by Erik Foge
Erik drew her into an embrace and kissed her as if they were never going to see each other again. She responded in kind and melted into him, relieved that the Erik she knew and loved was back.
Eventually, they strolled back to their hotel room. Once inside, they cuddled in bed and she rubbed his back.
Erik’s last thought before he drifted off to sleep was how wonderful her back rubs were. A knock on the door awakened him with a start, alert in a moment, as he drew his pistol and headed for the door. He signaled Jamie to open it and pointed the pistol at the middle of the opening.
“Hello,” a deep, French-accented voice said.
Erik revealed himself, and even though he recognized Valensky, he kept the pistol pointed at his head.
“May I come in?” Valensky asked.
Erik grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him in and threw him in a chair. “How did you find me?”
“You forget who I work for? Don’t you trust me?”
“I don’t know, should I?” Erik aimed the pistol, as he started to squeeze the trigger. Behind him, Jamie cleared her throat.
“Yes,” Valensky replied, “and killing me won’t help you. It’ll make it worse.”
Erik nodded. It wouldn’t be good for his relationship with Jamie either. “Shut the door and go into the bedroom,” he told her and was heartened when she obeyed without question.
“If I wanted you dead I would’ve already done it.” Valensky’s voice took on an urgent tone. “And you don’t have much time.”
“What are you talking about?” Erik lowered the pistol and removed his finger from the trigger.
“I came here to warn you. Members of your OSS were asking me awkward questions.”
“Go on.”
“To be honest, they’d never heard of you.” Valensky tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and gave Erik a don’t-lie-to-me look. “Who do you really work for?”
“All I can tell you is that the knowledge I possess can drastically change the outcome of this war.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Have you heard of Operation Market Garden?”
Valensky nodded.
“It will fail, and the British paratroopers, including the Polish paratroopers, will be massacred at Arnhem.”
“How do you know such things?”
Erik replied with a blank expression.
Valensky pressed his lips together and paused for a moment as if considering whether to push the matter or not. “Did you at least warn Bradley or Eisenhower?
“They didn’t listen, and if I’m correct about Operation Market Garden, will you trust me?”
Valensky nodded again.
“So what did you tell the OSS?”
“I denied everything.” Valensky sighed and peered into Erik’s eyes. “Don’t you think if I wanted to turn you in, I would’ve already done it?”
“Maybe you’re setting me up.”
“You have about ten minutes to make up your mind if you want to trust me. My car is parked in the side alley. I’ll see you there.” He got up, opened the door and walked out without a backward glance.
Erik headed to the bedroom.
“Who was that?” Jamie asked.
“A member of the French Resistance.”
“Do you trust him?”
“More than I trust the OSS.” He motioned to her belongings on the dressing table. “Pack your things; we’re leaving.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again.” Erik clapped his hands to express the urgency. “And pack light.” He threw the duffel bag with the money in it on the bed. “Put your things in there, and just grab two shirts for me, two pairs of boxers, two pairs of socks and one pair of pants.” She nodded and he noticed her trembling. He walked to her, turned her around and gazed into her eyes. “Everything will be okay.”
She nodded and swallowed, then started packing.
He walked to the bed and pulled the MP-44 and spare magazines out from beneath it. Jamie turned with a question in her eyes and watched white-faced as he slammed a magazine in, chambered a round, and switched the safety off. He did the same to the pistol. Whatever she wanted to ask remained unspoken.
“Can you carry that?” Erik pointed to the duffle bag. She lifted it with little struggle. “Good.”
Erik glanced out the window to see if anything was out of the ordinary, then glanced at Jamie. She was ready to go with the duffle bag over her shoulder. He shouldered the MP-44, held the pistol in his right hand, and they both exited the hotel room. The hotel hallways were empty, almost abandoned.
Erik heard faint talking and footsteps that came from around the corner behind him. They were speaking English, so he was ready to use the pistol. He took deep breaths—he could smell his own sweat—and prepared for whatever would happen next. Erik didn’t have to look because the individuals’ voices were crystal clear and he estimated about twenty feet away. They headed toward the staircase. A door creaked and pistols cocked.
“Freeze!” A voice demanded.
Erik swung around, raised his pistol and aimed. Jamie ducked behind him—smart girl. He recognized Edward Wilson and another individual. They raised their guns and fired. Jamie screamed. “Get down,” He hissed, at the same time he ducked himself as bullets flew by. Erik tried to aim, but Edward reloaded, lifted his gun and fired again. Erik still headed toward the stairs as Jamie crouched low behind him, Erik squeezed off five rounds, which penetrated the walls and sent splinters flying. A round found Erik’s left arm. Gun smoke and plaster dust polluted the hallway, which irritated Erik’s eyes so badly he had to blink. He re-evaluated his situation, holstered his pistol and reached for the MP-44.
Erik locked eyes with his targets; their eyes widened at the sight of his MP-44. It fired with a deafening roar that punched bullets into the wall like exclamation points. Erik quickly reloaded and fired, hitting the unknown individual in the kneecap and knocking Edward’s gun out of his hand. They both ran into the hotel room for cover.
