by Robert Wise
‘Upon notifying my co-pilot that the aircraft was failing I was able to eject from the chamber, he however, was not so lucky.’ The piece of ragged paper had now extended each fold and a spatter of faint words fell across the page.
‘I managed to reach a stretch of main road where I flagged down an oncoming vehicle ,’ his voice grew dry and his words suffered, ‘on the way I must have passed out from the pain and I woke within the medical wing of the nearest barracks a day or so later.’
A snarl of gnarls and barks sounded in the distance. Colonel Herman lumbered over to the arrangement of sheeting towards the back of the barn.
‘The location of the aircraft and my dear, dear friend are still unknown, despite a full scale search.’ Francis shuddered. Howls could be heard outside.
‘After my recovery I was assigned to the countryside, to seek out the reality of what had happened. Today however, I found myself distracted with another, somewhat niggling incidence. An incidence that led me to an empty field, showered in bullets and the blood of hidden ghosts. A forest sat behind that field, and your cottage beyond that. But do you know what I came across in that forest, Mr Dubois?’
Struggling to calm his quavering nerves, Francis shook his head, ever so slightly.
‘This.’
Colonel Hermann flipped a sheet away from his pocket and smudged at the creases until it sat neatly within his pinch.
‘It’s headed, the secrets of my Father’s farm, and I must admit Mr Dubois, it is incredibly generous in detail. So much so that it states, several times in fact, that Father was hiding someone in the barn.’
Colonel Hermann enjoyed Francis’ torture and strode gently towards the pointed mount of the nearest tarp, clenching at the summit with a gloved fist. His pea green eyes flicked away from the sheet and fell over Francis’ flame seared stubble.
‘The stranger rode out from the barn on Father’s motorcycle. Interesting. I’m guessing Alfred Ludin didn’t climb out from a fiery wreckage, spend a night in your barn here and then ride out the next morning on a motorcycle. No, I’m guessing my dear friend was here and so was the missing survivor of last night’s gunfight. But they’re not here now, are they.’ It wasn’t a question, not in the slightest.
Francis couldn’t speak, his forehead raged with fear. Colonel Herman grinned with an unforgiving wickedness. The sheet came away beneath his sharp pull and it fell at Francis’ boots, taking a moment or two to completely settle. A great bulk of metal sat amongst the murky swamp of an ageing dust sheet, the resurrected engine of an aircraft, clumsily wedged together with amateurish tools and slack bonding agents. Francis wiped a stream of sweat away from beneath his nose. The gnashes and grunts of Alsatian hordes spilled through the silence. Colonel Herman removed the gloves from his hot hands.
‘I think it’s about time you told me what you did with Alfred Ludin, Mr Dubois. And please, don’t leave anything out.’
THE ENCORE
‘Captain Linder, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ Lieutenant Keitel marched across the sun kissed courtyard, approaching Tobias with an outstretched hand.
‘Apologies Lieutenant,’ Tobias smiled, ‘I’m afraid my driver is still adjusting to the traffic in this city, a big change from Munich I should imagine.’
‘I sympathise, Captain, when were you re-stationed?’
They shook hands and strode side by side toward the barracks that sat across the concrete square.
‘A few weeks ago,’ replied Tobias, ‘yourself?’
‘Around a month ago, it takes some getting used to, a beautiful city nonetheless.’ Tobias agreed with a nod and followed Lieutenant Keitel to a quiet lobby where a fresh faced private sat behind a reception desk, instantly jumping to his feet as the two entered. The air became warm and smelt of supper.
‘I should mention that men are currently having their afternoon meal,’ said the Captain, figuring his guest had probably cottoned on to the travelling aroma.
‘Not to worry Lieutenant, how many men have you got in the garrison?’
‘Over a thousand.’ They came to an office and the smell of lunch vanished as Tobias slid into an uncomfortable armchair.
‘Drink?’ asked Lieutenant Keitel.
‘If it’s not frowned upon,’ smiled Tobias.
‘I doubt anyone could frown upon a twenty-three year old scotch,’ sniggered the Lieutenant as he fetched a couple of glasses from a glass cabinet. Tobias wondered what the building had been before the army had moved in but refrained from asking once the glass met his palm.
