by Erik Foge
“Your Chief of Staff, Hans Speidel, claimed you had orders to start a military plot to overthrow Hitler. He said that to save his own life.”
Veins popped out from Rommel’s neck, and his hands balled up in fists. “That bastard! He’ll be sorry he crossed me.”
“Sir, I have a chance of saving you and you not being arrested.”
“How is that, Herr Major?” Rommel placed the paper on the table by his bed, next to his coffee and his book, The Tunnel, by Bernhard Kellermann. “How do I know you are not the Gestapo trying to make me say something?”
“I can assure you I’m not.”
“These days people are testing people to save their own lives.” He paused and collected his thoughts. “What makes you any different?”
“I’m trying to save your life. I gave you everything the Gestapo will use against you.” Erik pointed to the sheet to get his point across.
“So you said. But you have to do better than that, Herr Major, to convince me you are not Gestapo.”
“I didn’t want to tell you … but … I work for the OSS, US Intelligence. My job here is to take you to General Bradley’s Headquarters and try to end this war.”
Rommel’s eye widened. “American? OSS?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why would the OSS have an interest in rescuing me?”
“We want to end this war, just like you and the others in Operation Valkyrie.”
Rommel pointed at Erik. “You have no proof that I was a part of that, Herr Major,” he said in a scolding tone. “I disapprove of Stauffenberg’s actions.”
“If that’s so, why are you getting a defensive tone? I’m not here to argue whether you were or not.”
Rommel’s facial muscles tightened. “I can make a call right now, have you arrested by the SS as a spy, and have you killed.”
Erik leaned forward. “But you won’t, because you want to end this war as much as we do. So if you want to make your call, then do it.” He picked up the phone receiver and extended it to Rommel. “I don’t care, but Germany will be devastated if the war continues.”
Rommel ordered Lang to come in. He appeared at the doorway as Erik placed the receiver down. Rommel picked it up and began to dial. “You might have a two-minute head start before the Gestapo get to my room. I suggest you leave now if you want a chance to escape.”
“Herr Field Marshall, there is a chance that we can convince Eisenhower that America should help the Germans attack the Russians.”
Rommel placed down the receiver and glared at Erik. “How sure are you about that?”
“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t sure, and you’re wasting time.”
Rommel turned to Lang and ordered him to leave. “Why would Eisenhower go along with my demands?”
“I can tell you this. There are members of his staff, like Patton, who do not trust the Russians.”
Rommel tilted his head and considered for a moment. “You’re asking me to take a huge gamble. And I’m not at all sure I should trust you. Maybe you’re just telling me what I want to hear, and you’re a very clever member of the RSHA4.”
“Herr Field Marshall, are you willing to take that chance with your life?”
“Are you willing to take a chance with your life, Herr Major? Come now, you have to do better than that. Tell me something the RSHA would not know.” From the tone of his voice, Erik guessed that Rommel was losing his patience.
He strolled to the window, stared out, and racked his brain to find something to convince Rommel. After a moment, he smiled, remembering what Manfred Rommel, the Field Marshal’s son said in a book. He turned to Rommel. “How about Lu’s birthday gift this year?”
“What about it?”
“You bought her Italian made shoes and they were too small. I also know she didn’t like them.”
“How in the hell do you know that?” Rommel demanded, his face flushed.
“In the OSS we know everything.”
“You are with OSS? And with the Americans?” Rommel reconfirmed what he had heard earlier.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Lang, get in here!”
Lang threw open the door and marched straight to Rommel. “Yes, Sir.”
Rommel turned to Erik. “Will you excuse us, Herr Major?”
Erik nodded. “Yes, Sir.” He saluted, clicked his heels and walked out the room, wondered what Rommel would say to Lang in his absence.
“I do not trust him, Herr Field Marshal,” Lang said impassively.
“Based on recent events, I’m starting to believe him.”
“But, Sir, how do you know it’s not a setup by the Gestapo or RSHA?”
“He brought up Lu’s birthday gift.”
“The shoes?”
Rommel nodded.
