Flight (Book 2 in the Auslander Series)

By Lewis Kelley

Stranded during an impossible mission into the heart of the Third Reich, Vince LaSalle runs the race of his life. Hunted by the sociopathic Nazi Artur Kolinski, the black soldier has nowhere to hide. But failure is not an option. He has to make it home with the recovered files he carries. Anything less means that Vince is dead, and the documents are once again at the disposal of men who would use them to subdue the world.
In England, the rescued spy team tries to help Vince any way possible. But their mission has too many faces to know them all. There's still a hidden network at large that is killing Allied agents. And it falls to the vagabond collection of nationalities to find and eliminate it.
But there's more...Artur Kolinski will bring the fight to England.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lewis Kelley
• Release date: Feb 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458045447

Lewis Kelley

Lewis Kelley has lived an eclectic existence; husband, father, author, soldier, athlete, coach and firefighter have encompassed some of the stops along the way. He lives in Colorado with his wife. He is the author of the Auslander and Simeon's Promise series, as well as, Consider Job(e). Along with living life, he is hard at work on several writing projects which will be made available as they become ready.

Book preview

Prologue

Berlin

Continuing to claw his way upward, Vince fought back the panic threatening to overcome him. Instinctually he maneuvered toward a surface he could only guess at, until, gasping with the influx of life-sustaining oxygen, he abruptly found himself enveloped within a life saving pocket of air. As his lungs expanded, calm came over him and he was able to think clearly again. Immediately, he reconstructed what had just occurred. He had been running—no—leaping. What had happened next? He remembered landing and…sinking? That wasn’t right; there had been no gradual descent. He had plummeted through solid earth. Why can’t I remember? he asked aloud, his panting beginning to ease. Reflexively, he drew a hand across his mouth. He tasted dirt. Wherever he was, it was cold, dark and wet. I was running through a marsh... His mind went blank again but after several seconds the remembrance started to come in jagged pieces. I’m in an excavation of some sort…

The entombed man looked above where he lay. Ever so slightly he could make out a sketchy line of light piercing the blackness above him. Fighting its pull, he muscled his body free of the thick ooze threatening to suffocate him moments before. Contorting a limb, he stretched a hand toward the glow until the feel of something familiar registered in his subconscious. Grass..? …roots, he realized. He pushed and the small sliver of illumination grew larger, and as it did, so did his understanding. He landed atop a sinkhole obscured by a layer of flora. Water must have excavated this space beneath the ground, he realized: the mud and him nearly drowning as he laid almost unconscious made sense now. A throbbing sensation made the fugitive reach toward the back of his skull. He winced when his fingertips grazed a large knot seeping with something warm and sticky. Forgetting the angry sore, he felt around his sanctuary only to encounter a mass of gnarled and stout material that felt like wet wood. A tree…I must have struck my head on its roots as I passed through the earth. That explained his confusion.

Voices… Vince grew deathly still. He had clearly heard the noise of spoken German. Easing his fingers back inside the hole, he allowed the earth above him to close again. There was no more wonderment at his predicament as the chase came plummeting back into his brain. The Wehrmacht had been perilously close. Twice, they had nearly cornered him as he maniacally maneuvered his way through the forest before he had broken onto open ground, eventually ending up where he now found himself entombed.

The noise of a vehicle maneuvering intruded now. Vince hoped the machine would not pass over the soft ground above him. If it did, its massive, steel bulk would finish the enemy’s work for them when it crushed him as it crashed through the earth above. Fears of a gruesome death ended when the engine stopped and there were more muffled voices. They’re close… Vince hunkered down inside his sanctuary just as the engine noise erupted again and there was the clamor of shouting in the distance. Feet running over the ground… The echoes of man and machine were fading. He fought back the urge to peer out; intuition telling him that impetuous act would be fatal. He had but one choice. Disappearing into the crevice had doubtless saved his life. He would wait here for days before emerging if he had to. Until then, he had only time: time that he would use to plan his movements and to think.

