They were at the turnoff! Daniel braked hard and jerked the wheel to the right. Gravel and dust covered the car as it fishtailed and almost overturned. The Frenchman's bullets cut into the road behind them, several slapping themselves into the bumper with frightening speed. Then the fighter was buzzing past them, unable to turn so sharply. It finally fled the scene, hotly pursued by the three Luftwaffe pilots.
Hogan stared at the retreating blips in the sky as Daniel pulled the staff car to a stop. He could hardly believe it was over so quickly, that such heart-stopping fear could be so quickly replaced by an eerie calm. For once, in the battle between ground and sky, he'd experienced the hunted feeling to the full. Hogan was suddenly very thirsty.
Rommel fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face off. Dust had poured in through a cracked window, and they were all a uniform, dusty gray. "We made it again," he dryly stated; some had gotten into his lungs. "They're always too slow for us."
"Right." Hogan brushed himself off with an air that came as close as he could to impersonating Lang's tidy habits. Daniel restarted the car and backed it out onto the main road. They had only just begun to drive on when Hogan heard another engine; he looked immediately this time, was relieved to see a motorcycle carrying good old, harmless Carter. The young sergeant pulled alongside and motioned for them to stop. When Daniel did, Carter hopped off the bike and hurried to Hogan's window, his face creased with worry.
"Excuse me, but I am looking for Feldmarschall Rommel," he asked politely in German, which had definitely improved with time and practice. "Do you know where he might be?"
"I am he," Rommel leaned forward in curiosity, waited for an explanation.
"Heil Hitler!" Carter saluted. "Sergeant Cartmeiyer, reporting for duty," he dug in his pocket for the 'orders,' handed them over with an out-of-place smile. "I have been ordered by the Gestapo of this area, to provide safe escort in the absence of Corporal-" he craned his neck to read the name. "-Leighstat." Rommel was going to Berlin by train, while Daniel drove the slower car there. They would meet again in the capital.
Hogan read the papers over Rommel's shoulder. Signed, Major Hochstetter? Really guys, you should have used a bigger name. Rommel evidently thought the same, because he looked up at Carter pensively.
"Major Hochstetter?" he questioned. "I must be drawing a blank. I don't remember any Hochstetter. I was told to expect an escort from a Colonel Volger."
"I do, sir," Hogan volunteered to bail out Carter. "He is one of Volger's subordinates, a security man. Very thorough-seeming." He hated complimenting the Gestapo major, but this was only an act.
"I don't remember him," Rommel turned to Carter. "Orders are orders. Very well, Sergeant, you may follow us in your motorcycle until we reach the station."
"We'll talk with you later," Hogan confirmed, his words carrying more meaning than Rommel could have guessed.
"Sure thing-I mean-yes sir." Carter ran back to his vehicle, and they continued on toward their destination.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
The huge locomotive was already there, a long black train quickly emptying of its passengers. Most swarmed down the steps into the waiting arms of their family and friends. Others slipped quietly through the white steam, casting furtive, fearful glances around them. The station was packed everywhere, even on the stairs, with civilians, soldiers, and Gestapo agents. Train officials scurried to and fro, readying the massive iron beast for her trip back to Berlin. Children cried over the roar of the crowd; the scene could be described as bustling at best, but from Rommel's viewpoint, it was chaotic. Perhaps he should have announced his arrival.
He stood at the base of the stairs peering up into the hectic crowds. He watched as Major Lang attempted to push his way to the front of the line at the top of the landing. He made it halfway up before being stopped by traffic. The only ones moving freely were the Gestapo agents; everyone avoided them like the plague.
Daniel stood just behind Rommel, holding the suitcase. As they waited for the arrangements to be made, he found himself wishing the Field Marshal had chosen an easier way to the train, as befitting his rank, but Rommel never did anything expected. Daniel was being jostled mercilessly as he stood there, a lowly corporal with a bag. It seemed some officers took personal delight in shoving their weight around. I wonder what the definition of officer is, he wondered absently as yet another major stepped on his toes. Rude, troublesome beast in the military. Handle with care. With the exception of his field marshal and a select few others, his description fit perfectly. He side-stepped the next hard boot, was able to see it coming.
Rommel was better off than his driver. Most officers noticed the rank on his collar or the marshal's baton in his hand. They would snap to attention and give him a wide berth, or ask if they could help. The civilians didn't notice him as much; only a few took the time to look at him. When they did, he felt like a famous race horse on display. He could hear their whispers. "Is that Rommel…That can't be Rommel…He's in Africa fighting the Allies…That's not him…Yes it is…" Thankfully, most just pushed by, their heads down, determined to break through.
