I'm back! I probably should have warned everyone ahead of time that I was taking off to gallivant around Eastern Canada visiting relatives. Oops. Sorry.
Reader Warning: this chapter contains icky Nazi ideology.
Chapter Eight:
A Better Safe than Sorry
Otto turned to the rest of the room, a real smile breaking across his face for the first time in days. He held up the panel like a prize. "See? It's a lovely piece of work, this safe. The quality of the-"
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and Otto found himself ripped away from the safe and shoved into the middle of the room, completely disregarded by the major on his way to the safe.
"Aha! I knew it! I was right!"
"What are you-?" Otto struggled to regain his balance, and was surprised when Herr Metzger caught him with a strong arm. The older man gave him a solemn look, and released his arm as soon as Otto found his feet.
Now the room seemed to be full of noise and movement as the other soldiers came tramping back down the stairs from their useless search and the guards from the front door surged forward to see what had been discovered.
Hochstetter had taken the young soldier's place at the mantle, standing on tiptoe to examine the contents of the safe. "Yes! An illegal two-way radio. So much for your protestations of innocence, Herr Metzger: it seems that you are involved in the underground after all!"
Wide eyed, Otto turned to look at the old man beside him. He had been so focussed on the safe he hadn't thought of the implications. This here was one of their national traitors? He was one of the men that had killed his friends and almost beaten him to death?
The blue eyes under the bushy white brows no longer sparkled with humour. Herr Metzger just looked sad. Glancing at Hochstetter, whose attention was focussed on the radio, the old man grabbed Otto's arm and pulled him close. "Why are you doing this, Newkirk?" He whispered harshly. "Why are you helping him?"
"Newkirk? I- " Suddenly terrified, Otto tried to rip his arm away, but Metzger's grip was like iron around his biceps.
In the same moment Hochstetter turned around, snarling.
"What do you think you're doing! Don't touch my lieutenant."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Otto kept backing up, desperately trying to separate himself from the old man. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm so sorry."
"I know who you are!" Metzger insisted.
"No! I'm just, I'm not - I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
His head hurt like lighting was streaking across his mind, and he had seen the safe and it was beautiful and all his fingers wanted to do was open it and see how it worked and see what was inside, but now he had just sentenced an old man to be shot, and the old man had been kind, but he was bad, he was evil, and Hochstetter was good and he was right, but he was so violent and terrifying and nothing made sense and he was so tired and so scared.
The other soldiers pulled Metzger off Otto, who would have kept apologizing if he wasn't now shaking too hard to speak. Major Hochstetter grabbed him by his collar and dragged Otto from the circle of soldiers now holding Herr Metzger.
"Did you think your men had succeeded in killing him?" Hochstetter crowed. "Well just you wait until we get his memory back, Metzger. He'll identify all your men and I'll have every single one of them shot!"
Metzger's blue eyes snapped to Otto, something like understanding and empathy lighting up his face.
"At least let me set my things in order, Hochstetter," he demanded. "Let me make one call to tell my friends goodbye. You can listen in on the whole thing. I won't make trouble. Just one call."
Hochstetter discarded Otto at the back of the room and stalked forward to sneer in the old man's face. "And let you give some hidden message to the Underground? Not a chance. I'm taking you directly to Gestapo headquarters. And you're not going anywhere near my lieutenant either."
Otto bit his lip, feeling guilt swelling inside as he watched the soldiers drag Herr Metzger from his house.
He really hadn't meant to hurt anyone.
He hadn't.
"I knew there was some reason I brought you along with me." Hochstetter grinned, clapping Otto on the back roughly. "This anti-Underground patrol won't be a complete washout at all."
Otto flinched and followed meekly behind as Hochstetter marched out to his staff car. He sat as far away from Hochstetter as he could in the small vehicle, but it didn't make him feel any better.
A flash of movement caught his eye as they pulled away from the house.
It was the little black car up the street. All four heads had ducked down and disappeared as they drove past.
I have changed my mind. Maybe you are not so paranoid after all.
Otto turned his face away from the window.
He wasn't going to start any more trouble or unearth any more secrets today.
