by Guy Rosmarin
“My only secret is that I am from another world and another time.” Andy’s anger fueled his confidence.
“What did you say?”
“I said I am not from your world!”
“And vhat exactly do you mean by zhat?”
“There’s no mystery. I am not a spy, I am no soldier either, and I do not possess any secrets that can help you, or anyone else win the war.”
The blunt answer painted the officer’s face red, but Andy could sense he was trying his best to maintain his composure. “If you are none of zhose things then vhat are you? Who are you?”
“I’m a history teacher from Boston, born in sixty-six. That means I have nothing to do with your war, and soon I’ll just disappear and you will forget you ever saw me.”
Ziegler took a step back, crossed his arms, and scanned his prisoner from head to toe.
“You look young for seventy-five,” he said. “Maybe that’s your big secret.”
“I’m thirty five!”
“You just said you vere born eighteen-sixty-six?”
“Nineteen-sixty-six,” Andy corrected him. There was a queer ring to the words as they left his lips. Why am I telling him all of this?
“You expect me to find your story amusing?” Ziegler said, gazing at his sweatshirt. “Harvard. Is that your name?”
Andy was surprised by the ignorance, but decided to play along, and this time, without telling the whole truth about himself. “Yes, Harvard Coach,” he said, referring to the word printed on the back of the sweatshirt.
“Harvard Kotch. I should have known he’s a dirty Jew.” Ziegler backed away from the chair mumbling and returned with a hot iron rod in his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself, Harvard Kotch,” he uttered, pointing the sizzling red tip at his prisoner’s face. “My name is Doctor Pain.” Andy could smell the air burning around it. He knew exactly who he was, but the formal confirmation hoisted his anxiety to new heights. He stared at the red tip of the hot iron rod, knowing it would soon burn his flesh. The thought made him quiver. The doctor smiled and pulled the rod away. “I don’t know if I can believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, so maybe this will get the truth out of you.” Without warning, he raised the rod in the air and swung it with the hot tip facing down.
Andy closed his eyes and stopped breathing. This is it, he thought. He heard a swift swoosh and a clunk, yet again, the anticipated pain failed to arrive. He gave it another two seconds, but the only sensation registered was the smell of burning wood. When he opened his eyes, he saw the rod sticking out from the right arm of the chair, piercing straight through the palm of his hand. The hideous sight invited the number one combo to climb up his gullet all over again. He wanted to look away, but his eyes remained locked on his impaled hand until he realized there was no sign of blood or injury. His flesh was wrapped around the iron as if it was made of air.
Ziegler pulled the rod out of the wooden arm and slowly walked backwards, staring at the woundless hand. Andy’s confidence was rapidly growing. “Does that answer your question Gruppenführer Ziegler?” he cried in German. The Doctor froze with his back to the blazing embers. His jaw dropped and the iron rod slipped loose from his hand, hitting the floor with a clang. Andy’s words pierced deeper and harder than the red iron tip. The scar above the doctor’s lip twitched. Andy wasn’t sure if it was humiliation or fear, but it all boiled back to rage as Ziegler strode back to the center of the shop. Without saying a word, he pulled a Luger sidearm from his hip holster and aimed it at Andy’s head. The fury in his eyes transformed into madness. One shot fired, a moment of silence passed, and then four more followed. Andy heard the bullets buzzing through his head and smashing on the wall behind him. The noise was unbearable, but other than that, there were no mortal wounds, no injuries…and no pain.
After the last shot was fired, Ziegler lowered his arm. He stood silently for a long moment, gawking at the five bullet holes in the wall behind his unharmed prisoner until his feet began to drag across the clean tiled floor. He walked back and forth, back and forth, his once-confident steps turned hesitant and nervous. His superficial calmness gave way to agitation and hopelessness as he kept his eyes locked on his prisoner. Andy didn’t look away, not this time. He could smell his captor’s distress, keeping his gaze as if to prove his strength. Ziegler broke first, turning his eyes to a wall-mounted cabinet marked by a black skull and crossbones. He walked over, yanked the door open, and looked inside.