To Daniel's everlasting relief, a large group of officers, what looked like the greeting party, saw them and started to approach, ordering the mass of people away. The fat one in the lead introduced himself as Colonel Volger, and apologized for the lack of preparation, a silent sub-current of disapproval for his lack of notice.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hogan also saw the large group of Gestapo and Wehrmacht officers beginning to surround the Field Marshal, and turned to Carter. "Well, there's the welcoming party. Where do you suppose we go to secure a spot on the train?"
"Try that booth up there," Carter pointed to one of the ticket counters where a beautiful young attendant sat directing the flood of people. They pushed their way over to the counter and smiled brightly at her.
"How many?" she stared at them blankly.
"Uh, actually, we're here to find out the arrangements made for Feldmarschall Rommel. I'm his aide, Major Lang."
"Good for you." She rolled her eyes at him. "You'll find that those men over there can help you better than I." She pointed at several guards, then scowled at him. "I don't conduct military business."
Must be the stupid uniform. No girl scowls at American Robert Hogan. He nodded politely, began to turn away, but the girl suddenly seemed to spy Carter. She smiled very sweetly at him. "Please remember, smoking is verboten on the train except in smoking car 23, all right?"
"We'll remember, Frauline" Hogan turned and had to drag Carter away.
"Hey, did you see that? She smiled at me, not you. Me!" Carter was ecstatic, but Hogan was miffed. Was he losing his touch?
The Gestapo were very interested in helping them out, their suspicious gazes never faltering. One beefy Captain found Carter worthy of his attention. "And you are…"
"Sergeant Cartmeiyer, sir." He saluted nervously. "My orders are all right here. From Major Hochstetter."
His eyes narrowed. "Major Hochstetter? I see…Right this way, gentlemen. We'll see about those arrangements." The two Americans exhaled in relief. No more questions, so far.
ooooooooooooooooooooo
Lieutenant Alexander von Fritzchauer was proud, Prussian, and right now more than a little pained. He huffed down the long hallway, casting searing glares at any unfortunate soul in his path. He was not unlike the train just outside the building. A few more steps and the young aristocrat was at the door to Gestapo headquarters. Without knocking, he shoved it open forcefully and pushed inside, past two Gestapo agents and the weeping, pleading woman between them. The secretary glanced up, spotted him, and smiled flirtatiously, but he ignored her. There was no mood for such frivolity today. Besides, her face reminded him too much of a Jew. She was not Aryan enough for his tastes.
"Is Colonel Volger in?" he practically barked at her. "There is a matter of utmost importance that I wish to discuss with him. I would appreciate not being kept waiting." Her wide smile had long been replaced with a nervous trembling. She feared him. Well, good, he wanted it that way. "Well?"
"He's-he's in, Herr Lieutenant. I will tell him," she reached for her phone, but he waved her away and hurried into the office.
Colonel Volger, a plain non-Prussian, fat, lazy, and stupid, sat at his desk smoking an enormous cigar and flipping idly through his files. He looked up and gave the younger man an irritated stare. "What do you mean by this, Lieutenant? I am very busy right now. A very important visitor just arrived, unannounced and almost unexpected. I don't have time for your ceaseless rantings. I came in here to gather a few things, and then I'm leaving."
"Rantings? On the contrary, I'm here to request that you reign in Major Hochstetter, immediately. He came by again, today; he wants my men for yet another surprise inspection at Stalag 13. Sir, my men have better things to do than chase wild geese."
"You're ranting," Volger pointed out calmly.
He was going red all over. "There are arrests to be made, Jews to be flushed out, real problems to solve, and he insists a prison camp is more important. What does he intend to do, recapture our prisoners?"
Volger watched him, his own face darkening. "I believe you forget yourself, Lieutenant. Major Hochstetter outranks you and consequently, you will obey his orders. That is, as long as he doesn't contradict me." He chuckled a strange laughter. "Which reminds me, our visitor arrived with an extra man, one more than we expected. When approached by one of our agents, this Wehrmacht sergeant claimed he was obeying orders from your friend Hochstetter."
Fritzchauer straightened up, confused. "But what does the major have to do with Feldmarschall Rommel? He was not put in charge of security for this job."
"No, a curious complication. I put myself in charge of this operation, but it seems Hochstetter had his own ideas. That's where you come in, my boy. I'd do it myself, but the field marshal is waiting. Call Hochstetter and inquire as to his intentions." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't appreciate such breaches of protocol."
Fritzchauer felt a strange sense of joy. Hochstetter was in trouble; nothing could make him happier. "I will do so, sir." He saluted and moved swiftly to the door.
"Oh, and next time, knock. I don't appreciate your barging in all the time, either," but he was only talking to the Lieutenant's retreating back.
