Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  “No, thank you.”

  But Hannah had every intention of being on the train, she just had no money to purchase a ticket. She would have to sneak on.

  The train approached from the close distance, shrieking as it decelerated to a stop. An irrational fear took hold that as soon as the doors would open, Waltz and an SS platoon would step off. But was it so irrational? A person looking to escape would surely go to a train station.

  The train’s doors opened, and the passengers inside the train forced their way past those trying to get on. During the commotion of boarding and exiting, Hannah hopped down onto the tracks and climbed onto the train’s caboose. After all the passengers had boarded and the doors had closed, the train powered forward rhythmically.

  The wind and temperature were unforgiving, but the gray midi dress and matching jacket she wore were much better suited for it than the striped pajamas. She lifted her feet onto the caboose and used her satchel as a pillow and ensured her chest and legs were covered by the metal railing. The rejuvenation she had after a week of straight eating and sleeping was taken over by sheer exhaustion once again. Sleeping was easier than the sporadic depressing thoughts that went through her head. She had no dreams, nor could she remember at exactly what point she had fallen asleep. She had become well acquainted with a shrieking train and the squealing as it slowed. But her sense of smell took control over her, and with her bag so close to her nose, she could smell nothing but the homemade bread. She tore off a piece and appeased both her sense of smell and stomach, and she brought her attention back to the screeching train.

  She had arrived in Vienna. She hopped off the train before it stopped completely and dashed off the tracks. Hannah followed the mad dash of people heading toward the heart of the Austrian city. It was hard not to be mesmerized by the city’s grand opulent standing with its buildings piercing the sky like the tips of a jewel-covered spear. Austria was the home of Hannah’s favorite painting and had always brought a calming wave and now, only envisioning it, was no different.

  Hannah stayed in the city for two weeks, sleeping in one of the city’s parks or in alleys. She scouted the outdoor cafés, and when the patrons would leave, she would grab their leftover food from the plates before the waiter or waitress could clear them. But her time in Vienna had to be limited. Not only was the city and the country of Austria under Nazi occupation, it was also pro-Nazi.

  Hannah had to get to France and from France to England. It did not matter France was under German control. France and, especially, Paris were not pro-Nazi, and its citizens were less likely to turn her in.

  Hannah’s time hanging around the outdoor cafés paid off with more than just leftover food. She discovered that an Austrian-flown airplane made frequent trips from Vienna to Strasbourg, France. It would be extremely gutsy to attempt to sneak aboard, but the prospect of being able to travel whether by foot, car or rail to France seemed unlikely. It was to her advantage that the flight took off during the nighttime hours. It made it much easier to sneak onto the airstrip, but there were still searchlights that scanned the strip, looking for any trespassers.

  Her time with Sturmbannführer Waltz and Jakob Hauser, his rank no longer known, had taught her cunning. She scouted at night, listening to names, ranks, and conversations. On her third night, she made her move. She dashed across the small runway and hid behind a Nazi officer’s black automobile, so polished that it was mirror-like in its reflection. When the loading of the cargo paused, she took her chance and sprinted up the ramp and hid behind one of the crates. She sipped in breaths and exhaled slowly.

  The two guards finished loading the crates of cargo, one talking about a big-breasted Austrian he had seen the night before, and the other was far too busy imaging the woman to check the plane.

  “Find one problem, solve one problem.”

  The next problem was the tumultuous ball of nerves in Hannah’s stomach. She had never flown before, a nerve-racking experience on its own, but she had illegally snuck on a plane used to benefit a regime that wanted her exterminated.

  “You are the pilots of this plane?” a German voice asked from outside the plane.

  The voice was muffled, and had it not been for the man having great diction and enunciation, his words would have been lost.

  “Yes, Sir,” another voice replied.

  Austria was a pre-dominantly German-speaking country, and it provided a huge advantage to be able to understand what the Nazis were saying. Warnings and information could be attained. Apart from Eleanor and Trugnowski, it had been her ability to speak and understand German that had aided in her survival. Those who could not understand it were at a serious disadvantage.