Chapter 1

London

Seated inside the olive-drab, ramshackle interior of a U.S. army issue Deuce-and-a-half amongst strangers, her thoughts occurring in a jumbled maze of black and white, Vierna breathed in London’s frigid air with minute, painful sips. Seemingly too thick to inhale, the soupy atmosphere burned as it entered her lungs. This was not how her engagement was supposed to end: her in mourning and Vince dead... She hated that word.

Opposite where Vierna sat, the rescued American, Dehl Rehms, furtively stole fleeting glances at the brown girl opposite him with a guilty fascination. He was alive because her fiancé had come back to rescue him: Vince LaSalle, a man whose supposed limitations should not have allowed him to live up to the time honored credo of all soldiers; that being, that no man—or woman—is ever left behind; was the reason Dell still drew breath.

Still disbelieving that she had escaped Hitler’s Reich alive, Jan Holling noted Dehl’s erratic probing but ignored it. Her focus was the woman her pale, parched fingers intertwined with. A stranger to her only an hour before, Vierna had become her world as the jarring machine they traveled in, pushed through the streets of a battered London. Whisperingly, she communicated how she had come to know Vince; tormenting his fiancée with reminders of him, while at the same time, sustaining her with the hope that he might, against all odds, still be alive. Their intimate act continued until the procession came to a sudden stop in front of a rectangular, red-brown building.

Charles Petrie met the disembarking, haggard group of returned spies on the sidewalk. Entering the structure beneath the hardened gaze of armed soldiers, Jurgen Hecht, clad in the steel-gray uniform of the German enemy, elicited murderous daggers from the eyes of the guards, until a word from Charles quelled their silent aggression.

Led by a man everyone now realized, was much more than he admitted to being, the group filed into a frosty, gray-walled and dimly lit space. Eyes honed to a keenness equal that of any relentlessly hunted creature, noticed immediately, the tables filled with food and drink along one wall. Continually hungry, for as long as she could remember, Petra, the eldest of the three Jewish refugee children, only barely controlled her ravenous urge to attack the feast. Seizing the trembling hands of her siblings, Benjamin and Nayda, she whispered to each while fiercely holding their emaciated and malnourished bodies against her own. Alert to the desperate hunger in the children’s gaunt faces, Jurgen whispered a word to Charles who instantly led the brood toward the tables.

Watching this drama to one side of the space was a gathering of female clerks. Each sat poised behind a typewriter, pointedly staring in the direction of the ragged cluster. Smartly attired, hair flawlessly smoothed into place, they presented a striking contrast to the bruised, unkempt appearance of the newly-returned women in particular.

A severely thin lipped man approached Charles and showed him several papers that he rapidly read and gave approval to with a perfunctory signature. Taking in their surroundings, the group joined the children in eating as several more people came and went, all reporting to Charles who would make instantaneous decisions, before ignoring the interloper as they scurried from the room.

Within a brief period, the fatigue felt by everyone diminished as nourishment worked its way into their systems. Charles wasted no time in addressing the throng once he sensed the signs of life returning to their abused bodies and minds.

Debriefings are closely watched over affairs as a rule. However, I am overwhelmed with all that’s happened and for some reason I am having trouble remembering certain regulations. He continued. Here’s the format. With as much detail as possible, each member of the team that went into France will recreate their role in the mission up to the point of your return. There are enough typists to accommodate all of you at once—Ms. Hollings, I will be listening in on your interview. He turned to Jurgen. Mr. Hecht, I would be most interested in your story as well as the children’s. I would appreciate it if you would ask them whether they are up to it.

Jurgen spoke to the children while bursts of German, French and Russian were heard throughout the room as translations were made. It wasn’t a few minutes later that Vierna was listening, transfixed, as Jan gave a mesmerizing account of her near fatal sojourn into the Third Reich. Enraptured by the incredible retelling of a saga that was, seemingly, too incredible to be true, she was, nonetheless, aware of the constant probing glances in her direction by the stern-looking, Polish woman, who spoke in French to a typist whose fingers flew over the keys so quickly they were a blur.

