March 15, 1943, Noon, Hammelburg Station, Germany
Hogan watched Daniel pile the suitcases in storage on the train. He could feel Carter shaking with excitement beside him. Or was it nervousness? With Carter, one could never quite tell. "Cool it down," he hissed under his breath.
"Right sir. Cool it, got it, sir. Cool, I'm definitely cool sir," he assured, but he was still shaking a little. The second suitcase suddenly fell to the floor. Hogan sighed, reached down, and helped Daniel with his loading. The German seemed grateful for the help.
"Danke, Herr Major," Daniel exclaimed when the luggage was safely tucked away. "With your permission, I will return to the car?" The train blew a loud warning whistle, and he was eager to get off.
"Yes, Sergeant, that will be fine. You know the destination, Hotel Berlin; we'll meet you there then," Hogan returned the soldier's salute. "Safe trip, I hope."
"Why, thank you, Herr Major," Surprised, Daniel saluted and hurried down the train steps, plainly ill at ease aboard the huge locomotive, his shoulders hunched and head pulled in like a turtle's. He melted into the teaming crowds of Germans, politely pushing and shoving his way off the station's platform. The crowds were getting more rushed as the train prepared to leave. Salutations and farewells sounded all across the swarm as people climbed on and off the cars. Hogan stared after Daniel's retreating back. There's one more fella we don't have to worry about, if my plan works. He turned his head and gave Carter a meaningful look.
"Post yourself just inside the back door once we get going, and try to look professional about it too," he ordered. Hogan then moved across the compartment to the other end where Rommel and the German officials stood. Hogan positioned himself behind the field marshal and listened with as unassuming an air as possible. He put an arrogant, superior smirk on his face and hoped he looked enough like a German.
"Herr Feldmarschall, the arrangements for your security are well taken care of," Colonel Volger, the Gestapo man in charge of security, was explaining. "This train makes several short stops on its way to Berlin, but I will see to it that you are not disturbed. You will arrive in Berlin late this afternoon, where the greeting party there will accompany you to your quarters. Eh, I trust your stay in this district was profitable?" he asked, obviously not out of true concern, but to make sure there was no unfavorable impression formed of the area under his control.
"Very profitable," Rommel told him with an off-handed wave. His eyes were not focused on the heavy little man before him, but were staring off at something only he could see. He abruptly turned, spotted his aide, and inquired, "Is the baggage all up?"
"Jawohl, Herr Feldmarschall," Hogan replied, and silently congratulated himself on sounding so like a rigid German. "It is." His words were punctuated by another warning shriek of the train's whistle. Outside, the crowds were beginning to move back from the locomotive, giving it a respectful distance and waving their hats and handkerchiefs.
"Good. Colonel Volger, I believe we will then take leave of your company. I have some important paperwork waiting for me, and I'm sure you are a very busy man." Rommel glanced over at his document-stuffed briefcase that was lying on the car's fine oak table.
To his credit, Volger took the hint, saluted, and clicked his heels together. "Of course, Herr Feldmarschall. And may I wish you a safe and interesting trip to Berlin. Heil Hitler." Rommel didn't reply with the customary words, seemingly distracted, and Volger wasn't about to challenge him on the matter. The field marshal turned and found himself one of the table chairs as the small party of Gestapo officials filed out onto the station platform.
Hogan noticed the minute Rommel became immersed in his paperwork. He cautiously cleared his throat there was no visible response. Very good. With all the hustle and bustle of the departing train, it would be impossible to overhear their conversation, and the Colonel needed to let Carter in on the ideaHogan joined Carter at the rear of the car and leaned against the door frame to talk, but Carter beat him to it.
"Well, sir, we're finally off to Berlin. Kinda hard to believe, isn't it? I mean, after all that excitement and planning…I was beginning to think we'd never make this far. If you ask me-"
"Carter," Hogan sighed. "Button up. We're not going to Berlin. We never were going to Berlin."
"Not going to Berlin, sir?" Carter was surprised and spoke loudly. He cringed under Hogan's best death glare. "Sorry sir. What's the plan?"
"Berlin with all its checkpoints isn't going to be the easiest place to capture a field marshal. Granted, we don't usually do things the easy way, but outside Berlin will be better suited to our mission. I've decided on Erfurt. It's a little less than halfway to Berlin. " Hogan felt the train shudder under his feet, heard the final long and piercing cry of the whistle, the loud blast of steam as it shot up on both sides of the powerful engine and covered the train in a fine mist of hot water. The floor jerked underneath, and they adjusted their balance as the massive beast began to move under them. Rommel barely looked up before going back to his writing.
"How are we gonna do that?" Carter asked, already somewhat skeptical.
"Simple. We're gonna jump off a moving train," Hogan stated without batting an eye. Carter's own eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, and Hogan clapped his hand over the sergeant's mouth before Carter could gasp; he only managed a muffled grunt.