  “Where do you fly to?” the first voice asked.

  Without even seeing the man, Hannah knew he was an officer. They carried themselves in a different way—well-mannered and supremely confident.

  “Strasburg, France,” the second voice answered.

  “Not anymore. You will fly Brigadeführer Huber to Berlin,” the first voice instructed.

  “Yes, Sir,” the second voice said.

  Hannah’s eyes bulged open so wide that the whites of her eyes were probably visible in the black space. Though the plane was hardly for personnel transport, especially top Nazis, it did have an additional seat—a seat now filled by a general of the SS. The plane’s ramp rose and closed, trapping her inside. She had escaped the hawk, only to be brought right back to its mouth.

  The plane powered forward, and its front lifted off the ground. The fear of what to expect from flying came all at once. She had had her trepidations about flying, but that was when she was flying into France, not the heart of the Nazi empire. Her ears popped as the plane lifted off, and she thought her stomach might fall out of her mouth. She was unsure whether or not she would have preferred being able to see out. She had often heard people talk about the bird-like views of the world, but she saw nothing but the dark cargo area where she had hidden.

  As the fear of ascending into the air in a tube weighing hundreds of thousands of pounds dissipated, the awful feeling of knowing in a few short hours her time as a fugitive, perhaps even her life, was at an end set in. When the plane’s back opened, there would be no hiding—no escaping. She would be questioned and the barcode tattoo on her left forearm, discovered. But Hannah would not board another train like a sheep again. She would not let them take her alive. There had been a time, after finding out her parents had perished, when she had wanted to die. But now she wanted nothing more than to live. Her life was only beginning. But if it were to end, she would make them waste the bullet.

  She checked for anything that could be used as a weapon, but there was nothing. The only ideas she had—lifting a crate and bashing it over someone’s head—failed as soon as she tried to lift it. Her second plan, opening the crates and hoping they were filled with weapons, also failed. The crates would only open with a crowbar. She literally had nothing to do but wait. In ways, the flight took a lifetime and in others, it lasted only a few precious seconds.

  The plane descended, catching bits of turbulence as it did. Hannah’s breathing grew louder and faster. She had one hope—that the back would not have to be opened. The shipment was to be flown to Strasburg, France. What need was there to open it? But the realist in her had stabbed the optimistic soft balloon that was hope. Nothing was done without the Nazis’ knowledge. They would not let a cargo plane fly from Austria to France and not know what was inside of it. Of course, it had been checked in Vienna, but the Nazis proofread and dotted their Is and crossed their Ts with obsessive detail. There was no way the plane was not going to be searched.

  The wheels of the plane bounced off the runway, and Hannah held onto the cargo netting to prevent herself from falling over. The plane skidded to a stop. The engines died, and there was nothing but silence. As she hid behind the farthest crate, an idea of genius or madness struck her. It would be hard, if not impossible, to explain herself if she was found cowering behind a c
rate. But if she made herself known, it would be much easier to do so. The wrong decision would cost her her life.

  She pounded on the back of the plane and screamed. Once again, her mind and body were on different sides. Her mind commended such a different way of thinking, but her body felt betrayed, and all her strength vanished. For a moment, it appeared she would go unnoticed. But the ramp lowered. A black hat swallowed the runway lights, and the silver Totenkopf reflected them. Hannah did her best to neglect her body’s severe warning and show fear. She had to disobey its innate fight or flight response.

  “Finally,” Hannah said in relief after the back of the flight was opened.

  She stepped down the ramp. Five Nazis stood at the foot of it. Two looked to be common foot soldiers, and the other three were officers with various degrees of ribbon and medals adorned on their black leather uniforms.

  “Who are you?” the highest-ranking Nazi asked.

  Hannah studied his uniform. Lena’s soliloquies about patches, ribbons, medals, and ranks had paid off.

  “My name is Hannah, Hauptsturmführer,” she said.

  “Hannah who?” the Hauptsturmführer asked.