Three hours passed without notice. When there was a break, all the women simultaneously found themselves in the large locker-room style ladies room. Drying her hands after washing them in the sink, Vierna turned to again see Magda glaring at her intensely.

Acutely watchful of Vierna, Jan interceded. Have you ladies been introduced? She asked, coming closer.

Vierna shook her head negatively, as Jan repeated her query in French. Magda haltingly brought a hand to her face while offering a subdued response of her own. Jan glimpsed torment within the Pole’s expression unlike anything she had ever witnessed but had no intuition as to its meaning. Vierna, this is Magda…one of the Polish resistance members who helped Vince reach Berlin. Jan repeated the necessary introduction, but Magda, her attention riveted on the woman before her, seemed not to hear. Eventually, the Pole moved with deliberate caution until she stood within inches of Vierna, where she stopped, her eyes devouring every aspect of the American. Finally, she removed the hand from her own face and extended it haltingly toward the velvety skin of her ebony opposite, until coarse fingertips just grazed the surface. Her probing touch lingered on the chocolate-colored girl, until; at last, she uttered French words.

She says that you are more beautiful than any woman has a right to be, Jan translated.

Magda added more.

Once again Jan converted the words to English. She says that surely the thought of you will make your Vince strong enough to survive.

In a stunning epiphany, Vierna realized why she fascinated the woman. Impossibly, Magda had feelings for Vince. Tell her something for me, please, Jan.

Of course.

Tell her that I bear no grudge toward her…or you for that matter.

Jan had not realized her own affection for Vince was so transparent. She wanted to explain the innocent nature of her thoughts but only translated Magda’s words before falling hushed.

Tell her one more thing, Vierna added. I would appreciate her prayers. Vince is going to need more than mine if he is going to have any hope of escaping.

Chapter 2

The interviews continued until only John Rolph and Paul Timms remained. Neither had yet provided details of what they had learned about Germany’s nuclear capabilities. Despite Charles’ breach of protocol thus far, that information could only be divulged to a select few.

Outside, with her family in tears, Elise, the mystifying, British, double agent, was handcuffed and taken into custody. Her last lingering look back, revealed a smile directed at her two younger sisters and her parents. When she turned back to the front, her eyes met Vierna’s. Vince will survive to come home: when he does, thank him for the return of my family.

Certainly, the American answered.

Derek took in the exchange before placing a comforting arm around Vierna’s waist. On her other side, Mae did the same.

Chapter 3

Miffed by the technical jargon bandied about during the two scientist’s debriefings, Charles ventured outside where he spoke with the men of the 595th. It took scant words before a quiet but firm agreement was reached with little fanfare. The Americans would remain at his service. With a handshake, the man responsible for so much, agreed to see them in the morning and then found the returned spy team.

I have arranged temporary lodging for everyone until we can get this sorted out. Transportation will be along shortly, he explained.

Jan interrupted. Charles, I will be putting up the ladies in my flat. She paused. There is something you overlooked.

Charles interest piqued as he was surrounded. I’m almost afraid to ask..?

Jan went on. Everyone here wants a part in helping: the Poles…the French…Jurgen. By the way, their lodgings have been taken care of, courtesy of the U. S. Army.

Captain Lankton gave a casual salute in Charles’ direction in acknowledgment of that revelation.

It goes without saying that Vierna, Derek, and Mae want in, in whatever capacity you can use them, Jan continued.

Charles smile became infectious as he received the answer to his short staffing problems. I am glad that my instincts are not so wrong, I was getting a bit worried that no one had approached me. We begin in the morning—8a.m. I will pass along the location shortly.

Their alliance formalized, the unlikely collection of allies emptied the area in front of the building. Charles watched everyone depart, until he was alone with his thoughts. One intuition dominated. He hoped that all of them, he included, would survive what was coming.