Now, he’s going to try to poison me? Andy thought as he watched Ziegler examining the label on a small glass ampoule he took out of the cabinet.
Ziegler ground impatient teeth while scanning the rows of glass bottles and ampoules that filled the cabinet in perfect order. He turned his eyes to the coat hanger at the far corner of the dining room and scurried over to it. “Ah ha,” he cried out, pulling a metal syringe from the pocket of his SD overcoat.
Andy felt his heartbeat surging again as he watched him prep the syringe. He was still shaken by the experience of bullets flying through his head, but it was not enough to convince him he was immune to lethal injections as well. He knew he had to find a way out of the slaughterhouse, but he could not move. His arms and legs were still tied to the chair. If only I could rip through these straps like I did in the back of the transport truck…but then what? He watched Ziegler inserting the tip of the needle into the ampoule, slowly sucking the clear fluid out and filling the glass chamber of the syringe like an hourglass that was about to run out of time.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Ziegler’s decorated overcoat, hanging on the thick wooden pole. There’s my ticket out of here, he thought, and shifted his focus to the shiny skull pinned to the cap’s visor. And suddenly he felt it. Time was slowing down. He took a deep breath as he locked his eyes on the pin and tried to rise. Without much effort, his arms and legs broke loose. He stood up and walked towards the coat hanger, gliding through the air as if gravity had no effect on him. He felt the stillness around him. The euphoric sensation did not break his concentration until Ziegler’s uniforms were in arm’s reach.
With his eyes locked on the gap between the skull and crossbones, and the silver eagle pin above it, he grabbed the overcoat and shoved his arms through the long sleeves. He lifted the cap with both hands and held it up straight. His heart was surging. Almost there. He took a deep breath and tried to maintain his focus, though he couldn’t help wondering why Ziegler was not responding. If I don’t see or hear him, he’s not really there. Now, all he had to do was exit the room and find his way out of the building. He turned for the door with the SD cap still in his hands, but something pulled his attention from the pin he tried so hard to keep his eyes on. It was a perfect drop of clear fluid suspended in mid-air. When he took a closer look, he realized it was moving downwards, but slowly, very slowly. Another drop followed, compelling him to look up, and there was the source; a needle attached to a metal syringe in a gloved hand. Ziegler’s hand and his body only inches away, frozen like a three-dimensional still life snapshot. The ghastly sight made him stumble. He quickly rose, slightly bumping the doctor.
In an instant, time sped up. The harmless, if not unnoticeable, tap on the shoulder sent Ziegler flying through the air, crashing into the bookcase. The limbs continued to twitch for a brief moment after his body dropped to the floor. When the convulsions ceased, an eerie silence fell over the room. Andy gawked at the body that lay motionless amidst scattered books. “I just killed Doktor Schmertz,” he whispered with terror in his eyes. But that’s impossible. He wondered if he should check his pulse, just to make sure, but he hadn’t a second to spare. He put on the cap and bolted through the big oak door. To his surprise, the hallway was completely empty. He found his way to the stairway without wasting another moment.
Chapter 14
Andy ran down the five flights in the empty stairwell. Traffic in the main hallway of the grou
nd floor was mild and no one seemed to pay him any mind. He pulled the cap visor down his brow and swiftly strode towards the door at the end of the hallway. The smell of fresh air filled him with a sense of relief, but the feeling shattered at the sight of two soldiers guarding the entrance. He turned his eyes to the ground, picturing himself being thrown back in the narrow dark cell, or another torture chamber. But no one apprehended him. He slowly raised his head. The guards stood stiff with their arms stretched up in a Seig Heil salute, looking straight ahead. Andy nodded and walked forward with hesitant steps. He heard the swift coordinated movement of the guards’ arms behind him but did not turn to look. He kept walking.