‘To our Fuhrer,’ yelled Lieutenant Keitel, raising his glass towards a portrait that sat beside the sun swollen window.
‘To the Fuhrer,’ Tobias returned.
‘So I gathered from Heinrich that you would be checking in on a few of the barracks around Paris?’
‘That’s correct, just routine inspections, making sure everyone’s happy.’
‘Well I wish we had something that would have made your journey worthwhile Captain but the truth is we’re seeing nothing at the moment. It’s all road blocks and training drills.’
Tobias nodded and finished his scotch.
‘Here,’ the Lieutenant said, rising from his seat, ‘I’ll show you around, it’s the least I can do.’
The food hall hummed with conversation. Rows and rows of hunched shoulders scooped at their trays, paying little attention to the two passing officers.
‘They look restless,’ observed Tobias, studying the sea of glum faces.
‘They are, it’s all talk at the moment, they’re eager to get out there and see some action.’
‘Aren’t we all,’ lied Tobias.
‘The rumours don’t help.’
‘Rumours?’
‘You know the kind, nonsense about nothing. The French radical group known as the stallers seem to be at the height of discussion at the present moment.’
Tobias scoffed. The hall seemed endless. Enormous chandeliers descended from the tall ceilings. The room seemed to be boxed within an arrangement of small coves, each filled with a bank of neatly stacked books. Some had fallen and now lay open upon the surrounding desks or were simply left on the floor to fluster amidst an army of footsteps.
‘Come to think of it,’ said Liuetenant Keitel, ‘there was something that caused quite a stir, well, it must have been around three or four nights ago.’
‘Oh?’ Tobias responded.
‘Like I said, it was around four nights ago and I found myself in the courtyard, cigar in hand and breathing in the cold evening breeze when I noticed an officer sneaking in through the gates. After I called him over he lit up and joined me in a smoke before proceeding to tell me about his night.’
Tobias nodded politely, having already begun to drift away.
‘Well, it just so happens that this officer had been drinking in a tavern with a local girl when the bartender strolls over and tells them that that night a German celebrity had been in town.’
‘And who would that be?’ Tobias grinned.
‘I’ll give you a clue,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘Sunset of Le Havre.’
Tobias halted for a moment, his legs suddenly cold.
‘Got it yet?’
Continuing along the corridor Tobias shrugged and attempted to offer a nervous laugh yet nothing surfaced.
‘Toby Vilsmaier of course, here in Paris,’ Lieutenant Keitel sniggered. Trying to hide his incredible gush of anxiety, Tobias quickened his pace, hoping the Lieutenant would follow his lead and the end of the hall would soon fall at their feet.
‘The officer, he didn’t h-happen to mention what the tavern was called, did he?’
‘Now that you mention it...’
‘Ah Lieutenant Keitel, I was hoping to run into you.’ Though Tobias hadn’t noticed, he and the rambling Lieutenant had passed through an archway and left the hall of clinking cutlery behind them and were now standing before a fast approaching figure.
‘Good afternoon, Lieutenant!’ r
esponded Keitel, his attention now fixed upon the tall shouldered officer that came to a saluting halt just beside Tobias’s sweat drenched tunic.
‘Captain Linder, I would like you to meet Lieutenant Klaus Jung, a member of the Luftwaffe division, he’s taking care of some business in Paris and decided to drop in. Captain Linder here is visiting from Munich.’
Tobias glared into the face of the man that stood before him and faked a smile.
‘Pleasure.’
Tobias desperately tried not to tear his gawp away from the officer’s stare but found his gaze faltering down to the ladder of scarring that was so mercilessly lashed across the young man’s pale face. His hair was pushed back, parted to one side and incredibly blonde though his eyebrows were darker, a mousier shade of brown.
‘You look strangely familiar, Captain Linder,’ began Lieutenant Jung, ‘have we met before?’
Tobias felt a bubble of sweat muster beneath his moustache.
‘Not that I can recall,’ he decided to counter cockily, looking over the mask of scars with an unnerving glare, ‘I think I would have remembered.’
Lieutenant Jung creased his lips but smiled, as though the comment was meant as a compliment as opposed to an insult.
