by Max Hudson
Martin bit back a groan of frustration and released him. “Very well. I lead though.”
Emmerich, smiling with a smug kind of relief, pressed himself against the wall and motioned Martin onward.
They kept as close to the walls as they could, each step tentative yet quick. The stairs beneath their feet creaked every so often, but the sounds were easy enough to blame the building’s age for their existence; no one would assume they came from intruders.
At the top flight of the stairs, Martin held one hand back toward Emmerich and leaned forward to peer into the hallway. Only a few lights were on, flickering dulled yellow along the walls and tile. The area was bare, save for the few people at the very end of the hall.
Four SS Officers faced a doorway, their expressions stiff and their grip on their weapons tight. At their feet, a corpse lay. Lab coat ripped and stained with blood, face blotched and scarred, dulled eyes staring right at Martin—
Gunfire burst within the room the four officers stared into, but the men didn’t even flinch.
A stool was thrown out of the room into the hallway through a wide—apparently already shattered—window. And then some equipment, like microscopes and scales, were thrown out next.
Martin glanced between the badge in his hand and at the corpse’s face. The resemblance was close enough, despite the corpse’s scarring, and a nauseating kind of relief settled in his gut. He looked back at Emmerich and shook his head.
Emmerich’s breath caught. He shuffled forward, clamped his hand on Martin’s shoulder, and looked down the hallway.
Head bowed, Martin showed him the badge.
Emmerich stared down at it.
Martin pulled him back, and this time, Emmerich let himself be guided. Martin’s steps felt heavier now—the creaks in the stairs even less worrisome than they had been before. Defeat clutched at his chest and tried to drag it downward.
It wasn’t until they were on the first floor again that Martin dared to whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
The back doors jiggled, keys jangling.
Emmerich froze.
Martin rushed forward and practically tackled him into the room closest to them—a professor’s office, it seemed. The door smacked against the wall right before Martin kicked it closed.
The back doors were pulled open, soldiers walking through them and muttering to themselves.
Martin pressed Emmerich and himself against the wall, right below the one window that revealed the hallway. Bookshelves filled the corner of the tiny room, and Emmerich was squished between the wall, the bookcase, and Martin’s torso.
Martin held his breath, blood roaring through his ears. Emmerich’s warm breath stuttered out and ghosted over Martin chin repeatedly.
The footsteps moved past them. No hesitation. And then they continued upstairs.
Silence followed.
Martin waited, a wispy exhale passing through his lips. He placed his hand over Emmerich’s heart, beating wildly. “Wait here,” he whispered. “I mean it.” He crept over to the door and, as carefully as possible, opened it.
No one reacted, if there was anyone out there—a lingering soldier.
Martin peeked through the door and glanced back and forth.
No lingering soldier.
He sagged and wiped the sweat from his brow. He motioned at Emmerich to follow him. “We must be quick,” he whispered. Still crouched, he hurried over to the back doors, then hesitated.
There were no windows to peer through in the hallway. But the rooms adjacent to the back doors—
Martin pointed to one of them. “Go look through the window, carefully. Are there any more soldiers outside?”
Emmerich rose and craned his neck to the side. He squinted. “I don’t see any.” He moved closer, lowering his body again and squinting harder through the windows partially covered by blinds. He entered the room and stopped. “No. No soldiers.”
Martin opened the backdoor and looked outside for himself. He could hear soldiers in the distance, but they weren’t approaching. “Quickly.” He went outside and held the door open.
Emmerich hurried through it, his footsteps a tinge too loud—echoing down the hallway.
Martin closed the door, breath catching. “Quiet,” he hissed at Emmerich.
“You said ‘quickly’ so I moved quickly.”
Martin grabbed his hand and squeezed hard, frustration seeping into the hold. “Just come on.” They went around the bushes, the darker than dark shadows a comforting chill on Martin’s flesh.
As before, they worked their way around the property—this time back toward the truck. No alarms sounded, no yelling occurred.
Not until they reached the truck.
“Halt!” a soldier shouted, flashlight pointed right at Emmerich’s back as he climbed into the truck.
He went rigid.
Martin, already behind the wheel, whispered, “Shut the door and get down.”
Emmerich did immediately.
Martin started the truck.
Soldiers shouted. Then they fired.
Glass shattered and sprayed over Martin as he sped out of there, swerving back and forth to dodge most bullets. The truck jittered and roared, but it kept going, and in a matter of minutes, they were away from the university and its armed soldiers.
But this was just a temporary reprieve—Martin knew this all too well.
“We’ll probably be recognized at the airport now,” he told Emmerich. “Our best chance is to go to France and find a means of exit there. Maybe a ship or…” He pressed his lips together.
“France is Nazi territory.”
“I know, but what other options do we have?” Spain? But it was so far, and the border had to be well-guarded.
Cars in the distance squealed.
Martin glanced over the dash. “We’ll have to leave this truck somewhere and get a new car. Bus travel is too risky.” Everything was too risky. Martin swallowed, his heartbeat throbbing up his throat.
He turned down one street—into a neighborhood—and glanced at the rearview mirror.
No one was right behind them, at least.
