A History of What Comes Next

by Sylvain Neuvel

  I must be as crazy as he is. We’ll need boxes, lots of boxes. We can’t fit all these people in cars or trucks. We’ll have to put them on trains. This won’t be subtle. We’re moving a town. I’ll start making stencils while they pack. I want those four letters painted bright on everything. Red and white, something you can’t miss. I want the boxes painted. I want jackets painted, armbands. I want the toilet paper to say VzBV. I want them to see it, everywhere. That department didn’t exist yesterday. By tomorrow, it will have trains and a few thousand employees. This can work, right?

  What the hell am I thinking? We have zero chance. We’re all going to die and we’re going to do it the stupid way.

  4

  I Wonder

  I sent my daughter to Germany. I wish I knew what kind of mother that makes me.

  It all began about six months ago. German major general Walter Dornberger contacted someone at the General Electric Company through their embassy in Portugal. The note was short. “I wish to come to some arrangement,” German for “I know we are losing the war and I am willing to help you if you can guarantee my safety.” The US government liked Dornberger because of his rank and what he might know about Hitler’s strategy. I liked him because he built rockets. He recruited Wernher von Braun in 1932—the two of them went to school together—before he was given military command of Peenemünde. When the V-2 first launched successfully, Dornberger said: “This is the first of a new era in transportation, that of space travel.” I wanted him. After the assassination attempt on Hitler, the SS were put in charge of everything. Kammler took over Peenemünde and Dornberger was pushed aside, sent away to command training batteries. The OSS arranged for him to meet the Ninth Army in the north.

  Dornberger can help us reach the stars, but he cannot do it alone. Wernher von Braun is the brains behind the V-2. Unfortunately for him, and me, von Braun does not have the rank to escape on his own. I convinced the OSS they had to send someone. It took some effort. Those men did not have the required intellect. They did not realize it was the Soviets they were racing against, not the Germans, that the prize was more than a piece of land in Europe. A friend at Caltech had performed an analysis of German rocket capabilities for the army, but they missed the point in its entirety. I showed them what could have been, had the Germans been given enough time. Bombs dropping from space with absolute precision. Wars waged halfway across the globe without ever leaving home. Acquiring the V-2 became a top priority, but they wanted the hardware, not the brains that created it. They would improve upon it themselves. Only they could not, and they would waste a decade figuring that out. The Germans were better at this. We had made them that way, Mother and I. I did not dare attack their unshakable belief in American exceptionalism, but I hinted at what Russia could do if they captured Germany’s best and brightest. I did it over dimly lit dinners, so men could claim the idea for themselves the next day. It worked with painful predictability. They can live with failure, so long as no one else succeeds. Operation Paperclip was born within days.

  Part of me wanted to go. I wanted to see Germany again, but we are more fearless when we are Mia’s age. We also see the moment, the uniqueness in people. We can find value in one life. As we grow older, we realize the scale of it all, and the insignificance of everything and everyone. I would kill von Braun and those around him at the first sign of trouble. I would not hesitate. We gave them the knowledge, we can give it again. We are the Ninety-Nine but we will be the One Hundred, and the Hundred and One. Mia … Mia will not spend her life retracing my footsteps if she can make her own. She is at that age when we see ourselves as special, unique. She still believes she is not us and she will not give that up easily. She will take risks. She will be scared, but our instincts will take over. I hope.

  Preserve the knowledge. That is why I sent Mia. I followed one rule, only to break another: survive at all costs. I risked everything, all that we have worked and died for. I put us in harm’s way. Was it wrong of me? Perhaps the question is meaningless. If there is such a thing as right and wrong, I doubt it was meant for us. We are the Kibsu. We are the path.

  I cannot tell if these are rational thoughts, or the weakness of a mother fearing for her child. I question everything, every choice. I question the life I have made for ourselves, moving to Washington to join the OSS. Every time we step into the light, we make it easier for the Tracker to find us. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Another rule I broke or bent. I told myself it was worth the risk, that we were saving lives. I hope it does not mean the end of ours.

