One Way Roads

by Erik Foge

  22. CHASING AFTER A SHADOW

  “There are many powers in the world, for good or for evil. Some are greater than I am. Against some I have not yet been measured. But my time is coming.”

  — J.R.R. Tolkien

  Berlin, Germany

  A solid knock came from the door of the Kohl residence. Erik stood in the bathroom with the door closed and listened closely. The door opened and he heard a familiar voice. Albert Speer. How did he find me? Erik’s thoughts ran wild with speculation, as he quickly slipped on his tunic and buckled his belt, with the gun in its holster. A soft knock came to the bathroom door.

  “Excuse me, Herr Major, someone to see you,” Helmut said.

  Erik opened the door a crack. “Is he alone?” He asked in a half whisper.

  Helmut nodded.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Tall, bluish gray eyes and black hair.”

  “Is he in a uniform?”

  Helmut nodded.

  “What color?”

  “Brown.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  Helmut shook his head.

  “Check outside and see if there’s anyone else, especially SS or Gestapo, and be quick about it.”

  Helmut opened his mouth as if to ask why, but Erik stopped him before he could speak. “Do as you’re told. Now go.” He snapped.

  The boy disappeared. Cäcilie called for Helmut and the front door slammed shut, then opened and closed. Erik pulled out his Luger. Moments later, Helmut, out-of-breath, reported that there was no one outside. Erik left the bathroom and saw Albert Speer waiting patiently in the living room at the end of the hallway. He walked cautiously down the hall with his pistol at his side.

  Speer looked at Erik’s drawn weapon. “Morning, Herr Major,” He said calmly. “We need to talk.” Speer looked around the apartment. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “I thought our matters were concluded yesterday, Herr Speer.”

  Cäcilie came from the kitchen, saw Erik’s weapon in his hand and gasped. She turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Speer continued. “I don’t care what you think. I came here at great risk.”

  Erik lifted his Lugar and motioned for Speer to turn around and exit out the door. Erik’s senses were on high alert. He had no idea what Speer had planned for him and was prepared to take any action necessary to ensure his survival. They stood in the hallway, and as soon as Erik closed the door behind them, Speer began. “The information you told me yesterday was accurate.”

  “What information was that?” Erik tried to read the man but couldn’t get a fix. Had Speer changed his mind? After his treatment the previous day, he found that hard to believe. It was more likely that he planned to turn Erik over to the Gestapo.

  “Herr Major, I do not have time for games. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Last time we spoke I had delusional stories and an interesting imagination.” Erik stepped back and raised the Luger to Speer’s chest. Speer’s eyes enlarged, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

  “The information you told me yesterday was accurate.” Speer stared at the pistol, then into Erik’s unblinking eyes. “You were correct on how the Americans launched their attack against Aachen.”

  Erik relaxed a little and motioned Speer to continue.

  “The Americans did start their attack with the First and Thirtieth Infantry Divisions in an aerial and artillery bombardment.”

  Erik shrugged as if he didn’t care.

  “While I was meeting with Hitler early this morning, Field Marshal Model sent a report to Army High Command requesting reinforcements. Hitler exploded, stating that Model was incompetent. He then replaced him with Rundstedt and gave the order ‘hold at all costs.’” Speer took a step forward.

  Erik stopped him by raising the Lugar to his head.

  “How did you know that information?” Speer asked in a quarter of a whisper.

  “What does it matter? Why are you here? How did you find me?”

  “I wrote down your Kübelwagen license plate as you were leaving.” Speer pointed at Erik. “If what you said about the Führer is true, it could lead this war in a much different path.”

  Erik nodded, his finger still on the trigger.

  “But we can stop this assassination, provided your information is correct. Is it?”

  “It is. Do you trust me, Herr Reich Minister?”

  Speer looked at Erik’s gun. “I don’t think we trust each other.”

  Erik smirked and lowered the gun.