Emmerich laid his hand on Martin’s upper arm. “We’ll be all right. We just need to keep moving.”
Martin glanced at him.
“Besides,” Emmerich said, smirking bitterly, “the OSS has use of you, doesn’t it? They’ll take the time to rescue you, and then maybe I can sneak along for the ride.”
Martin snorted—a mistake, an instantaneous reaction amidst waves of stress.
Emmerich frowned. “What?”
“We just keep moving forward, like you said.”
“No, don’t do that. Why would the OSS not come for its agent?”
Martin turned down road, and then another. A part of him wanted to laugh as icy resentment tickled his collarbone. “To put it simply? I failed. I’m not of use to them now.”
“And to not put it simply?”
“I went against them. Not directly, perhaps, but enough that…I don’t know what they’ll do when I return to them.” And if they found out—no, not if, when they found out about him and Emmerich…. Martin shuddered. “To you, at least, they are not to be trusted. Don’t go to them for help, not on my behalf or anyone else’s, all right?”
“All right,” Emmerich said, tone uncertain. “But that makes me think that you shouldn’t go to them either.”
Martin released a blunt chortle. “I have to. I have to report in and let them know what had happened, especially if Auta does need rescuing.”
“Would they rescue her though? After what you told me, it doesn’t seem like they would.”
Martin cringed. He couldn’t be sure. But she was a woman—a straight woman—and her father was an important man. “She has a better chance of earning their protection than we do.”
“So, that’s it?” Emmerich’s grip on his arm tightened. “You basically turn yourself in to your government just in case it helps her?”
“We’re not even out of Germany yet. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Martin.” His tone took a steely edge, matching the hardness in his gaze.
Martin sighed. He turned out of the neighborhood, the street leading into the quieter part of the city. Not great—not now—but maybe if they could find another abandoned car—his eyes scanned the area for one.
“I won’t let you do it,” Emmerich said. “Over my dead body.”
“We can talk about this later.”
“No, we talk about this now.”
“We need to find a new car now.”
There were SS Officers out, as always, and though there were a few cars parked along the curbs, it wasn’t worth the risk of getting out and hotwiring one. Martin huffed in frustration, eyes flicking back and forth between the rearview mirror and the road ahead of him.
Emmerich squeezed his arm, though he did lean back a little and look around.
The quietness was not as helpful as Martin had thought it would be. It left the air thick, a fickle sense of terror weaving through it. And Emmerich was worried—angry—afraid, fidgeting in his seat while still clinging to Martin.
Martin took one hand off the wheel and placed it on Emmerich’s knee. “I…” He took a deep breath and willed strength to come to him. “I love you, too. I never thought I’d be able to find happiness like this, and then you get under my skin, and it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to me.” His eyes watered, the truth of his words tugging his heart. “I don’t know what I can do or what I’m even supposed to do, but I know that I love you. And I need you to be safe, so I’m going to find a way to do that.”
Emmerich’s hand slid to the center of Martin’s upper back, just below his neck. Emmerich rubbed the flesh there, and it soothed away a soreness Martin hadn’t even realized was there.
“What else can I do?” he asked Emmerich.
“Run away with me.”
Martin scoffed, even as affection sprouted within his torso. “Emmerich—”
“I’m serious. Fuck your government, fuck mine, and just run away with me.” He moved his hand up a little to massage the back of Martin’s neck.
Martin’s eyelids fluttered, a pleased groan clogged in his throat.
“What would be the point?” Emmerich asked heatedly. “They don’t deserve your nobleness.”
“What about Auta?”
“If she was caught, then the time it would take to even try to convince the OSS to do something would be too long.”
“Maybe.” He bit back another groan as Emmerich kneaded all the right places.
“We did the best we could. For her and for Dr. Werner. Now we must look out for ourselves—not just myself, but ourselves. Because wherever you go, I go. You can’t push me away.”
Shoulders sagging, Martin looked at him.
“If you want me safe,” Emmerich said, stubbornness emanating from his pores, “then you have to be safe.”
He bit his tongue, arguments blooming and then dying in his mind. Eventually, Martin just had to smile and shake his head. “Where did you learn to be so manipulative?”
“You’ve been a very bad influence on me.”
“I see tha—” He did groan this time as Emmerich’s nails gently racked through his hair.
Emmerich smirked. “It’s a deal then?”
“Yeah,” Martin breathed, muscles feeling like they were turning to jelly. “Goddamn it all.”
Epilogue
How they had managed to get out of Germany—then France—then England—into Sweden, and later into Norway—seemed miraculous whenever Martin thought back on it in hindsight. Maybe God didn’t hate homosexuals as much as the church claimed.
In a small cabin amidst hills of tall grass, Martin sat at his desk and tapped the blank piece of paper in front of him. He ran his teeth over his lower lip as he thought.
The war was officially over. Nazis were being hunted now, not them—not those who betrayed the Nazis—so it was high time that Martin contact his family. He hadn’t seen them in years, had never risked sending them a letter before.
The OSS might still be after him, for all he knew.
But where to start? Would his family want to know he was alive, after all this time?
