One Way Roads

by Erik Foge

  After driving for some time, several burned out vehicles with flames still flickering inside came into view, and he remembered the Allied air attack. Adrenaline pumped to every part of his body as he recalled the horror of seeing both man and machine torn into pieces, leaving nothing behind except mutilated bodies and blackened and twisted metal. Erik breathed deeply to calm his pounding heart and slowed down so he could look at his map with his flashlight. Distant lights told him he was drawing nearer to the town of Roeschwoog.

  Will it be occupied by American, British, or German troops? If Germans, worst case, they will stop me and ask for my papers. If American or British, I’ll become a POW and might never see Jamie again. The best option is if it’s not occupied by anyone. Oh shit! I forgot about the French Resistance.

  Erik slowed as he neared some buildings, and after a quick glance around, gave a huge sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar vehicles of the Wehrmacht: Opel Blitzs, Kübelwagens, and a few half-tracks. Military activity became thicker in the heart of Roeschwoog, with armored patrols, spotlights, eighty-eight-millimeter anti-aircraft batteries and twenty-millimeter Flak 38, Flakvierlings. Erik was amazed that the town hadn’t been touched by Allied bombers. If it weren’t for the presence of the Germans, it would appear that the war was not happening.

  No one stopped him, and on the other side of Roeschwoog, darkness engulfed him again. Erik rubbed his eyes. According to the map, the next town was Roppenheim. The good thing was that from here to Berlin, every city would be occupied by the Germans; but he still had one small problem—actually, two big problems—the United States Army Air Force bombed by day and the Royal Air Force bombed by night, which had made most of the roads unusable, and he had to negotiate checkpoints.

  Closer to Roppenheim, he noticed brake lights up ahead. His first checkpoint. He came to a halt, got his papers out just in case, and took an opportunity to stretch in his seat and rest for a few moments while the vehicles slowly inched their way up to the checkpoint. Erik remembered what Jamie gave him before he left. He pulled it from his pocket and discovered that it was a locket with a picture of him and Jamie inside. Her thoughtfulness placed a smile on his face.

  Within a couple of minutes, he was at the checkpoint. Two armed guards checked identity papers while a half dozen more, their eyes alert, had their hands ready on their weapons. They walked on both sides of the vehicles closest to the checkpoint. A young guard with bloodshot eyes and slumped shoulders extended his hand and asked for Erik’s papers. He glanced at the papers and then at Erik and asked where he was coming from and where he was headed. Erik gave him his prepared story, and after a few seconds, the young soldier snapped to attention and saluted, eyes straight ahead.

  “You may pass, Sir,” he said. “I advise you to stay here for the night because we’ve had reports of Allied attacks. Reaching Berlin, much less Hamburg, will be almost impossible due to the Autobahn being bombed.”

  Erik thanked him for the tip, then asked where a good place was to get a room and something to eat. The young soldier suggested the HOSTELLERIE LA BOHEME and pointed down the road. Erik nodded in appreciation, and the guard waved for the next vehicle to move forward.

  Troops walked around the town, and panzers were scattered about, like chess pieces on a board. Their crews were relaxing and smoking. Erik drove on until, at the corner of Rue Principale and Rue du Neuhaeusel, he came across a two-story building that was once a house with a faded picket fence and was now being used as a hotel. Erik parked the Kübelwagen, grabbed his few belongings, and shouldered his MP-44. He walked to the front entrance of the faded-white building but found the door was locked. He knocked and waited. No answer. He pounded harder on the door. The hallway light came on, and a man rubbed his weary eyes and peered through the narrow window beside the door. He pointed to his wrist and waved Erik away, but Erik held up a large amount of money. The man stared at it, then rubbed this eyes and stared again. He nodded his head, then slowly unlocked the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  Erik lifted the handful of cash. “I need a room.”

  “Fine.”

  Once inside, Erik handed him more than enough to pay for the room. The man took it and motioned Erik upstairs, then disappeared into a small office and reappeared with a key.

  “The room’s upstairs,” he mumbled and handed Erik the key. “Second on the right. Bathroom’s the third on the left.”