0 0 0
They drove back to the Gestapo headquarters, and Otto watched from a distance as they dragged Herr Metzger through the building to the lockup.
He had helped capture a traitorous member of the underground. That must mean he was a good German citizen.
But why was he hiding so many aspects of himself?
Everyone was surprised when he opened the safe. So did that mean most people didn't know how to crack a safe?
Why were so many aspects of his appearance changed?
Had he been some sort of spy before? Maybe he had pretended to be an Underground member, and that's why Herr Metzger was angry at him.
By why did he think and dream in English? Had he spent time abroad?
And was that a bad thing? Was it safe to ask Hochstetter about all the little things that had been bothering him?
You are leaving out something important. Why did Herr Metzger call you Newkirk?
He didn't want to think about that name.
Are you a coward now?
Otto cursed under his breath. He didn't want to think about that name.
Newkirk, mon ami. He called you Newkirk.
He didn't want to think about that name. He wouldn't think about that name. He wouldn't think about the flames, and the screaming, and the rough fists and LeB-
"I want you back here at fourteen hundred hours."
Otto skidded to a stop, almost smacking into Hochstetter's back as the Major stopped at the entrance to his office.
Hochstetter narrowed his eyes and gave Otto a once over before continuing. "They'll be a doctor here to look at your head. Don't be late. And clean yourself up a bit. You might be some sort of trained agent with lock-picking skills, but you look like a reject from the Hitler Youth."
Apparently that was an insult, but Otto just nodded. He was kind of hoping that the Major would show him where he was allowed to eat lunch. The last few days nothing had sat very well on his stomach, and the weary, rattled feeling in his limbs was getting stronger as the hours wore on. But apparently feeding his underling wasn't on Hochstetter's To Do list, because Otto barely had time to jump out of the way before the Gestapo Major slammed the office door in his face.
He may be scary, but at least he has manners.
Letting out a huff of air, Otto considered his options.
For a second he entertained the possibility of sneaking down to the cells downstairs to see if he could speak to Herr Metzger. But it seemed very risky, so he gave up that notion.
He had a couple few hours, so he headed out the front door instead.
0 0 0
Across the town, in a small German apartment building, an argument was taking place.
"You are out of your mind, Colonel! Tu es idiots? You can't let them do that!"
Herr Wolfe reached across his dining room table, trying to regain the radio mike from the irate little Frenchman. "Herr LeBeau, calm yourself. Everyone is concerned for your Englander friend."
LeBeau ignored him. "Colonel Hogan, if we tell Klink that Newkirk died in the hospital then he can't come back to the camp when we find him. They will ship him off to London, or somewhere else. But he has to come back. You understand? You can't let that happen!"
Around the small dining room Herr Astor, Wolfe and Vogt all winced as Colonel Hogan's response bounced around the roomy in tinny airwaves.
"I've already thought of that, LeBeau. Now calm down before I order Herr Wolfe to lock you in his basement for a time out."
LeBeau let out an angry huff of air, but relinquished the microphone to Herr Wolfe's control.
"London is concerned about Klink getting suspicious. It was Monday when you signed into the hospital and it's already Wednesday. They want you back at the camp and Newkirk declared dead by tomorrow night."
"Colonel!" LeBeau jumped to his feet.
"But, if you'd listen for a moment, LeBeau, I convinced them to give us till Friday night. Five days is a reasonable amount of time to be under quarantine. Dr Rosenthal has been giving daily 'updates' on how you two are doing. To string Klink along, we'll bring you back to camp tomorrow night and tell him Newkirk's almost better. That gives you one more day to search for him, LeBeau."
LeBeau leaned over the table, crowding into Herr Wolfe's personal space to better reach the microphone. "I will find him, mon Colonel. Vraiment. Je le jure."
"Alrighty then. Sure, LeBeau."
Moving across the room, Herr Astor raised his voice to be heard over the radio. "What about the barn owner? What did London have to say about Herr Metzger when you told them he was captured?"
"That's going to be a little tricky. They want him broken out of Gestapo HQ. They'll send a sub to pick him up and take him safely to England, but we've got to get him out first."
"What about that man of yours that picks locks? If you send him over maybe I could get him inside the building." Herr Vogt suggested.
