ROMMEL

 

Due to the blistering heat, my workload, and my heart, my novel has languished ... but in air conditioning. 

When we last left the bleeding Richard Blaine, he was being led at Luger point into the office of Field Marshal Rommel.

ROMMEL

“Meeting the enemy never goes as you think.”

 – Major Richard Blaine

 

The lieutenant, Hauptmann, barked orders to the sergeant, “ Oberscharführer Heinz, take your injured men to the infirmary.”

When Heinz hesitated, the lieutenant snapped, “Now, Heinz while you still have the rank and before the Field Marshall finds out you ignored his orders to take the prisoner directly to him.”

He went but not before he looked long and hard at the Lugar in the officer’s hand.

I winced as my cracked ribs protested when I spoke to the Lieutenant. “You can’t blame Heinz. The Field Marshall has been pushing his men hard, getting ready for the supposed invasion.”

He studied me and answered my German with English. “I do not recall asking you for your thoughts on the matter. Now, move! Mach Schnell!”

Since my left eye was swelling shut, I gave him my best “Eat worms and die” glare out of my right one. But since he was holding a loaded automatic, he bore up well under it. Or maybe it was just hard to intimidate a Nazi on the eve of Overlord.

My cracked ribs slowed me down. I regretted not shooting Heinz when I had the chance. The Lieutenant jabbed me in the ribs to get me going faster. Of course, it was right on top of one of the cracked ones.

It was a dumb move on his part. You do not physically touch an enemy with your weapon … unless the end of it ended in a bayonet. I was tempted to snatch the thing from his hand.

‘Not yet,’ chided Sentient.

‘Not ever,’ I mind-thought back to her. ‘I am getting slower by the second.’

‘My doing, Blaine. I want him to underestimate you. When the time comes, I will make sure you are fast enough.’

‘I am the one who will get shot.’

‘Gods! If I had a wedge of cheese, I would give it to you to go with your whine.’’

The Lieutenant jabbed me in the same rib again. “Ow! That rib is cracked.”

“Do I look as if I care? Now, walk. The Field Marshall will be upset at this delay.”

I was about to snap ‘Do I look as if I care?’ when I reconsidered. Another jab might fully break that rib. I decided to irritate the hell out of him another way.

“Lieutenant, your last name is Hauptmann, right? But isn’t that the term for ‘Captain’ in the Wehrmacht? Does that cause you any trouble?”

“Shut up!”

I smiled drily. “That’s what I thought.”

With that, we stood at a half-open doorway. He shoved me into the waiting room beyond. He stalked to the heavily waxed door which obviously led to the Field Marshall’s office.

I raced to the door, flinging it open, and said in my most perfect German, “Major Richard Blaine accepting your gracious invitation, Field Marshall.”

Hauptmann shoved me aside, only to have his general bark at him. “Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this? I asked for this prisoner to be brought directly to me. And you bring him to me bloody, naked, and unbound!”

“Hardly, naked, sir. I have on swimming trunks.”

He gave me a stern look. “I must commend you on your excellent German.”

“It should be excellent, sir. I taught it for a year at West Point … along with French, Italian, Russian, and Japanese.”

He flashed me a paper-cut smile. “All the languages of your enemies, then?”

“Not all, sir. I still can’t understand the language of females. And aren’t they the enemies of all us males?”

He gave a belly laugh at that, lighting up his whole face. Then, again, maybe the war hadn’t given him a lot to laugh about lately. I pulled back from my compassion. The mother of his illegitimate daughter committed suicide over his return to his fiancée.

His face became granite again. “How is my old friend, Montgomery?”

I smiled, “He named his pet spaniel dog, Rommel.”

He snorted, “Again, you make me laugh for real. I must adopt another dog and name him ‘Monty.’”

“He’d like that I believe.”

“Why do you say that? We are enemies.”

“Funny thing about enemies, sir. If you are lucky enough to have the right sort of enemy, you can grow to respect, admire him. Not his politics surely, but his character. General Montgomery considers you a chivalric opponent and the poster boy of the Clean Wehrmacht.”

His right eyebrow shot up. “I added that last part myself.”

His eyes grew shrewd. “Why did your Major Laska hate you so much that he betrayed you into my hands?”

I shrugged and winced at the pain of my two cracked ribs. “I refuse to genuflect in his presence.”

He sputtered a laugh. “There are officers like that in my Wehrmacht as well.”

He frowned. “You were not surprised at my mention of Major Laska’s betrayal, were you?”

I shook my head. “No. He was the only one to know my exact destination. So, when a U-boat appeared not only at my stern, but at my bow, it stretched coincidence beyond the limits of credulity.”