  Part of me wishes I were there with Mia. Part of me wishes I were Mia. We arrived in America the same year Buck Rogers hit the airwaves. For years, those fifteen minutes I spent with my ear glued to the radio were the highlight of my day. I did not want to be the Kibsu. I certainly did not want to be my mother. I wanted to be Buck Rogers and go on a myriad of adventures.

  * * *

  I met my next hero when I joined the OSS. The Gestapo called Virginia Hall the most dangerous of Allied spies. I called her … I called her Virginia, but I … I envied her. I wanted to be her. She was in Paris when the war started. She joined the ambulance service there before France fell and ended up in Nazi-controlled territory. She got out, went to London, and volunteered to work for the British SOE. She went back to Vichy and, for over a year, helped coordinate the French underground while posing as a reporter.

  When the Nazis seized all of France, Virginia escaped to Spain, by herself, over the Pyrenees mountains. She did that on foot, singular. Virginia was missing a leg. She used a prosthetic she nicknamed Cuthbert. If I ever remarry, I shall name my husband Cuthbert.

  In hindsight, I did not particularly like Virginia, not as a person. We trained together only briefly. She was not very close to me, or anyone else for that matter. I liked … the idea of her.

  Now my daughter is on a secret mission in Germany. As much as I fear for our safety, part of me is glad we are on this adventure. We are Buck Rogers now. We are Virginia Hall.

  5

  Crawlin’ King Snake

  We saw the river first. A refreshing punctuation after five hours of spruce trees. It’s been one of those soupy days where the rain refuses to rain and everything is its own shade of gray. We were still on the bridge when their silhouettes appeared through the mist. I see them clearly now. All of them.

  —Zeig mir deine Papiere.

  Skull and bones on the hat. Four pips on the collar. He took his raincoat off before coming over to make sure we noticed. This one is a Sturmbannführer, a major, maybe. Someone important for about two hundred feet, like the store manager at the local Woolworth’s. Blotchy eyes and a day-old beard. They must have painted the night in the village across. That’s where the trains will meet up with us. If we make it. These guys are Waffen-SS, and they are all over us.

  —ZEIG MIR DEINE PAPIERE!

  Von Braun is out there handing him our orders. I just realized these two hold the same rank. Easy to forget I’m bowling along with a ranking SS officer. Von Braun asked for the major’s name but I couldn’t hear over the dog’s barks. It sounded like Asshat. Whatever his name is, he’s not too impressed with our letterhead. Everyone is louder now. Asshat wants to confirm our orders. You can’t, Asshat. We’re the VzBV! That’s more or less what’s coming out of von Braun’s mouth.

  I’ll roll down the window. It’s getting hot in here. The dog is barking up a storm, tugging at his leash and—oh shit!—Asshat’s pistol is out of its holster. It’s pointing at the ground but the two behind him just pulled the bolts on their submachine guns. They’re not scared, they’re itching for it. It’s not about rules or orders. This is all territory, pissing on lampposts. VzBV may be above Asshat’s head, but if you reduce the world to a small enough size, this road or this bridge, Asshat is king. He won’t bow to anyone, least of all Wernher von Braun in his fancy suit. Why is it so hot in this car?

  I shouldn’t be here. I don’t have the moxie for this. There’s no way out if
this escalates. I’m stuck in the car on the passenger side. I don’t have a gun because I’m Lili the fucking niece.

  SOMEONE SHUT THIS STUPID DOG UP!

  I’m burning hot. It’s not the car, it’s me. I must be coming down with something. Everything feels … slower. Crisper. I can see …

  I can see everything. Thirty, forty men in front. Three are messing with von Braun. The rest are sitting by the road, making crude jokes and rolling cigarettes. They’ll shoot us all if it gets to that, but for now we barely register. Fucking with people is what these guys do. This is their normal. The light truck to my right is empty, but the one Asshat came in on has a Flak 38 on top. One man at the wheel, one in the back, smoking. Elevated position. That’s where I need to go.