Once back in his office, Fritzchauer called the major instantly, inwardly sneering with delight and relish. As one of his former American prisoners put it, Hochstetter was in hot water with Volger. "Yes, Major Hochstetter? No, I'm not calling about Stalag 13, forget that will you?"
"How dare you talk to me that way!" Hochstetter's voice was too loud on the phone. Come to think of it, it was too loud everywhere.
"I dare, all right," he raised his own sophisticated, arrogant voice. "But you've dared to go too far. Colonel Volger is not pleased with your actions."
"What are you talking about!" He was shouting now.
"You know well what I speak of, your decision to take the security of Feldmarschall Rommel into your own hands. After you were ordered to remain out of it."
"I did no such thing!"
"Then what do you call the escort you ordered to accompany him to Berlin? Sergeant Cartmeiyer?" Fritzchauer could hear the other man sputtering indignantly. He loved making him squirm.
"I didn't order any escort! I've never heard of this Sergeant Cartmeiyer! Lieutenant, are you trying to be difficult? Because the Gestapo-"
"I am Gestapo, Major, and I have sway in the upper circles. Do not threaten me with empty promises. You're not getting away so easily. Why did you do it?"
"Just because your father is higher ranked than me gives your flippancy no excuse," Hochstetter ground out. "I didn't do it, idiot! I am only interested in Stalag 13! I never ordered an escort!" If anything, Hochstetter seemed to be telling the truth.
"Then who did? The papers are official." Silently, Fritzchauer was beginning to wonder. If Hochstetter was right, then something was amiss, dreadfully so.
"Maybe the field marshal brought him along from Africa, I don't know," Hochstetter raged. "All I do know, is I didn't do it!"
"He didn't, for your information. This Cartmeiyer was picked up somewhere along the road between Stalag 13 and this station. According to our intelligence, he was not present during the stay at Colonel Klink's camp." The phone went dead on the far end. He grew concerned with the lack of screaming. "Major Hochstetter, are you there?"
A slow, soft answer, so unlike the major's voice that it startled him. "Ja, I'm here. Between Stalag 13 and there, you say? Cartmeiyer, Cartmeiyer…Cartmeiyer! Ha! Keep an eye on your own troubles, Lieutenant. I'll clear this up." Just before he replaced the phone, Fritzchauer heard him mutter. "Hogan, you devil…"
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Volger eyed the ambitious man before him. They stood only a few feet from the famous field marshal and his staff officer, in the busy turmoil of the train station lobby. "So he denies everything?"
"Jawohl, Herr Colonel." Fritzchauer struggled to keep respect on his face. If he was going to move up in the world, he needed this chance. "Actually sir, he seemed to be telling the truth."
"In that case, this is serious, more so than we thought," the fat colonel raised his eyebrows. "An unknown order, an unknown soldier…" he mused.
"Shall I have him detained?"
"No, no. We don't want to arouse the Field Marshal's suspicion. If we arrest a perfectly good soldier, he would not find it pleasing. And he already doesn't trust us Gestapo. I felt his disgust when we met. On the other hand, if we discover a plant, we may gain Rommel's good graces. Well, better graces, anyway."
Fritzchauer waited for his coming orders with absolute certainty.
"So, how does a little vacation sound to you? How would you like to shadow Cartmeiyer to Berlin?" Volger chuckled at the predatory expression on his subordinate's face.
"I would be honored, sir-"
"Then get your hat and get on that train before they do. Don't look conspicuous. Go." He was losing patience fast.
"But-packing-I've got to pack-"
"Buy some clothes when you get there. There's no time now."
Fritzchauer turned and melted into the crowd.
Rommel's close calls: There were several instances when Rommel just barely got away. In Poland, he and another officer were running for cover when a shell exploded between them. The other officer died, but Rommel remained unscathed. Again in Poland, his tank was knocked out of action, just laying there in front of the approaching enemy. One other German tank drove up and held them off long enough for him to get himself out of the tangled mess. In Africa, he would fly above his troops in a light Storch aircraft, directing them from the air, occasionally landing to push them on. On one occasion, he started to land among what he thought were his men, only to discover they were British. His pilot steeply banked and climbed back up amidst a hail of bullets. Several other episodes only served to solidify this feeling of invincibility, and as he came to believe this more and more, he also became more reckless.
Done with the historical notes. Poor Lang, he's in for some unasked-for trouble. Just in case anybody thought I was going too easy on the Nazis, there were some nasty ones out there, more than not. And a few of them finally made it into my story. The bloodhounds are sniffing out their trail. Sorry I left a cliffhanger for so long. It took a while to work this chapter out. What do you think?