by Erik Foge
Erik sat comfortably in a leather office chair, pulled three sets of identical folders from his attaché case, and handed them out. Bonesteiner made his way to his seat at the coffee table.
Though Cole’s blue eyes appeared relaxed, they were always alert and aware of his surroundings, a skill that, among others, had helped him carve out a very successful military intelligence career culminating in his becoming the Director of ONE—the most secretive government agency specializing in black ops, both domestically and internationally. In 1947, Truman signed the National Security Act of 1947, which set up a unified military command known as the “National Military Establishment.” From this, ONE was established. ONE never stood for anything. The name was as vague as to what they did to whoever heard about them. Truman needed an agency to solve America’s international threats; thus, he said, “Trust is good…Control is better.” This became the agency’s motto. In addition, Truman did not want any interference from congress, so the agency was placed under the black budget; therefore the agency never existed on paper; thus, they answered to no one, not even the Senate Oversight Committee or the President of the United States.
Brigadier General Plackett’s brownish-black eyes showed no emotion behind his steel-framed glasses and gave a hint of the evil that had marked his military career since it began in the Green Berets. Like Cole, Plackett also worked for ONE. The Phoenix Group was a department within ONE. The Phoenix Group was similar to the CIA Special Operations Group (SOG). The assassins were responsible for carrying out covert operations that included eliminating high threat military and political targets. It was rumored they had not only killed political figures internationally but also in the United States. The assassins normally didn’t wear military uniforms or carry any objects that would associate them with the United States government. However, the Phoenix Group answered to no one.
Erik began his debriefing. “Gentlemen, as we are aware, on the twenty-first of July 1944, the elaborate plot to kill Adolf Hitler failed.” Erik continued by detailing the events following the failure of the plot, then broached the topic of Field Marshal Erwin Rommel. The men’s eyes widened as Erik explained his theory:
“Rommel’s name was disclosed by his Chief of Staff, Hans Speidel, in order to save his own life and avoid being implicated in the plot. Rommel was recovering from injuries received when a Spitfire strafed his staff car on the seventeenth of July, 1944. Members of the SS and Gestapo were arresting all members of the plot who were directly or indirectly involved, but Rommel was totally unaware of what was going on. However, MI6 had their plans, known as Operation Gaff, a six-man team of the British Special Air Service commandos. They were to be parachuted into occupied France on the eighteenth of July, 1944, and their mission was to either kill or kidnap Rommel.”
“Did the strafing of his vehicle halt that order?” Cole asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
“So if MI6 had captured him, what then?”
“In my opinion, they would pressure him to make a list of all those individuals he could persuade, for example, generals and some high-ranking Nazi Party members who wanted to overthrow Hitler and sue for a separate peace treaty with the U.S. and its allies.”
“Like who?”
“Speer, Stepp Dietrich, just to name a few.”
“What makes you think those two individuals would, or even could, help Rommel? How could they help Rommel make a separate peace treaty with the United States?”
“Well, Admiral, there were more than those two who were going to side with Rommel if Operation Valkyrie succeeded.”
“Do you happen to have the names of those individuals?”
Erik shook his head. “There were approximately eleven or twelve generals and field marshals both in the SS and Wehrmacht.”
“How sure are you about that?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Educated guess?”
“No, Sir. Based on my research, I believe it to be fact.”
Brigadier General Plackett pulled out a document and handed it to Erik. “What do you make of this?”
Erik quickly analyzed the document. “Minus the coffee stain, this is what the provisional government would’ve looked like if the plot against Hitler had succeeded. However, it’s missing something.”
Plackett and Cole gave Erik a puzzled look, like that of a deer facing the headlights of an oncoming car. They glanced at Bonesteiner, then back at Erik.
“That is an authentic document recovered in 1944,” Cole said. “How can you question its authenticity?”
“I’m sorry, Admiral, but the question mark is missing by Speer’s name.”
“Question mark? What in the hell are you talking about?”
Erik turned the document around to face the admiral and pointed to Speer’s name. “In the real document, used by the Gestapo, it had a question mark by his name.”
“How would you know that?” Plackett barked.
“I read it in a book.”
Plackett shook his head in disbelief and tried not to chuckle. “A book? How do you know the book is even accurate?”
“Because it was from a firsthand account—”
“Whose firsthand account?” Plackett sneered and sat back with his arms crossed.
“Albert Speer. It was in his book, Inside the Third Reich,” Erik elaborated, as the others listened. “Speer was the Architect of the Third Reich, who later became Minister of Armaments. Furthermore—”
Plackett squinted his eyes and pointed at Erik. “Listen here, our sources acquired that document from the U.S. Army’s archives in 1944, from General Bradley’s headquarters.”
“Not this time, General.”
Bonesteiner leans forward in his chair and placed a hand in the air. He stared directly at Erik. “Have you heard of Project Ryan?”
Erik glanced at Bonesteiner, Cole, and Plackett before answering carefully. “I believe it’s when we direct our operatives to evacuate a foreign diplomat or dignitary out of their country.”
