Looking Back on Tomorrow

By Mitch Engel

In the months leading up to World War I, a young Austrian officer from an aristocratic family, falls deeply in love with a beautiful young woman from Serbia.  It is a match fraught with political peril due to mounting hostilities between the two countries.   Can their love survive the indignities of two world wars, prison camps, family tragedies and the separation of an iron curtain?  The answer is yes, but not in the manner one might think.

Relive the sagas of two families separated by an ocean whose roots trace back to that star-crossed love affair, and relive a century of history from two highly unusual perspectives.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977274281

Mitch Engel

Mitch Engel’s stories weave contemporary themes with timeless human values. His previous novels, Deadly Virtues, Noble Windmills, Crimes of Arrogance, and The Senator’s Suitcase, are widely available. After heading one of the country’s largest ad agencies at age 36, Engel later became a senior executive with a Fortune 500 company. He and his wife split time between Ocean Ridge, Florida, and Lake Forest, Illinois. 

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Prologue

He rolled over, saw the time on the nightstand clock, then started muttering profanities. No one would be clueless enough to phone him at three in the afternoon. That was prime sleeping time when your workday started before 4AM and ended around lunchtime. Anyone having his mobile number would know the drill.

Those five hours of late afternoon slumber were sacrosanct. Especially this week, with the wedding just two days away and his body still recovering from Saturday’s football game – which proved to be anything but non-contact, despite the repeated assurances of his older brother, Blake. The activities for his bachelor party weekend on the Chesapeake were supposed to have been harmless – other than the mandatory aftereffects of overconsumption.

Only his mother could call at this hour and get away with it. Probably some vitally important last-minute detail. Josh, is it okay if we move the Jennings to a table with the Walkers? I’m afraid they won’t mix well with the Barnaby Woods crowd.

He fumbled among the sheets before finally getting his hand around the loudly pinging cellphone. Patience, Josh, it’s your mother.

But when he looked at the screen, it wasn’t her. It read, Kelly Fitzsimmons. He could not imagine why Fitzy needed to talk to him. She had been his camera person and partner until late last year, when she jumped at a chance to go out on real news assignments – instead of the puff pieces he was doing for Good Morning America. Josh hadn’t blamed her one bit.

Whataya need Fitzy? He tried to mask the irritation in his voice because Kelly Fitzsimmons remained one of his closest friends.

I’m sorry, Josh, we were sent out to cover a breaking story in Georgetown … a random mass shooting. She paused, sounding unsure of what to say next.

What is it, Fitzy?

I thought you should know … uh, I didn’t want you to read it over one of our internal news feeds … listed among the shooting victims is Amanda. Oh, God, Josh, I am so sorry. He could hear sobs of desperation in her voice.

He already sensed the answer but had to ask, My God, is she dead?

A long pause. Yes, she was shot multiple times in the back while entering one of the shops … she didn’t stand a chance. More sobbing. Again, Josh, I am so sorry.

The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis. The best he could muster was a monotone, Thank you, Fitzy … truly. He ended the call and just kept staring at his cellphone.

Josh Chandler’s mind went to earlier in the morning when Amanda had been hoping he might get away and meet her at the bridal shop to pick up her dress. But when they finally confirmed the time her dress would be ready, she told him not to bother. It was more important he rest up for all the dancing and other activities she had in store for him on their wedding night.

Fading in and out of consciousness in a hospital bed inside a makeshift medical center in Toretsk, his mind kept cycling back to that life-changing day more than four years earlier. Since then, Josh Alden Chandler, son of Senator Sarah Alden Chandler and billionaire Bradley N. Chandler, had systematically severed most ties to his past. He still maintained contact with his parents, whenever logistics allowed, but he no longer was content to ride on their coattails.

During his college days at Brown, he had developed an on-camera personality that made him an attractive commodity to broadcasters, especially when the prestige of his family name was thrown into the mix. He did a year’s stint in Memphis and another in Cincinnati before ABC hired him to tackle softball stories surrounding the personal lives of politicians, movie and television personalities, sports figures, or any of the ‘here-today’ celebrities who might attract viewers to Good Morning America.

Following the senseless murder of his fiancé, Josh was granted a six-month leave from his ABC duties, but by the end of week three he resigned. He chose instead to approach each of the cable news networks about a job covering mass shootings and other such tragedies.

On that one afternoon in Georgetown, six people were killed and nine others injured when two nineteen-year-olds dressed like Goth Ninjas had stepped out of their van on Wisconsin Avenue and begun firing AR-15’s at anyone in sight.