  Half way up the wooden stairs creaked, and the light from below switched off. The hallway on the second floor had just enough light so that Erik could find his room. He opened the door, flicked on the light and discovered a well-lit, spacious double room with a comfortable-looking bed. With eyelids that grew heavy, he walked to the bed and placed down his belongings.

  In the distance, he heard several high-pitched muffled sounds, one after another, and each one louder than the one before. Then, suddenly, hellish explosions erupted throughout the town of Roppenheim. Erik heard the whine of salvos that landed nearby. The hotel vibrated beneath his feet, and windows shattered. He grabbed his belongings and the MP-44 and darted out of the hotel.

  The night was lit up, like flashes from dozens of cameras, from a constant bombardment from Sherman tanks. The town was in chaos; the streets were filled with men and vehicles. Erik hopped in the Kübelwagen and drove, trying to escape the insanity. Walls of buildings erupted and exploded into stone rubble. Flames and black choking smoke billowed from them, followed by showers of shrapnel. Dozens of German soldiers yelled and screamed as they scrambled for cover. Panzers rumbled down the streets with troops that advanced in a zig zag pattern behind them.

  Erik barreled down Rue Principale past infantrymen pulling their wounded off the streets behind heaps of rubble and half walls. The burping sound of MG 34 machine guns and gunfire echoed around the town. At the t-intersection of Rue Principale and Rue des Près, several Sdkfz 251’s passed Erik. They were filled with panzer grenadiers whose uniforms were spattered with blood and dust. Further down Rue Principale, Erik slowed and glanced down Rue des Roses.

  Several ominous silhouettes drove his way, accompanied by the dreaded sound of clacking and wheezing. Sherman tanks! Their turrets swung around, muzzles leveled at their targets, and numerous thunderclap muzzle bursts hurled their shells in Erik’s and the panzer grenadiers’ direction, punching holes into the sides of the Sdkfz 251’s and turning them into fireballs. Then suddenly several of the Shermans exploded, which turned them into deadly pits of fire, tossing debris into the night sky.

  Tigers!—sixty-seven tons of pure fighting machine with massive hulls, sloping sides and five inches of frontal armor, moved forward by ten steel road wheels. They carried dual MG 34 machine guns, one in the hull and another on the turret beside the feared eighty-eight-millimeter gun. The Shermans and Tigers maneuvered, trying to get better angles to attack, like old naval galleons of the 16th to 18th centuries.

  Erik pushed the Kübelwagen to the limit. Its engine whined, but he navigated around the rubble, and eventually the distant explosions slowly faded behind him. Erik suffered from a lack of sleep and tried to stay focused on a road that was consumed by the night. Sometime later, a loud pop came from the front of the car. He smashed the steering wheel with his fists and knew it could only be one thing—a flat tire. Sure enough, when he pulled over and stumbled out, he found out he was correct.

  “Seriously!” He screamed and kicked the car. “If you don’t want me to do this,” he looked up as if he was talking to God, “just tell me, and I’ll give up!” Erik waited for an answer that would never come. “Why are you giving me all these challenges?” he shouted. “For once, can you make it easy for me?” With a sigh, he walked to the hood and checked the spare tire. It was flat. “Really! You know I’m trying to make things as they were, so why in the hell are you doing this?”

  Erik unloaded unnecessary gear, slipped the MP-44 over his shoulder, and started walking down the road. The moon slowly breached the clouds and transformed t
he dark pasture on both sides of the road to a soothing pale ivory. Only loose gravel under Erik’s boots, chirping seasonal insects, and rattling leaves broke the stillness of the night.

  In the distance, tracer rounds from anti-aircraft guns lit up the horizon, and solid beams of searchlights danced in the sky. Erik knew, even though he couldn’t hear them, that British heavy bombers, maybe Lancasters, were showering bombs on a German city. German night fighters would be in the sky too, circling like sharks, doing hit and run attacks against the bombers. He stopped for a moment and stared, transfixed by the amazing sight, the magnitude of destruction being caused, and the knowledge that thousands of people would be killed tonight.

