by Pliss, Todd
Wayne took a big gulp and kept his eyes fixed on the knife’s blade. Had this waiter seen Wayne pour the liquid into Hitler’s special drinking cup? Wayne didn’t believe that he had. But what else could this guy be getting psycho about? Wayne was trying to think of an excuse that he would use now that he was busted.
“Asshole!” the waiter wrathfully said in Wayne’s face. “Do you want to cost us all our jobs? You know how important tonight is. If I see you without an armband one more time, I will use this knife.”
The waiter lowered the big knife from Wayne’s neck and got off of him. He removed an extra swastika armband from his slacks and threw it at a dumfounded Wayne. The waiter exited the kitchen.
Wayne breathed a little easier. He slowly and shamefully put the swastika armband on. So, Dr. Hoffmann hadn’t thought of everything, after all. Wayne had been sure that his cover was blown. Wayne’s first instinct was to deck the waiter, but then he became determined just to get out of 1933 in one piece, whether he had completed his objective or not.
He picked up the gold tray and carefully placed the now-filled Silver Cup on it. After taking another quick disbelieving look at the knife that had been put to his throat, Wayne exited the kitchen.
Inside the Chancellery’s main room, Hitler was speaking in a fiery tone, “...why Germany must have more breathing space and no other European nation must stand in her righteous path. If the Communists, Freemasons, or Jews of the world continue to prevent Germans from acquiring what is rightfully our lands, and have been in German hands for a thousand years, then the price these people will pay will be with their own heads.” A massive round of cheering came from the guests. Hitler continued, “And now, I toast you, my Deutschland.”
Hitler looked for his special cup. One of the Nazi officials observed Wayne, who was standing by the side of the podium. Wayne had been stunned by how phenomenal a speaker Hitler really had been. Every word was spoken in a certain manner to achieve a desired effect from the audience. Wayne had seen old newsreels of the Fuehrer speaking and how the audiences always hung on his every word, but in-person his gifts as an orator were even more impressive.
The Nazi official gave Wayne a jab to get his attention, nearly causing Hitler’s Cup to topple over. Wayne prevented such a grave accident from occurring (he had only come with the one vial of poison) by putting his hand to the Cup immediately, almost as an instant reflex. The Nazi official took the Silver Cup from Wayne’s tray and placed it delicately in front of the Fuehrer.
Hitler wrapped his right hand around the bottom of the Cup and held up the Cup in toast position for all to view. Wayne quietly moved to the back of the room. He was now ready to go back home to 1995.
The Nazi leader commenced his toast. “To my German comrades. To a Deutschland that will be the most powerful nation in the world.”
With his dog-like devotion to Hitler, Rudolf Hess, as was his wont, shouted out “THE FUEHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
The audience, in a mighty roar, repeated the slogan, “THE FUEHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
Adolf Hitler drank heavily from the inscribed cup.
In the rear of the room, Wayne said to himself “Okay, Doc, get me the hell out of here.”
At the speaker’s podium, directly after ingesting his champagne, Hitler grabbed at his throat, as if gasping for air. The Fuehrer appeared to be trying to speak at the same time. No words came out.
“De Fuehrer?” Rudolf Hess asked in a concerned tone. Hitler stumbled.
Hermann Goering put down his overloaded plate of food and yelled, “Something’s wrong! Doctor! We need a doctor here right away!” Nobody stepped forward as a doctor.
The Nazi leader collapsed down onto the floor with his left hand locked in a position of still grabbing his own throat.
The guests became silent and gathered around their leader. Hess felt Hitler’s neck for a pulse. There was none. Hess cried out, “THE FUEHRER IS DEAD! THE FUEHRER IS DEAD!”
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Everyone was flabbergasted. How could such a thing happen?
Goering, acting more perspective than he usually was, spoke to SS Officer Werner, who was present. “Something seems suspicious. Find that waiter who brought the Fuehrer’s cup over here. I have got a feeling about him.” SS Officer Werner, a devoted man who had been with the Party since almost the very beginning, saluted Goering and walked away to collect his men.
