"Replay of War"

by

Tony Perodeau

PART 1 - Out of the Blue

University of New Orleans, Louisiana

June 4, 1994

The two elderly men who stepped out of the Liberal Arts building each owned a freshly signed copy of D-Day, June 6, 1944: The Climactic Battle of World War II. Robert Hogan, retired as a brigadier general, appeared to be in good shape for early nineties. He was only slightly bent and in no need of a walking aid. Even so, he winced at the flush of heat and humidity which greeted him. His companion and old, old foe was almost a centenarian and looked it - General Karl von Scheider, former Chief of the German General Staff under Adolf Hitler. He carried his copy in the basket of a four-wheel walker, and looked ill immediately upon breathing the outdoor air.

"Insufferable! If I didn't know better I'd blame the damn Russians." Karl shook his head, forced a smile and went on: "Mr. Ambrose doesn't know all. And I don't think you do either, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan saw no sense in uttering a correction - especially when his most important work had been done as a colonel. He said, "How do you mean?"

"Lilli and I reconciled five years ago, soon before she passed."

Hogan tried to keep a poker face but might have raised his eyebrows. Lilli von Scheider had married Karl in 1941 - as a British sleeper agent - until sent back to England with the help of Hogan and his Heroes. At that time, a reconciliation had appeared to be the last thing on her mind.

"She told me all about your operation. My jaw dropped, almost all the way off."

Hogan shrugged. He said, "Time wounds all heels but makes some things safer to say."

"Tell me, who was your Hitler impersonator? Or should I ask, best Hitler impersonator? You had a small group of mimics, didn't you?"

"Yeah, we did." James Kinchloe had impersonated Hitler (on the phone, of course) that day but Hogan thought of the man who'd been about to become a first-class mime by sound and sight. "Andrew Carter, no contest."

"Thank you," von Scheider said with a weary smile. He shuffled to the waiting, air-conditioned limousine. At his speed it might take him a full two minutes to get there. Hogan kept pace with fair ease but felt stiff and achy; he thought this might be his last year of decent ability.

He glanced at the sky. There was still some clean blue to be seen - high humidity didn't necessarily murk the firmament - but the mackerel scales were thicker and merged to lead over the western horizon.

Suddenly his hair stood on end. He smelled ozone. Blue flames like St. Elmo's Fire rose from the metal structure of von Scheider's walker.

Agony crackled as everything disappeared in hot blue-white.

The first thing Hogan noticed was the pain was gone as suddenly as it struck. He smelled damp, faintly sulfurous smoke. He was in the cabin of a small, rough-riding car - a Vauxhall, maybe a '35. He was wearing his dress uniform, the kind you wear when you're meeting - or just met - a top British general. He knew where and when he was - in London, exactly 50 years ago, having just been briefed by said General Ruddy on the way he and his Heroes would support the Overlord invasion of Normandy. He was en route to 388 Battlegroup at Knettishall, where a B-17 Flying Fortress would take him back to Nazi Germany and Stalag 13.

On arrival at the aerodrome, Hogan noticed that the overcast had parted enough to show the moon - hazy, but its waxing gibbous phase was discernible. In two days the moon would be full, the tides would be right, and Overlord would be on.

Hogan marched to the parked B-17, where a stocky man in grimy, glistening mechanic's overalls sketched a salute with an oily hand. He smelled like a refinery.

"Sorry Colonel, we'll have to find you another bus. Motor on this one sprang a leak fit to drown a bull elephant."

"That…" Hogan stopped. His return had gone without a hitch … almost. Just before his jump Number Four had shown a slight rise of oil temperature. Now he could see a pool below that very engine. How?

Yes, how do I get back to my men? There was no time to lose with cover of darkness only briefly available at this time of year. The moon was going down but the sky was not dimming along with it.

Hogan jabbed a finger at another Fortress. "What about that one?"

The B-17 turned out to be ready, and a crew was quickly scrambled. Just before Hogan boarded, pilot Colonel Mallory pulled him aside.

"Just got word from Intelligence - there's a fire of some sort at Hammelburg."

What! Another new happening. Has to be a dream. But everything felt so real, maybe because it was.

Mallory went on, "Lot of German air patrols at mid-altitude, so we'll go high. You'll jump by an experimental technique: HALO."

"I know: High Altitude, Low Opening."

"How … not even Eisenhower knows."

"Never mind. Time wounds all heels, especially slow ones."

Within an hour the B-17 was cruising at 35,000 feet - above three-fourths of Earth's atmosphere, Hogan knew. Everyone was breathing through oxygen masks. Standing behind Mallory and his co-pilot, Hogan could discern Earth's curvature. The eastern horizon was getting too bright for his liking, although the higher sky and most of the clouds below remained quite dark. Only the anvil top of a cumulonimbus looked pink in the dawn light. Another tangent, Hogan thought, as there had been no such cloud the first time.

To its left, a bright spark cleared the horizon - planet Venus. The sun was only 15 minutes behind, and given that they were speeding east it would rise before that. Already the highest part of the anvil was becoming a bright orange, soon to become an even brighter amber. Despite the cold tendrils which penetrated his heavy flight gear, Hogan sweated. Most of the ground below and sky above still looked dark but wouldn't be so much longer. Hogan peered up.

"See a star?" Mallory asked.

"Yes - Pinto."

"Say again?"

"I mean Vega. Or is it Gremlin?"

Mallory looked as if he'd heard old-hat rather than a joke which was 26 years ahead of time. He said, "Getting close to the drop, Hogan. Switch to your oxygen pack and say your prayers."

Hogan, who had performed a HALO in 1960, was soon ready. But maybe not soon enough.

The sun was rising, its glare starting to overwhelm Venus.

Hogan went to the side opening. Already the sun was white and strong, although it would not rise at ground level for some few minutes more. The cloud cover would add dimness - except, as now, when lightning flashed.

Someone clapped his shoulder, and Hogan leaped.

With so little air resistance he felt like an object being dropped in a vacuum demonstration involving a feather and a cannonball. With his encumbrance, he was the cannonball and then some. The light dimmed rapidly as he plunged among streaming cirrus and boiling cauliflowers. Sharp icy jets of wind penetrated his garments, making his teeth chatter. A bow shock formed in front of him. Hogan pictured himself as a tiny white comet plunging among leaden mammatus.

Brilliant blue lightning flashed around him. With the roaring rush of air he never heard the thunder. Another flash seared his eyes. Lord, I don't care that You're the Supreme Commander, if You strike me again and I come back in a dirty diaper I'll … cry.

He could feel the air getting thicker. He plunged into a cluster of pea to marble size hailstones. One of them struck his goggles hard enough to star the glass. He spread his limbs widely to slow himself, aware that his crotch was totally unprotected. Soon he noticed that the hailstones were starting to melt.

He saw an orange glow, dim at first but brightening fast. Rubbery smoke seeped around his oxygen mask. He pulled the ripcord. Opening the parachute this soon would lengthen his exposure, but he had to steer away from the fire.

Flames and smoke resolved themselves as he drifted below the cloud base. He could see the burning factory - Hans Speer's ammunition works, which the Heroes had blown up before. Speer was undoubtedly in anguish over this latest calamity. Either the boys had struck again three weeks ahead of schedule, or an accident had happened.

Hogan maneuvered away from the fire and drifted above the built-up part of Hammelburg. In the flickering orange light, he saw swastika banners hanging from every building.

Hell.