"That man is Newkirk." LeBeau said. "He is our sticky-finger lock pick."
"Yeah. Not exactly an option right now. I can have men ready to ferry Metzger to the submarine, pardon the pun, but I can't break him out of the HQ."
At the head of the table, Wolfe had been stroking his bristly grey beard, trying to come up with some other contacts that would help them pull off this jail break. "Vogt. You deliver mail to the headquarters all the time. Is there anyone you can think of who might be sympathetic to Herr Metzger's plight? He's quite an old man, and very well respected in the town. There might be someone willing to overlook one small indiscretion on his part, in light of all that he's done with the rest of his life."
"I don't think-"
The youngest member of the Underground started to protest, and then something occurred to him. He turned to the rest of the men at the table.
"Actually. I might just know somebody."
"Someone who can get Herr Metzger out of the Gestapo HQ?"
"Yes. A young lieutenant I just met today. But I think, I'm pretty sure... I could convince him to help Herr Metzger escape."
"Sounds like a plan, then." Hogan's voice rattled over the airwaves.
0 0 0
Otto jogged down the streets of Hammelburg, avoiding cars and pedestrians until he could see the small lunch room where Sigmund had suggested he meet them if he was free for lunch. Pushing the door open he saw Berta's blond curls over the back of one of the booths, and Sigmund waved from across the table.
Berta gave him a huge smile, and Otto felt something settle inside his stomach. He was safe here.
"Otto! We're so glad you could get away for lunch. How did it go? Did you find out your name? Do you remember anything new?"
Feeling heat rise to his cheeks, Otto slipped into the booth beside Berta. Sigmund reached across the table to ruffle his hair with a grin. Otto ducked his head, and tried to straighten his hair with his fingers.
"I met the Gestapo officer who ran my patrol… group… thing. But my commanding officer hadn't done his paperwork yet, so they don't know exactly who I am. It's not on any records. But they are going to find out. They have to wait for reports on transfer requests to come in."
"Well that's progress." Sigmund pointed out. "Who are you working for?"
"A Major Wolfgang Hochsitter."
"You mean Hochstetter? Of the Gestapo?" Sigmund asked
Otto nodded, reaching for a napkin to give his hands something to do. "Yeah. He's very, um, important, I think. Everything he does is very important."
"Well of course it is."
Berta looked across at her cousin, and then turned to Otto. "Is that your way of saying you're scared of him?"
Otto twisted the napkin around his fingers. "Scared? I'm not scared of him. He's just... intimidating, and I don't know if I can do a good job of working with him because I don't even know what I'm capable of."
"You'll be fine." Sigmund said. "You're a survivor, and they must have chosen you for this patrol for a reason. Don't worry about anything more than doing your best."
"I guess."
Berta elbowed him playfully. "Let's get some food in you, and stop talking about the war. How about Borsht? Do you like cabbage soup?"
"Maybe?"
"Borsht it is, then."
When the meal came Berta changed the topic of conversation to Berlin, and how much she wanted to travel and see the big city. She even wanted to go to another city called Paris, which was occupied by their men, but apparently was full of a less refined kind of people. Sigmund called them frogs, which Otto had mistakenly thought was a type of animal, but Berta seemed to be enamoured of their fashion.
Twirling his soup spoon, Otto squinted down into his bowl. "I don't understand how we know we're better than them."
"Do you know what the word 'Aryan' means, Otto?" Sigmund asked.
"Arrogante, raciste, Nazi insanité."
"What?!" Berta and Sigmund both sputtered at the same time.
Apparently his inner voice was rude.
Although he was cursing internally, in English and German, Otto found his face automatically falling into a wide-eyed look of innocence, mouth slightly open with his green eyes as big as headlights. He was struck by a memory of a smaller, dirtier version of himself sitting in front of a cracked mirror practicing. Make eye contact, maintain eye contact, blink slightly more often than necessary, wait till recipient of look blinks, then look down at shoes or hands.
"Sorry. Is that rude? I just remember hearing someone say that."
Berta grabbed her napkin and tried to get a coughing fit under control.