I frowned at the shafts of the dawning sun coming from the three windows behind him. “How did he let you know in the first place?”

Rommel looked like he tasted something foul. “We have recently infiltrated a local cell of the resistance. We grew to suspect we had been found out when useful intelligence dried up from that source.”

He smiled with all the warmth of a winter sun. “When, lo and behold, we received a cipher so crude a child could have deciphered it. It gave the particulars of your mission and a summation of your character so derogatory that the Gestapo just had to research you.”

Rommel patted a thick folder. “Do you really have an I.Q. of 400?”

“I think it is higher. I wasn’t trying on the test. Does it talk about my love life? If it does, it lies. My love life was just getting interesting when the draft notice showed up.”

The lieutenant snapped, “Show some respect to the Field Marshall. You stand there naked in his presence with such insolence.”

I fixed him with my best Sister Ameal stare. “My lack of clothing reflects on my captors not on me.”

Rommel said, “Just so. Just so. Hauptmann, fetch the Major his clothing.”

“Ah, in its removal, it was destroyed … by Sgt. Heinz.”

“Yes, I see. Well, private Heinz and I will discuss that later.”

Rommel massaged his forehead. “There have to be some discarded uniforms in this chateau.”

I shook my head. “I will not wear the uniform of my enemy … sir.”

He gave me a sharp look and took a deep breath. “I can respect that.”

I limped to the coat rack in the corner as Hauptmann carefully followed me with his Luger. “But I will wear your long coat, sir.”

The lieutenant husked, “You dare?”

I forced a smile. “Not just for the warmth, but for the looks on the Gestapo enforcers when they start in on me. I hear the Gestapo Book of Etiquette and Good Manners is a very slim volume.”

Rommel gave me a Sister Ameal smile. “Indeed, it is. Come, sit down. We have a few minutes before they arrive.”

He shook his head at me as I put on his coat. “Why do you fight for a country that betrayed you?”

“I don’t fight for my country, sir.”

Hauptmann and Rommel both said as one, “What?”

“I fight for the woman I love, Helen Mayfair. I would do nothing that would make her think less of me.”

I limped to his desk and reached for a pencil. The lieutenant cocked his pistol. I sighed.

“I do not have to kill the Field Marshall. The Gestapo will do it for me.”

Rommel frowned, and I whispered low, “Unternehmen Walküre.”

I said louder, “The next time that bespectacled Hans Speidel approaches you on his mad scheme, shoot him. One woman committing suicide over you is enough.”

The lieutenant’s hand holding the Lugar began to tremble. So, he was in on it, too. I sighed.

“If you are going to shoot, shoot. Better a fast death than slow torture.”

His trigger finger whitened, tightened, and Rommel snapped, “Hauptmann, no!”

He turned to me. “How do you know?”

I said, “My men ….”

“Your Spartan 3oo? But there are only 12 of them. Why 3oo?”

I smiled crooked, “If they are the right twelve, they can do the work of three hundred.”

I smiled sadder. “They call me a magician. And that is as good a thing to call me as anything else.”

The lieutenant said low, “I can think of others.”

I turned to Rommel. “Another satisfied customer. I’ll take two pencils and that blank page if you don’t mind. I’ll draw you the face always in my dreams.”

My right hand blurred as I reached for the pencils, and a folder by Rommel’s left hand disappeared. What was Sentient up to? And would it get me killed faster than my own mouth would?

As I sketched in the style of Leonardo da Vinci, Rommel cleared his throat and changed the subject, “Do you really think there is going to be an invasion? That the British will invade?”

“You’ve got them on the ropes, sir. What other choice do they have?”

“Well, if they are, this is going to be the first time that the British Army will do some fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“They always get other people to do the fighting for them, the Australians, the Canadians, the New Zealanders, the South Africans. They are very clever people these English.”

Rommel grew serious. “Well, where do you think the invasion is coming?”

“If I knew, do you think Laska would betray me to you so that the Gestapo could torture it out of me? But if it was up to me, I wouldn’t invade by land at all.”

Once again, Rommel and Hauptmann spoke as one, “What?”

“The Allies have air superiority. They own the skies over Europe. Me? I’d save 133,000 Allied lives and bomb you all into submission.”

“You swine,” growled Hauptmann.

“That’s Major Swine to you.”

The door swung roughly open, and a squad of black uniformed Gestapo soldiers bristled into the room. “We have come for the prisoner.”

“Showtime,” I smiled, throwing up my arm to cover my face and leapt out the middle window.

Merde. It was a long way down. But what had I said? Better a fast death than slow torture.