Wayne watched the proceedings from the back of the room alone. Many guests were crying. Some had fainted. Some others even screamed in shock at what had happened. The room was getting noisy. “Mission accomplished,” Wayne thought to himself. “Have a good time in Nazi heaven, Adolf.” Wayne removed his swastika armband from his person and dropped it. He was itchy to get out of there.
SS Officer Werner gave instructions to his men to lock the place up. The armed Nazis drew their guns and dispersed.
Wayne became nervous. “Come on, 1995,” he said and closed his eyes tight. He reopened his eyelids, and saw that he was still where he was. “Shit.” Wayne was sure that any moment he would arrive back home. But still, what was Dr. Hoffmann waiting for?
An SS Nazi fixed his shifty eyes on Wayne. The Nazi pointed his pistol at his prey. A bullet fired in Wayne’s direction. The bullet impacted with the wall a fraction of an inch above his head. The crowd of guests ducked down. Far be it for an SS man to be concerned with the safety of innocent people. The SS Nazi was about to fire on Wayne again.
“Oh, shit!” Wayne jumped away quickly. The lead projectile fired at him narrowly missed him. “Fuckin’ hey - it’s not supposed to happen this way,” he muttered.
Wayne started running, having to hurdle over ducking guests as he did so. He eyed another Nazi with a firearm pointed at him dead on. Wayne dove under a grand oak table.
The Nazi fired. The bullets hit the table, splintering part of it right off.
Wayne would have to get out of the Chancellery. He had never been shot at before, and it was an experience that he could have definitely lived without. There was no time to think about a strategy. “Just keep moving, get the fuck out of this damn place,” he told himself, over and over.
Wayne made a dash for the front door. No luck. SS men were guarding it.
SS Nazis were closing in on him. Wayne saw a Nazi about to fire on him. Wayne snatched a guest, a well-dressed man of about sixty, and held him in front of his own body. The bullet pierced the guest in the head precisely between the eyes. Other guests shrieked. “Sorry, buddy!” Wayne said to the now-deceased man as he dropped the body. Better that a Nazi sympathizer takes a bullet than him, Wayne figured.
Wayne kept on moving, running smack into the area where the orchestra had been playing. The musicians had put their instruments down when Hitler died.
Another Nazi had Wayne in range. These guys were relentless. Wayne tripped over a set of large brass gongs lying next to the drum set. It was a trip that would save his life. He picked up one of the gongs, and positioned it in front of himself as a shield.
Wayne felt the powerful vibration of a bullet as it ricocheted off the large gong. He also heard a cry of pain. The bullet had, ironically enough, ricocheted off Wayne’s “shield” into the arm of the Nazi who had fired the shot.
A Nazi came up from behind Wayne suddenly and grabbed him. Wayne had taken karate as a kid, so at least he had some fighting abilities. This was about to pay off. Wayne elbowed the Nazi hard in the kidney area, causing the Nazi to let go of him. The Nazi took his gun out. Wayne screamed and did a high kick, which knocked the gun out of the Nazi’s hand.
He rushed Wayne and punched him hard in the gut and then gave him a hard jab to his face. Wayne had never been punched that hard in his life. He dropped to the floor. Not even bothering to pick up his firearm, the Nazi came again at Wayne.
Wayne grabbed two large gongs off the floor and clapped one on each side of the Nazi’s head, forcing his head to involuntarily waver and fall.
With a group of SS Men swiftly closin
g in on him, Wayne became desperate. If he were lucky he’d be captured; Wayne didn’t feel lucky. He looked around. There was only one place he could now go. He remembered seeing something that would be his only chance.
Wayne bolted into the kitchen. Thank God, there was nobody in there. Wayne surveyed the thick ventilation shaft above the main stove. The outer opening to the airshaft was covered with a tin grating. He climbed up onto the big iron stove. He removed the grating, which came off easily enough, and then crawled into the ventilation shaft. If he had been a little heavier, he would not have fit in, for Wayne had only a minute amount of breathing space. Wayne placed the tin grating back on the opening of the ventilation shaft as best he could from the awkward position that he was in.