  He walked on, but over time, his feet began to ache and his knee started to swell. He took the last sip of water from his canteen and tossed it away. The pain in his legs crept up like poison in his blood stream. If he stopped it wouldn’t make it better, and he wouldn’t lie down and sleep. His eyelids grew even heavier, and he stumbled, nearly falling. Erik made a deep sigh. He continued walking, not knowing how much longer he would be able to go on. Eventually, Erik collapsed like a card house with a base card removed. Mentally and physically exhausted, he lay on the side of the road as if he were paralyzed. He couldn’t move his legs, and even his arms felt as if they were being held down so they couldn’t help him to his feet. He had only the strength to clench his fists in frustration and tilted his head to see the orange glow lighting the sky from the numerous fires that plagued the city. The raid might be over, but the nightmare continued. Erik closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  A sudden bump in the road awakened him. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and slowly got to his feet, trying to keep his balance. He realized he was in a Sdkfz 251 half-track, but he didn’t know where or how he got there.

  “Morning, Herr Major,” a soldier said.

  Erik blinked at the man. “How did I get here?”

  “We found you on the side of a road and brought you along, Sir.”

  The buildings around them, he saw with some shock, were pretty much intact, even with the bomb raids. “How far is the Reich Chancellery?” He asked one of the soldiers.

  The soldier stared back at him and replied awkwardly, “Sir, we are not in Berlin.”

  Erik’s cleared his throat. He frowned. “Where are we?”

  “Wolgast, Sir.”

  Erik sank into his seat and realized that it was early evening on the first of October 1944, and tomorrow was the day Hitler got killed. If that happened, Germany would be the first one to use the atomic bomb, and history would be altered forever. He hoped he could find transportation back to Berlin tonight.

  In the near distance, he saw a heavily guarded outpost with dozens of Waffen SS troops, Sdkfz 234/1 armored cars, with their turrets pointed down the road, two Flakpanzer IV Wirbelwinds, with their crews fully alert, and the overt presence of King Tiger tanks, their lethal eighty-eight-millimeter guns ready to unleash their shells of death. The half-track neared the checkpoint and rocked back and forth as it came to a stop. Erik heard a guard asking for identification papers from the driver. Then the back doors of the half-track opened. The guards scanned the passengers with intimidating stares and asked for their papers. Some guards nodded when they recognized their friends but remained professional.

  An old SS sergeant who had menacing blue eyes and wore steel-framed glasses came from behind, made his way between the guards, and stared directly at Erik with a look of cold speculation. Erik felt as if a spider had crawled on his back. The SS sergeant extended his hand. “Your papers now,” he said sharply.

  Erik pulled out his papers and handed them over. The SS sergeant ripped them from his hand, glanced over them, and in a voice dripping with spite said, “Get out of the vehicle now.” Erik, heart rate raised, climbed out and stood in front of the SS sergeant. “State your business,” the sergeant said with a scorched look.

  “Herr Sergeant, I was on my way to Berlin and my column was hit, and I was—”

  “Well, Herr Major, you are not in Berlin, are you?”

  “No, I am not.” This is worse than the French Resistance; there’ll be no escaping this.

  “Are you getting smart with me? Well?”

  Erik said nothing.

  “You’re not even SS,” The sergeant stated as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “No, Herr Sergeant. I stated due to the bombing raids, I was diverted here.”

  “That’s not my problem, Herr Major.” He pointed at Erik with an accusing finger. “Continue and I will have you detained. Understood?”

  A low-pitch horn broke the tension. Erik glanced to his left at a black convertible Mercedes with an SS plate. The SS officers inside were getting impatient. Erik had just thought things couldn’t get worse when the passenger door flew open and a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed SS Lieutenant approached. Great, the ideal candidate for the master race.

  The SS Lieutenant extended his hand for Erik’s papers and with a heavy, formal German accent asked, “What seems to be the problem, Herr Sergeant?”

  “Herr Lieutenant, the major does not have the authority to be here.”

  The Lieutenant stared at Erik with chilly blue eyes. “What’s your name, Herr Major?”

  “Erik Függer.”

  The sergeant blurted out, “I will be happy to detain him and have him questioned by the Gestapo.” The Lieutenant nodded in agreement, and the sergeant headed to the guard shack and ordered the guards to detain Erik. Then suddenly the lieutenant ordered the sergeant to halt and turned to Erik.

