by Erik Foge
A sudden noise jolted Erik awake, eyes fully alert. As he struggled through the pain from his cracked ribs, he sat awkwardly and glanced toward Rommel. The field marshal was already up and stared in his direction. Artillery fire sounds were in the distance. Erik grabbed the Luger, placed it in the holster, and picked up Jamie’s photo. He rubbed his swollen, bloodshot eyes to get the sleep out, then pushed against the wall and mustered all his strength to stand. He failed, fell back, and winced at the pain. Rommel came to his aid. Erik balled up his fists, his knuckles turned white, and with determination and Rommel’s help, he made it to his feet.
“Morning, Erik, how are your ribs and knee?”
“They hurt, Sir.” Erik tossed his hands up in a show of disgust, then he thanked Rommel for his assistance. Erik took several deep breaths to focus and built up momentum. He hobbled to the Kübelwagen and maneuvered himself into the driver’s seat. He pulled out his identification papers, opened them, and was about to put Jamie’s photo in when he saw a small piece of paper—his fortune from the time he and Jacques had had lunch. It read:
You are bound to travel on one way roads.
Erik shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that his fortune had come true. Rommel opened the door to the Kübelwagen and joined him inside.
Rommel turned to Erik and handed him a folded piece of paper. “This is a list of individuals who are in Hitler’s inner circle and general staff we can rely on to help us.” Erik took the paper and placed it in the lower right pocket of his tunic while Rommel waited. “This one is for you,” he said when Erik looked up again. He handed him another note. “Do not open it unless we don’t succeed. Understood?” Erik nodded and tucked the paper in a different pocket. “Now let’s get going.”
The Kübelwagen drove through a damp, cool morning; its headlights slashed through the darkness, and small arms and artillery fire could be heard in the distance.
“Sir, did you sleep well?” Erik asked while he concentrated on the road.
Rommel stretched in his seat. “Yes, thank you. Did you?”
Erik shook his head.
“Hopefully, when we get to Bradley’s headquarters they will give you better medical attention.”
“I’m hoping that, too.”
Erik turned on a flashlight and peered down. “Looking at the map, it appears we’ll get there in just under an hour, around 0700 or 0730.” He looked up and around; the artillery seemed closer than before. “That is if everything goes well. But that doesn’t mean anything. Who knows what’s ahead of us? We’re stuck between the lines.”
“We’re taking a big gamble,” Rommel said.
“I will agree with you on that” Erik replied. “Tell me, is there anyone you don’t trust on the Allied side?”
“The politicians. They look for personal gain, not the interest of the people of Germany or Germany itself. Politicians have been that way in every war in history, and I expect it will be the same in the future.”
“What do you plan to tell Eisenhower?” Erik asked.
“We must not repeat what the Allies did at the end of The Great War. Also, I would advise him that the Russians are a threat to Europe and possibly America.”
“I agree. Let’s hope we see eye-to-eye and not give a wrong answer.”
* * *
11. What the Germans call World War One.
13. WRONG ANSWER
“Yes, the past can hurt but the way I see it you can either run from it or learn from it.
— Author Unknown
Rennes, France
Erik secured a pole with a white flag attached to the Kübelwagen and got back in the car.
“You have my letter and the other document?” Rommel asked.
Erik nodded. Both men were deeply suspicious, but not of each other. Rommel was suspicious of the Americans and their terms for peace and Germany’s future in the post-war years. Erik was suspicious of what else Cole and Plackett had planned. It was not over yet.
“Ready, Herr Field Marshal?”
“I am.”
Erik drove slowly down the road to the château that housed General Bradley’s headquarters while Rommel adjusted his uniform that made himself more presentable. In the distance, Erik saw a guard post with three soldiers who were talking and smoking. As he closed the distance, the soldiers’ eyes and relaxed bodies became alerted, like sharks that sensed blood and movement in the water. Erik turned off the headlights and slowed the Kübelwagen to a crawl. The soldiers lifted their guns and squinted down the barrels, their trigger fingers ready to fire.