The sun was halfway below mid-sky when he passed the central edifice. He remembered the magnificent structure, though it felt like a year had passed since he last saw it. There was no time. He had to find his way out of the compound. All he had to do was follow the path that brought him in. But once the edifice was behind him, there was nothing familiar to help him trace his steps. The roads looked different. So did the looks from those who passed him. Reverence filled the eyes that spotted the ranks on his “borrowed” overcoat. Some officers nodded. Lesser ranks stopped to salute. Andy returned courtesy where he could, but for the most part he tried to avoid eye contact. He knew it was a matter of time before someone would notice he’s an imposter. He saw a watchtower far in the distance. There’s my way out, he thought and picked up his pace.
When he got a clear view of the vast metal gate and walls of barbed wires that sprouted from each of its sides, he sighed. The sweet air tasted like freedom, and the only thing that separated him from grasping it was sixty yards of parking lot. He slowed down as he crossed the lot to avoid unnecessary attention. The gate was only few feet away, but just as he envisioned himself crossing to the other side, a motorcycle with a sidecar screeched by him, almost knocking him to the ground.
“Watch where you’re going,” the driver uttered with an arrogant smirk as he stepped off the leather seat. Then he saw the ranks. He immediately went silent and his right arm shot straight up in the air. Andy was inclined to act as if nothing had happened and march out of the garrison, but from the nervous look in the soldier’s eyes, he knew that a lack of response would appear suspicious. He had to say something but he didn’t know what or how to say it. He glanced at the motorcycle. The engine was still running. There’s an opportunity.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going, corporal,” he tried hard to toughen up his German.
“Yes sir,” the corporal squealed and hurried to turn off the engine.
“Huh uh…” Andy shook his head, signaling him to step away. “Consider your vehicle commandeered!” He pulled his leg over the seat. “Don’t expect to see it again!” The corporal nodded, swallowing his breath. “Now get out of my sight.” He let the engine roar as the corporal scurried away. I would like to thank the Academy.
***
The smell of gasoline fumes mixed with the sound of the roaring engine pulled Andy back to his cross-country trip on his uncle’s 1979 Cruiser. Memories of freedom touched by the thrust of wind in his face and power in his hands rekindled an old spirit he thought was long gone. He took a minute to configure the mechanism of the BMW. An ancient relic compared to the old Honda cruiser, yet he admired the German engineering as he shifted gears. The guard at the post approached him with a wary look, but one glance at the Gruppenführer ranks made him rush to open the gate and let Andy dash through without questioning.
When the path leading out of the camp merged into the main road, all of Andy’s worries dispersed with a twist of throttle, freeing him to breathe in the thrill of the ride. The same thrill he felt when he was racing through the Canyons of the Arizona desert to the spectacular snow peak Rockies of Colorado, almost twenty years earlier, or forty years later. He became one with the road: a man, a machine, and the laws of nature, riding for the sake of riding, and his mind floating with no boundaries. He was living a dream, forgetting he was actually dreaming.
And yet, the feeling was somewhat different. The wind was blowing in his face, but it was neither cold nor aching. He could feel the sun beating on the back of his head, but he couldn’t feel its heat. The air was going straight through him and he could smell and taste it, but he wasn’t breathing it. He felt like he was not a resident of the world that surrounded him, but a guest who was just in it for the ride.
He kept following the road with no regard to where it was leading. If it weren’t for an accidental glance at the fuel dial, he would have continued to indulge in bliss, testing the engine’s limits, but the need for gas forced him to consider his options. Refueling at a civilian station would be difficult with no money, and stopping at another military base was clearly out of the question.
“The hell with it,” he whispered, and resolved to keep riding until the tank ran dry.
With the sun sinking behind him, he knew he was heading east, but otherwise he had no clue where he was going. He wished he could continue to float above the clouds, but the circumstances of his journey kept pulling him back to the ground. I killed a top SS officer, the voice in his head pounded through his eardrums from within. If I’m not the most wanted fugitive in occupied Europe by now, I will be soon. Up ahead, a condensed line of steeples and towers spiked the horizon. Andy accelerated to top speed, hoping he had enough gas to make it to the city in the distance as he watched its skyline approach.