He might have been working for a large network news department at the time; but until then, Joshua Alden Chandler had remained oblivious to the sick facts. During the prior week alone, thirty-seven individuals had been gunned down in a bar in Dayton, Ohio, with ten of the victims dying; and forty-six more were shot at a Walmart in El Paso, leaving twenty-three dead. For the full year of 2019, the numbers kept climbing to a staggering total – 434 mass shootings across the country, resulting in 517 deaths and 1,643 injuries.

After several rounds of interviews, Josh was hired by CNN to hopscotch around the United States covering the continual flow of disturbing tragedies and disasters. Mass shootings, sure. But also, devastating floods, tornadoes, and hurricanes. Fires or explosions that left dozens homeless. Eventually, working his way up to human trafficking and immigration abuses. The more bitterly sad his workload, the more Josh was able to bury the memories of Amanda and the summer whites existence in which he had so effortlessly basked during twenty-seven years of privilege.

By fall of 2020, Josh had earned his stripes and was given the option of covering the toughest assignments internationally. He didn’t hesitate.

Since then, he had been traveling the world documenting death and destruction. Foreign soldiers who killed more than three hundred civilians in Mali. More than two hundred left dead after cyclones in India and Nepal. Floods that wiped out 182 persons in Afghanistan and 233 in Brazil. Another two hundred succumbing to a drought in East Africa. Six citizens gunned down by a Kurdish terrorist in Paris. Then there were ten killed and six injured by a thirteen-year-old who carried a gun to school in Belgrade. Earthquakes killed more than three hundred people in Indonesia, over a thousand in Afghanistan, and over two thousand in Haiti. In Myanmar, the systematic extermination of ethnic minorities continued, with more than sixteen hundred put to death. In Hamburg, an attack on a Jehovah’s Witness meeting hall injured eight and ended the lives of seven. In Saudi Arabia, eighty-one men were put to death in a mass execution. Attacks on two schools in Aracruz, Brazil had left four dead and sixteen injured. Three additional persons were left dead and four wounded in a Copenhagen mall, after a man randomly opened fire. The stories, the horrific numbers, they never stopped.

When Josh awoke each morning, he rarely knew where he might be laying his head down that night. Josh Chandler’s on-the-ground reports had become synonymous with calamity and catastrophe on a global scale.

In late August of 2023, he was sent to the industrial city of Donetsk, located in a region of the same name near the eastern border of Ukraine. It was Josh’s third trip to Ukraine since Russia’s invasion during February of the preceding year. Donetsk had been subjected to almost continual aerial bombing by the Russians for over a year. As Josh was prone to do, he ignored the network’s policy for ‘embeds’ and snuck out of the protected compound after dark one evening to spend the night with soldiers posting guard on the eastern front. It was there that the left side of his body was pelted with shrapnel after an aerial barrage.

Recognizing the importance of keeping an American journalist safe, the Ukrainian soldiers immediately transported him to a temporary medical center in the basement of an Orthodox church in Toretsk, some 80 kilometers away from the active fighting. To stifle the pain during his lengthy journey, Josh was injected with Pentazocine, which quickly put him to sleep. During the ensuing hours, he drifted in and out, his mind reliving the dramatic turns that his life had taken in recent years.

When he gained full consciousness several hours later, he was being re-bandaged by a nurse sitting on the edge of his bed with her body turned away from him.

Hello there, Josh said as he stared at the long blond hair draping down the tapered lines of a slender back.

I will be right with you … I just need to finish this last bandage, came a voice that spoke English with no hesitation and very little accent. My name is Elena, by the way. Elena Konig.

Neither your name nor your accent sound very Ukrainian, Ms. Konig.

That’s because the name is Austrian and the accent is German, Mr. Chandler, she replied as she finally stood and faced him. And what a face he saw for that first time. Riveting blue eyes. A nose with the smallest of sweeps to it, flanked on either side by rose-colored cheeks, each displaying a deep dimple as she smiled down upon him like some angel sent from heaven. An angel with perhaps the most intoxicating pair of lips he had ever beheld. Even her teeth gleamed in white perfection. Surely, the drugs had not worn off and he was hallucinating. No woman could look that spectacular in the middle of a war zone.

He wasn’t a soldier, so Josh wore no dog tag and the press credential normally pinned to his chest had flown off during the explosion. How did you know my name?

Her smile brightened further, Oh come now, who wouldn’t recognize Josh Chandler? You do understand that we get CNN in Germany … just as you Americans have blessed us with YouTube and Facebook. She rolled her eyes with these other references – and Josh couldn’t help but notice how much those eyes sparkled.

