We would have at least an hour head start before the boy was discovered missing. With the small, swift fishing boat, the lead time would allow us enough time to be beyond the horizon and to escape into the rapidly approaching darkness.
I determined we should be able to make Rhodes without incident if there were no Allied vessels in the vicinity. It would not bode well for us if we were challenged by an Allied vessel. I had no trust in the crew, and even less in the captain, not to immediately betray us for some type of reward from the enemy. While my men could easily overpower the crew and kill them if necessary to prevent them from talking, it was an act I would use as only a last resort.
Needless to say, a firefight with the Royal Naval would be ugly. The Athene had no armaments or shielding plates of any kind. We would be forced to defend it with light arms only, obviously no match for a British ship. No, the Athene's only weapon was her speed. If a firefight ensued, I made a vow I would not have the boy wounded, or even worse, killed. If necessary, I would surrender to prevent any harm from coming to him.
I continued to scan the horizon for any signs of pursuers. I found myself slowly relaxing as each minute passed. When darkness finally fell, the second part of our mission was a success. It was highly unlikely that we would be found in the darkness. We would reach Rhodes shortly after sunrise tomorrow. Only after we had safely delivered the boy, though, would I finally be able to relax completely.
After an hour had passed, the adrenaline which had been pumping through my system finally dissipated. I now spoke my first words since returning to the Athene.
"Bring the boy to me," I ordered.
I would retain the boy with me during the remainder of the journey. I did not want him out of my sight for even an instant. If necessary, I would kill again to protect his safety.
The boy was brought up on deck, visibly distraught. He continued to fight and struggle against the two men. He attempted to jump overboard and was stopped at the last possible moment before he cleared the rail.
In sympathy, I asked myself if I would be reacting any differently if I had been abducted at his age by foreign nationals and witnessed a man being killed. I tried to convince myself that I would be forever the good soldier's son, accepting the situation stoically, but I was fooling myself.
The boy was brought before me. I could not help but notice how he shrank away from me. No doubt he was scared of me, the man he had witnessed blatantly killing his guard, or in his eyes, murdering him.
"Young man," I said firmly, using a formal address the British would use with a boy. It had no results and he continued to struggle.
"Boy! You are to immediately cease your actions," I barked using my sharpest command voice. The boy, along with a few of the crew and my men, jumped with a start at the sound of my crisp authority. It was strong enough to break the cycle of his struggles to enable me to speak to him calmly.
"I am a German officer in command of the team which brought you here," I explained to him in English. My voice still contained the unmistakable element of command.
"Under my authority and by my oath of honor as a German officer, no harm will come to you under my care. You will be treated as well as possibly given the circumstances. It is important, though, for you to follow my orders, for your safety as well as for my men's safety. Do you understand me?"
The boy merely looked at me, the hate emanating from his eyes. I repeated my question, this time with more force, but with no different results.
"I will then take your silence as an affirmative," I responded, dismissing his defiance to my authority.
I sighed inwardly. I truly enjoyed children, but had been around them rarely. The upper echelon German society in which I had been raised was still very much in the "children should be seen and not heard" mentality.
The children I had frequently interacted with were Matthias Walther's. I was not a demonstrative man by nature, but with his children, I found myself at ease and my natural aloofness would quickly melt away. I frequently would rough-house and play games with them, interacting in a way I had never experienced with my own father or other male family members. Of course, I had ceased visiting his children once my desires for their mother, Margot, had begun to overtake me.
I had frequently vowed that if I was lucky enough to have the son foretold by Perkins, I would be very much involved with his life on a daily basis. He would never be raised as I had been, by a distant and controlling father.
But, I had to survive the war in order for this to happen.
I was brought back to the immediate present. Darkness was surrounding us. The boy must be tired from his ordeal. I should provide him the opportunity to rest. I turned my attention to my men.
I motioned Hahn to our side. "Leutnant, continue to shadow the crew and remain diligent," I said in German, so the boy and crew would not understand. "One man is to be continually on guard outside our cabin. Rotate the watches so the men receive some rest and remain alert."
Hahn gave me a sharp salute. "Of course, Herr Hauptmann. I will see to it immediately."