Once within yelling distance, a soldier barked out orders: “Stop your vehicle! Do it now!” They cocked their guns and fired warning shots in the air. “This is your last warning! Stop your vehicle or die!” Erik stopped the Kübelwagen. He and Rommel raised their hands.
Rommel turned to Erik. “I don’t believe they’re expecting us.” Erik nodded. “It might help if you tell them you’re American.”
“Might is the key word,” Erik said. “Being in a German uniform might work against me.”
The soldiers quickly surrounded the car, their eyes fixed upon Erik and Rommel. “Keep your hands up, you Nazis!”
Erik studied his surroundings. Two soldiers stood on each side of the Kübelwagen, and one stood on point.
“Get out of the vehicle now!” the soldier on point yelled.
Erik and Rommel slowly exited the Kübelwagen.
The two soldiers grabbed Erik and Rommel and threw them to the ground, like trash being tossed into a dumpster. Erik landed on his bad knee. Pain shot from it to every part of his body. The soldiers patted him down and took his Luger.
“Who are you?” The soldier at point barked out the question.
Erik glanced up at him. “Erik Függer, I’m with the OSS.”
“You speak good English for being a Nazi!”
“I am not a Nazi,” Erik protested. “I’m an OSS operative, with Field Marshal Rommel.”
The soldier behind Erik grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head up so he could see his face. “Speak when you are spoken to, you Nazi!”
The soldier on point continued his questioning. “What are you doing here!?”
“We are here to see and speak to General Bradley.”
“General Bradley?”
“Yes.”
The soldier leaned back, looking suspicious, and folded his arms across his chest. “How in the hell do you know the general is here?” He squatted, pulled out his pistol, and rubbed it against Erik’s temple.
“As I said before, I’m Erik Függer; I’m with the OSS.”
“Why do you want to see the general?”
Erik noticed that the soldier had his finger on the trigger. “I can’t discuss that matter in front of an enlisted man.”
The soldier hovered over Erik, planted his foot in the middle of his back, and placed the barrel to his head. “If you want to live, you Nazi, you will tell me the real reason for you being here!”
In training, Erik had been taught that there are several different kinds of interrogations. Being captured in the field can be one of the easier ones to deal with because you can tell a story. Storytelling will keep you alive until you find a way to escape, and it keeps your captor listening so they ask fewer questions. Then again, sometimes it’s not that easy, not with a captor who’s willing to kill you if you give them a reason.
“We’re here to talk to General Bradley about a peace treaty. Now get the officer on duty on the phone and tell him we’re here,” Erik demanded.
“Listen here, you Nazi,” the squatted soldier replied with a disgusted tone. He cocked the gun and pressed the barrel into Erik’s temple, “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
Erik stared into his eyes without a flinch and said nothing. The soldier got up and started to search the Kübelwagen. During his search, he retrieved the MP 44 and the few clips. Then he strolled back to the staff car, placed the weapon in the back seat, and picked up the radio. Erik tried
to focus on the conversation.
“Command, this is gate one.” A few seconds went by and the soldier tried again. “Command, this is gate one.”
A static voice came over the radio: “Go ahead, gate one. This is Captain Cerberus.”
“Sir, this is Sergeant Court. I have two Nazi officers wanting to speak to the general.”
“Is that right, Sergeant? Who are they?”
“Field Marshal Rommel and Erik Függer. He claims to be an OSS agent. They are talking about some peace treaty.”
“Are they alone?”
“It appears they are, Sir. I don’t see or hear anything.”
“Stay alert; it could be a decoy. I’ll send someone out for them and to secure the perimeter.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sergeant, make the one claiming to be an OSS agent feel comfortable if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, Sir, I do.” Court grinned, squinted his eyes and rubbed his hands together. “Stand that Nazi up.” He cracked his knuckles and loosened his neck muscles by rotating his head and rolled his shoulders. Erik stood, took shallow breaths, and prepared for what was coming next. The soldier slowly walked toward Erik and sized him up.