‘I’ll come and find you later Lieutenant,’ he said nodding at Lieutenant Keitel before shooting a grin at Tobias and then heading off down the hallway once more.
‘Good man, Lieutenant Jung,’ concluded Keitel as he put a hand on Tobias’s shoulder and directed him towards a curved reception desk across the lobby.
‘So, what do you think, Vilsmaier?’
‘Sorry?’ Tobias returned in a panic, his heart flaring up once more.
‘What do you think about Vilsmaier?’ the Lieutenant said again.
‘Oh, well...’
‘My wife, she adores him. The thanks I’d get for bringing home an autograph. I mean if he was here I wouldn’t be surprised, it’s not as though Paris is a war zone. The perfect city to hide a national hero, other than Berlin that is,’ the Lieutenant snapped open a thick log book and tapped on the wave of pages,
‘I’ll need your signature here Captain, visitors log.’
Tobias began to plough through his inside pockets, his legs felt hotter by the second.
‘Pen?’
‘Karsten, pen.’
The young man sitting behind the desk scrambled at the inventory before him and after his pimple dashed face had somewhat reddened he managed to slap a pen onto the bend of the visitor book. Tobias signed the page and smiled, handing the pen back down to the nervous private.
‘Aha!’ yelled Keitel, grabbing at Tobias’s sleeve.
‘I appreciate the gesture, believe me I do, but I’m afraid even my wife would realise that this was a forgery.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Tobias.
‘The signature,’ grinned the Lieutenant, his finger pointing at the log book. With his face riddled in confusion, Tobias stooped down and studied the last autograph. A heavy lump formed in his throat. His eyes enlarged, engorged with fear. The signature on the page was not that of Captain Niklaus Linder, it was of the German hero, Tobias Vilsmaier.
‘Nearly got away with it,’ Tobias simpered quickly, gesturing at the desk clerk to pass back the pen.
‘It would have made quite the story at supper this evening,’ chuckled the Lieutenant as he watched the Captain scratch away the signature and produce a fresh stretch of ink below.
‘It’s been a pleasure Captain Linder.’
‘Likewise, Lieutenant Keitel, I’ll keep an eye out for the movie star and if I see him, I’ll be sure to send him this way.’
He slumped into the back of the car and closed the door, immediately falling onto one side and trembling uncontrollably against the leather seat. The driver turned and muttered his concern but Tobias told him to drive through gritted teeth. His heart raged, his fingers locked, his mind boggled and raced. He had no control, it was as though every muscle in his body had sprung to life. Sweat dripped from his forehead and leaked onto the hot leather. Unbuttoning his collar Tobias breathed, desperately trying to calm his thumping heart. Every few seconds the driver’s eyes filled the mirror, staring upon the man quivering against the back seat. A hand clasped against his chest, soon to be rattled with a pulsating buzz. The cab screeched to a halt outside the hotel.
‘No, no,’ spluttered Tobias, ‘g-go around the block, circle the block, please.’
Nodding worriedly the driver slammed his foot against the accelerator and sped off, leaving the valet confused and stranded on the sidewalk.
On the fourth time in passing the hotel Tobias tapped at the front seat and requested that the driver pull over.
‘Danke,’ he muttered, tossing a few notes into the front cabin.
He climbed out and monitored his heartbeat as he lumbered up the stairs and headed into the entrance lobby. The evening had approached without warning and the lobby was lit in a murky glance of golden light.
‘Good evening Captain.’
He ignored the clerk and stepped into the nearest elevator, continuously punching at the button panel until it arrived at his floor. With a careful stride he came to his room and rested his head against the door, his hands were clenched, his room key digging deep into his clammy palm. His legs were heavy with fear; he didn’t want to be alone. He turned and headed back to the elevator. He needed a drink.
The scotch numbed his lips. It was warm, potent. A band of cheerful faces surrounded him, each laughing and joking whilst spitting out sprays of rich champagne. They stroked at the collection of medals darned into his tunic, smiling as he recited countless accounts of battle and bravery. The act continued. His earlier panic reduced somewhat by each drink, arriving on a tray every five minutes or so. His admirers held their breath as he spoke of ruthless enemies and perilous operations, hanging on every scotch bleached word.
‘Were you not scared?’ sounded in his ears.
