by Erik Foge
“Have you run into any Steel Weather, Herr Major?”
“Not since this morning.”
“Did you get hit?”
Erik nodded.
“Thank God, we’ve had nothing yet. Goering needs to get the Luftwaffe to stop the Allied strafing.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. Excuse me.” Erik turned and strolled over to the shack.
“Herr Major?” The lieutenant called. Erik turned his head. “Which way are you headed?”
“North,” Erik said.
The lieutenant grinned. “We’re headed in the same direction. We’ll give you cover.”
Erik grinned. “Sounds good, thank you.” Erik walked into the structure where the old man sat scowling on a stool behind a counter with his tanned, leather-skinned arms crossed against his chest.
“Sir, can you turn on the pump?” Erik asked. “We need some petrol.”
“Haven’t you Germans already taken enough from our country?” the old man asked bitterly. Anger simmered in his foggy blue eyes.
Erik felt the tension in the air, walked to the door and closed it, then turned to face the old man. “Listen. I know how you feel.”
“Do you, major?” the man snapped and pointed an accusing finger. “In my lifetime Germany has invaded my country two times.” He leaned forward. “You’re too young to remember The Great War and what your countrymen did.”
“I know what happened. And the faster we refuel,” Erik pointed in the direction of the fuel pump, “the faster we can leave.”
“I hope all you Germans die,” he muttered under his breath.
Erik leaned even closer, stared into the man’s intense blue eyes, and whispered in English, “Good thing I’m not German. On a final note, Paris will be liberated on the twenty-fifth of August. Now, turn on the pump.”
The old man stared at Erik as if he were a ghost. His fingers trembled as they flipped the switch that turned on the fuel pump’s electric generator. The door swung open. Erik turned to look at the soldier coming in.
“Sir…”
“The pump is on, start refueling.”
“Yes, Sir.” The soldier left and closed the door.
“Are you an American spy?” the old man stuttered.
“No, just an analyst.”
“Then how do you know about Paris?”
Erik grabbed a postcard off the counter. “Just say I have an insight.” Then he strolled to the door.
“Major,” the old man called, getting Erik’s attention one last time, “if what you said is true about Paris, you’ll be a hero of France.”
Erik shook his head and thought he had never seen himself as a hero. “Have a good day.”
Erik walked to the Kübelwagen. Men started to climb back in the half-tracks.
“Herr Major,” the Lieutenant said, “you’re all fueled up, and we’re ready to move.”
“Thank you, Herr Lieutenant.” Erik climbed into the Kübelwagen, turned over the engine and drove off as the half-tracks followed; each had two men stationed by heavy machine guns. “Well at least we have some support from Steel Weather,” Erik said.
“That’s true.” Rommel sighs. “I just hope we don’t run into it.”
Erik placed the postcard on the dashboard and focused on the road ahead.
“Tell me more about the Phaeton,” Rommel said.
Erik rolled his eyes and wished he’d never brought it up. “Isn’t there anything else you’d like to talk about?” Erik stared at the Eiffel Tower on the postcard and wondered what Jamie was doing.
* * *
4. Reichssicherheitshauptamt (Reich Main Security Office or Reich Security Head Office)
5. All the best, good luck. A phrase often, no doubt, poking cheerily before comrades set off on a semi-suicidal mission
6. A phase commonly used in similar context to American “Brass” high ranking military officers
7. A nickname bestowed to Erwin Rommel aka The Desert Fox.
7. JAMIE REMEMBERS
“Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart.”
— Author Unknown
Washington, D.C.
Jamie sat at her desk in the Records Department, staring at Erik’s picture and a postcard of the Eiffel Tower. She picked up the framed black and white photograph of Erik dressed in 1940’s attire, standing by a Tucker 48 and rubbed her fingers down the glass, wishing she could feel him. “I love you, babe. Be safe wherever you are,” she whispered to herself.
“So Erik wasn’t able to take you to Paris?” a voice said from behind her.
Jamie swung around to face her co-worker, Sarah. “No. He had to go on a business trip for the museum. It was a last-minute thing.” She wiped her hand across her eyes and sat on the edge of her chair.
Sarah shook her head. “No surprise there.” It was not the first time she had heard something similar from Jamie. “How can you stand it? You can do so much better than Erik.”
“I won’t leave him.”
“Why?” Sarah asked in disbelief. “And why not date a guy around your age, someone who can spend more time with you?”
Jamie’s gaze blazed with determination. “Because I love him. Obviously! I still remember the first time we met—so handsome and such a gentleman.” Jamie crossed her arms.
“You were in college, right?”
Jamie shook her head. “Just before I graduated high school.” She paused, remembering the day. “I wanted to date him, but he didn’t. So I prayed that one day I’d meet him again, and I did when I was a senior in college.”
“How much older is he?
“Thirteen years.”
“That’s creepy.” Sarah looked as if she had a bad taste of heartburn. “He’s like, almost double your age!” She pointed to Erik’s photo. “He looks like someone from the 1940’s. Why not date a guy from the twenty-first century?”
Jamie looked at Erik’s photo, shook her head and smiled. “That’s why I love him.”
