee.

Andreas, uncharacteristically, did not get angry. He chuckled lightly, "I've had my share of women, but I've never felt this way inside. Just like he wrote, a love that stirs the soul, threatening to break free from the body's constraints."

"Heh, that's even stranger to me than anything in this world," Andreas closed the leather book and placed it on the table, adding, "Leston, in your eyes, I've always been a bit of an oddity, haven't I?"

"Geniuses are oddities, Andreas. There's no second one in the whole of Germany who could achieve what you have at your age," Leston said, looking at his friend with a mix of pity and admiration. He had followed him all along, and only reached the rank of major so far. And he was only a year younger.

Andreas von Xince, a naval command prodigy, who was received by the leader in his early twenties for his exceptional performance, was admired by many in the navy. However, only Leston knew that this seemingly proud and indifferent genius always lacked something in his heart.

That was love. Such an essential thing, yet it had abandoned this genius, leaving him to languish in loneliness. At thirty-one, he had never loved anyone. It wasn't that his heart was uncommitted or that he was incapable of falling in love. It was more like a psychological condition, a kind of emotional deficiency syndrome, making it hard for him to feel ordinary love for family or friends. He was always detached, indifferent, and somewhat impatient. But as his longtime friend, Leston knew that the colonel was yearning inside.

He longed to love someone.

Perhaps, Leston still harbored hope, being close and thus might benefit first. He looked at the colonel in front of him, sighed softly, unsure whether to feel fortunate or disappointed.

But this emotional deficiency syndrome didn't only bring disadvantages. Because he lacked the capacity for love, he also had no vulnerabilities, allowing him to always face everything with a clear and calm mind. Coupled with his noble birth, high intelligence, and strong physical fitness, he achieved military honors at a young age that others could hardly match. At thirty, he was promoted to colonel and became the captain of this Scharnhorst-class cruiser.

To comfort his friend, Leston said with a smile, "Andreas, the sea is always calm before the storm."

"Hmm?"

Leston curled his lips, "You know, people who are usually calm become terrifying once they get angry. Similarly, those who don't normally love, when they do, it's overwhelming." The major blinked, "Like a storm, raising huge waves on the sea! Boom, and your heart is suddenly turned upside down." He made an exaggerated gesture.

Andreas seemed lost in thought, then asked, "Is that how you feel?"

Leston shrugged, "I'm already undercurrents in motion."

Andreas smirked slightly, "That seems even scarier."

"Yes, storms come and go quickly, but undercurrents never stop flowing." Leston gazed into Andreas's beautiful blue eyes, reflecting his own figure. How he wished his own image was in his heart.

Andreas leaned back, his gaze moving from the captain's quarters' porthole to the calm sea outside, the surface shimmering with fine, glittering sunlight.

Not enough, those lights, truly not enough.

The colonel's expression grew melancholic. He thought, after the war, should he consult a psychologist? Yet the thought was fleeting, and he picked up the leather book again.

"I have another question. Look." Andreas pointed to the lines on the page, "From the first page to here, it's all about longing, returning home, hope, etc. He always talks about the first thing he'll do is marry her."

"But here, the last page, May 13, 1940, just before the battle with you guys, it's this poem.

*Death is a cool night, life is a sultry day.*

*It gets dark, and I enter dreamland, the day makes me weary.*

*A tree grows over my grave, and a young nightingale sings in its branches:*

It sings of pure love, audible even in my dreams."

"Heine," Leston glanced and said, "‘Heimkehr’ (Homecoming). I must admit, sometimes the Jew really knows how to write poetry."

Andreas didn't pick up on Leston's comment but continued, "Even though it's ‘Heimkehr,’ it seems he has given up on returning. It's too abrupt, Leston, on the previous page he was still talking about marrying her."

"Andreas, in the face of the mighty German Imperial Army, losing hope of survival is quite normal. After all—" Leston snapped his fingers proudly, "we are invincible in battle."

"I always have this unease inside," the colonel's eyes revealed a trace of worry.

Leston stood up, patted Andreas on the shoulder, and said with a smile, "Andreas, my friend, these are just their last struggles. In a few days, we'll reach the English Channel. Though their retreat has already begun, from what I know, their situation is not good. Group B is encircling them on land, and we are blocking them at sea; they have no escape."

"That's true." Andreas stood up, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, looking ahead: "Dunkirk..."

The Kastelin-class battlecruiser's massive bow cut through the waves, heading north.

As the evening darkened, and the night deepened, the Atlantic was, as always, moonless. A thin mist hovered over the dark sea, with only the ship's sides raising white foam, pushing out wave after wave until they disappeared. Everything was so quiet, with only the sound of the surging waves and the hum of the ship's engines intertwining. In the distance, two escort ships twinkled with dim lights. The third watch crew had begun to change shifts, and the rested crew members returned to their cabins, yawning into sleep.

Despite it being May, the deep night of the Atlantic remained cold. In the captain's quarters, Andreas, wearing a thin shirt and casually draped in a blanket, held a cup of hot coffee, lost in thought. For some reason, he was always haunted by an indescribable emotion, perhaps a lingering effect of his years in combat, as he always took care to analyze the source of his inexplicable moods.

That afternoon, he had visited the interrogation room again, where Leon Cohen still hadn't disclosed the true purpose of their operation, his new wounds signaling Leston's impotent rage. Andreas approached, both coaxing and confusing, while the resilient navy captain only revealed an increasingly evident grin.

That grin was chilling, and if not for that face, Leston would have surely killed him on the spot.

Never mind, Andreas reassured himself, Leon Cohen was Leston's prisoner of war, and their fleet just happened to pick up Leston's army combat team along the way. However, the capture of a navy captain on land was peculiar. Andreas revealed a bitter smile, took a small sip of his coffee, and then his hand froze mid-air, his smile stiffening.

En route... Was it really just en route?

His blue pupils contracted sharply, and the next second, an urgent call came through the line.

"Captain to the bridge! Captain to the bridge!"

PS: The "Scharnhorst-class" refers to the Scharnhorst-class battlecruisers, including the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, two large German surface warships that will be mentioned later. The Kastelin, which is blown up upon its introduction, is fictional.