  “However, we will need to trust each other to stop the assassination. I can get us access to the Reich Chancellery, and, since I’m not a soldier, you can kill the individuals who want him dead.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw young Helmut, who peeked out the slightly open door. Erik turned to face him, and the boy, realizing he had been discovered, pleaded, “I can help, Herr Major. I’ll not get in the way. I promise.”

  “You would be a great help. But what I need you to do is stay home,” Erik said.

  “I want to be a soldier like you.”

  “You will be someday, but not today.”

  Helmut hung his head.

  “Remember what I taught you and keep that information I gave you until I get back.” Erik lifted the boy’s head and looked into his eyes. “One day you will make Germany great.”

  Speer, with tense eyes, looked at his watch and then at Erik. “Herr Major, it’s 10:50 am; we need to go now!”

  Erik nodded. He knew the truth about the attack on Aachen was the ultimate bargaining chip, but like in poker, he could only play such a chip once. Erik had taken a huge risk when he played it. Thank God it had paid off. He holstered his gun, and, after a hasty farewell to Helmut, he ran after Speer.

  They raced to Speer’s car and hopped in. Speer quickly primed and choked the car, and it lunged forward.

  “Do you have your papers?” Speer asked as he weaved around bomb craters.

  Erik patted his pockets and found nothing. A rush of panic washed over him, followed by a sigh of relief when he found them in his upper right pocket. He pulled them out, removed the photographs and stuck them back in the pocket.

  “How will the assassins enter the chancellery?”

  Erik shook his head. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Hitler and a high-ranking SS officer will be killed in the bunker.”

  “Do you know what the assassin looks like?”

  Erik shook his head again. Doing an op when Erik knew he was racing against time was bad, but it was even worse when someone was talking to him while he ran scenarios in his head to solve the problem.

  “How in the hell are you going stop him without knowing what he looks like?” Speer tilted his head to face Erik.

  “You have to trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re mad! Not only that but—”

  “Albert!”

  Speer applied the brakes, but it was too late. The car thumped into a two-foot pothole and jolted its occupants. Erik stared in shock as dozens of cracks spread across the windshield like a spider web. He recovered quickly, climbed out, and examined the damage. The axle was one mangled mess. It groaned like a wounded beast, shuddered once, and then, as Erik and Speer watched, it fell slowly onto its side.

  Erik looked up and down the avenue, but all he saw was bombed out buildings and rubble littering the road—not a single car in sight. “Where in the hell are the cars!” Erik looked again. “Trucks or any kind vehicle!”

  “There aren’t any; only high party members and the army are allowed on the roads.”

  Erik pointed to himself. “You call me mad?” He exclaimed. “How in the hell are we going to get to the chancellery?”

  “Are you a good runner?”

  Erik grimaced in disbelief.

  “If you want me to believe you, which I’m starting not to, then we stop arguing and start running!”

  “How
far are we from the chancellery?!”

  “Two miles,” Speer said and started running.

  Erik pushed aside his disbelief and raced after him, and the further they ran, the more apparent it became that they had no option but to keep running. There was simply no means of transportation to be found, and the minutes in which to save Hitler’s life were quickly running out.

  “You know I could use a little help here!” Erik said as he looked up.

  “Turn left here; it’s a shortcut to the chancellery,” Albert said.

  Erik looked up to the clouds again and yelled, “Thanks, but I was hoping for a car!”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “God. What time do you have?”

  “Eleven-nineteen.”

  As they kept running, their jackboot heels clattered on the stone paved blocks. Speer started to wheeze long before Erik, but he kept running, which impressed Erik with his dedication. Eventually, a building that flew the blood-red Nazi flag on the roof appeared in the near distance.

  “That’s the chancellery,” Speer said breathlessly. “We should be nearing the rear entrance where the top officials park their cars. It’s a shortcut to the bunker.”

  Erik checked his watch. It was 11:35 a.m. An SS honor guard of the Adolf Hitler Division stopped them and requested their papers. They panted; Erik and Speer handed them over. Erik’s mouth felt dry, and his knees were in pain, but he’d rather be running toward his goal than waiting here. He was so near now. He actually had a chance. A slim one, but it was something—until the clock outran him.