“Really? I don’t get it.”
“He treats me with respect, and he loves me for me.”
Sarah shrugged. “Look, I’m just trying to be a friend. I don’t like to see you hurt, and I know you can do better than Erik.” She raised an eyebrow and gave a cheeky smile. “I know a couple of hot guys who’d love to meet you.”
“No. I’m happy with Erik!” Jamie jabbed her finger at Sarah, emphasizing each word. “He’s my soul mate, and I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks. So don’t ever talk bad about the man I love! Okay?”
“Fine. Whatever. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Sure.” Jamie and Sarah walked out of their office on the third sub-level of the Pentagon and headed to the elevator. They bustled out of the building, got into Sarah’s car, and raced to dinner in rush-hour traffic. While Sarah drove to the restaurant, Jamie told her about her second meeting with Erik three years ago, in 2005 at the National Museum of American History.
“Welcome to the National Museum of American History,” the director of the museum said, “I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Függer. He’ll be your guide at the museum today.” He shook Erik’s hand and left him with my history class of seniors from Georgetown University.
I stood in back with some of my friends while my classmates stood passively, most of them trying to stay awake. I, of course, was one of the interested ones. We walked through Transportation Hall, and he pointed out the 1898 Washington, D.C., electric streetcar and Ford Model T and talked about how technology had evolved throughout the decades. I built up my courage, raised my hand and asked how fast the Model T went. He explained that it traveled up to fifteen miles per hour at top speed, but that was pushing it because the cars shook violently at ten miles per hour and the transmission fell out at fifteen miles per hour. Most of my class laughed, but I just stood and admired him.
“Was the Model T used in Europe?” I asked quietly in my sweetest voice. He squinted, having a tough time hearing my question—
which was my intention—and he asked me my name and would I please repeat my question. I moved to the front of the crowd and stared into his amazing blue eyes. As soon as our eyes met, I knew he remembered me, but he acted perfectly normal.
“My name is Jamie, and I asked if the Model T was used in Europe.”
“No, they had their own cars,” he replied with a perfect textbook answer.
“What kind did they use?” I asked, knowing that some in my class were rolling their eyes.
“Mercedes-Benz, to name one.”
“Wow!” I shot him a wink, trying to make him fumble on his words. “Did all people drive them?” It didn’t work; Erik was a true professional.
“No,” he replied. “Only the very wealthy. Taxi companies used horse and buggies, as did most of the population. This was not uncommon in 1889, which is when the Eiffel Tower first opened.”
I smiled and he grinned back at me. The tour continued, and Erik talked about the other artifacts, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. I loved the way he made history interesting. My friends tried to break the spell he had on me with nudges and giggles, but I was mesmerized and absorbed everything he said. The tour came to an end, and now free to walk around the museum, the rest of my class scattered. I stayed behind and approached Erik, but the museum director got to him first. I waited while they talked.
“Erik, my old friend,” The director said. “Thank you very much for helping me out.”
“Not a problem, Alan, really. I enjoyed doing it.”
Alan started to walk off, then stopped and turned back. “Do you still report directly to Bonesteiner?”
Erik nodded.
“Tell the admiral thank you for letting you come out on short notice.”
“I will.”
“Good to see you again. Just like the old days. Thanks again.”
Erik waved, then turned to face me. I couldn’t stop smiling at him. He looked so amazing in his suit, like something out of a gangster film.
“Hi, Erik,” I said before he could say one word, “I see you’re still making history interesting, just like the first time we met.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Can I ask you a few more questions?” I twirled a strand of hair around my index finger, still smiling.
“Okay,” Erik replied, cautiously.
“What’s the I.C.? Is that another job you have?”
Erik looked a little taken back. “Ah … Interstate College.”
“So you teach history now?”
“From time to time.”
“Do you have time to tell me about the Eiffel Tower?” I asked. Erik pulled out his pocket watch, checked the time, and nodded. “That’s a neat watch. Can I see it?”
He held it out to me and I stepped closer. I could feel him getting nervous. “So you want to know about the Eiffel Tower?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” I replied, with a seductive look.
“Okay. Imagine you’re in Paris on the thirty-first of March, 1889—”
“No. Let’s imagine we’re both there together.” I smiled.
“Okay then, we take a taxi, which was a carriage back then, from the hotel to the World’s Fair, where the Eiffel Tower, the ‘Three-hundred Metric Tower,’ was officially opened.” Erik made the sounds of a horse galloping on cobblestone and reached into his pocket. “Once there, I’d ask you how much of a tip you want to give.” Erik looked at me and waited for me to respond.
“A good tip.”
Erik nodded. “Then I’d pull out twenty-five centime coins for the fair and a ten centime coin for the tip.”
“Was that good for back then?”
“Yes, for 1889.”
“Please continue.”