  He wanted to remain in control of the conversation, but her knowledge of his rank had caught him off guard.

  “Hannah Hauser,” she said.

  “Why are you on this plane—hiding?” the Hauptsturmführer asked.

  “I wasn’t hiding. My boyfriend works at the airstrip and, well, I’m rather ashamed of it now, I let him talk me into sneaking off for a few private moments. He said he will be right back. Like a fool I sit and wait, and the next thing I know, the ramp is closing and we are lifting off,” Hannah said.

  “Your papers,” the Hauptsturmführer demanded, extending his hand.

  “I do not have my papers. I was not planning on traveling. Where are we anyway? Are we in Berlin?” Hannah asked.

  Even if the Nazi in Vienna had not told her, she would never forget the Berlin skyline. The city was her home.

  “Your accent is not Austrian,” the Hauptsturmführer said.

  “No, it is not. It is German. I lived in Berlin until I moved to Vienna for schooling,” Hannah said.

  “What seems to be the problem, Hauptsturmführer?” another voice asked, approaching them.

  The men jumped into a salute. The man, decorated with a dozen more insignia and medals than any of them, stood before them.

  “Brigadeführer Huber, this woman was aboard your plane in the cargo area,” the Hauptsturmführer said.

  “Continue,” Brigadeführer Huber said.

  He had dark eyes and his hair, which matched his leather jacket, was combed over to the right. He looked over Hannah with a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his thin mustache.

  “She claims she and her boyfriend sought a private embrace. She was stuck on board when her boyfriend left,” the Hauptsturmführer explained.

  Brigadeführer Huber scrutinized Hannah’s disheveled appearance and messy hair, which had grown long enough to not draw comments. She certainly did appear to have had a man’s hand running through her hair and under her blouse.

  “What is your boyfriend’s name? Last name first, please,” Brigadeführer Huber asked.

  “Gruber, Tobias,” Hannah answered.

  Though the last name had been a shot in the dark, she did know that a Tobias had worked at the airstrip, along with Lukas, David, Simon, and Conrad.

  “Schütze,” Brigadeführer Huber called.

  The two foot soldiers stepped forward and fell to his command.

  “Bring the pilots here,” Brigadeführer Huber commanded.

  The two soldiers hurried to the front of the plane and, less than ten seconds later, the two pilots were brought to Brigadeführer Huber. It was not under gunpoint, but one wrong move or answer and it would be.

  “May I remind you two that I am an extension of the Führer himself, and to lie to me is to lie to him. Lies will be treated as treason, and treason will be met with death. Is that clear?” Brigadeführer Huber threatened.

  “Yes, Sir,” the two answered.

  “Miss, please tell me the pilots’ names,” Brigadeführer Huber said.

  She had but seconds to answer. Realistically, she could not be expected to know every person who worked on the airstrip. There were at least fifteen on every shift and over six shifts. But Brigadeführer Huber would accept nothing less. But to guess incorrectly would be much more incriminating.

  “I do not know. Women are not allowed on the airstrip,” Hannah said.

  “Yet, you claim to have been,” the Hauptsturmführer said in suspicion.

  “That will be enough, Hauptsturmführer,” Brigadeführer Huber said.

  The Hauptsturmführer slouched like a dog who had been scolded by its master.

  “Do you know every single German soldier?” Hannah asked, straddling the line between confidence and rudeness.

  “Careful now,” Brigadeführer Huber cautioned, waving his finger at her in warning. He turned to the two Austrian pilots. “Is there a Tobias Gruper who was working on your shift?” he asked.

  “Gruber,” Hannah corrected.

  She had lied about the name, but she also had a strong feeling Brigadeführer Huber was testing her to see if she could remember her lie.

  “Tobias Gruber,” Brigadeführer Huber said, nodding respectfully.

  The two pilots looked at one another.

  “There is a Tobias, but I do not know his last name, Sir,” the taller of the two said.

  “And you?” Brigadeführer Huber asked the second pilot.