  What on earth is happening to me? I can see it go down. Clear as day. Everyone dead in thirty seconds flat.

  I get out of the car. The SS holding the dog leash turns and yells at me: “Get back in the car.” I smile and keep walking. Five seconds. I lean inside the truck window and snap the driver’s neck while he checks the inside of my blouse. I reach down and take his sidearm. Ten seconds. Now I’m a girl with a weapon.

  I saunter to the back of the truck. The man up there smiles. I wink. He throws his cigarette on the ground before stepping down. It’s still burning when I raise the gun to his chin. Bam. Fifteen.

  This fever. I must be losing my mind. I can’t end a platoon of Waffen-SS on my own.

  But I can. The gunshot gets everyone’s attention. A handful of SS start aiming everywhere. Most just lie on the ground when they hear gunfire. I climb up the back of the truck—twenty seconds—and mow through the crowd with the Flak 38. No one shoots back through the pandemonium. I can’t hear them if they do. The only sound is the roar of the gun. I throb and pulsate two hundred times a minute while two-centimeter projectiles dig into the ground, halving people along the way. The world turns red when the incendiary heads ignite. The heat wave hits me like a brick and I let go of the gun. I cover my seared skin with my hands while pentaerythritol tetranitrate consumes what’s left of everyone.

  Thirty seconds.

  …

  Breathe.

  …

  Breathe. None of it is real.

  …

  It soon will be. Asshat poked von Braun in the chest with his pistol. The men around him are raising their weapons. That’s it. I can’t save von Braun anymore but I can save myself.

  I’m getting out of the car.

  —Fräulein, geh zurück ins Auto!

  “Miss, get back in the car.” Right on cue. Focus, Mia. Breathe. Just smile your way to the truck.

  …

  Holy cow! Von Braun grabbed Asshat’s gun and pressed the barrel against his own head. He’s screaming now.

  —Call Himmler! Call Himmler or shoot me in the head, and then call Himmler. Either way, you’ll be facing a firing squad by morning.…

  Asshat hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.

  All right. I’ll give you three seconds, then I’m doing this my way.

  One …

  —Geh zurück ins Auto!

  Two …

  Pistol down. He’s holstering it.

  Everyone’s heartbeat is slowing down. I feel a cool breeze coming in.

  I guess calling the head of the SS wasn’t on Asshat’s to-do list for the day. It’s a good thing he didn’t. Von Braun spent two weeks in a Gestapo cell because of Himmler. I don’t think there’s a lot of love between those two. Von Braun is back inside the car. Somehow he seems in his element in all this. Fake smiles to everyone. I feel a Heil Hitler coming. Here it is.

  The SS are leaving, just like that. Moving on to God knows where to mess with someone else. I don’t think Asshat liked having to back down. I pity whoever crosses their path next.

  I was going to blow them all to smithereens. If it weren’t for von Braun … I would have killed them all. I knew how. This was a close call, but the Waffen-SS aren’t the ones I’m scared of right now.

  I need to go home, but a drink will have to do. We’ll spend the night in the next village. The trains will be there in the morning.

  6

  Lili Marlene

  This place is loud. Must be the only bar here. Sticky floors. It stinks of old beer and … I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something. The girl at the bar is younger than I am. Sixteen. Seventeen. I should relate but I can’t read her at all. She’s phlegmatic, neither happy nor sad, isolated from the world by a ten-foot oak slab.

  —Einen halben Liter Weißbier, bitte.

  I can still hear my heartbeat. Thump thump. Thump thump. We got lucky, but it was a mistake to send me. I’m going to get us all killed. Me and von Braun deserve whatever we get, but there are three thousand people I’ve never met on those trains. Three thousand flavors of guilt and innocence. Janitors, secretaries. Wives and children. I shouldn’t be the one to—

  —Sara Balian?

  Silence. My heart stopped. I’m trying to swallow the beer in my mouth as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t hear anything. But I did hear. That’s my mother’s name, was my mother’s name before we moved out of Germany.

  —Sara Balian, du bist es!