“Put your hands up, you Nazi.”
Erik placed his hands above his head and stared directly into Court’s menacing eyes. Then Erik swiftly found himself on the receiving end of a combination of well-placed punches to his gut that knocked the wind from him. Erik cringed in pain, and the soldier laughed. In the near distance, the humming sound of motors and squeaking tracks slowly grew louder. Eventually, several M3 half-tracks and jeeps appeared. Vehicles filled with armed men passed on by and then headed down the road in different directions to secure and protect the flanks. One jeep stopped and the crew got out. The soldiers showed their displeasure of Germans by their looks and verbal complaints. Then they approached Erik.
“Pick that Nazi up,” a soldier barked. Next, he stared at Rommel. “Put that one in the Jeep.”
Then he turned and focused on Erik. He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Erik’s head. Erik, with his hands on his head, felt his eyes on him, but he stood like a blank slate and looked straight ahead.
“Most people flinch when they have a gun pointed at them,” the soldier said in a taunting voice, “but it appears you do not. Why is that?” Erik leaned his head forward, so the barrel of the pistol touched his forehead. “Can you speak English, you Nazi?” Erik nodded. “Yes or no!” The soldier howled with a veiny throat.
“Yes.”
“I heard you claim to be in the OSS. By the looks of you, you do not look like you can knock off the wings of a fly.” Spit hit Erik in the face, but he ignored it. “Get in the jeep.”
The soldier behind Erik gave him a shove and cocked his submachine gun. Erik saw Rommel in the front seat and, with his bad knee, struggled to get in the back. The jeep moved off and slowly approached the château. Erik casually glanced at his surroundings. At least the trip was over. But he would never, ever get back to 2008, and he would spend his life without Jamie.
“What are you staring at, you Nazi?” the soldier barked.
Erik glanced at him and shook his head. A lone soldier with a Thompson submachine gun stood at the entrance of the château, his eyes transfixed on the jeep. Oddly, the waiting soldier stared intently at Erik.
Rommel tilted his head and whispered to Erik, “Remember what I told you.”
Erik nodded.
The soldier smacked the back of Rommel’s head. “Shut up, you Nazi!”
The lone soldier, by the château, moved his hands as if he prepared to fire his weapon.
“Soldier …” Erik said as he stared at the lone soldier.
The soldier shook his head casually. A malevolent grin appeared on his face. He slowly walked down the steps and raised the submachine gun. A chill raced up Erik’s spine.
“Soldier behind you!” Erik exclaimed as the lone soldier aimed his weapon.
A spray of bullets flew across the jeep; they impaled everything in their path. Blood and flesh danced in the air. The jeep took a hard right and slowly came to a halt, the driver dead. Erik’s eyes widened in horror. The soldier beside him was hunched over with blood pouring out of multiple exit wounds.
The lone soldier pulled out his empty magazine and loaded another while he moved closer to the jeep. Erik shook Rommel’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond. Erik glanced up and saw the soldier raising his weapon. His cold gray eyes stared directly at Erik above a satanic grin. The soldier fired. Erik rolled over the side of the jeep and landed on his injured knee. A lightning bolt of pain surged through his body. Glass shattered as bullets flew, and the air rang with the dull sound of bullets that penetrated metal.
Erik leaned against the rear tire and gathered the strength to talk. “I’m an OSS agent. I’m on your side!”
The Thomson Submachine Gun stopped. Erik took a few deep breaths and tried to stand, but the soldier saw Erik trying to stick his head up and fired again. Erik ducked and crawled to the front of the jeep. He heard Rommel’s last words.
“Don’t let this change the future of the war.”
Erik leaned against the front tire and hoped that others heard what was going on and would come out. “I spent my life working for the agency and sold my soul under an oath, and I’m still in the dark.” He grabbed the front bumper of the jeep with his left hand and slowly tried to get up. He heard heavy breathing and looked up. The soldier hovered over him with a Thomson Submachine Gun at point blank range. Jamie’s face flashed into Erik’s mind. “I love you, Jamie,” he whispered.