Pulling Hogan's hand away from his face, he protested, "But Colonel, isn't that a bit dangerous and all, I mean, the whole jumping idea seems a little, well, um…" He searched for the right word.
"Crazy?" Hogan helped him out. "Not as crazy as it sounds. Because trains are really heavy, they start slowing down long before they reach their stop, right?" He didn't wait for agreement; who knew if any was forthcoming, the way Carter was staring at him. "The whole plan hinges on no one seeing us get off, but if we can find a good spot for cover, it might work."
"But, but, but-"
"We can avoid a lot of questions and checkpoints this way…" Hogan mused, ignoring Carter's best imitation of a motorboat.
"But Colonel!"
"What? You've jumped off roofs before. Just tuck your head in and you'll be fine. Roll. Don't stiffen up. If a bunch of soft Hollywood stuntmen can do it, why can't we?" he argued. Through the window, he could see the countryside beginning to fly by in a green blur of fields, trees, and hedgerows.
"I've never jumped off a moving train, sir; I don't really know if I can." Carter was starting to sweat at the thought. "What if we're seen?"
"We'll make sure we won't be. And Carter, you're part Indian. Haven't you ever seen a western? This train stuff comes naturally to you." Hogan grinned in spite of the situation; Carter's expression was priceless. "We'll wait till we're closer to Berlin, to take the heat off this area. Just be ready for the signal, Carter."
"But sir, I still think we, ought… to…reconsider…" The young chemist found himself talking to Hogan's back as the colonel moved away to one of the chairs. Carter sighed and rocked back against the doorframe. Hogan grinned slightly as he settled onto the plush, red velvet couch, and wondered how the Spartan Rommel was enjoying his own seat. This is when it pays to be an officer. Sorry, Carter.
He reclined against his seat and gazed out the window, watching the small, quaint buildings of Hammelburg begin to whip by with increasing speed. Slowly, the town's terrain morphed into an endless stream of fields and hedgerows beginning to blossom with the first green of spring. Hogan watched, fascinated, as he compared the beauty of Germany to the ugliness of the Third Reich. Here and there still-smoldering remains of an Allied bombing raid lay splattered across the countryside, a shelled barn, a cow's blackened carcass, scorched and pitted earth.
And there, as they whipped by, he saw a group of forced laborers repairing telegraph wires beside the tracks. Hogan saw their S.S. guards lounging on the ground while the much-too-thin prisoners struggled to raise the heavy post. His mind began to boil with indignant anger, and he lifted his head to glance at Rommel, to see the German's expression. However, Rommel wasn't looking up, his face a few inches away from some document on the table.
Hogan wanted to scream at him. Don't you see it? Look up, see what your government is doing to your country! And you're okay with this? He couldn't though, and they were long past the scene by now. Hogan sighed and rubbed his head, glancing back at Carter. The young scientist had become very serious, his normally playful face hardened by what they had seen. This is why we take these risks, for those people out there, and for our own people, so they don't have to experience that. And if we don't take the risk, we take the experience. Maybe you're too young to have to learn this, Carter; but then maybe one can't be young enough. Hogan felt old, somehow responsible for the Carters of his world. It was his place to teach them, and he was going to see to it that this mission succeeded.
First, they had to get to Erfurt, and there were many towns in between. Almost lazily they passed, seeming to mock Hogan's anxious, hurried feelings; Bad Kissingen…Bad Neustadt an der Saale…Meiningen…Zella-Mehlis… the big and the little, the country between. And every moment in time brought them closer to danger.
oooooooooooooooooooo
Some time later, Hogan was struggling not to fall asleep as the train rocked back and forth. Once one was used to the noise, it was almost peaceful here. He blinked furiously, raised his head, and looked around. He was startled to find Rommel staring at him, apparently deep in thought, his gloved hands absently toying with his pen.
"Do you need anything, sir?" he asked, feeling a small twinge of panic. Was there something wrong with his appearance? "Sir" he asked, louder this time.
Rommel's eyes came into focus and he offered a faint smile. "No, Major. I apologize. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I was merely thinking." He looked away then, down at his briefcase. "You joined us in Africa, what, three weeks before we left?"
"I believe so," Hogan agreed. "It wasn't long." This conversation had better not get too detailed.
"A pity that you were never able to see us in action, real action, the old glory days. Our side of the army anyways; the Italians were another matter entirely," he chuckled. "They never ceased to amaze me. Here," he indicated several envelopes, "are letters from Mussolini and Bastico and half a dozen others, all claiming their smashing Italian victories kept the whole African front from collapsing."
"I understand they were the first to run, sir."
"Certainly, they were no good at fighting," Rommel tucked the letters away. "But then, is that such a bad thing? They were very good at building roads and other useful skills. Skills that repair a world instead of tearing it apart." A dark expression settled in his eyes.