Chapter 4

North Berlin

Vince’s torso shuddered uncontrollably as he emerged from frigid, putrid water. Near frozen, his skin a ghastly gray-brown from spending the previous night and the better part of the day submerged within the bog’s murky embrace, he retained enough presence of mind to check the wind and the surrounding area several times before seeking the minute ray of sunlight penetrating the thick foliage above him. Miraculously, during his panicked flight he had stumbled into this heavily forested area bordering Reinickendorf before tumbling into his haven of a depression. The hours since, had been spent listening to the sounds of soldiers beating the bush in an effort to find and eradicate, the most unlikely of invaders; a man all of them wished would have died with the hard steel of a German bullet inside his shattered skull, long before. Repeatedly—relentlessly—they had swept the area, diligently probing every conceivable hiding place. More than once, Vince thought he would be discovered as men came to within meters of his hiding place before pressing on while leaving behind murmured curses.

Pushing the remembrance of his earlier place of solace out, the fugitive crawled along the ground until he reached a scrap of sunlight. Keeping careful watch, he removed his jacket and shirt. Initially, he grew colder but as his skin dried, he found himself warmed by the sun’s rays. Shifting his position, he felt a twinge in his leg and remembered the wound he had suffered during the attack at the airfield. Vince unbuckled his belt.

Minutes later, he had surveyed the damage and though it was ugly, and throbbed because of his probing; the wound turned out to be only superficial. The American took stock of his situation. Armed with only two knives and no provisions, the inventory took mere seconds.

Taking one of the knives, he slit the collar of his shirt. Pulling at the cloth secreted inside, he removed a silky material and unfolded it. Silks, as they were called, had been developed by the British as a way for their agents to carry information that could be easily concealed and destroyed rapidly if needed. This one contained a detailed map of Germany. Vince’s eyes poured over it. Which way to go?

The charade ended quickly. Folding the material, he pushed it into a cargo pocket and lay back against moist earth. He had but one option that might surprise his pursuers. It made sense that they would expect a push to the north and the much closer borders of Denmark or Sweden. That was what he should do, but he could not think like a man with Germanic, pale skin if he were to have any hope of surviving.

One hour later, Vince pulled on the last of his damp clothing before scattering brush over the area where he had spent the morning. The sun was high; a risky time to move, but instinct told him that he needed to relocate before evening.

Moving with systematic care, he took frequent breaks in order to concentrate on his surroundings. He went on this way for some time, stopping, starting, and then lying still when a noise or a subconscious sentiment disturbed his peace: until, passing through a stand of trees, he heard the forest go deathly quiet. Burrowing beneath the nearest growth of brush, Vince melded into the earth and allowed his ears to become his eyes.

It wasn’t long before the faint echoes of human presence could be heard; worse was the noise of panting. Dogs troubled Vince, if they sensed his presence; he was as good as captured. He lay still, praying the soldiers leading the animals would bypass him and continue north and into the marshland he had abandoned earlier.

Averse to trusting the enemy, he waited longer before edging furtively, to the fringe of his hiding place. Peering from the undergrowth, he took in everything within view. He saw nothing suspect, but the birds had yet to begin singing again. He pushed back into the brush.

As one hour stretched to two, and then three, Vince maintained his vigil. Everything within him shouted that his adversary was there, waiting only for the revealing movement that would betray their quarry. His training and experience had taught him patience more than anything else. If he had to, he would remain tucked beneath this clump of concealing shrub for the next week.

Chapter 5

Führer Bunker

Impossible. How can a man who resembles no one in all of Germany…journey into the heart of the Reich undetected, free heavily guarded prisoners, and make good his escape without losing a single captive? I am inclined to believe that the same cowards, who have time and again sought to take my life, are responsible for this outrage. No man—particularly one of the American blacks is capable of such a feat any other way.