Wayne put his hand behind him in the darkness of the shaft to better situate his body. He heard a loud squeak and felt something squirming around. “Ow!” Something had bit him. Wayne’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, much as one’s eyes do when turning off the light to go to sleep. Wayne looked down to see what had bit him. It was a large black rat. Wayne lifted up his hand to his face. His hand was bleeding. Not profusely, but it was a good size cut. Wayne never knew that rats had such sharp teeth.
Wayne started crawling deeper and deeper into the filthy airshaft. He began coughing incessantly. There was very little oxygen in the shaft to begin with, and all the dust, grease particles, and dirt in it didn’t help matters.
Wayne was terrified. That same fear of death that had gripped him on the Hindenburg overcame him again. What in the world was Dr. Hoffmann doing? Why did she let him stay in Nazi Germany so long?
At the other end of the air shaft, in what seemed like at least 60 suffocating feet to his lungs, Wayne arrived at a grating partition that led to the outside of the Chancellery.
Wayne kicked hard at the grating, which caused the weathered plaster holding it in place to begin to crumble. He kicked harder with all of the strength that he could muster in his legs. The grating finally separated from the plaster. The grating was jerked free.
Wayne crawled out of the ventilation shaft. He was breathing heavily, and his clothes carried a filthy appearance and a foul smell.
The streets of Berlin were alive with the sound of marching boots. A procession of SA Nazi Stormtroopers, the organization originally designed to protect Nazi mass meetings and oppose political rivals, wearing their brown uniforms marched to German military music while they carried torchlights. Joseph Goebbels, head of propaganda, had organized this impressive march on just an hour’s notice. The news of Adolf Hitler’s demise had not been made public yet.
Wayne viewed this procession from his vantage point outside of the Chancellery building. He did not want to be seen by them. He should keep moving, he decided. Wayne ran around the corner and away from where the Stormtrooper march was headed.
The cold air made Wayne shiver. It wasn’t a bitter cold, as Berlin often became during the long German winter, but cold enough for most all of its citizens to complain about. The weather was one thing that the Nazis could not control.
Five blocks from the Chancellery, a drunken SA Nazi on that night had his pistol aimed pointblank at a young man and his wife, who was clearly in the later stages of a pregnancy. The man foolhardily wore a Jewish Star of David on a necklace around his skinny neck. That night the man should have left his religious emblem at home.
“Jewish swine,” the drunken SA Nazi spoke. “The Reich will take care of your kind of vermin for good. Why, I’ll kill you now, swine, before your kind can breed anymore.” The intoxicated, brainwashed Nazi looked as if he could barely stand up straight. He did possess enough energy, though, to lift up his gun and point it at the pregnant woman.
Wayne turned the corner of the street and stopped at the sight in front of him.
The brown shirted Nazi turned and aimed his pistol in Wayne’s direction. Intermittently laughing hysterically and talking, he said, “Watch what I’m gonna do; watch me kill some Jews. Heil Hitler!”
Wayne took a hold of the Nazi’s arm. The gun fired into the air.
The tipsy Stormtrooper was shocked at what Wayne had done, “Traitorous son-of-a-bitch. I have to report you for your... for your getting in the way of a Party member carrying out official business. May you hang high, you bastard.”
He tried to grab at Wayne’s neck, as if he would strangle him if he had the strength to. Wayne struck him hard in the face, knocking the man out.
“Thank you, thank you,” the Jewish man said as he hugged his crying wife.
“Glad to be of help,” Wayne responded.
“You have saved our lives. How can I ever thank you?”
“You just did.” Worried that the gunshot may have attracted attention, Wayne wanted to leave quickly. He thought it strange that the woman’s face seemed oddly familiar to him. She probably just had one of those faces.
The Jewish man gave Wayne a hearty handshake, and did not let go of his hand. “My name is Josef Hoffmann and this is my wife, Greta. Who are you?”
“Wayne Goldberg.” Wayne politely withdrew his hand.
“Wayne, if you ever need anything at all-”
The Jewish man’s name sure sounded familiar to Wayne. “Hoffmann... Hoffmann... Josef Hoffmann...” Wayne knew, of course, why his last name rang a bell. But where had he heard this man’s name recently? All of a sudden, it came to him. To make sure he was right, Wayne asked, “Your unborn child - have you chosen a name?