“Run!” Erik said. Jamie jumped to her feet, placed the bag on her shoulder, and dashed down the stairs.
At the bottom, another OSS agent stepped out in front of them. He fired his gun at Erik. Erik ducked and the bullet thudded into the wall behind him. The agent, once in the distance, grabbed Jamie and threw her violently against the wall. With a smug look, he aimed for Erik, who was still a little way up the staircase, but Erik dropped his MP-44, leaped from the stairs and tackled the agent and knocked him to the ground. They wrestled, then got to their feet, while Jamie watched, wide-eyed and frozen with shock.
Erik was in a low stance and his eyes bulged with adrenaline. He stared at his opponent, studying his body movements, at the same time the agent placed a set of brass knuckles on each hand. Erik shook his head and knew the agent’s attack the second he launched it. The agent did a switch-hitter, which is a boxer technique. Erik deflected the first punch thrown. The agent launched a powerful straight punch thrown with his rear hand. This time Erik stepped back, blocked it with his right hand, and with his left forearm made slams into the agent’s right elbow, something Erik knew would cause a compound fracture. The agent’s agonized expression confirmed his prognosis. Immediately following that, Erik reversed the agent’s direction and spun his back against the wall. Erik balled up his fists and smashed the man’s temples, forcing him to the floor. While the agent was dazed, Erik grabbed his shoulders and forced his chest into his knee. That caused the body of the sternum to be shattered. To end his attack, Erik placed his left hand in the back of the agent’s head and the right hand on his chin and then quickly turned his head like a bottle cap.
Jamie’s eyes were filled with horror and she trembled uncontrollably. Erik glanced at Jamie. She had tears trickling down her face.
“We need to go now!” Erik stated as she nodded unconvincingly. “Come on, Jamie, we don’t have much time.”
He gave her a little smile and helped her to her feet. They grabbed their
belongings, continued running, and dashed out the side door. Valensky stood by a nearby car and motioned them to hurry. They raced over and threw themselves into the car. The engine was already running, and Valensky accelerated away. Jamie placed her hand on Erik’s shoulder. He turned to find her still crying and trembling. He gathered her into his arms and focused on how he was going to save Hitler. The odds were against him, and he would be on his own, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to live through what was to come with a clear conscience if he didn’t at least try to stop it.
Valensky turned to Erik. “Now, do you trust me?”
* * *
14. Harmon, Robert, dir. Ike: Countdown to D-Day. A&E Television Networks (US), 2004. TV Film
15. Quick Reaction Force
20. TRUSTING AND BELIEVING
“You must trust and believe in people or life becomes
impossible.”
— Anton Chekhov
Audrieu, France
After they passed the checkpoint, Valensky pulled up to the château where members of the French Resistance welcomed him with open arms, though their eyes turned cold when they saw Erik. Individuals made their displeasure known through a mix of looks, hand gestures, and verbal complaints. A man stood almost out of sight, stared at Erik with scolding eyes, and made no effort to conceal his interest; he disappeared as soon as Erik made visual contact.
A medium-built man with broad shoulders and large hands approached Valensky. He whispered something in French while he squinted at Erik with cold, gray eyes. Valensky motioned that everything was okay, and the man helped Jamie with the duffle bag and escorted her to their living quarters. She looked behind and Erik gestured that he would be along shortly and everything would be okay.
“He doesn’t trust you. He thinks you’re a German spy,” Valensky said as he and Erik followed Jamie. “Even though you helped liberate Paris, some still don’t trust you, and they’ll test you.”
Erik nodded. The French Resistance was very good at intelligence work, so he would have to twist the facts to his advantage. Events would prove him right in time, and trust would be built—maybe—but right now he had to make them believe.
“Is your fiancé okay?” Valensky asked.
Erik nodded again.
“You’re bleeding.” Valensky pointed to Erik’s left arm. “Once you’re settled, we’ll get the doctor to tend to that.”
Jamie looked back; her eyes were full of fear and uncertainty. Erik tried to comfort her by grinning, but it didn’t work. At the heavily guarded main entrance of the château, Erik glanced up at the enormous stone walls discolored from centuries of rain, wind, and sun. Individuals with inquisitive eyes stared down from windows equipped with weathered wooden shutters and secured by iron bars. They passed between the guards and headed down a hallway, their footsteps echoing on the worn stone floor. Erik noticed that through the invention of electricity they had made slight improvements in lighting, although there was still no central heating or cooling. The aroma of seasoned chicken and vegetables wafted from a kitchen in the distance, and Valensky explained they ran a sufficient operation with their own vegetable gardens, cows for meat and milk, chickens for eggs and for consumption, and lastly, they were well-armed.