Josef Geobbels glimpsed the wild fury in Adolf Hitler’s eyes the same as the other men in the room. However, where many of the others silently began concocting alibis, his reaction was one of opportunity. "Mein Führer, I am confident that the men in this room, as well as, those who serve beneath them, are innocent of any complicity. After all, it should be clear to everyone how traitors are dealt with at this crucial juncture in our struggle? Goebbels surveyed the room in order to drive home his point before beginning again. There is an opportunity here that will benefit us, if it can be carried out."

Hitler wondered aloud. What opportunity can come from such a supreme disaster? We have not managed to capture this terrorist even though he is alone and on foot.

Goebbels smiled. "Precisely why his death at your hands will so inspire the people, Mein Führer."

Hitler showed signs of agitation, the veins in his throat swelling. And then, impossibly, his countenance changed to one of curiosity. Explain what it is you are thinking, minister.

Each man in attendance stared blankly at the newly appointed Reich Minister for Total War, without a clue as to what he might be leading toward.

"Führer, we are facing challenges in the east and in the west; challenges that may be overcome only when the whole of the German citizenry fights with the same determination that you display as their indomitable leader. What greater example of the will to triumph can be given them other than you personally dispatching this enemy agent—this American, Übermensch, by your own hand?" Goebbels dramatic oratory skill began to have its desired effect; despite all in attendance knowing they were being manipulated.

Josef, are you suggesting that I participate in the hunt for this animal? The wonder in Hitler’s voice was palpable.

Goebbels quickly countered. "Never, Mein Führer, you are too valuable for such an undertaking. Additional manpower can be added to that enterprise, insuring that the American is found. My suggestion is that he be cornered so that he poses no threat. Only then will you dispatch him with your own pistol, and the cameras will be there to record it. The people and your soldiers will be so inspired that they will fight with a zeal we have not seen from them since early in the war. Then we will drive the allied mongrels back into the Channel."

A handful of watchers witnessed an action that shocked them to a man. Hitler had not been himself since his near assassination by the bomb concealed within Colonel, Claus von Stauffenberg’s briefcase during a meeting at Hitler’s Wolfsschanze headquarters, near Rastenburg in East Prussia. Now though, the old fire rekindled in his eyes.

Josef, you are a genius. I admit you had me wondering but, as usual, you have proven yourself a master at turning a disadvantage into victory. Hitler turned to the assembled force. What resources do we have allocated to the capture of this brute?

A Colonel Stauffer answered. "Mein Führer, we have a very capable man, a Lieutenant Colonel, Friedick, in the field leading the search. At his disposal are more than one hundred troops, six teams of dogs, and an assortment of vehicles. At present, it is believed that our quarry is surrounded and it is only a matter of tightening the noose."

Hitler stared hard at his subordinate. "Tell me what you know of…what is the schwarzer’s name again," he said to no one in particular.

"LaSalle…Vincent LaSalle, Mein Führer," offered the colonel hesitantly.

Why do you falter, Colonel? Hitler questioned.

Stauffer cleared his throat. "Führer, I have his file in my possession." He pushed it toward the glaring Reich leader, who took it and opened it.

Tell me what you have learned while I am reading, Colonel. And answer my original question. Why do you hesitate?

Stauffer had hoped that producing the document would spare him the task of answering honestly and possibly suffering Hitler’s unpredictable ire. He knew also that the leader fiercely despised men who cowered in his presence. "Mein Herr, I have discovered LaSalle to be a fine soldier. Mentally, he has proven himself adept in combat from Africa to Italy… as well as our homeland. Physically, he is so far above the norm that I at first questioned my information but, now I believe it to be accurate, based on what I learned of his escape."

The master of the Third Reich stopped reading and lifted his eyes while drawing in a prolonged breath. Educate the rest of us, Colonel.

This time Colonel Stauffer did not hesitate. The American literally, ran away from our vehicles. Granted, he was aided by darkness and rugged terrain, but I went to the area personally. He should have been captured that night, especially after…

Keep nothing from me, Colonel. Hitler demanded.

