"General Eichmann has you fetching his coffee now?"

Mila looked up from the stack of papers she had been meticulously balancing a coffee cup on, her eyes locking with Josef's blue ones.

"Well," She shrugged, heaving her typewriter case onto her desk before sitting the cup down, careful not to spill any of its contents. "I am his secretary." Gathering up the papers she had been carrying, she straightened them against the desktop, placing them inside a blue file folder she had pulled from her desk drawer.

"Hey," Josef touched her forearm, speaking softly so that no one around them could hear. "How are you doing?"

"I'm..." She paused, suppressing the dreaded thoughts she had been trying her best to forget. "Getting on." It had been a little over a week since her encounter with the German soldier, and though she and Josef had attended countless meetings together, and had seen each other around the office, neither one had mentioned the events of that night. Mila had, instead, thrown herself into her work, trying, with every fiber of her being, to will the memories to stop.

"Despite everything that happened the other night, I really enjoyed spending the evening with you," He said, giving her arm a light squeeze before releasing it.

"I enjoyed your company as well," She replied, giving him a small smile.

"Seeing as we have yet to go on a proper date, I was wondering if you'd let me take you out this Friday night?" He continued on, propping himself up against her desk, the concerned expression he had warn before, morphing into a playful smirk.

"I thought your taking me out to dinner was just repayment for saving your life?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It was..." He retorted, his smirk widening. "I don't think I'm done returning the favor just yet though."

"Well, if you're that insistent on it," She began, trying to suppress a smile. "You can pick me up at 6:30."

"It's a date," Josef grinned. Mila nodded, giving him another small smile before grabbing her typewriter case and folder. "Mila," Josef called when she had walked a few paces. "I think you're forgetting something," He said, nodding to the coffee cup still sitting on her desk.

"Oh," She blushed, quickly scooping up the cup with her free hand.

"See you in there," He smiled, giving her a quick wink.

"See you," She said, returning his smile.

Mila proceeded down the hall, her heels clicking across the hardwood. Nudging the door of the conference room with her hip, she pushed it open, revealing General Eichmann seated at the head of the vast table, pouring over a mountain of papers, as he was every morning at 8:30 sharp. Without a word, Mila walked across the room and sat the cup down at General Eichmann's seat.

"Oh, thank you Ms. Vanderwall," He spoke, glancing up over his wire rimmed glasses only for a moment before returning to his reading.

"Here are the minutes from yesterday's meeting," Mila spoke, placing the blue folder next to the coffee cup. "I thought you might like to give them a once over before I file them away."

"Oh yes," He replied, glancing in her general direction once again. "Thank you."

"Of course," She nodded before placing her typewriter in her usual spot at the table.

"What's this?" General Eichmann asked just as she was unzipping her case. Turning, Mila watched as he picked up the piece of paper she had inadvertantly left sitting atop the folder.

"Oh," She stammered. "It's nothing.. Just a list I make for myself. It outlines the agenda for each meeting ... Helps me keep on track as I'm typing the minutes."

"I like it," He said after skimming the page. "How quickly could you make twenty copies?"

"Twe-twenty copies?" Mila furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"One for you and myself, of course, as well as the men," He replied matter-of-factly. "These briefings could stand to be a bit more organized, and I think this little list of yours could do the trick. A clear schedule for each morning would be nice - something the men can follow along with."

"Oh," She said, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

"That is if you'd be willing to share," He pressed on, removing his glasses and sitting them down on the table, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"Of course sir," She nodded, taking the paper from him when he held it out.

Mila pulled open the door of the conference room, her heels clicking even faster than before as she scurried to the copy room, her typewriter in tow. She had less than 30 minutes to prepare a stencil and make 20 copies before the meeting. Heaving her typewriter on the desk of the copy room, she placed a sheet of the waxed paper in the ribbon and went to typing. Once she had successfully copied the agenda, she pulled it out, giving it a quick once over before placing it in the mimeograph. Turning the handle around, she went to work cranking out the copies. Grabbing up the papers and her typewriter, she hurried back down the hall to the briefing room.

"Ah, Ms. Vanderwall," General Eichmann chimed as she burst through the door, all eyes falling on her. "Were you able to get those duplicates finished?"

"Yes sir," She replied.

"If you wouldn't mine passing them around then," He gave her a polite smile.

"Of course," She nodded. Balancing her type writer against her hip, she walked around the room, giving each of the men a page, careful to avoid eye contact with Josef when she reached his place at the table for fear she would give herself away with a blush. Once she had handed out the last copy, she found her familiar seat beside General Eichmann.

"Now," The general clapped his hands together, " If you'd all refer to your agendas Ms. Vanderwall was kind enough to draw up for us, let's get started. "Shultz," He called, directing his attentions to a lanky, blonde haired man seated at the end of the table. "What word do you have from Berlin?"

"The Red Army has launched a counter attack in Stalingrad sir," Shultz replied. "The Sixth Army has been ordered to hold their position and await reinforcements."

"Any word on casualties?"

"60,000 of our troops - 200,000 of theirs."

"What's being done to provide reinforcement?" General Eichmann furrowed his eyebrows slightly, though otherwise remained undeterred.

"Two separate infantries march for Stalingrad as we speak, and supplies are being gathered to be shipped back to Berlin and flown into the city to provide rations for the remaining soldiers trapped there."

"Lieutenant Hoffmann," General Eichmann spoke, looking to a brown haired man who had a bit bigger build than Shultz. He didn't look much older than herself. "I want the labor camps working double time to keep up with demands. We won't lose Stalingrad because of insufficient supplies."

"Of course sir," The Lieutenant chimed a little too enthusiastically, as if the very thought of forcing prisoners to work in even harsher conditions brought him great joy.

~

The rest of the meeting had went by in a slow drawl. Mila listening intently, typing everything that had been said as each bullet point on the agenda was covered, paying close attention to anything that might be of importance to the Lingards and the British SIS. Finally, after General Eichmann had dismissed the room, Mila had gathered her things, dropping them off at her desk before taking her lunch.

Now, she was seated in the break room, her usual coffee cup and sandwich sitting in front of her, her nose buried deep in a book as it always was this time of day.

"Hello," a deep voice sounded beside her. She looked up, her eyes falling on the familiar face of Lieutenant Hoffmann.

"Hello Lieutenant Hoffmann," She replied, glancing up from her book for only a moment.

"So you know who I am?" He smirked.

"You spoke in this morning's meeting," She replied simply. "You're the labor camp liaison."

"Well since we seem to be acquainted," He sat down beside her, "I suppose you can call me Michael."

Giving him a polite smile, she turned her attentions back to her book.

"You know," He began casually. "Every time I see you in here, you've got a book in your hand."

"I like to read," She shrugged, dog-earing the page, deciding she probably wouldn't be making much progress for the rest of the lunch hour. "And between all the meetings and briefings, lunch is one of the only times I get to."

"Well, maybe you could take a break from those books of yours. Say ... this Friday night?" He asked, though it had come across more as an order than a question.

"Oh," Mila stammered, taken aback by his forwardness. "I, um ... actually have plans this Friday."

"Some other time then," He replied, seemingly unfazed by her rejection.

"I should get back to work," She said quickly, gathering up her things. Without another word, she stood to her feet, and walked towards the door, ducking out of the room before he could object.