  Keep calm. Just ignore him. What are the odds he’ll just go away? Nil, he just tapped me on the shoulder.

  —Sara!

  I need to get rid of him while there’s no one else within earshot.

  —I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know who that is.

  —Sara! You’re Sara. How—

  He’s probably fifty, scruffy beard. The eyes. He’s drunk as a skunk. He seems … broken, but I can tell he was a good-looking man before all this. This is someone who was happy once.

  —My name is Lili, sir. You have me confused with someone else. I don’t know anyone named …

  —Sara.

  —Like I said. I don’t know who that is.

  —You haven’t changed one bit. Not one bit. How is that possible? It’s me, Sara! Dieter!

  He knew my mother when she was my age. He remembers her that way. I knew her, too, or course. But I remember her through the eyes of a kid. To him it must look like I traveled through time.

  —I just told you. My name’s Lili. I’ve never seen you before in my life, sir. I’ve never been here before.

  —No. I know who you are. Your clothes … they’re different. Your hair. But you’re still the same. How can you be the same?

  I’m not the same. I’m not my mother.

  —I think you need to go, sir. Now.

  —I have to tell Bernhard. He’ll be so happy to see you. BERNHARD! Over here!

  That name. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Dieter, but Bernhard, I know. He came to our house many times when I was young. I see him now, a couple of tables back … in a fucking SS uniform. Dang! He’s older, but that’s him. That’s the man I knew. Now he’s just another soldier. I keep forgetting they’re people, but this is Nazi Germany. The Nazis are your neighbors, your parents, your childhood friends. Five more gray-green shirts around him. Beer spilling everywhere. They’re just as drunk as Dieter; that should give me a few seconds. I need to leave before Bernhard sees me.

  —I have to go. Goodbye, sir. I hope you find that friend of yours.

  —Don’t go, Sara! You have to see Bernh— Wait! Wait!

  Don’t follow me. Please don’t follow me out.

  Ding. The door hits the bell as it closes behind me.…

  Ding. It rings again.

  —SARA!

  Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’m sure Dieter means well, but he’s going to get me killed.

  —…

  —SARA!

  —SHHHHHHHH!

  I can’t let him do this. I don’t look German. One of them says “Gypsy” and they’ll tear me to pieces. All I have are fake papers. Lili papers. I’m not having a sit-down with the SS trying to explain why I’m not who Dieter and Bernhard say I am. There. There’s an alley behind the flower shop.

  —Over here, Die
ter. Come with me.

  —Oh, Sara. I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t think you’d come back, not after what happened in Bad Saarow.

  Bad Saarow. Why does that ring a bell?

  —I’m not Sara. I keep telling you.

  —Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me. I was there when it happened, Sara. I—

  —Sara’s my mother.

  —Mi’a?

  He knows me. I thought … I was hoping this was all a mistake.

  —Mi’a … I can’t believe it’s you. You look so much like her, it’s … You don’t remember me, do you? Dieter? Uncle Dieter?

  That voice. I sort of remember now. He … He played with me. NNNEEAOOWWW! I was in his arms. I was an airplane. He carried me around while I pretended to fly. It’s more a feeling than a memory, but I think I liked him. Dieter … Didi? I remember Didi. Mother trusted him, she … She left me alone with him. Mother never left me alone with anyone.

  —Are you Didi?

  —Yes! It’s me, Didi! You were this high the last time I saw you. I knew you when you were a baby, Mi’a. I held you in my arms for … You peed on me!

  Mother and he were close, but she never talks about him. It seems like they were on good terms, but he said … He said he never thought she’d come back, not after …

  —What did you mean, about my mother? Why would she not come back here?

  —… I meant it’s been a long time. I thought, after so many years, you know.

  That’s not what he said.

  —You said you were there, Dieter. There for what?

  —Is your mother here? Is she …

  He doesn’t want to lie to me. Why?

  —What happened, Dieter?

  —Nothing. I—

  —What happened in Bad Saarow?

  We had to leave Germany because the Tracker was getting too close. That’s what Mother always said.