Especially, after he was blown out of the car he was driving by one of our eighty-eights. You will see in his file that he was a superior athlete before the war.

Hitler, red in the face and appearing as if he were about to erupt; suddenly made another eerily abrupt about face. Staring toward a visibly expectant Goebbels, he revealed what he was thinking. "This will work nicely, Minister; the people will indeed be inspired by the death of one so formidable. It is because he is so closely related to the animals that he is so physical. German steel however, will put an end to him none the less. See that he is built up sufficiently via whatever means you deem necessary. And Colonel; you have it on my authority to commandeer whatever resources are needed to make this a short search. The sooner we execute this Auslander, the sooner my soldiers will know that the enemy is not invincible…even the subhuman ones."

Hitler waved his hand and an aide moved forward with a piece of paper. Signing the prewritten orders his staff kept at the ready, the Reich leader went on while the aide delivered the authorizing document to Colonel Stauffer. Now; other matters require my attention. I expect to hear very soon that the…Negro, Hitler formed using methodical English. …Awaits his fate at my hand. One more thing; see that no overzealous soldier puts a bullet through my prize.

Men with orders left the room in haste. Those remaining awaited their turn at being the focus of the Führer’s questioning. With the losses in the east to the Russians mounting, and the advance of the allies to the west proving more than troublesome, it did not portend to be a pleasant meeting.

Chapter 6

Subtly tightening sturdy fingers around his knife, Vince slowed his breathing while tensing strong limbs. Twenty meters in front of him, a burly canine sniffed furiously at the ground. His handler, a thickset and square-jawed landser, goaded the beast forward by emitting low, guttural encouragement. Two other men aiming rifles trailed. Vince could see only partly because of his vantage point within the hedge but plotted his actions as best he could. If the dog came in, he would cripple it if possible while leaving it alive to bark. His hope was that the men would be foolish enough to follow without riddling the bush with gunfire first.

The tense situation played out until it was unexpectedly interrupted by a voice coming over the radio carried by one of the men. Colonel Friedick here, we have new orders; return to the rallying point—immediately.

Vince heard the soldiers swear in unison. All three stared into the surrounding foliage, obviously pondering what it was the dog was on to. Finally, the man handling the animal handed the leash to one of the men trailing him. Aiming his machine gun, he fired a burst into the tangle of bush in front of him. After a thirty second wait spent watching for signs of movement, the soldier snatched at the leash held by the man next to him and turned away, dragging the protesting shepherd behind him.

A relieved American watched the retreat for as long as he could and then breathed a silent sigh. Rolling onto his back, he noted the fading light while exhaling in a long push. Several of the bullets had missed him by mere inches; that had been too close.

Anxious to move, he cautioned himself to wait the few more minutes necessary to insure darkness was complete. I’d better get used to this, he thought, resigning himself to the long trek by foot across Germany. Night and its protective blanket would become his only ally, if he was going to make it out of the country alive.

A half hour after the close call, a solitary figure emerged from his cocoon. Within minutes of beginning the move to the south, he knew he had made the correct choice in this chess game for his life. There were obvious signs of troops having searched along the route the previous night. Vince checked his watch and considered what he wanted to accomplish before anyone could guess that he might have doubled back. He needed weapons, food, and most desperately, water. Strained through his shirt in a poor attempt at filtration, the few sips of the stagnant liquid he lay submerged beneath had tasted terrible, but it had prevented dehydration, a condition he knew to be debilitating. Something to prevent infection in his leg wound would also be of great help. Knowing the distance he had to cover, he broke into a trot. He would formalize his plans on the move so that when he reached the city, he could rely on instinct alone.

Chapter 7

By 10: pm, the solitary warrior was within striking distance of Berlin. Giving a wide berth to the airfield that had been the scene of so much excitement the day before, Vince found a concealing location in the tall grass and lay down to wait until the time for slipping into the city was more favorable.