‘No, no,’ he chuckled, ‘of course not.’ Impressed, his entourage giggled and applauded. Tobias began to relax and bathed in his characters false glory, lapping up every kiss and intoxicated compliment. His warm fingers wrapped around the thin stem of a champagne glass and he sipped clumsily at the sizzling bubbles. The tavern was lively. Every so often an onlooker would pass the rowdy table and see an ageing German, encircled within a mob of gorgeous women. A scatter of officers sat around the bar, quietly discussing the activity of the mysterious Captain’s exclusive company.
Why does he get all the attention? Who is he anyway?
They knew him. They just didn’t know it. A celebrity of his calibre knew how to attract a crowd such as the one sitting beside him. There was a loud titter. A glass scraped through a puddle that had stretched across the table. A bustle of faces appeared at the entrance, followed by a clumsy racket of speech. He prodded a finger over his rounded spectacles and swiped away the encasement of steamy gloss. The new group joined the gawping officers at the bar and after a few whispers were exchanged, they too began to glance over at the taverns most vivacious table. Hands rushed over his uniform, lipstick brushed against his cheeks. For a while he had fallen silent, basking within a wave of rich compliments and flirtatious gestures. His eyes caught the crowd at the bar. One particular woman had been staring more than the others, glancing back into her glass every so often, he imagined so as not to arouse suspicion. A burgundy shawl covered her shoulders and her slender body was cloaked in a black dress. Tobias finally caught her glare. For a moment or two he wondered about signalling for her to come over however once his drunken glare had settled he shrunk back into the cushioned seat, shying behind a tower of tall champagne bottles. It couldn’t be, he thought, could it? He took another gulp of scotch and raised his eyes over the brim of his spectacles. It was, it was the girl. The girl from that night, in the tavern, the girl he had woken beside and then so carelessly left without the mask of Captain Linder. What if she had seen him without the disguise as well as the loud mouth bartende
r? He sunk further into his seat and avoided crossing glares again and excused himself hurriedly from within the hive of nattering voices. His steps were shaky as he made his way across the bar and towards the entrance. He was sure she was following his every movement, whispering to a friend behind a shield of fingers, telling everyone about how Tobias Vilsmaier was hiding underneath this German Captain’s disguise. He glanced back. She was nowhere to be seen, hidden amongst the collection of faces perhaps. The table where he had been seated remained the same, champagne was sipped and smiles shared. He wasn’t sure if they had even noticed him leave.
He tried again, this time sinking his head into a pair of cold hands. Taking in shallow bursts of air he desperately tried to clear his mind. A rifling shake spread across his entire body causing his fingers to jingle unsteadily against his cheeks. The warm taste of scotch had turned sour and it stifled his attempt at spluttering a sequence of gentle coughs. Through the misty lens of his spectacles he stared out across the river. Strands of brilliant light stretched out across the water, bobbing tenderly upon a silent bed of blackness. He flexed his fingers around the railings and peered down into the water. A swelling reflection stared back at him. He pried his palms away from the cold steel and pushed away, back stepping until his heel clipped the curb. There was a sudden rush of panic, a cascade of ice cold dread. After a few short breaths he approached the railings once more, this time cautiously casting his gaze down into the gulf of pitiless black. A gasp slipped away from his dry lips.
Staring back at him was a middle aged man, his face mantled with a pair of round spectacles and his crooked smile cloaked behind a bristly moustache. The reason for his sudden terror was simple. The second reflection did not match the first. He couldn’t be sure if it was the drink or the purple night playing tricks on his tired eyes but what he did know is that what he saw first of all hadn’t been Niklaus Linder. It had been the face of a young, handsome man wearing an expression quenched in despair. It had been the ghost of Tobias Vilsmaier. In a sudden rush he began to unpin each medal that was fashioned to his breast pocket, hurling each glistening piece down into the water. Stripes of icy tears ran across his cheeks. He cursed at the coiling ripples. Once every medal had quickly disappeared into the murky depths he grabbed at his face, snatching the spectacles from the bridge of his nose and snapping them in two. Through the tiny splits of glass he saw his angst and racing fright. From under his nose he ripped away the fake moustache and allowed it to slip through his fingers, down towards the river and out of sight.