330 | John W. Warner IV As for Klemp, hes unhappy I tell you, unfulfilled, and as third in command of this base, hes always being pushed around and overworked by an even more ambitious Poppel. They hate one another with zeal behind the scenes he told me. Poppels a sycophantic Party member bar none, a boot-licking bureaucrat, not a soldier. Given what I know, I think I can sway Klemp once airborne. In other words, you believe hes thinking mostly with his John-Thomas, not his Thule Society-addled brain, said Bea. He sat. My, my, always so charming and full of aristocratic grace. I like that, squinted Shafer, smiling, nodding. I hope you know what youre doing, Ernst, whisper-yelled Geer. He kept staring into Beas eyes. Trust me, old friend. I can work on him too, said Alice. Charm the bastard. Ill Frenchy kiss him so deep and hard hell choke on my tongue. Quite operatic, all of this. Bernie then looked to Bea. Well? This is right up your weird alley, kid. Bea looked at all of them with wide eyes. Why the hell not? Id rather be a pear-eating live troglodyte socializing with Aryan frauleins over hat sizes than a shot dead saboteur. That was easy, chirped Alice, head resting on fists. Make my Rolls butter yellow.