Erik stared at the soldier and the soldier stared back. “You were never to get this far, Dr. Függer.” Then he pulled the trigger and … nothing.
Erik’s eyes widened. He realized this was another operative from the Phoenix Group, mainly because the soldier knew his name and knew he was coming. The soldier tried to fire again, and again nothing happened. He turned the gun around, held it like a baseball bat and swung it and struck Erik across his right temple. Erik reeled backward and felt the early stages of a blackout coming on. He used all his strength, scrambled his way out, and gripped the bumper bar with his fingers. Without warning, the butt of the gun smashed down onto Erik’s fingers. The sound of cracked broken bones filled Erik’s ears and pain exploded through his body.
“Time to die,” the operative said.
“Fuck you.” Erik glanced up. “If you had the guts, you’d put a gun to my head and finish your mission.”
The operative pulled out his pistol, pointed it at Erik’s head and grinned. “You’ll be remembered by a star, like the other two analysts before you.”
“Come on, do it! I’ve nothing to lose, you son of a bitch!”
Cerberus pulled the hammer back.
A loud, high-pitched scream stopped the moment. “Stop! Stop! He’s one of ours! Stop!”
The operative looked over his shoulder. A large group of enlisted men ran toward him.
“Drop your weapon, soldier, and step away from the prisoner!” General Bradley ordered.
The operative stared at Erik, and he stared back while machine guns were being cocked and footsteps raced closer. Erik mustered his strength and shoved the operative hard. He discharged his weapon, barely missing Erik.
“Drop your weapon!” a soldier barked.
With a dozen Thomson Submachine Guns pointed directly at him, the operative realized he was too late, that he had failed at his mission to kill Erik. Now he had to come up with another plan to get Erik killed. Erik was helped to his feet and pushed in the direction of General Bradley and his staff.
“Bring that prisoner over,” Bradley demanded. While Bradley waited, a female officer handed him two military dossiers. “Lieutenant, I don’t have time to read these.”
She insisted they were important because they dealt with the two gentlemen headed in his direction. Bradley took a deep sigh, quickly read, and then glanced at the photographs. He looked at
Erik and the operative, then back at the photos and back up at them.
Erik stared at the lieutenant. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t dare to hope that he saw what he thought he saw.
Bradley turned to her. “Lieutenant, where did you get this information?”
“I’m with the OSS. I’m under the command of the gentleman wearing the German uniform.” She even sounded like Jamie.
“And the other?”
“Cerberus is a German agent.”
Bradley stepped forward and stared at Cerberus. “Captain, you have some explaining to do.”
“Sir, this German officer,” he looked to his right, “is claiming that he and Field Marshal Rommel were here to do a separate peace treaty with Germany. In reality, he was going to assassinate you.”
Bradley looked at Erik. “What’s your story?”
“I’m Erik Függer, an OSS operative. My mission was to bring Field Marshal Rommel to your headquarters. From there we were to start the process of a separate peace treaty from the Russians,” Erik said while he looked at the operative, Cerberus. “However, we were ambushed by your captain, killing two of your men and Field Marshal Rommel…”
“Your men?” Cerberus interrupted rudely. “They’re your men who were going to help you kill the general. Good thing I outsmarted you English speaking Germans.”
Cerberus and Erik volleyed back and forth, each one giving his version of the truth, explaining what had just happened and accusing one another. Bradley, like a judge in a courtroom, listened to both sides of the story.
Erik and Jamie’s eyes met. She smiled and gave him a little nod, and assured him that it really was her. Erik realized that she had traveled back in time. Bonesteiner and Greg, his contact in ONE, must have done it without Cole knowing. She stared at him with glistening eyes, and Erik realized what she saw: his battered face, his left hand dripped in blood, fingers mangled, and left knee injured. She clicked her heels subtly like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, glanced at Cerberus, and looked at the dossiers Bradley held. Erik quickly put two and two together: Jamie set up Cerberus as a German agent. He grinned discretely and knew he had to set a trap for Cerberus.