"You are now to accompany me with no further issues," I sternly told they boy. There was no question in my voice that I would not tolerate any disobedience from him. "No doubt you are tired and would like to rest. I will take you below deck for the remainder of the journey."
I turned and left, not bothering to see if the boy was following me. He would not dare to defy me. It took only a minute to arrive at the cabin. We entered and the guard positioned himself outside.
I indicated for the boy to sleep on the greasy rack. "You still have a long journey ahead of you. I highly suggest for you to rest. It will also make the time pass more quickly for you."
The rack was filthy and I frankly didn't blame him for not wanting to touch it. I myself would have prepared to sleep on the deck which appeared to be somewhat cleaner. I stripped off my tunic and laid it over the dirty linens, giving him something somewhat clean to sleep on.
His response was to go over to a small stool and sit down defiantly. He looked at me, the anger clearly showing on his face.
"As you wish," I said brusquely. I was now becoming annoyed with the child. "But you are not to make any noise."
We continued looking at another, each of us staring down the other. Although I was not supposed to know, I couldn't stop myself from asking him the most obvious question.
"Boy, what is your name?"
He continued to glare at me, not saying a word.
A remote thought came to me. Perhaps the boy did not understand English. I repeated myself in French, Italian and finally Latin. I could tell he understood the French, but not the other two languages.
I began speaking to him in French again when he attempted to speak. He was unable to form the words, and it was almost as if he was choking on them. I suddenly remembered how he had never cried out earlier when we had captured him.
Something immediately came to my mind.
"Are you mute?" I asked in English, touching my lips with my fingers. The boy knitted his brows in a harsh frown. I had my answer.
"I understand," I responded, softening my tone slightly, before becoming professional again. The boy would be in my custody for less than a day. It probably would not be necessary for him to speak.
"There is work I must complete. You are not to disturb me."
Time passed slowly. I was bored so I could only imagine how he was feeling. I had the majority of my report completed when I noticed a slight movement from the boy.
I glanced over only to find him still staring at me impassively. Believing I had been mistaken, I returned to writing my report. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him mug a face at me, before again transforming himself into the personification of innocence when I looked his way.
The defiant dickens, I thought internally. But I could hardly blame him after what he had experienced over the last several hours.
I brought my report up as if I was reviewing it, covering my face as I did so. I then rotated my body in the chair to face him. I estimated when he would be making a face at me, and then I did the same, pulling down the report so he could see the face I was returning at him.
The surprised look on his face was priceless, fleetingly replaced by a look of respect. He soon returned to his standard impassive look.
I had worked as much as I cared to on my report, and I tossed it aside. I would complete it later. There was something about the boy which suddenly touched me and I wanted to capture it. I went to my belongings and brought out my drawing pad and charcoals which I always tried to keep with me.
I put an unlit cigarette between my lips to help me focus and relax. I slowly sharpened a charcoal, as I studied the boy's face for light and an angle. Satisfied that I saw what I wanted, I propped the pad on my knee and began sketching him.
I indicated for him to smile, but he merely returned my stare. I didn't want to, but I captured his sadness, especially around the eyes. There seemed to be something beyond his captivity driving his sadness, concealed behind those light, green eyes.
The boy instantly became aware of what I was doing. He continued to sit still and the sadness seemed to gradually lessen.
I drew him for almost an hour before I finally placed down the pad and charcoal, satisfied with my efforts. He sat there for a moment before his curiosity finally overcame him. He jauntily walked over and gestured at the pad, demanding to see my work of him.
Smiling, I handed it to him. His eyes darted over his likeness on the page, occasionally looking at me. He finally gave me a short nod, indicating his approval.
He stood there for a moment before gesturing at the pad, wanting to look through the other pages. I returned his nod, giving him my approval.
The boy started at the beginning and slowly went through the pad, looking at each drawing I had signed and dated. I had begun the pad shortly before the war began, sketching various items which had captured my eye. Occasionally, he looked at me for a description.
"The estate where I live back in Germany." He gestured with his hands. "Yes, it is large. No, I do not own it. It belongs to my parents. I only visit there on rare occasions."
The boy turned the page. "A horse I used to ride when I was home on leave. His name was Maximus." I viewed the magnificent hunter with sadness, knowing the beast was probably dead after being commandeered for the war effort.