"You probably shouldn't repeat things in other languages, Otto. Especially if you don't know what they mean," said Sigmund.
"I didn't mean to say something bad. I won't do it again."
Sigmund reached forward to pat Otto's shoulder. "It's alright. You don't know any better."
Feeling his cheeks flush with colour, Otto steered the subject away from himself, and what he did and didn't know. "So explain to me what 'Aryan' really is."
"Well the world works like this, Otto. Humans are divided into three racial groups. There are the creators of culture: the pure race that's capable of higher thought and deeds. We're the Aryan people. Then there are the bearers of culture: the people groups that can imitate us, but aren't capable on their own. Last of all there are some races that do nothing but destroy culture. Like Jews, Gypsies and Negroes."
Otto's brow creased as he leaned forward. "I don't understand."
"Think of them as a disease. Like vermin. You know what a rat is, don't you?"
"Yes," the young soldier responded.
"Everywhere they live they contaminate the culture around them. It's a similar concept."
Trying to follow Sigmund's logic, Otto nodded slowly. "So we, the Aryan people, we're like the clean-up crew for the whole world?"
Sigmund beamed. "Yes. Exactly like that. So you see why our cause is so important."
Somewhere deep inside, the idea felt wrong. He knew what it felt like when someone said you were worthless and dirty just because of where you were born. At least he was pretty sure he knew. He had an idea that it felt horrible. And he didn't want anyone else to feel like that.
"I guess I'm just nervous about the whole war." Otto mumbled. He grabbed another napkin and began twisting it into a tight knot. "About what will happen when I find out who I am. I almost don't want to know.
This statement seemed to come as a complete surprise to Sigmund, but Berta laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.
Sigmund broke the silence. "Don't you want to step up into your job as a lieutenant? You must be looking forward to working with Hochstetter and the Gestapo. What are you worried about?"
Berta pulled a water jug over to Otto's cup and filled it up. "We know that you don't have any other friends and family right now to talk to Otto. It's okay. You can tell us what has you so upset."
"We won't be upset or offended." Sigmund assured him. "It's alright."
Otto regarded them with solemn green eyes. "I just - I think I lost someone. I think… I lost them at the barn, and I'm afraid to find out who it was."
With a sigh, Sigmund set down his spoon and pushed the half finished bowl of soup away from him. He gave Otto a long look and then spoke. "War isn't always easy. We've all been affected by it; lost friends and family, lost opportunities. But we are part of something special here. War is the ultimate form of human existence. Don't you see?"
Sigmund gestured with his hands as he spoke. "Creativity, discipline, concern for the greater good, productivity and self-sacrifice. War is all about higher living. It's about all the aspects of a pure culture coming together to strive for greatness. When each one of us does our part we become a piece of the great War Machine. You have a duty. We all do. Even those who die along the way are really just achieving greater glory. They die in the name of the best cause life can provide. No one who fights for the Third Reich dies in vain, Otto."
Otto let the words wash over him as Sigmund continued to talk about the glories of the war machine and the duty of the master race to fight for the national interest. It sounded amazing, and it was such a novelty to be told he was worthwhile just as he was.
When the waitress came to take away their dirty dishes Berta's hand wandered over to grasp Otto's. He tugged it up onto the table top, but she didn't seem inclined to let go. Berta ran her thumb across his scabbed knuckles as she spoke.
"Maybe you should come back to the farm with us, Otto. Maybe you've done enough already."
"Berta-"
She cut off her cousin's response. "He's already fought for the war, Sigmund. He's lost his memory, and his friends. Not everybody has to give up their life. The Major might let him take a simple job as a guard or something. He doesn't have to try to get involved in such a dangerous line of work. Anything would be better than working with the Gestapo!"
"I don't mind."
"But you could be sent away, or get caught up in the party and change like Sig-"
"Berta!"
The two younger adults went quiet.
"Otto has his place in this war, just like I do, and you do. If you have any respect for the Fuhrer you'll stop talking and thinking like that."
Berta looked properly ashamed. She let go of Otto's hand.
"I'm sorry. I just want you to be safe."
Otto scrounged up an impish grin. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be fine. Haven't I already proven myself to be practically indestructible?"