Hogan was more than a little puzzled. Most German generals were filled to the brim with confidence in their glorified Third Reich, boasting proudly of their military conquests and superiority; but Rommel acted almost bitter about the whole war. Maybe it had to do with the imminent destruction of his beloved army, or his varied desert illnesses. Whatever the reason, he was clearly depressed with the current situation. Hogan noticed his quarry had sunken back into deep reverie, so he didn't acknowledge the last statement. The American wouldn't have known what to say. I'm here to kidnap him, not discuss the war with him. He checked his watch, heard an announcement for the next stop, Arnstadt. Erfurt was next then, their stop. He quietly shifted in his chair as they clacked through the town.
Rommel avoided his gaze and went back to his papers.
oooooooooooooooooooo
Lieutenant Alexander von Fritzchauer wandered through the train, slowly but surely making his way towards the field marshal's private car, thanking his fat old superior for being allowed to gather his hat at least. He would have felt terribly exposed without its low brim pulled down over his eyes. Its shadow across his face made the perfect finishing touch to his entire image. He enjoyed the satisfaction of watching others scramble from his path, regarding him with an animal-like fear. The Gestapo had no friends, and he liked it that way. Friends only held one back, and with no friends, he had access to unlimited power over every German's life.
Right now, he decided to unleash that power on two unfortunate S.S. guards in the dining car. They were both on break and downing large glasses of schnapps when he found them. Break? He didn't recall allowing for break time on this trip. The young lieutenant was incensed as he ordered them out. "Why aren't you at you posts?" he snarled.
"There seemed to be no problem, Herr Lieutenant. We did leave one man to guard the front entrance. Their sergeant is guarding the rear," the shorter soldier replied nervously.
"Idiots. Their sergeant is the one you were to guard. I'll have your heads for this infraction. After this pleasant trip is over, you're going sight-seeing. Russia is lovely this time of year. For now, get back to your posts," he ordered, barely refraining from striking the cowering duo. "I'll come with you to see that you aren't sidetracked. Move!" He shoved them roughly from the dining car, past the wary occupants, who carefully averted their blank, unfeeling gazes.
ooooooooooooooooooo
When the private car's speaker announced the next approaching town of Erfurt, Hogan stood up. He felt a strong rush of adrenaline when he joined Carter at the back door. The countryside was still whipping by at a fast rate, but he could feel the train beginning to apply its brakes. The car swayed back and forth more than normal as it roared over the tracks.
"Are the guards still out there?" He peered through the small window, studied the small platform at the back of the car. They would fit easily enough.
"No, sir, they liked my suggestion about the schnapps," Carter informed him, swelling with pride in his accomplishment. "Both of them are gone. I told them I'd guard the back, and I guess they believed me."
"Why wouldn't they?" Hogan glanced outside. The ground was passing slower now. It was time to act, before they lost their nerve. He turned and walked back to the table, just behind the unsuspecting Rommel. His muscles were tensing with anticipation; he reached down to the holster of his Luger, softly pulled it free. Brother, this is it. This is our chance, to make it or blow it. No one needs to tell me how important this is. Like all our missions, this is now a matter of life or death, and I hope it's life. He started to raise it, started to speak, when there came a hard knocking at the rear door. Carter spun around at the same time that Rommel looked up. Hogan desperately whipped the pistol around behind his back before the German could see it.
Carter glanced at Hogan, who nodded. The plan was off; they had no choice but to open the door. Why can't we ever do things the easy way? He inwardly groaned. For standing on the other side were two very windblown, cowed S.S. guards, and behind them stood a definitely uncowed Gestapo plainclothesman. Oh, he'd done his best to look friendly and open, his hat clutched in his hands, a slimy smile plastered to his face, but there was no mistaking him for what he really was. So we've got to do it the hard way, but this is ridiculous.
Thanks to Tirathon, my fine beta-reader who made the excellent suggestion to use Google Earth. The towns they passed through between Hammelburg and Berlin really exist. Rommel looking closely at his papers is a fact. I believe he was far-sighted in one eye and near-sighted in the other. Movies taken of him show him studying his maps at a very close, intense distance.
The language in this chapter is presumably all German. I've purposefully left this matter a little vague because the TV show itself did. I can't imagine that Klink and Hochstetter spoke to each other in English when alone, unless they were laying a trap for Hogan. So when Germans speak, it's probably German. Americans in camp, probably English, or French. Hogan and Carter are needing to speak German at the moment.
I also want to publicly thank Qualerei, and Wing Pikepaw, for being fellow Rommel fans and encouraging me to keep writing. We even started a Rommel and WW2 forum. We're nuts, though the others would probably prefer to speak for themselves. And thanks to all you fine folk who have reviewed in the past.
So, SO sorry for the REALLY long gap between updates. I was about to be able to claim that I updated every Saturday, but that flew out the window these past few months. Real life can take you by surprise, hospitals and funerals and family gatherings, on and on and on. When it rains, it pours; don't ever take things for granted. A hideous case of writer's block didn't help. I'm hoping the next update won't take nearly so long.