Martin scratched the back of his neck, brows low. He glanced out the open window, at the beautiful and quiet nature outside. This part of Norway was lovely all year around, even if there was always a biting chill in the air.
Maybe…maybe he could convince his sisters and brothers to visit him here.
Martin pressed the pen to his face and closed his eyes, stomach flipping. One step at a time. Huffing, he lowered the pen and started writing.
Dear Ma,
He paused and swiped his tongue over his gums. He was tempted to write “I’m sorry,” but the apology would’ve rung hollow. He didn’t want to be a liar anymore—was too tired and worn for it.
There is much that you deserve an explanation to, and I fear I don’t have enough ink or pages to write it all out. So, I’ll put this simply and bluntly, not because I wish to hurt you, but because I wish for you to understand as quickly as possible.
I was on a secret assignment for the United States in Germany in 1943. I failed the mission overall, but I did manage to save a few people, including two assets I worked with and the family of a physicist. It took me some time, but I managed to find out that they had fled to the United States to give testimonies to some of the horrendous things they had overheard and witnessed the Nazis do. One asset, a very strong-willed young woman, has forwarded me many messages in secret to keep me up to date on the world. She would’ve made a promising agent in a different life.
I betrayed my country to protect the life of one man. And while I can’t fault you for being disappointed in me because of this, I don’t regret it. I never will.
I still hope…
Hope what? Martin licked his lips. He wanted their forgiveness, their acceptance, their love—but was it possible to obtain? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to mention that he was in love with the man he had saved. Maybe in a future letter.
He tapped the pager with his pen, blank dots like freckles on a white surface.
Creaks rattled the front porch before the front door swung open. “Hello, darling one,” Emmerich called, kicking the door closed. “I couldn’t find any of that special bread you like, but I got some ingredients here. We can make our own fucking bread.” He walked into the kitchen—well, kitchen area, which was on the left side of the main room of the cabin, where Martin sat. Emmerich put the bags on the table and stretched. “And I was thinking about giving hunting a try. Homemade bread, fresh game—it’d be good for the soul.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “You’ve been saying that for months. You never follow through.”
“Well, now I got the ingredients for the bread. That’s a start.”
“I suppose.” He tapped the page again.
Emmerich strolled over, placing his hands on Martin’s shoulders and leaning over. “What are you…oh. Has Auta agreed to this yet?”
“I haven’t tried to contact her. Doing it too often might draw attention to us.”
Emmerich hummed in acknowledgement, leaning a little closer to the paper—breath ghosting over Martin’s ear.
“I’ll figure something out,” Martin said absently, unable to think with Emmerich so close. He closed his eyes.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Emmerich said with a laugh. “You saved me? I think it was the other way around.”
Martin’s eyes snapped open. “What?” Choking on his own laughter, he scooted forward and looked back at him. “How diluted is your memory?”
“Not nearly as diluted as yours. You were the one who was going to go back to the OSS.”
“I was also the one who stabbed a man to death before he had the chance to shoot you.”
“True, but I’m the one who armed you for that.”
Martin barked ou
t another laugh and shook his head, facing his letter again. “Such arrogance. You know I could write down about how ungrateful you’re being.”
“Either way, you should probably omit the part about stabbing a man to death. Mothers usually don’t like to hear those sorts of things.”
Martin snorted, amusement bubbling up his chest. His breathing evened out as he thought more about his mother and Emmerich. Would she…would she want to meet him? After she dealt with the shock of it all, maybe…
His face fell, heart sinking. Of course she wouldn’t. A Christian woman? No, Emmerich would have to be his secret.
Emmerich kissed his cheek, then kissed down to his jaw. “What’s bothering you?” he whispered.
Martin shivered, heat pooling in his lower gut. He leaned a little closer to Emmerich’s lips, trailing over to Martin’s earlobe. “I sometimes wish we could all be a happy family. You, Ma, my siblings. They’re good people, just…”
“Maybe someday,” Emmerich whispered, echoing Martin’s earlier hopes. “But for now,” he nipped Martin’s earlobe, “you’re all mine.”
Breath hitching, Martin canted his head back to give Emmerich more access to his throat.
Emmerich took quick advantage of it—kissing over Martin’s rapid pulse and running his hands down Martin’s chest.
He closed his eyes and arched into Emmerich’s touch. His lips curled upward when Emmerich sank his fingers in between the buttons of his shirt. Gently, he scratched Martin’s chest.
“Bed?” Martin asked as Emmerich sucked on a spot on his throat.
Emmerich made a noise of agreement, though he didn’t back away—didn’t stop sucking and licking Martin’s exposed throat.
Martin relaxed in the chair, his hands trailing up Emmerich’s arm. Awkward angle and all, this still felt soothing—no, more than that. Enthralling. He licked his lips, aching to be kissed.
“Come on,” Martin whispered, forcing himself to push Emmerich off so that he could stand. “Bed.” He grabbed Emmerich’s hand—nearly yelping when Emmerich yanked him against his chest.
“Bed,” Emmerich repeated before kissing Martin.
They stumbled their way over to the bedroom—the only other room in the cabin besides the bathroom—Emmerich constantly tugging at Martin’s shirt and Martin fumbling with Emmerich’s zipper.