Tale for the Lion

By David Holmberg

Carl's story of wartime drama is a fantastic tale but is not for the squeamish. WWII was a time when ordinary young men from across the globe descended into great evil, literally becoming monsters who walked the earth. The horrors of combat form the backdrop of his story, as he faces loneliness and stress just trying to survive. He feels that any attempt to clean up his story will make it a lie. In an unexpected twist, Carl is witnessed to by an elderly fisherman and has his come-to-Jesus moment. Now a born-again Christian, he survives the Nazi surrender but is captured by the Russians and serves five years imprisonment in a Soviet prison camp. In another twist, he becomes an atomic age spy for the US and escapes to America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Holmberg
• Release date: Feb 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224152612

David Holmberg

David moved to Maine over thirty years ago, after college. He has studied martial arts for years and holds a high degree black belt. A veteran of over 20 medical mission trips to the Dominican Republic, he is also a Sunday School teacher, an avid photographer, and an obsessive reader. Having consumed over 5,000 books by his own estimate, David felt it was time to give back and write his own book at last. He and his wife, Peg, have a grown son. Peg read an early draft of his first book and said it sounded like it was written by a Sunday School teacher who read too many detective novels. Truth in advertising.

Book preview

Chapter 1 Burning Embers

Daniel poked the dying embers with a stick and stirred. Ashes swirled upward as tongues of blue-tinged flame sought unscorched wood. Dropping a piece of split log into the fire, he pushed it into place with the stick. A second and third piece laid across the first brought new life to the backyard fire. Soon the fire came back strong.

The logs sizzled and crackled as the flames spread evenly along their length. Soon the bed of smoldering embers was engulfed in growing flame.

Daniel sat back down in the folding chair upwind from the fire.

Smoke seems to keep the mosquitos down, Carl observed.

Oh, the town sprays…right over there across the river, Evangeline added. Very few bugs in the yard all summer. Quite pleasant to sit out here after supper. I asked about the mosquitoes and Daniel told me they sprayed the downtown area. No one seems to have noticed the spraying. She looked at Daniel for confirmation and he nodded.

Evangeline and Daniel were hosting an informal get together around an outdoor fire in his backyard. New friends David and Kat came over from New Hampshire, his landlady Miriam joined them from next door, and old friend and mentor Carl dropped by earlier. Evangeline took cold drink orders, then disappeared into the kitchen.

You can take the girl out of the diner, but you can’t take the diner out of the girl it seems. Red once told me she worked in the diner for over ten years. Must’ve gotten an early start, Carl observed.

Started at sixteen…I think. Put in a couple years full-time after high school, before she started college, Daniel remembered. Might’ve waitressed her last shift, though. We talked it over, and she’s spending more time down here with all the wedding prep, and the Journal is still throwing assignments her way…she’s real busy these days. The Diner agreed to let her have a leave of absence. We’ll see how that goes.

Red descended the stairs from the kitchen, balancing a tray of cold drinks easily and making her way to each guest in turn. "Votre beverage, Madame, s’il vous plait, she began. Oh, excuse me, Miriam! I did this job in French for so many years…"

Miriam sipped her cold soda and smiled, Daniel mentioned you’re working on the wedding plans, dear. How’s that going?

Nearly done…just a few wrinkles left, Red acknowledged. Mailed the invitations to the Quebec relations last week. Made arrangements with the orphanage in LaRomana to fly Marina up here for a week, Red referred to Marina D’Ouville, the Haitian orphan she and Daniel shared an adventure with last year. She’s starting English lessons, and her French is improving, her teachers tell me. Of course she still speaks her native Creole with the other girls, and her Spanish is nearly fluent.

Unbelievable…eleven years old, little formal education, and she speaks four languages. Puts us Americans to shame, Daniel mused. Most of us don’t even speak English well.

I’m looking forward to meeting that remarkable young lady, Miriam interjected. Daniel tells me she shadowboxes like a champ, too.