  “What did you say your last name was?”

  Oh, shit! Has the Gestapo been looking for me ever since Rommel and I escaped the hospital? “Függer,” Erik replied calmly.

  “By any chance do you have a brother?” Erik nodded. There was a chance this lieutenant had mistaken him for someone who had the same name. Függer was a pretty common surname. But he decided to see where the conversation was leading. “Where are you from?”

  Erik took a gamble and remembered where is grandfather was from. “Bremerhaven.”

  The Lieutenant pointed at Erik as if it helped him to get his point across. “His name is Walter, right?”

  Erik knew the answer was wrong but that was the name of his great uncle who served in the Waffen SS. So he nodded. “He’s my younger brother.”

  The Lieutenant’s eyes brightened; he smiled and extended his hand.

  Erik shook the Lieutenant’s hand and said a small prayer to God for helping him when he needed it the most. But he needed one more miracle…transportation to Berlin.

  “Walter was a great friend. We served together in Russia.” He looked over Erik’s shoulder and ordered the sergeant to stand down and return Erik’s papers. “By the way, my name is Heinz Zeuner.” He gestured for Erik to accompany him to his car. They took a seat and proceeded into the base. Heinz turned to face Erik. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to Berlin but was diverted here due to the Allied bombings. However, I don’t know where here is.”

  Heinz gave a devious laugh. “You are on a base that does not exist.” He paused to catch his thoughts.

  Great; I’m in Area 51. Erik thought.

  “You are at Peenemünde,” Heinz said and flashed a superior grin. “Why do you need to go to Berlin?”

  “I’m meeting Herr Reich Minister Speer tomorrow, but I have no means of transportation.”

  “I’ll speak to my C.O. and see if you can get a lift with us; we are scheduled to leave in an hour. We are going to his office now, so just relax.”

  “Thanks, Heinz.”

  Erik leaned back in his seat and glanced out the window. They passed several damaged buildings and some that were no more than rubble. Heinz saw him staring and explained.

  “On the twenty-fifth of August, American B-17s bombed the base. The attack caused minor damage to Test Stand VII, destroyed several aircraft and killed nearly thirty people. Some were
scientists and technical staff. But launchings were able to resume within six weeks.”

  The base was busy with all kinds of vehicles transporting men and equipment. Among the buildings and trees, Erik saw all forms of anti-aircraft batteries from eighty-eight millimeters to Flak 38’s, their crews fully alert, looking for enemy aircraft. Erik looked to see if he could spot something he hadn’t read about in published knowledge or the classified documents on Peenemünde. They veered off the main road and pulled into a small parking lot located in front of a four-story brick building. Erik and the others got out of the car, walked to the entrance, got a Hitler salute, and entered.

  Inside, a vast room greeted them. Despite ceiling lights, it was dim, and scuff marks from foot traffic had dulled the deep-brown tile floor. Behind the oak reception desk in the center of the room, individuals stood answering phones, passing hand-written messages, and conversing with those who approached the desk. The place was a hive of highly focused activity. People wore different ranks of SS uniforms or business dress or white lab coats for the technical staff. As Erik and Heinz walked past the front desk, a clerk got Heinz’s attention by raising the phone receiver. Heinz raised a finger toward Erik, which indicated that he should wait.

  “This is Lieutenant Zeuner … thank you, Herr Sergeant.” The clerk replaced the receiver and looked expectantly at Heinz.

  “Call the pilots and tell them to prepare the Obergruppenführer’s plane for takeoff,” Heinz told the clerk, then motioned for Erik to follow him up the stairs. “We’re going to meet my commanding officer. He’s headed to Berlin this evening.”

  “Herr Lieutenant, is my plane ready?” A deep commanding voice declared. The Obergruppenführer walked down the stairs and past them.

  “Yes, Herr Obergruppenführer. Sir, there’s a matter I would like to speak to you about.” Heinz turned and followed the Obergruppenführer, and Erik followed behind. Heinz explained Erik’s situation and told him that Erik’s brother had saved his life.