“How in the hell did he know that?”
“I don’t know, but I know for a fact that RSHA wouldn’t know about that. Secondly, he’s American, and he’s given us another chance to make peace with them. It could be our last.”
“American? What if he was sent here to kill you?”
“If he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it already and taken you as well.” Rommel paused. “I’m going to take a leap of faith.”
“I must object, Herr Field Marshall. Why would the Americans send someone here to rescue you? It sounds suspicious.”
“Even if there is a slight chance that we can make peace with America and then convince Eisenhower to help us attack the Russians, we must take it. At this time, he’s our only option.”
“Herr Field Marshall, I still have to protest against this.”
“I’ve made my decision. Now, my final order to you is to protect my family and get them to a safe location until the war is over.” Rommel grabbed a blank sheet of paper and began to write a letter to his wife. “Get the major.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Erik paced up and down the hallway, like a father expecting a child. Sweat beaded on his skin as his tension built from not knowing what was going on inside the room. Erik rubbed his hands together to remove the moisture building up on his palms and wondered if he had done the right thing by telling Rommel who he worked for. Would Rommel really give him to the Gestapo as a spy? Two SS officers in their black uniforms walked down the corridor toward him, making the hair on the back of Erik’s neck stand up. He breathed deeply to remain calm beneath their glare, but he feared Rommel had made the call. If so, he would have to find a way to escape and might never return to 2008 and to Jamie. The door swung open, breaking the tension; it was Lang.
“He wants to speak to you.”
Erik walked in and heard the last bit of Rommel’s telephone conversation. “I know … I will … See you soon.”
Rommel stood and looked at Erik. “Major Függer, I believe you are correct. However, there is the issue of my family. Captain Lang has agreed to take them to a safe, undisclosed location until the war is over.”
“Excuse me, Sir, can I be informed of that location?”
Lang glanced at Rommel and without hesitation, Rommel replied, “No, you may not.”
Erik nodded. “Understood. We’ll leave when you’re ready, Sir.”
Rommel walked to the closet, pulled out his uniform and a fresh shirt, and headed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
Lang walked over to Erik and fixed him with a steely gaze. “If you’re not who you say you are, and you kill the field marshal, I will never forget your face, and I will hunt you down and kill you,” he said in a cold, threatening voice.
“I understand your point of view, but I’m not here to kill him. I’m here to save him.” Erik walked to the end table and reached for the sheet with the provisionary government flow chart. Accidentally, he knocked Rommel’s coffee, and it spilled onto the sheet. Erik quickly lifted the sheet so the coffee wouldn’t ruin it and was about to hand the paper to Lang when he noticed that there was no question mark by Speer’s name. He recalled the coffee-stained document he saw in 2008. Coul
d it be? “Did he show you this?” Erik asked Lang.
“He did.” Lang shrugged complacently. “It means nothing to me.”
“This proves they’ll arrest and kill him.”
Lang grabbed it, glanced over it, and then looked up, meeting Erik’s gaze. “Time will tell if you’re correct.” He handed it back to Erik, who placed it in his right tunic pocket.
“Just get his family to safety.”
Lang pointed at Erik. “You make sure he doesn’t get killed.”
Rommel interrupted their conversation. “Herr Captain.” Lang turned to Rommel and stood at attention. “Good luck, my friend.” Rommel extended his hand to meet Lang’s. “I hope to see you in the future.” He handed Lang two letters. “Give this letter to my wife, and the other to Manfred.”
“Yes, Sir. I hope to see you again, Herr Field Marshall.” Lang snapped a salute and clicked his heels.
Rommel returned the salute and then started packing his personal belongings.
Lang turned to Erik and saluted. “Take care, Herr Major, Alle Gute5.”
“You too, Herr Captain.”
Erik and Lang exchanged a nod and a handshake; then Lang walked out of the room, and Erik strolled over to the window.
“So Herr Major, are you working alone or in a team?” Rommel asked as he closed his suitcase.