They walked down hallway after hallway, and Erik made mental notes of anything of interest. He passed a closed door and thought he heard what could be a radio room. Eventually, they stopped and Valensky opened the door to Erik and Jamie’s quarters. Though not a comfy hotel room, it had everything one needed: a great bed with a heavy oak frame and sheets and pillows overlaid with a quilted wool blanket; a wooden cedar chest for garments at the foot of the bed, and a chair and small wooden table, with a candle. After they placed their belongings down, Valensky motioned for Erik to come with him. Jamie sat on the bed motionless.
“Is she all right?” Valensky asked.
“She saw some things.” Valensky was intrigued to know more. “She saw things that I never wanted her to see.”
Valensky nodded and changed the topic. “By the way, where did you learn to fight like that?”
“On a farm.”
Valensky nodded and then made a head gesture towards Jamie. “I can have someone speak to her if that would help?”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in five minutes so we can get that wound attended to.”
Erik walked toward Jamie and tried to think of things he could say to comfort her. He realized that not only had she never seen this side of him but also she was in a different time—wartime, and decades before she was born. Would she still love him for who he was, now that she knew what he really was? Even for Erik, it was hard to take in everything. They were strangers in a strange time, with no friends, no home, and nowhere that felt safe. They lived day-by-day, not knowing where the future would take them. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him with tears in her sunken eyes. She mumbled something and pointed to his wound.
“It’s okay.”
“Babe.” She touched his imbrued sleeve. “Babe, you have been—”
A knock came from the bedroom door. Erik turned to face it. “Come in.”
The door opened and revealed Valensky and a voluptuous lady who wore a conservative blouse and skirt, her brown hair fitted neatly into a bun. She walked toward Jamie with a warm smile that made dimples beneath her high cheekbones, but her deep-set chocolate-brown eyes were cold from seeing the horrors of war. Her hands—though probably soft once—were rough, and her short fingers terminated in the dirt under her nails. Erik moved to leave, but Jamie squeezed his hand tightly and shook her head. He turned around, squatted before her and looked into her eyes with all the love he could muster. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” She shook her head. “When I come back, I won’t leave your side, okay?” She sighed and started to cry. Then she dropped his hand. He gave her a parting smile, then got up and headed to the door.
Valensky escorted Erik to the medical center, made small talk about the war and Jamie as they walked. The doctor waited for him, his medical devices and bandages organized. When he saw Erik, the doctor grimaced and in a snotty French accent said, in what little English he knew, “It’s you again. What has happened to you now?”
“Augustin, knock it off,” Valensky snapped.
Erik climbed onto the medical table and removed his shirt, revealing rivers of dried blood on his arm. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled Erik’s nostrils, and then a sharp burning feeling exploded from the bullet wound. To get his mind off what Augustin was doing (using forceps to try to remove the bullet), Erik started a conversation with Valensky.
“Can I ask how you found me, especially since I’m under a different name?” Erik asked as he grinded his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.
“I have my sources.”
“And who might they be?” Erik asked and raised his eyebrows.
“Are you expecting me to reveal who they are?” Valensky chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.
Erik also chuckled, then got serious. “Yes, and you will tell me.”
Valensky’s eyes narrowed and turned cold. “You have the nerve to ask me that after I saved your ass? You American bastard!”
“Listen to me, you could have a German agent here right now.”
The doctor stopped working and stepped back and watched Valensky’s reaction.
“What in the hell are you talking about? How can you say that?” Valensky spat on the floor. “If you continue to talk like that, the others here will think you should go. I’m asking you not to jeopardize our relationship.”
“Of course not,” Erik replied in a quieter tone.
Valensky crossed his arms and motioned the doctor to continue.
“However,” Erik continued, “don’t you think it’s odd that out of nowhere an SS officer was here and no other Germans showed up? That means you have someone here who’s playing on all sides: American, German, and you. I believe they knew I was coming. So if you want, kick m
e out, and risk having everyone here compromised, or even killed.”
“Has anyone told you that you are a real pain in the ass?”
Erik smiled. “All the time.”
“You better be happy that my father believed you. That’s why I let you live the last time.”
Erik tilted his head in confusion and replied, “Your father?”
Valensky nodded slightly.
“Who?”
“You met him at the petrol station. He was the one who drove you and your fiancé to the Eiffel Tower, and to dinner. Remember him now?”
Augustin interrupted, as he gave a shoo gesture. “You’re all done. You can go now.”
“Thanks, Augustin.” Erik got to his feet and turned his attention back to Valensky. “Yes. He told everyone that I liberated Paris,” Erik said as he placed his shirt on.
“Well, it’s true. Who knew that one man,” Valensky pointed at Erik, “could make a difference?”
They walked back down the hall, and a few yards on, Erik asked, “Are you afraid that Augustin might tell everyone what we were talking about?”
Valensky shook his head. “He can’t understand English that well. Your secret is safe.”
A little distance before him, a skinny man with a narrow, sunken face and who wore frayed clothing reclined against a wall with an MP-40 over his shoulder. He approached Valensky with a stern expression and handed him a document. They walked on, and after he read it, Valensky continued the conversation. “So, what’s the plan to find this traitor?”