So, it seems Easy has indeed found its route into Berchtesgaden. What tipped me off was the parade of Allied Jeeps passing through the town streets. Harry Welsh gazes appreciatively at the enormous white flags of surrender swinging from the rooftops. "Eerie," he says. "Not even any natives." Nixon figures that's because any native to Berchtesgaden can't very well deny being a Nazi; after all, devotion to the Third Reich is practically a residency requirement. Winters muses that he needs a place to put Col. Sink, as if the man is luggage in search of an overhead compartment. Nixon obligingly trucks them right up to the Berchtesgadener Hof, a brick building bedecked in the iconic red, white, and black Swastika flag.
The men pour inside the building, passing a bust of Hitler carefully placed in the foreground. Nixon glares at it. Yeah, that'll show him who's boss! Adolf is no Tony Danza, and it's about time the world knew it. A frightened old man spots the American soldiers and tries to flee with what looks like a guest register, but Nixon draws a gun and puts a stop to the getaway. Everyone else filters into the dining room. It's lined with enormous rectangular tables, parked under equally monstrous chandeliers. A man putting away the silver reveals his position by clinking it too loudly; freaked when he spies soldiers, he drops everything and scurries out of the building. He's dressed like a waiter; I'm not wholly sure why the building still needed a waiter, given that the city's entire populace deserted him. And without a tip! It's the ultimate stiffing.
Welsh scampers over to the graceful wooden box in which the silver is stashed. Awed, he rips off his helmet and starts scooping the utensils into it. "Kitty would love this," Welsh gushes. "How many brides get a wedding present from Hitler?" None, and for a good reason. Celebrating a lifelong union with your one true love by giving them Hitler's dinnerware is a lot like birthing an epileptic parrot from your left nostril and teaching it to meow: really, really fucked up. He generously offers to let Winters grab a few pieces. "You know whoever comes in after us is gonna take whatever isn't nailed down," Welsh insists. Smiling, Winters removes his helmet and commences thievery. Intrigued, Speirs walks over and reaches for a knife. "Don't even think about it," snaps Welsh. Speirs is clearly startled, but completely amused. Speirs is a career pillager, an amateur looter's nightmare. Winters giggles.