Bonesteiner grinned and nodded, indicating that Erik’s answer was correct. “These two gentlemen need your help with the next project, Ryan.”
“Sir, I’m not a field operative anymore. I’ve been an analyst for nearly three years now; I just read books.”
“That’s correct,” Cole said. “But you’ve had some field experience in Germany, Russia, and a few other places of conflict, and we need your expertise as an analyst to go back in time.”
“True, but …” Erik frowned, unsure if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me, sir? You said ‘back in time’?”
“Yes; it’s called Project Pegasus, and it’s when we send an individual, like you, to do research on historical events. We need you to go back to 1944.”
“You need me to do what?”
Cole’s eyes twinkled above a slight smile. “We need you to go back to 1944.”
Erik’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It is now. We’ve been working on it for some time.”
“How long?”
“That’s classified.”
Erik frowned. “Okay, then, why send an analyst instead of a field operative?”
Cole smiled and nodded. “They are more able to make reliable evaluations and prudent decisions. This is especially important when unforeseen circumstances arise.”
Erik nodded. “Okay, so why me?”
“We need a particular kind of analyst, one with certain qualities and expertise.”
“And those are?”
“You’re are the foremost expert on Field Marshal Rommel and the European Theater of the Second World War. Also, you’re in good physical shape, you’re psychologically fit, and you have the right temperament. You can see things clearly, yet be analytical. Most of all, you can blend in, seeing as you dress in clothing from that period and know the mannerisms.” Cole gestured to Erik’s retro-look clothes—a double-breasted cocoa suit with blue and gray pinstripes, a crisp, bright white oxfor
d shirt with a heavily starched collar and sleeves, and a tie that matched the colors of his suit. He even wore a pocket watch with the chain neatly hidden so that it was only exposed when he moved or sat in a certain way.
Back in his office, he had a Fedora that he had purchased in 1991. People tended to look at him oddly, or think he was Italian if he wore his black trench coat with his three-piece-suit. He didn’t care what they thought. He liked the way he dressed, and his girlfriend loved it.
“So you want me to go back in time?” Erik said, trying to get used to the idea.
“Yes, we do.”
“I see.” Erik leaned forward. “I recall the USS Eldridge experiencing that.”
Cole responded with a cold stare.
“The Germans started their time travel experiments in May or June, 1944,” Erik continued. “It was known as Project Bell.”
Cole’s eyes widened. “What do you know about that?”
“The USS Eldridge or Project Bell?”
“Project Bell,” Cole snapped,
Plackett adjusted his glasses.
“Project Bell, headed by SS Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler, had the highest security clearance, Top Secret Command Matter.”
Cole glanced at the others; their expressions were unreadable. “What’s that similar to?”
“It would be the same level as Top Secret Yankee White.”
“Very impressive. Why did they call it Project Bell?”
“Because the heart of the machine looked like a bell.”
The gentlemen’s eyes grew wide at the extent of Erik’s knowledge, and they listened intently, absorbing it like a sponge.
“You are very well informed, Dr. Függer. Where did you get your information? A book?” Cole said with a hint of sarcasm.
“You’re thinking—I like that—but no, though I do have an extensive library.”
Cole’s nostrils flared slightly. “So how do you know about the USS Eldridge?”
“Just rumors, Admiral.”
“Just rumors?” Cole paused in thought. “Well, those so-called rumors are false.”
“If they’re false, what really happened in Project Rainbow?”
Cole, with scolding eyes, pointed his finger at Erik. “That is classified and you do not have the clearance.”
Erik rubbed his chin. “That’s odd; it never happened, yet it’s classified. How, then, can one deny or confirm that Project Rainbow really happened? Because it’s stamped with an official seal?”
A vein throbbed in Cole’s temple, and his jaw hardened in an attempt to restrain his anger. He looked as if he wished he could kill Erik. “How do you know about Project Rainbow?”
“That’s classified.”
Cole asked again and gave him a glance of inquiry. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where in the hell did you get your information?”
“Admiral,” Erik replied, “That information is on a need-to-know basis, and you have no need to know. I’m sure you understand.”
Bonesteiner interrupted before things could get heated again. “Gentlemen, let’s get to the reason we’re here.”
Cole stared at Erik for a moment, then began: “You’ll be impersonating a major in the Wehrmacht. We need you to rescue Erwin Rommel and bring him to General Bradley’s headquarters in Rennes, France.”
“What branch of the Wehrmacht?” Erik asked.
“The army,” Cole replied. “And that’s another reason you fit this mission; you’re below average height for your age group now, but five foot six was the ideal height for an army man in 1944. And, of course, there are your Germanic facial features.”
Like his hawk-like nose, firm lips, and triangular jaw, Erik thought wryly. “Once there, then what?”
“You’ll identify yourself as an OSS agent and inform General Bradley of Germany’s intentions to surrender and broker a separate peace treaty from the Russians. We don’t want the Russians to be a part of the treaty because we will have to give into Stalin. That way we can end World War Two sooner and get a foothold in Europe before the Russians do. Any questions?”
“Several.”
Cole nodded and motioned to Erik to ask away.