He continued to turn the pages. "A panzer I commanded in France."
After the panzer, there was the torn remnants of a page I had savagely ripped out. The drawing had been of a decimated French chapel destroyed by my unit in the early days of the war. When I realized what I had drawn, I had destroyed my work.
I had not been capable of sketching afterwards. Almost two years had passed until I had picked up my charcoals again.
The boy looked at the ragged remainder of the page puzzled, gently touching what remained of it. He looked up at me, the question clearly in his eyes, wanting to know what had happened to the drawing. I shrugged, not wanting to tell the boy that I had destroyed the drawing of my German triumph.
Realizing I was not going to answer his question, he in turn shrugged his shoulders and moved on.
The boy turned a few blank pages until Sergeant Sam Troy's strong features leaped from the page. Encountering Troy for the first time had inspired me to begin drawing again. I had sketched him and added his name in my bold signature.
I didn't say anything about Troy's portrait. The boy kept indicating the drawing for an explanation, each stronger than the last. I attempted to turn the page, but he wouldn't allow me to.
"An acquaintance," I finally said, to put an end to his questions. My answer seemed to satisfy the boy. The boy kept staring at the drawing, seemingly mesmerized by Troy. He wouldn't be the first, I thought wryly. Finally, he moved to the next page.
"A soldier reporting to me," I explained as Leutnant Ernst Hoffmann's friendly face greeted him. Hoffmann had developed into an excellent officer and was currently a POW in the United States, held at a POW camp in Wyoming.
The only sound in the cabin was the soft turning of pages. Occasionally, he would gesture for an explanation before continuing his review. At one moment, he picked up my hand, stained from the charcoal. He held it softly, turning it over as it to what magic it contained in order to produce such work.
I kept looking at him, gradually not responding to his gestures. He was the right age to be my own son, I thought. I was now thirty-two. More than physically old enough to be a father, but definitely not ready to be one. Especially not when I was engulfed by a war.
He took my hand and pointed to the next drawing, returning me to the moment. Agathe's lovely features greeted me. Normally, I only sketched in black charcoal, but for Agathe, I had added some faint pastel coloring to her portrait. It had brought her drawing to life. It looked more like a photograph than a sketching.
I found my face softening. My God, my heart ached and I missed her greatly. It had been almost ten months since I had seen her. I suddenly felt the hunger for her embrace, the overwhelming fierce desire for her.
The boy looked at her and then at me, his finger pointing at her then me, rapidly back and forth.
"My fiancée," I said gently. He smiled slightly and then rolled his eyes, a common gesture for a boy in any culture when it came to love between adults.
I uncharacteristically opened up to the boy. "You are the first one to be informed of our engagement," I said. "No one else is aware of it so you must keep my confidence. It will be our secret."
He gave a look of superiority, puffing out his chest to look important.
I was still looking at the boy when he moved to the next page. He inhaled sharply before brightly blushing red. Unsure of what had caused his reaction, I glanced down at the page. It was a full nude drawing I had done of Agathe when I had last seen her in Italy. I had completed the drawing the last evening I was with her, before being ordered to France. I had completely forgotten the nude followed her portrait in the sketchbook.
Agathe had posed for me lounging on a settee, looking at me openly. There was nothing shameful or sexual in the picture; it was just a beautiful art portrayal of a lovely woman. I was positive, though, the boy was not used to seeing such a sight.
"My fiancée again," I explained.
I found myself slightly coloring before I reached down and gently turned the page for him. He tried to return to the page of the nude, but I firmly focused him on the following drawing, a classical sketch of Norte Dame Cathedral in Paris.
He had turned a few more pages when I became aware of an odd odor. It was the same odor I had noticed when I first boarded the Athene and later in the captain's cabin. The odor was now much stronger and fresh. I looked down at the boy. He had wrinkled his nose indicating he also could smell it.
"You are to remain here," I firmly told him. "I will have the guard step in for your protection."
I opened the door and the narrow passage way held a thin haze of smoke.
"Herr Hauptmann, what is causing the odor and smoke?" asked Unteroffizier Klein standing watch.
I ignored his question. "Unteroffizier, you are to step inside and guard the boy until I return. No one else is to enter. Shoot anyone who attempts to enter without me being here. I will return in a few moments."