  The guards looked them over, and one asked them to state their business. Speer informed them that they were here to see the Führer and that it was an urgent matter of state security. The guard shook his head and stated that all heads of government must have an appointment to enter, and if not, they must use the front entrance.

  “The Führer’s life is in jeopardy,” Erik said urgently. “You must allow us to pass.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” The guard said calmly, “you cannot.”

  Another guard tried to use the phone and Erik noticed that it had trouble. It appeared that the phone was dead. The line had been cut.

  “Then give us a car so we can drive to the front,” Erik said.

  Albert joined in pleading with the guard, but again the guard refused to help. Erik’s temperature rose with his anger and frustration, but, focused on a plan of attack, he stared calmly at the guard. Then suddenly, with a malevolent grin, he thrust his right knee into the guard’s groin and smashed his fists into the man’s temples. The guard from the shack dashed out, tried to aim his MP-40, but Erik retrieved the rifle from the other guard and used it like a baseball bat and smashed the butt against his head.

  Albert just stared.

  “Get in that car,” Erik said and motioned to the nearest car, “and get it running.” Other guards started appearing and aimed their weapons. He kept his gun on the guards and moved toward the car. As Erik dashed inside, Speer slammed the accelerator to the floor.

  “What time is it?” Erik asked as they jolted along the road.

  “11:45.”

  At the front entrance, they leaped out of the car, and Erik, with Speer, who wheezed behind him, climbed the wide concrete stairs that led to the Reich Chancellery with its four towering columns and enormous doors. Several SS bodyguards patrolled the perimeter of the battle-worn chancellery with its smoke-blackened walls and broken or blown-in windows. Above the doors sat an impressive carved stone German eagle with its wings outstretched and its massive claws holding a wreath of oak leaves that contained the dreaded and feared swastika. This was created in the early years of the Third Reich to inspire fear and intimidate all who visited. On top of the chancellery, several huge Nazi flags fluttered in the breeze, their black swastikas dancing in the wind over a dying Berlin.

  Erik and Speer charged through the doors into a vast courtyard with barren walls and round columns aligned and balanced in perfect symmetry. Erik dashed through the courtyard toward the two bronze statues at the far end that symbolized Army and Party. More SS guards guarded the doorway, but they quickly did the Nazi salute and opened the doors to let Erik and Speer pass. Just beyond the courtyard were the gallery, rotunda, and the marble mosaic hallway, which, Erik recalled, was twice as long as the Hallway of Mirrors in the Versailles. Erik stopped and peered over his shoulder to get directions from Speer. Speer pointed to the two SS guards stationed in front of a doorway some distance away. High ranking officers of four branches, Wehrmacht, Kriegsmarine, Luftwaffe, and SS, strolled up and down the hallway. Erik paused, trying to catch his breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Speer asked.

  “It didn’t look as big in the photographs.”

  “Everyone says that.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Erik pushed off again, followed by Speer, and they continued running down the hallway. Officers glanced at them, and the guards at the entrance drew and prepared to fire their weapons. One ordered them to halt. Erik stopped and Speer leaped in front of him. The guards recognized the Reich Minister, clicked their heels, did the Nazi salute, and opened the doors. Speer motioned to the guards that Erik was with him. They stepped inside a large, unornamented room with battleship gray walls, and the doors closed behind them. Three of Hitler’s four young secretaries, including Martin Bormann, his Personal Secretary, were busy at their neatly organized desks, while the fourth was filing, and high ranking officers from all three branches of the Wehrmacht and the SS lined the walls and waited to see Hitler. Erik strolled across the office and approached Bormann, a short, thickset, and moderately fat man.

  Erik hovered over the desk and demanded, “Where in the Führerbunker is the Führer?”

  Bormann stood and assumed an ox-like posture. “Excuse me; why do you need to know, and what is your name?” He asked arrogantly.

  “Major Függer.” Erik took a few deep breaths. “I said, where is the Führer?”