“Yes,” Josef replied. “If it is a boy, Josef Junior, and if it is a girl, Lisa.”
“I got to get out of here.” Wayne ran off.
Josef called out to Wayne, “Remember, Josef Hoffmann.”
Gestapo vehicles, the identifiable black jeeps with the words State Police etched on the sides in white, approached the area. The SS Nazis picked up Wayne’s trail.
The news of the Fuehrer’s death had been broadcast on radio. All over Germany, people were saddened and in shock at the awful news. Germany’s best hope for a future of employment and prosperity and a recovery from the depression seemed to disappear. The news also broadcast that foul play might have been involved in Hitler’s death, a good chance it being “the work of despicable Communists or Jews, or both working together to once more disrupt the future of Germany.”
One of the Gestapo vehicles pulled up alongside Josef Hoffmann. Inside the vehicle was SS Officer Werner, his face contorted with hate, as well as another SS man.
Josef Hoffmann secretly slipped off his necklace. He wasn’t looking for any more trouble that night.
Officer Werner eyed Hoffmann and his wife suspiciously. Nazis especially loathed pregnant Jewish women. It was believed, mistakenly, by the Nazis, that Jews were trying to have as many children as possible so that one day there would be more Jews in Germany than “pureblood Germans” and so that the Jews could infiltrate every business, factory, university, and so on that they didn’t already have their sneaky paws in. Werner shared this view.
“Have you seen a young man dressed as a servant go by?” Werner asked the couple.
“No,” Josef said.
Werner put his fact close to Josef’s face. “If you are not telling me the truth, you will end up in jail, or worse. Now, do you want to reconsider your answer?”
Hoffmann did not have to think about it, “No.”
Werner tried to get information out of Greta Hoffmann when he warned her, “A wife remaining silent when her husband does not tell the truth is a criminal offense.” Werner attempted to hit her in a vulnerable spot. He surveyed her expanded midsection and added, “One must think of the wellbeing of a child. It would be a pity if a child grew up without having its mother and father around. After all, who would raise it?” Werner said in a sadistic tone, “Who would feed it? Who would keep it safe from the elements if something unfortunate should happen to its mother and father?” He paused to let what he said sink in, then asked the very scared woman, “I will ask you once- have you seen a man dressed as a fo
od servant go by?”
Mrs. Hoffmann was fearful as she stood there being put on the spot. She had often heard SS men make idle threats about all sorts of things. That was what they were good at. Though Werner did frighten her with his words, she was smart enough to know that it was a scare tactic to get her to talk. Greta would not rat on someone who had just saved her and her family’s life.
“No,” she said firmly.
SS Officer Werner gave the couple a thorough lookover, as if taking a mental picture. Abruptly, he ordered his driver, “Move it out.”
Wayne ran down a narrow street lined with apartment buildings, shops, and cafes. His eyes searching desperately for a place to hide. He checked doors of storefronts to see if one might be unlocked - maybe he could slip into one and hide out there.
It was clear to Wayne why Dr. Hoffmann had chosen him to go back in time; why she had wanted to get to know him. He had only a few minutes ago saved her life as well as her parent’s lives. Dr. Hoffmann must have known that one night in 1933 a man named Wayne Goldberg would save her parent’s lives. And it blew Wayne’s mind that it was himself. His head pounded with questions as he ran like a panic stricken mouse down the street. What if Lisa Hoffmann, unborn child, died tonight? Then I could not be here in Nazi Germany because a Dr. Lisa Hoffmann would never have invented a time machine. But how could I save Lisa Hoffmann if she was only an unborn child and didn’t even invent a time machine yet? Was that the reason she was keeping me in 1933 Germany so long?
Three Gestapo vehicles led by Werner turned onto Wilhelm Street. “That son-of-a-bitch is all mine,” he said.
Wayne saw the cars and knew exactly what the words State Police implied and knew it was himself they were after. Having no other place to go, Wayne dashed into a dark alley that was located behind the stores.