Red gave Daniel the look. Not so sure I approve of such unladylike behavior, she sighed. She’s a big fan of Daniel’s after seeing him win that bout…but I’m not thrilled to see her play fighting. Knowing when it’s Okay to fight might be too much to expect at her age.

Evangeline put the empty tray down and curled up on the grass between Daniel’s chair and the fire. We need to thank you, Carl, for all your efforts to track down Simone Van der Hoeven for us. Getting her address must’ve taken some cloak-and-dagger stuff. Red referred to the international smuggler and sometime intelligence asset Daniel was tasked with guarding and extricating from the Mid-East last winter. Simone is planning to come, said she wouldn’t miss it for the world, Red was pleased to announce.

Carl seemed distracted. After a moment he spoke, Wasn’t all that difficult to track her down. They settled her in an assisted living center, part of a secure gated community close to the Pentagon. Mostly retired government workers. She consults for the Mid-East Desk at DIA. The delays in getting her address were more due to tangled red tape than security precautions.

Inspector Fourcade of Surete du Quebec indicated he’d be coming as well. If he hadn’t given Daniel his cover identity as a Marcotte from Sherbrooke for that tournament, we probably never would’ve met, Evangeline recalled. Because Mom is related to the Marcotte clan, I was able to bust his cover and wiggle my way into his life, she couldn’t help but giggle.

Red gave her boyfriend a lingering look. For once it was Daniel who blushed and looked away.

"You owe her a kiss now, young man…a real one, teased Miriam. None of that polite peck on the cheek stuff."

Daniel moved closer and did his best to comply. He found Red to be fully cooperative with his romantic efforts.

There was silence for a few minutes while the six of them stared into the flames, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

I love a wood fire…almost hypnotizing to stare into one. Dancing flames, the smell of smoke, glowing embers, faint crackling sounds…one of life’s most relaxing moments to share, Daniel spoke aloud their shared thoughts.

Red noticed something. You seem to be very quiet this evening, Carl. What have you been up to these days? We haven’t heard from you in a couple weeks…and then out of the blue you drop by today. Been up to something you can share?

Red knew that Carl traveled extensively as an evangelist and was always willing to share stories. And she also knew that he was a security consultant who couldn’t discuss that aspect of his work.

So which is it? Been spreading the Good News…or indulging in that spooky stuff you and Daniel sometimes do? Red sweetly inquired.

Carl smiled. Normally reticent to admit he was a security contractor, he was rather fond of the brash redhead reporter and easily indulged her curiosity. Since you bring it up, Red, I can tell you that I’ve been spending time with the State Department, going over that passport problem that trapped me in Vienna for a bit last winter.

Oh…that was scary! I remember now…they grabbed your passport and wouldn’t let you leave Austria…something about a war criminal with your name, right? Red was displaying her journalism instincts.

"Something like that, Red. Anyway, it took a while to straighten out, but that little problem should be behind me now. Deep in the past where it belongs."

Evangeline knew a good story when she tripped over one. And this one looked and smelled juicy…and far too tempting to ignore. You could see the mental gears engaging as she got ready to pour out a torrent of questions.

Daniel intervened, "Back off, Red. Don’t pry into his life like that. That’s private stuff…we all have long ago memories we don’t need to share. Some of those memories may be painful. If we needed to know about Carl’s life during the war, he’d tell us. Let it lie."

The others stared at Daniel. Rarely had anyone seen the normally shy young man speak up so boldly.

There was awkward silence while Carl gathered his thoughts. Finally deciding, he spoke up, I suppose I owe you a bit of explanation about my past. It seems I have been less than forthcoming, shall we say, about my life story.

He had the full attention of his companions sitting around the fire. The close confidant and friend they knew as ‘the Preacher’ was a bit of a mystery to them.