  Bormann looked behind Erik to Speer. “What do you want, Speer?”

  “The major and I need to see the Führer. It’s urgent.”

  “Damn it, where is he?” Erik said sharply.

  Bormann snapped his head around. “He is not here.” He eyed up Erik. “And who in the hell are you to order me around?”

  Erik felt his patience waning fast. “Where is the Führer?!”

  Bormann leaned over his desk to Erik. “Did you hear me? He is not here. Now leave or I can have you escorted out, major.”

  Erik slammed his fists on the desk. “Damn it, where is he? He’s going to be killed! Do you understand me?”

  Bormann raised his eyebrows, and everyone else in the office turned to Erik with expressions of surprise and horror.

  “Do not ever raise your voice at me again,” Bormann snapped back in a deep voice, “or it will be your last words.”

  Multiple gunshots rang out from the courtyard where the Führerbunker was located. Everyone in the office stood and looked around, not knowing what to do. But Erik was trained and conditioned to respond immediately when an operation went bad. He knew that every minute that went by was another minute the assassin got closer to the Führer. He also knew that the odds were against him, but he knew what he was fighting for.

  “We’re wasting time!” Erik exploded.

  Bormann picked up his phone. Erik glanced at his Luger, then at Speer and back at his Luger. Speer nodded discreetly as Bormann said, “Herr Captain, this is Bormann—”

  Erik pulled out his Luger, spun around and pointed it directly at Bormann’s head. Speer locked the doors and all the secretaries gasped. Bormann’s eyes widened in shock, and sweat ran down his face.

  “I’ll ask you one more time before I kill you.”

  Bormann gulped.

  “Where is the Führer?”

  “I am not a forgetting man.”

  Erik forced the barrel against Bormann’s forehead. “You can stick to your guns, but mine is loaded.” He started to
squeeze the trigger.

  Bormann’s breathing became heavy. “He’s in the map room.”

  Erik grabbed the phone out of Bormann’s hand and threw it across the room.

  “This way.” Speer ran to a set of doors and pushed them open. Erik followed, and they closed and locked them and propped a chair against the door handles. On his way out, Erik heard Bormann screaming orders to the guards to get the doors opened. Outside, Speer stood paralyzed and stared at the bodies of the Führerbegleitkommando (Hitler’s Honour Bodyguards) that littered the ground.

  Erik raced past Speer to the entrance of the Führerbunker and noticed that the guards had been killed by a martial arts technique. The sounds of a firefight floated up from below. He turned to Speer. “Come on, Albert! We don’t have much time!”

  Speer snapped out of his dream-like state and joined Erik. Bullets whizzed by. Erik looked up and saw Bormann screaming orders as members of the FBK fired their MP-44s. Erik and Speer sprinted down the stairs and darted between the bodies. Erik suspected that the trail of death had just begun. The smell of raw sewage met them at the entrance of the forward bunker, and voices from the courtyard drifted down the stairs. Erik peered down the hallway and saw a shadow behind a guard and lifted his Luger to take aim, but he was too late. The guard slumped to the ground, and the figure disappeared down the next set of stairs. Erik and Speer hurried down the hallway, pockmarked with bullet holes and littered with bodies streaming with blood.

  “How is this possible?” Speer asked. His face was chalky in color, and he stared at the carnage with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “The FBK are the elite of the SS.”

  “The FBK are amateurs compared to this assassin.”

  “Assassin? You’re saying that one person did this?”

  Erik nodded, and they scurried down the second set of stairs that lead to the Führerbunker. At the bottom, they proceeded toward the map room as two gunshots echoed off the concrete hallway from inside the map room. Erik’s heart stuttered and feared the worst. A sickening wave of terror welled up from his stomach. He was too late. Hitler was dead.

  A nauseating spurt of adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he bolted down the hallway to the map room, which seemed to take forever. Speer tried to keep up. Erik charged through the door and saw the dead FBK guard. Hitler and Kammler were still alive, and the assassin had his back toward him.