Unexpectedly, within seconds, he had drifted off into a bottomless sleep, the effects of fatigue finally overwhelming his battered frame. When he awoke, the American lay startled, his wits momentarily scrambled. Graphic dreams of those he has killed, complete with the vivid scents of death, will do that to a man. He shook off the nightmare and checked his watch. 12:41 a.m. Vince rose to a crouch and began to move. The depth of his slumber had made him stiff but it had also energized him. He pushed the nightmare out of his subconscious and focused on rehearsing his movements. No one was aware of how he had entered the city initially, and, unless he was wrong, there was no expectation that he would return now. He was betting his life on that fact.

Chapter 8

Clinching his jaw shut, Lieutenant Colonel Friedick, tried vainly to put down his dislike of the man behind the high-pitched voice coming over the phone and answer the question. Yes, Colonel, we have distributed the new men along the line. We are pinching gradually inward; it should be only a matter of time. The answer clearly did not satisfy the man at the opposite end of the receiver. Another round of exaggerated speech erupted. When the clamor stopped, Friedick proffered one more answer. "Colonel, the Führer will have his prize, and yes, I have given strict orders that the American be taken alive." He wanted to say that it only made his job that much harder but the thought of all the expletives that would have been bestowed upon him canceled that impulse. Dropping the receiver, he pulled his great coat up around his neck. The weather was cooling. That was good: cold made cowards of men as effectively as fatigue.

Turning back to his adjutant, the Colonel inquired about the status of his orders. Assured that the men had been redeployed and were cognizant of the new directives, he mumbled a gruff reply and returned to reading his copy of the file he had obtained from intelligence. Too many items to name troubled him about their prey, so much so, that he abruptly closed the folder and called for his weapons. In a huff, he spoke agitatedly to his immediate staff. All of you, with the exception of the radio operator; retrieve your weapons; we are joining the search. Though surprised, the men complied with efficiency and were soon following at their commander’s heels as he stepped toward the marsh.

Chapter 9

Swimming across the Spree a second time minus his flotation device, had been even more harrowing. Only the presence of floating debris had made it possible for Vince to survive currents that seemed bent on ending the chase by killing him in the river. Rising from the water’s edge, thoughts of too many items to number, insinuated their way into his consciousness as he doggedly stalked his way forward. When they became a distraction he stopped in the grass and knelt. His words were few; asking God to clear his mind of any diversion that would take away his focus—including Vierna. When he stood, he saw only the landscape in front of him.

As he covered ground, faster now, Vince found that he remembered certain areas completely and others scarcely at all. He had yet to see a soul on the streets other than soldiers staffing their guard posts. House by house, block by block, he moved, being patient when necessary and bold at other times. As he crouched alongside a building, he recalled that this is where he had been before when a bomber attack began. This night the sky was hauntingly serene.

Stealing across a darkened area, he took in the rubble of what looked to have once been a beautiful home. "A waste," he muttered as he sped to a place of safety within sight of his hoped for first stop.

Pushed against the dirt, Vince watched Jurgen’s former shop with desperate focus. There were medical supplies in that building he needed for his leg. Up to now, it had given him no trouble, but that was no guarantee against infection setting in later. Eventually, his diligence paid off. Appearing from one side of the building, a lone soldier appeared, his rifle clutched loosely in his hands. This exact scenario had occurred in England, during a training exercise outside Lavendor. The similarity troubled him. Vince shifted his attention toward every area that held a view of the shop. After several minutes, he thought he saw something and locked onto it. There was an apartment building three quarters of a block to the east that had a clear line of sight to three sides of the shop. He could not be sure but it appeared that there was a window open on the second floor, a perfect local for a sniper. He shifted his eyes to the one blind spot that anyone in that location would have, and then upward. Thank you, God… Another building, deserted by the looks of it, had a perfect view of that area. Several of the windows were missing but one had a curtain obscuring just enough of it for a man to hide behind. Some very clever German had anticipated that someone might return here; perhaps, they believed Jurgen had an accomplice. Vince thought of all the information being leaked out of London while backing warily out of his hiding place. Nothing but death awaited him here.