Clearly there were other patients who needed attention, but he intended to prolong this conversation as long as possible, Nurse Konig, please do not hold me accountable for the fact that my country likes to share its cultural deprivations.

She laughed, Don’t tell me you’re an old soul, Mr. Chandler. And, by the way, do not let the white dress fool you … I am not a nurse. I am just a volunteer trying to help a very understaffed medical facility.

Josh was completely enthralled, I would have to say the Ukrainians are lucky to have you. Do you mind my asking what brings you here?

Elena gave a simple shrug, but the smile was gone now. Why, the war, of course … just like you. Though in my case, it is a lot more personal. I detest the Russians and consider it my duty to assist any people whom they are intent on suppressing.

Josh Chandler recognized that he had barely scratched the surface of the story behind the intriguing Elena Konig.

PART I

Chapter 1

Sarajevo was just as his father described. The most westernized city in all of the Balkans, it was viewed by the Habsburgs as one of the jewels of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The city market might still reflect the region’s Ottoman past, but otherwise, the Cathedral of Sacred Heart, the National Museum, City Hall, Sarajevo Brewery, and dozens of other structures proudly projected the Romanesque architecture of more recent centuries. With more than fifty thousand permanent citizens and an endless flow of visitors, the streets came alive each evening – especially in the cafes or taverns that could be found on nearly every street corner.

The week-long visit was sure to live up to every expectation in the late summer of 1912, when Andreas Konig chose to celebrate his twenty-first birthday in Sarajevo with three classmates from the Theresian Military Academy. How could it not? His father, Sebastian, had made all the arrangements. Being one of the senior-most foreign ministers in the Habsburg government, he had seen to it that the four cadets would be treated to the finest accommodations, the finest food and wine, and, yes, even the finest young ladies the city had to offer. Sebastian had known exactly what preparations to make based upon his repeated trips to Bosnia as part of the entourage that typically accompanied Franz Joseph during his travels. In December, Franz Joseph would celebrate his sixty-fourth year as Kaiser of Austria.

The Konigs had held influential government posts with the Habsburgs for over three hundred years. Andreas was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps by first rising through the ranks of the Austrian military, after which a path inside one of the government ministries would be cleared for him. His official ascent was scheduled to start the following spring when he graduated from what was recognized as the most elite military school in the entire Habsburg Empire. In the meantime, he and his classmates could sow whatever wild oats they might choose while well outside the purview of the palaces in Vienna, some five hundred kilometers away.

During his first night in Sarajevo, Andreas did what was expected of him, knowing his father would receive a full report on how well his son had lived up to the family reputation with the late-night visitor sent to his room. It had not been Andreas’ first time with a woman, but it definitely was the most eye-opening. At breakfast the next morning, the four young men had little to say to one another. They just stared vacantly as they occasionally managed to get food onto their forks and lift them in the general direction of their mouths.

By lunchtime, after exploring the surrounding countryside on horseback, the commentaries started slipping out as expectations for the night ahead began to build. Andreas mostly just listened, all the while contemplating how he might secretly alter the plans his father had made for him. Women certainly appealed to him, but not in the degrading fashion by which they had been prearranged.

Later that afternoon, he requested a private meeting with the manager of the hotel in which his father had placed them. This dutiful gentleman confirmed that he had handled all the special amenities requested by Minister Konig and started to apologize if last night’s companion was not of the highest standard. Andreas cut him off, assuring him the young lady was both attractive and highly proficient in the skills of her trade.

By the time he exited the manager’s office, after sliding a handsome sum of money across the desk, the plans for the balance of Andreas’ nights in Sarajevo were much more to his liking. His travel companions would continue to enjoy their nightly visitors, but the young lady assigned to him each evening would be appropriately compensated and sent home. None of the others were to know of this new arrangement, and under no circumstances would any word find its way back to Minister Konig.

By the third day, the four friends had stopped doing everything as a group, each wanting to search out different parts of the city, and perhaps pursue different forms of debauchery, before meeting up for dinner. Once on his own, Andreas headed first to Gazi Husrev-Beg Library, the oldest known library among all the Balkan countries.

While leafing through a rack of military maps, most of which were printed in Islamic languages, his attention was drawn to a woman sitting at a table across the room. He had no idea how old she might be or what she might look like, because all he could see were her arms and the top of her head. But he never had seen an adult female with the sleeves of a high-button blouse rolled up above her elbows and a pencil wedged above one ear. Plus, she was completely engrossed in the book that was open before her with three others stacked to one side.