  “I know of Tobias but could not guess his last name, Sir,” the second pilot agreed.

  “Have you ever seen this woman before?” Brigadeführer Huber asked.

  “No, Sir,” both answered.

  “You do not know the girlfriend of Tobias?”

  “Let’s hold off on using girlfriend. He has a lot to make up for if I ever get back,” Hannah said.

  The whole illusion would be over if Brigadeführer Huber asked to see her forearm. But her physiology was a picture-perfect Aryan super race, albeit still an incredibly thin one.

  “What does Tobias look like?” Brigadeführer Huber asked.

  Hannah had no idea. She had memorized names not faces, and in the dark, she would not have been able to tell a black man from a white man. But, sometimes, life throws moments of fortune and luck.

  “He’s a bit taller than me. Dark hair, almost black. A bit puffy around the mid-section,” one of the pilots said.

  The question had not been intended for him, but in the pilot’s defense, the last line of questioning had been directed at the two of them.

  Brigadeführer Huber scowled.

  “You can call him fat. He is,” Hannah said.

  Brigadeführer Huber remained silent as he pondered over his choices. The runway was cold, and the winds had picked up. To continue his inquiry meant he would have to stay out in the cold. Even his usually comfortable leather jacket became more rigid and unforgiving in such conditions.

  “Hauptsturmführer Ludwig,” Brigadeführer Huber beckoned.

  The Hauptsturmführer stepped forward, still dismissive.

  “Yes, Brigadeführer,” he responded.

  “See to it that these pilots are refueled. They are to fly back to Vienna and return Tobias Gruber his beloved girlfriend,” Brigadeführer Huber instructed.

  “Yes, Brigadeführer,” Hauptsturmführer Ludwig said.

  “Safe travels, Miss,” Brigadeführer Huber said.

  “Thank you, Brigadeführer,” Hannah said.

  The Hauptsturmführer delegated the duty to the two SS-Schütze before following Brigadeführer Huber. It took much longer than Hannah had hoped to get permission to board the plane. Not only did it have to be refueled, but there was also a series of safety checks that bordered on the line of obsessive.

  Hannah did not have to play dead to keep the bear from attacking her. She had to convince the bear
she was one of them. The longer she was there, the more the bear sniffed and watched her. It was an act that fleeted with each passing second.

  “All set, Miss,” the shorter pilot said.

  She nearly skipped to the front of the plane but passed it off as an uncoordinated step and walked with annoying indifference. The seat was small, even for her, and she had to keep her legs pressed tightly together or her knees would hit the two pilots’ elbows. She kept an eye on the runway, half-expecting a swarm of soldiers to be sprinting down it while the two pilots flipped switches and called out procedures.

  “We will have you back in Vienna in just a few hours,” the co-pilot reassured.

  The plane sped forward faster and faster.

  “Where were you to land?” Hannah asked.

  “Strasbourg, France,” the co-pilot answered.

  “To hell with Tobias. Take me to France,” Hannah said.

  The two pilots exchanged glances. They had been given an order from the Nazi command. They were much more worried about disobeying it than being late on the shipments. But the two were connected, and if the cargo did not arrive shortly, they would have to face the wrath of a different officer, and one perhaps of a higher rank.

  “France it is,” the pilot said.

  The front end of the plane lifted off the ground, and Hannah’s body twitched with nerves but, luckily, the pilots only considered it flight jitters. Yet, it had nothing to do with the flying. She found it to be exhilarating. It had everything to do with that she had escaped the hawk’s nest and was once again leaving her home city.

  Hannah could not help but smile in awe of the stars. She was closer to them now than she had ever been. The sky was a black canvas, and it seemed as if she had the ability to move the stars as she pleased with just a lazy flick of her finger. She loved the night and the glimpse of heaven it provided, but it was the sunrise that was truly awe-inspiring. The sky was a palette of pastels of oranges, reds, and yellows. The sun lifted spirits and brought the promise of better days. To Hannah, it meant one thing—hope.

  Unexpected Friend