Chapter 15
Andy stopped the bike in the middle of a busy street, gaping with awe at majestic baroque steeples lit by incendiary rays of a sinking sun. Only the loud horns of an impatient driver pulled his attention back to the road, but when he tried to shift gears and merge back into the slow traffic, the engine coughed twice and stalled. The fuel dial rested well below the red bar. I guess this is as far as you’re going to take me, he tapped on the fuel tank with his index knuckle, then dragged the motorcycle to an empty alley and bid it farewell.
As he headed east, the red sea of rooftops pierced by countless domes, towers, and medieval fortresses was set ablaze by the last few rays of the setting sun. Something about this view was strikingly familiar. “Looks just like…Prague,” he whispered. His shoulder collided with another pedestrian as he observed the scenery. The man turned to him with a grumpy look but immediately stepped back and pleaded for forgiveness at the sight of the uniform. Andy tried to find the Czech words for a courteous response, but the man disappeared in the busy crowd before he had a chance to speak.
He took a step back and gazed at the streets. A mix of exhaust fumes and sweet pastries filled his nostrils as random conversations in Czech and Slovakian dialects filled his ears. Slow down! He tried to pace the mass of unfiltered information and focus on one conversation; he chose one in a language most familiar—German. It didn’t take long before he realized he was the topic of discourse. He turned his eyes to the source, two Wehrmacht troops on the other side of the street. His swift agitated glance made them look away, but they were not the only ones. There were men in uniform at every corner, and some looked back at him. He straightened his overcoat, pulled the visor down, and continued to walk without looking back. He had to remind himself it was only a matter of time before words of his mischievous deeds would spread and every German soldier on the continent would be looking for an imposter in a SD Gruppenführer uniform.
He made a sharp turn onto a quiet street and kept walking until he lost sight of the crowd. The streets darkened as the sun faded behind him. He could not tell where the next turn would take him, but he kept going. The Gothic towers peering through the gaps in the curtain of red tiled rooftops served as his only guides, leading him through the dark maze of inner alleys, until he finally saw the light ahead. The sight of clear blue sky brought a sense of relief. He found himself exactly where he hoped to be, and the view was astounding. His towering guides stood as part of a majestic medieval fortress in a picturesque complex of st
eeples, bell towers, and domes.
“Hello Prague,” he whispered. It made perfect sense. The calm atmosphere in context of the fiercest war in history had a valid explanation. After the Nazis annexed Czechoslovakia in March 1939, they put major efforts into preserving the nation’s capital and its cultural legacy to show the rest of the world the “positive contribution” of their campaign. The official policy remained intact for the duration of the war, and Prague was one of the very few major European cities that survived the era with little harm.
Andy climbed up a long, steep stone stairwell that led to the plaza of the grand Prague Castle. He stopped to catch his breath and scanned the panoramic view. It felt like déjà vu, but it wasn’t. He had stood in that very spot, looking at the same scenery, ten years earlier. It wasn’t a dream, then, yet everything looked just as he remembered. The Eiffel-like Petrin Tower, the twin steeples of the Strahov Monastery, and the white bell tower of the Beautiful Loreta Church stood proud where they did the last time he saw them. The euphoria of the moment dispersed with a “Heil Hitler” holler. Andy raised a flimsy hand, dismissing the salute. The guard pulled back his stretched arm and carried on with his patrol. But there were others, many others in German uniform everywhere in sight. It reminded Andy that the Prague castle, home to many kings and heads of state through the ages, also served as Reinhard Heydrich’s own headquarters in the early years of the war. And the last thing he needed at that point was to run into the Butcher from Prague wearing his pet monster’s uniform. The petrifying thought pulled him out of his contemplative stance. He walked back to the stone stairway and down to the narrow street below.