He walked over to the table, stepping loudly so as not to sneak up on her. But she still noticeably jumped when he asked, What is it you are studying so diligently? Andreas had taken a chance, having no idea what language the woman spoke.

When she looked up, Andreas thought she had the smoothest skin he had ever seen. She gave a slight smile, I’m trying to better understand the differences between Austrian and German … the languages seem so similar. She spoke in near-perfect Austrian.

My word, dear Fraulein, the biggest differences between an Austrian and a German have nothing do with language, Andreas said with a laugh.

Of that I am quite sure, she responded. And you no doubt are Austrian?

Indeed, I am … and you are?

Serbian, but I have lived in Bosnia for nearly six years now. She extended her hand, My name is Marina Petkovic.

I am charmed to meet you Marina Petkovic … I am Andreas Konig, at your service. He clicked his heels and nodded a slight bow.

Such a gentleman, she said with a much bigger smile – which somehow made the whole room seem a great deal brighter.

He had seen how engrossed she had been in her studies but weighed that with how incredibly mesmerizing she was. He had to take a chance, It would be my pleasure to buy you a cup of coffee so you can explain to me how you ended up in Sarajevo. Could I interest you?

Two hours later, Andreas was well-versed in her life’s journey – along with being well on his way to smitten.

Marina Petkovic had lived in Novi Sad until the age of thirteen. Andreas knew little of Serbia, let alone Novi Sad, so he had insisted that she provide him a thorough background on her home city. He wanted to learn as much about her as he possibly could.

It turned out that Novi Sad was located on the left bank of the Danube – the very same Danube that wound its way through his precious Vienna. Surely, this was no meaningless coincidence. She explained that Novi Sad was one of the major cities in Serbia and home to the largest population of ethnic Serbs in the world. As part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, it had been established for just that reason by the Habsburgs in 1698 – to function as a city where people of the Orthodox faith could live without fear of persecution in an empire ruled by devout Roman Catholics.

Her parents had received no formal education, but they owned and operated a popular restaurant in the heart of the city, so Marina and her younger brother were able to attend one of the better primary schools where she turned out to be an outstanding student. Few Serbian girls were able to continue with school into their teens, but she was afforded a rather unique opportunity because of her exemplary academic record. Delegations from other countries viewed Serbia as an exceptional place to recruit talented young girls who could be trained as nannies and ultimately governesses for the most powerful and accomplished families in Southeastern Europe and beyond.

When offered the opportunity for Marina to relocate to Sarajevo for a more advanced education, her parents did not bother to consult with her on the decision. Sarajevo was only two-hundred-and-seventy kilometers away and all her expenses were to be paid by the city’s most powerful family, the Curcics. After her first three years, at age sixteen, she would begin receiving a monthly stipend – half of which would be handed directly to Marina and the other half sent back to her family in Novi Sad.

During those first three years in Sarajevo, she studied by day and in the evenings served as a glorified kitchen helper. The home in which she lived already employed two older nannies who tended to the three children. But finally, one of the more senior nannies was assigned to another residence in the Curcic family, so Marina moved up a notch – which meant she had to cram her schoolwork into the hours when she was not on duty with the children.

Now, at age nineteen, she was old enough and well-educated enough to become a full-fledged governess. She spoke three languages fluently – Serbian, Bosnian, and Austrian. She was beginning to study Latin, and as Andreas had witnessed, was plodding her way into German. She, of course, had received a well-rounded education in science, mathematics, and the humanities.

Plus, I cannot begin to count the number of lessons I have endured on proper etiquette. By the way, kind sir, did I remember to thank you for the coffee? Marina Petkovic asked playfully.

Andreas could only nod, utterly hypnotized by the twinkle in her eye.

Chapter 2

Nearly three months later, in December of 1912, Marina Petkovic arrived in Vienna by train. She was met by a carriage and transported to Gattermayr House, located in the prestigious Innere Stadt District. The home belonged to Tobias and Viktoria Gattermayr.

At age forty-six, Tobias was next in line to preside over one of the largest banks in Austria. He would follow his father and grandfather into the role of bank president, just as he had followed them in taking possession of the thirty-seven-room Gattermayr Mansion where Marina would now serve as governess. At thirty-two, Viktoria Gattermayr was much younger than her husband, who had enjoyed the privileges of wealthy bachelorhood far longer than his parents would have preferred. Thus far, the couple had produced but one child, nine-year-old Ursula, and with each passing year the addition of a male progeny seemed less likely. Continued control of the family bank rested on Viktoria’s youth and the sustained virility of Tobias.