“Number one, the distance. It won’t be easy due to the French Resistance, allied air superiority, and the land war.”
“We have your route planned out to avoid those things. I recommend you travel in a column that would give you some protection.”
“It won’t be as easy as you put it.”
“There are risks in any mission; you should know that. Any other questions?”
“I’ll need papers to prove I’m an OSS agent.”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Függer, we have all aspects covered.” Cole leaned forward. “After you leave the hospital you are to go to Impasse des Ecureuils, 14250 Audrieu, France.”
Erik nodded and committed the information to memory.
Cole continued. “It’s a château. You’ll meet one of our people there, a Colonel. He’ll give you an officer’s uniform and the identification you need.”
“How will I recognize him or how will he recognize me?”
“He’s seen your photograph, and he knows your name.” Cole leaned back in his chair. “He’ll be in a black SS Colonel’s uniform.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “In an SS Colonel’s uniform, seriously?”
“Is that a problem?”
“If I could be so bold, I would suggest either civilian or an army uniform.”
“The Colonel is capable of handling any situation that comes his way,” Plackett assured Erik. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Erik snorted. “That’s what they said on the Titanic on April 15, 1912, when it was sinking.”
Cole and Plackett shared puzzled looks.
“It sank, killing all but a few survivors,” Erik said to fill them in. “Have you considered that if we change history it could alter the future as we know it. ‘One cannot change the past,’ as Einstein said.”
“Do you think we have not weighed all possibilities?” Cole said. “Our analysts and scientists have already studied this, and they’ve all concluded that future events will benefit the United States and NATO. Once Rommel is able to speak to Eisenhower, they can coordinate their efforts, and the Third Reich will crumble around Hitler’s feet. Thus it will give the United States’ armed forces a better position during the Cold War by occupying Germany, Yugoslavia, Albania and most of Czechoslovakia and Hungary.”
“I doubt you’ve weighed all the possibilities, Admiral,” Erik replied. “Have you thought of all the different ways it could alter the Cold War?”
“We’ve spent thousands of hours on investigating this, and if you do it at a certain place in time, the ripples will remain ripples. The Cold War computer simulations show that the United States and our allies will benefit.”
Erik analyzed every word Cole and Plackett said. He knew that planning the infinite details of a covert operation was one of the most stressful jobs there was, especially when this would be executed in twenty-four hours. If an op was planned at the last minute, details would likely be missing or overlooked. Erik adjusted himself in his seat. “You can’t be sure it’ll prevent conflicts such as the Vietnam or Iraq War, and it could cause an unseen event that could radically alter the world as we know it today.”
“You’ll not have to worry about that. We’ve weighed every possible aspect.”
Erik narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.
Plackett leaned forward. “Your job is to bring General Rommel to General Bradley’s headquarters. Do that, and this plan will work.”
“Field Marshal,” Erik corrected.
“As I was saying, your job is to bring Field Marshal Rommel to General Bradley’s headquarters.”
“Persuading Rommel to come with me won’t be easy.”
Plackett shook his head. “You were able to persuade some of our enemies when you were a part of the O.G.D.S. Team Forty Two. In comparison, this should be easy.”
/> “That wasn’t as easy as you may think.”
Bonesteiner addressed Plackett. “One of Dr. Függer’s natural abilities is being able to persuade people and have them trust him. He’s also good at knowing people’s weaknesses and how to exploit them.”
“Sir,” Erik said, “those individuals we targeted had a hunger for information from on the U.S. Military and Intelligence. They fell for fabricated information. But we’re talking about Field Marshal Rommel. He has no weakness, or if he does, I haven’t found it.”
Bonesteiner turned to Erik. “Then how do you plan to persuade him?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is convincing him that the United States will join Germany in attacking Russia.”
“You’re serious about that?” Cole blurted out.
“I am, Admiral. That would be one thing he’d ask for. Then he’d broker a separate peace treaty.”
“That’ll never happen,” Plackett interjected.
“Exactly! So unless you know of another card we can play, I think we’re out of options.”
“Lie to him,” Cole said with a conspiratorial gesture.
“Lie? What if he calls our bluff? What then?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that now.” Cole’s lip curled slightly on one side. “We’re sure you’ll think of something, and we’ll have things in place to aid you.”
“Aid me?” Erik’s voice rose. “My God, do you realize that if this isn’t done carefully, with the least amount of resistance, we can royally screw things up?”
“Royally?” Cole asked.
“Yes, royally. I was trying to put it nicely.”
“So you are saying things could be—”
“Fucked up, if we’re not careful.”
Cole nodded. “We’re aware that things may not go as planned. That’s why you’ll have help.”
“Help? We’re talking about a time when the Gestapo was trying to find anyone who was involved in the plot to kill Hitler!”
“We are aware, but you needn’t worry about that.”
“Needn’t worry?” Erik asked, looking from one to the other in disbelief. “What, are you going to try to kill Hitler?”
“Your job,” Plackett restated firmly, “is to bring Field Marshal Rommel to General Bradley’s headquarters and not worry about Hitler. Clear?”