Erik stared down at the parking lot. “Solo, but I’ll have help.” A black Mercedes Benz with an SS license plate pulled up at the entrance of the hospital. Erik glanced back at Rommel. “Sir, if we were able to get you to General Bradley’s Headquarters in Rennes, do you think we could end this war sooner?”
Rommel rubbed his chin, deliberating. “I would like to hope so. Are there other individuals doing the same thing as you?”
“I really don’t know, Sir.” A chill raced up Erik’s spine, leaving goosebumps on the back of his neck. He glanced out the window again. An SS officer with shark-like eyes and a sadistic grin now stood by the car. The SS officers who were in the hallway earlier were with him, pointing up in Erik’s direction. Erik vaguely recalled seeing those cold eyes before, and he realized it was the gentleman who was exiting from Bonesteiner’s office the day he gave his presentation. What’s he doing here? Erik’s eyes widened as a realization hit him. The red herring in black! It was the man in the photo that Jacques warned him about. The man suddenly raced into the hospital with the other SS men. Erik’s heart rate increased. Turning to Rommel, he ordered, “Sir, we need to leave now.”
Rommel frowned. “What’s wrong, Herr Major?”
“There’s no time to discuss that now,” Erik replied, heading for the door.
Rommel grabbed his suitcase and followed. Once in the hallway, Erik glanced right and left, looking for another set of elevators or stairs to make their escape. He saw Raquel strolling down the hallway with a huge smile, just like Jamie.
“Where are the stairs,” he called out, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt, “or a service elevator?”
She looked a little taken aback. “What’s wrong with the main elevators, the ones you used last time? Why can’t you use those? Wouldn’t they be easier?”
“No! Where are the stairs or a service elevator? Please.”
Though clearly shocked by his rudeness, she replied calmly, “The service elevator is all the way down the hallway on the right about ten meters past the nurses’ station.”
“Thank you, Raquel.”
She smiled. “You’re very welcome. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Rommel and Erik, his heart pounding, raced down the hallway, navigating through people who stopped and stood rigid as they ran by. The echo of their shoes bounced off the walls and ceiling. Aware that he had no idea what was behind every corner and in every room, Erik squinted into the distance, trying to see where he was going.
Rommel stopped at the nurse’s station, leaning on it to catch his breath. “Do you know where you’re going?”
Erik glanced around for the elevator. “She said it was by the nurses’ station.”
A high-pitch bell sounded just as Erik discovered the elevator around a corner. “Come on,” he called to Rommel, waving him on. The elevator doors slowly crept open, exposing an individual inside. Erik unbuttoned his holster and reached for his Luger. His hands began to sweat and he heard his heart beating in his ears. The doors finally opened. A man stepped out, raised his hands and headed for cover at the sight of Erik’s Luger. Erik realized the man was a hospital orderly and released a huge sigh, knowing they were safe for the time being.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Rommel asked.
Erik nodded and motioned for Rommel to get in. Once inside, he pressed the number one button firmly, and while the elevator descended, he took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on an escape route. Once on the first floor, after checking the hallway for anything suspicious, he and Rommel exited. They walked down several hallways, then came upon the loading docks at the back of the hospital. Erik analyzed every foot of the dock, looking for a vehicle in which to escape.
“Where’s your vehicle?” Rommel asked. “Do you have one?”
“Yes Sir, I do. It’s in front of the hospital.” At least he hoped it was. Erik and Rommel made their way to the front of the hospital, Erik checked to made sure they were not seen by the Gestapo. Once out front, Erik desperately scanned the parking lot. With relief, he recognized the soldier who’d brought him to the hospital leaning against the Kübelwagen, having a smoke.
Erik strolled toward him. “Private, I need this car.”
“Excuse me, Sir?”
“I’m taking your car and the keys. Now!” Erik extended his hand.
“Keys, Sir? I don’t have any keys.”
“What’re you talking about? You must be able to start the car somehow!”
“Sir, I use the primer and the choke,” the private said, completely baffled.
Erik’s anger grew. “The what?”