State and the DOD have finally lifted the long-standing gag order imposed on me decades ago. My ‘war story’ was classified in 1950, if I remember, Carl explained. For forty years the government has kept my story under wraps...big secret. That’s why I’ve had to be careful talking about my past…even among good friends. Stories like mine don’t bear repeating…for a lot of reasons, I guess. But now it’s officially lifted, so I can share it if you like.

If Carl didn’t have their rapt attention before, he did now.

Go ahead and drop a couple more logs on the fire, Daniel. Settle in and get comfortable because you’ll be here for a while. This might turn out to be a long night of listening for you, Carl began.

Chapter 2 Setting the Background of the Tale

"Most people know I’m a native-born American from Wisconsin, son of recent Swedish immigrants, who saw combat in Europe during World War II, attended Bible College in the early 50’s, and went on to be a traveling evangelist and part-time security consultant for nearly forty years now.

My travels as an evangelist are a matter of public record, I suppose. I built up the reputation of speaking quite literally ‘anytime, anywhere’ I was invited and being willing to appear for little or no money. I’ve had the privilege of spreading the good news of Jesus Christ far and wide these many years.

Preaching the gospel has taken me to many places. I’ve spoken in hospitals, prisons, homeless shelters, school auditoriums, and even public parks.

Because I’m willing to ‘work cheap,’ I supplement my income with a secular job. I travel all over and usually provide my own transport and lodging, and that can add up quickly.

The constant travel for the gospel precludes most regular jobs, so I had to be creative. Due to my time in the military, I was in touch with government types who worked in security…and the rest, as they say, is history. Like many jobs, it’s more who you know than what you know that gets you in the door."

A full moon shined its reflected light down on a cloudless night in West Farmington. Few traffic sounds reached the backyard. The roaring fire made for a relaxing background.

"That’s what most folks know about my life….and it’s true enough as far as it goes. But it’s only part of my story…and a partial story is often misleading.

I never intended to lie or deceive people, but I was constrained from telling the whole truth…until just now. Carl paused before continuing, You know, there’s a good reason that courts of law require a witness to swear to tell ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,’ in giving testimony. Some of the truth and all of the truth are quite different on examination.

Let’s start with the basic facts.

It’s true that I’m native born and from Wisconsin. What I didn’t tell you was that my parents went broke in the stock market crash of ’29, lost the farm to creditors a few years later, and moved the family back to Sweden when I was about six years old. Broke and desperate, both parents took jobs in the only prosperous industry in Sweden at the time, mining and exporting iron ore to Germany.

I learned to speak English before leaving America so my accent is Upper Mid-West. My parents spoke Swedish in the home, so my earliest language is that of a native Swede. Even today, I speak both languages with no trace of a foreign accent."

You grew up in Sweden? That’s so amazing! blurted out Red. I never would’ve guessed you spoke Swedish like a native…your English has no trace of a foreign accent at all.

"Well, thank you, Evangeline. Strictly an accident of birth, so to speak. Anyway, back to the story.

My youth was otherwise unremarkable, I guess. I got in a few scrapes over the years, showed a bit of teenage rebellion. I was an unmotivated student and eventually wandered away from school. Scrappy, and never one to back down from a fight, the military seemed a natural fit for me. One fine day I ran down to the recruiting center and joined up.

I’ve been very careful about telling war stories, as you may have noticed. Many Americans like to boast a bit about their military service, but mostly those who only got close to combat. You see them all the time down at the veterans’ clubs, recounting tales of their heroic feats over a beer or two. The real combat vets…the guys who lived through the horrors of combat…don’t brag so much. Some of them don’t talk at all about those days.

I count myself among the latter, the silent ones who don’t relish the memories."

Wait a minute, Carl! Red jumped in. Sweden was neutral. Their army stayed out of the fighting. How could you have seen combat? Did you come back to America to join up?

No, I didn’t. Carl paused at this point. Choosing his words carefully, he continued, "It was very early in ’43…the recruiting center was across the narrow strait in Denmark. Swedes were allowed