Altering his former route, the fugitive took great pains to be careful while reaching the weapons cache near the zoo. Along the way, he managed to liberate a sizeable chunk of hard cheese through some trusting person’s ajar window. The almighty would just have to forgive him for that act of thievery—and any to follow as he attempted his escape. He played a familiar game once he reached the weapons hoard, watching and waiting from a distance before moving in. The information concerning this location had come from Stefan, the leader of the Polish resistance group that had helped him reach Berlin initially, so he had less apprehension about it. Still, everything was under suspicion so he spent considerable time watching before approaching.

When he was satisfied, he went through the familiar process of locating the key in its hiding place and slipping inside. It was difficult not to be greedy but he had thought out exactly what he wanted. A P-38 pistol went with him, as well as, one FG-42 auto rifle. He finished by taking all the ammunition he could carry, several grenades, and, importantly, two canteens. He pushed aside the thoughts of carrying out some of the larger weapons with scant effort; they were too cumbersome for a man relying on stealth as his principal ally. Vince checked the time. 4:38 a.m. He needed to hustle in order to reach the place where he would spend the day before the sun rose.

Moving through the city, the weapons gave Vince some sense of security, despite being cognizant that nearly all of it was imagined. Approaching an open space, he hesitated. Pushing aside brush and about to make a calculated dash, he heard a loud noise. Dropping, the fugitive groped at his weapons. After a few seconds, he realized that the noise was a broadcast, via loudspeaker. He listened intently. What he heard shook him. The Germans were alerting their citizens to his presence in the area.

The many eyes of Berlin would now be tuned to spotting the intruder responsible for much of the carnage that had struck the city the previous evening. Vince tensed, thinking that he might have made a grave mistake coming back into the city. Just as he was berating himself inwardly, however, the enemy offered hope. There was mention that he was pinned down north of the city and it was only a matter of time before the intruder was made to pay for his crimes. Vince had heard enough, he needed to get across that space and into the hidden area beneath the castle Bellevue.

This morning had assumed that strange grayness that takes place just before the sun makes its appearance when he reached the rock formation. Using a fallen branch as a lever, he displaced a large boulder and cleared a path to the dark hole that led down, out of sight, to the south of the castle. Climbing inside, he replaced the heavy rock in the same way while wondering how Petra had managed it. That small girl was truly remarkable, he thought as he descended. A sigh escaped him as he waited for his sight to adjust to the dim light.

When he could vaguely make out shapes, something rustled in front of Vince and he lifted his arms instinctively. Fast hands tore a raised stick roughly from his attacker and he stepped toward them so quickly they had no time to react. His knife rested against the throat of the figure he held easily with his free hand, before realizing that it was an elderly woman he grappled with. Soft German words came out of his mouth as he released the sputtering female. Lowering the weapon, Vince continued to reassure the woman. When she continued to babble, he stepped toward her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Look at me woman: do I look like a German soldier? It was as if a light went on in her mind. Shutting her mouth, she stared stupidly at what was the first, Negro she’d spoken to in her life. "Amerikaner?"

Yah, Ich bin ein Amerikaner.

LaSalle?

The words came out wonderingly and Vince couldn’t help but smile. She turned her head, mumbled something, and out of the darkness appeared three more persons, all older and feebler than the female in front of him. At their heels came two timid children, one boy and one girl, their hollow eyes blankly taking in the stranger who looked so different. Following the hands that weakly looped around his, Vince allowed himself to be led inside.

If his status as a liberator did not make him welcome, then the cheese he had stolen did. He managed to tear a small chunk off for himself before eager hands accepted the remainder. Chewing slowly, he saw the food divided evenly, and then consumed with ravenous abandon. When they were finished, the group turned their attention back to the provider of the