“In front of you are the flags of all the countries represented at the World’s Fair. You look to your right and see a huge globe of the world. On the left, you see a Ferris wheel. We make our way to the Eiffel Tower, along walkways filled with curious, enthusiastic people. Protestors who want the tower removed mingle with the crowd, carrying petitions. Fistfights break out around the tower, and you hear rumors that the French Government thinks it’ll cause riots in the streets. Near the tower, we see a line of people waiting to get tickets.” Erik stopped and looked at me. I was daydreaming, imagining what it would be like if we were there together during that time period. Erik grinned and continued, saying that we finally get to the cashier, and he asks what level we want to go to.
“The very top!” I replied.
“Then we’ll go to the very top. Going to the first floor will cost two francs each; for the second level, it will cost three francs each; and finally, if we go to the very top it will cost five francs each. I pay the attendant and we head to the elevators where we wait once again. Eventually, we get to the very top and look at Paris.” Erik finished his story, and all I could do was smile ear to ear.
“That was exciting.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Erik grinned back.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
Erik nodded.
I had to know since I hadn’t seen him for two years. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He chuckled a little. “No, I don’t.”
“Really? Still? Why?” I asked, a little shocked. I thought he would’ve had one by then, but I was excited to know he wasn’t taken.
“Because I work a lot of long and often different hours, and sometimes I have to leave on business trips on short notice. That makes it hard to maintain a stable relationship.”
I decided to take a chance. “I know a girl willing to put up with that. And she has been waiting for two years,” I said, my heart beating faster at my boldness.
He raised an eyebrow—oh so cute. “Really? Do you now?”
“Yes, I do.” I flashed him a fragile smile and invaded his personal space.
He drew back a little but didn’t step away. “Who might that be?”
I didn’t know if he was playing hard to get or he really couldn’t pick up my hints. So I laid it all out for him. “She’s standing right in front of you.”
“Oh boy,” he said under his breath.
“What time do you get off work?” I asked. A friend called my name, breaking the spell somewhat. I did my best to ignore it.
“Eighteen hundred.”
“Huh? What’s eighteen hundred?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, six o’clock.”
“Great, so you can see me cheer tonight.”
Erik frowned—a cute confused look. “Excuse me, Jamie? Cheer? What?”
“Yeah, you know, cheerleading?” I said, sounding like I did when I cheered.
Erik tilted his head and raised one eyebrow higher than the other. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
My heart sank, but I wasn’t about to give up. “You said that last time we met.” I stepped even closer. “But I think it’d be a great idea. I want you to come. I’m inviting you, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“No pressure, huh? Why do you want me to see you cheer?”
“Because I think you’re cute.” I gave him the biggest smile and stared at him, batting my eyes, trying to make it impossible for him to say no.
“Cute. Right. I guess that made all the difference.” Erik shook his head and I wished I could tell what he was thinking.
Again my friend yelled my name and got louder as she approached. I had to respond.
“Jamie, we need to go,” she said as she started to pull me away. “The bus is leaving in a few minutes.” I didn’t move. I didn’t want to go; I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Erik. “Come on.” She yanked on my arm, but before I left I asked Erik, “Are you going to come to the Verizon Center?”
I could see he was thinking about it. “Yes, I’ll come.”
I nearly squealed with delight, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. “Great; see you then! By the way, I’ll leave you a ticket at the box office. One-Four-Three-Seven!” I waved, then allowed
myself to be dragged off to the bus.
The Verizon Center was filled with screaming fans in school colors, cheering on their teams. The players on the basketball court, ignoring the crowd, focused on executing a combination of offensive and defensive maneuvers against their opponents. The rest of the cheerleading squad and I stood by the basketball hoop, just past the end line, cheering on our players and motivating our fans. I looked up and saw Erik standing at the entrance in his three-piece-suit and that amazing fedora hat. He looked around the arena, trying to find his seat. As he walked down the stairs, my eyes met his, and all I could do was smile, wave frantically, and yell his name to get his attention.
One of my fellow cheerleaders leaned toward me. “Who are you yelling at?”
“Him!” I pointed in Erik’s direction just as he looked at me. Again I waved; Erik waved back, then found his seat.
“The guy in the hat?”
“Yes! Isn’t he handsome? He’s smart, too.”
“I guess. Who is he?”
“My boyfriend.”
The other girls in my squad shook their heads in disbelief and rolled their eyes, all while they continued cheering. But I didn’t care what they thought. It was fun seeing Erik watch the game. He seemed to be analyzing it, like an NBA scout. I couldn’t stop staring at him.
At halftime, the fans got up to stretch their legs and get refreshments. I saw Erik stroll down the stairs and I raced up to meet him and gave him a big hug.
“Hey, I’m glad you made it.”
“Not a problem. Would you like to get something to drink?”
“Yes.” I locked arms with Erik as if he were escorting me to my prom, and we headed up the stairs and toward the concession stand. The girls in my squad gave me bewildered looks, but I didn’t care.
We exchanged small talk until interrupted by his cell phone. “Excuse me,” he said and took the call.
I heard only one side of the conversation.
“Yes … I’m fine, Gary. Are things good with you? Yes, I know about Germany... I can’t really talk now, though … because I’m at a basketball game …Yes, I know it’s weird, but I was invited … a friend … To be honest with you, I really don’t know who’s playing.”