The private pointed to the dashboard inside the Kübelwagen. Erik leaned forward and saw the buttons to which he was referring. You have to be kidding me! No keys! Damn it, that’s right, key ignition doesn’t come out until 1948. Erik looked to the heavens. Sorry dad, I forgot you told me. Trying not to sound like a complete idiot, he asked, “How do you start the Kübelwagen?”
“Well Sir, you press the primer several times.” The private pointed to the primer. “Next you pull the choke.”
Erik motioned Rommel to get in, and while Rommel placed his belongings in the back seat, Erik walked over to the SS’s black Mercedes, aimed his Luger and shot two tires flat. Then he walked back to the Kübelwagen, placed the Lugar in the holster, got in, and noticed an MP-44 in the back seat. Erik pulled out the choke and the engine cranked over. He placed his foot on the accelerator, the air-cooled engine revved up, and the car lunged forward. Erik took one last glance at the hospital and saw the man from the black Mercedes staring back at him from Rommel’s room. Even from this distance, Erik felt the coldness in the man’s gaze.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Rommel asked.
“Audrieu, France.”
Rommel’s eye widened. “That’s in Normandy, you are aware of that?”
“Yes, Sir, I am.”
“You are aware it’s not going to be easy getting there.”
“Trust me, Herr Field Marshal, you have no idea how many times I’ve pondered the same things you’re expressing.” Erik pulled out the map of Northern France and handed it to Rommel. “If you have any suggestions, I’m all attention.”
“It is not the Gestapo or our troops that bother me. It is the French resistance and the Steel Weather.”
“Steel Weather?” Erik asked as he navigated down the streets.
“Yes, Steel Weather. You know the Allies have complete air supremacy, and they strafe all our vehicles on the roads. It would be best if we travel at night or on roads that have a lot of cover.”
“I agree. I just wish I was driving my Phaeton,�
�� Erik replied without thinking.
“What is a Phaeton?”
“You know, it’s Volkswagen’s …” Erik suddenly realized that he was talking about a car that didn’t exist yet and hadn’t even been thought of. “Ah … new prototype.”
“Ferdinand Porsche is designing a new automobile? I’ve not heard of this.”
Erik tried to put an end to the conversation. “Well, in a way.”
Rommel shot off questions like an inventor wanting to know more about his experiment. “In a way? What way? Do you know the specifications of the Phaeton?”
“It’s bigger and faster than Kfz 17,” Erik replied, once again not thinking about what he said, then he realized that he made it worse. He needed to do damage control and fast.
“How big and how fast does it go?” Rommel asked.
“Almost twice the size, and it can go 140 miles per hour.”
“140 miles per hour! My God, Porsche has outdone itself!”
Erik mentally kicked himself and tried to correct his mistake. “I meant to say, 140 kilometers per hour. Don’t worry about Phaeton. Let’s focus on something else.”
“I would like to continue our discussion on the Phaeton. That speed is amazing! What else do you know about it? Does Reich Marshal Speer know about it?”
“Mmm … No, I don’t think he does.”
Erik saw an isolated petrol station on the outskirts of town and pulled in. The old wooden structure of weathered white paint on horizontal boards had a single paned window and open door. A single early twentieth-century gas pump stood in the center of a loose gravel driveway, which crackled under the tires as they drove up. An old man peered out the window. Erik climbed out as a half dozen Sdkfz 251/1 half-tracks, a Sdkfz 7 fitted with quadruple-barreled Flakvierling 20mm anti-aircraft guns, and a Tiger I tank rolled by. The metal tracks and road wheels made a high-pitch metallic squeak each time the wheels rotated. One of the Sdkfz 251/1’s half-tracks barreled in and kicked up gravel like shrapnel from a grenade. Its metallic brakes squealed as it came to a halt. Waffen SS troops, the elite of the German ground forces, poured out of the sides, like rats escaping a barn on fire, and walked around to stretch their legs. Erik overheard some of them saying brozen6 and Wüstenfuchs7. Several nodded at Erik, and he nodded back. An SS lieutenant approached and saluted him.