The wheels to land a position for Marina were put into motion as soon as Andreas departed Sarajevo. After spending as many hours together as her schedule allowed during the balance of Andreas’ week-long visit, this breathtaking young woman was encouragingly receptive to his suggestion that Vienna might be an ideal place for her to step into the role of a full-fledged governess. Thus, upon his return to Austria, Andreas was hellbent to find her a suitable position – one she couldn’t possibly turn down. He recognized it would be no small challenge since she previously had served as nothing more than a nanny in the far less sophisticated country of Bosnia. Among the gentlemen and ladies of Vienna, the Weiners and Weinerins, a sense of cultural superiority had been handed them at birth. Still, Andreas knew many important people and he could be quite persuasive, especially when wielding the influence of the Konig name if extreme measures became necessary.

During his memorable stay in Sarajevo, Marina and Andreas had taken to the streets whenever she was able to free herself of assigned duties in the Curcic household. They explored the city’s architectural evolution. They shared coffees or a bottle of wine at outside cafés. They picnicked in Veliki Park. Or they just sat on a bench as passersby went about their daily routines. Andreas had never found so much contentment in simply being with another person. The conversations had flowed so easily, and even the periodic silences were not at all awkward. He never had fathomed that a relationship with a female could feel so comfortable or evolve so naturally. Nor had he ever worried so much about doing the right thing.

To Andreas’ relief, Marina did not hesitate when he finally asked her on their third afternoon together, Would you mind if I kissed you? During the balance of the week, he held her hand and kissed her many more times, but that was the extent of their physical contact. Andreas Konig had behaved like a perfect gentleman.

Theresian Military Academy was located in Wiener Neustadt, a sixty-kilometer train ride from Vienna. Marina could hardly wait to see Andreas when he returned home for the Christmas holidays. It had been almost three months since those magical days in Sarajevo. Could he possibly be as handsome as she remembered? Tall and muscular, with his head held high. Those deep-set dark eyes. The dark hair. The skin of his face turned almost bronze by the sun. Clean-shaven except for a dark mustache. His jaw, his nose, the lines of his cheekbones, all seemingly drawn with a straight-edged ruler. For Marina, Andreas Konig had somehow materialized in that library in Sarajevo as masculinity personified.

As the days passed and Christmas drew near, Marina was learning her way around Vienna – chaperoning young Ursula to and from school, to dance and singing lessons, on shopping trips for Christmas presents, and various other excursions. As she saw more and more of this cosmopolitan city from inside the coach of the family’s carriage, doubts started creeping into her thoughts. Everywhere she looked, there were so many beautiful and confident women, draped in the latest fashions. Would Andreas find her as attractive in Vienna as he had repeatedly proclaimed on the streets of provincial Sarajevo?

He arrived home during the late afternoon of December 23rd. At 6PM, he called on Gattermayr Mansion, as prearranged through an exchange of telegrams. As propriety warranted, he brought gifts for all three Gattermayrs and spent more than thirty anxious minutes conversing with Tobias and Viktoria in their sitting room. All the while, his heart was racing faster and faster. Finally, he could wait no longer, Would it be possible for me to see Marina … I mean, Fraulein Petkovic?

The couple sat silently for several moments before both revealed modest smiles. Of course, said Tobias with a wink, as he rose and headed toward the front staircase. Let me ask the young lady whether she is amenable to welcoming a male caller this evening.

Starting the very moment she arrived downstairs, the ensuing week became a seamless continuation of the transcendent experience in Sarajevo. Perhaps more accurately, their time together proved to be a rapid escalation. Andreas found it surprisingly easy to express his deepest feelings to Marina. While Marina found it romantic and almost breath-taking to hear them – and then express the same in return. There was no need for coyness or games. The two were in love. Can’t-think-of-anything-else-but-you type love.

When Andreas finally returned to the academy, his first stop was the commandant’s office. He wanted to learn how best to secure an assignment in Vienna upon his graduation into the official military come spring. Because of his father’s lofty position in the government, he had a strong hunch that simply asking the question might have been all that was necessary.

During the intervening months, Andreas and Marina wrote to each other almost daily, as their desire to be together intensified.

Upon graduation, like all outgoing cadets, Andreas was assigned the rank of fähnrich, which designated him an officer candidate. He was assigned a second-in-command position with an honor guard unit at one of the Habsburgs’ two primary castles in Vienna. Six months later, he was made a full lieutenant in charge of the castle’s entire squadron of honor guards.

During those same six months, he asked Marina to marry him, and she accepted with tears running down her cheeks as he dropped to one knee. Andreas’ next challenge was how and when to inform his father, who over the years had demonstrated little regard for either the value or sanctity of marriage. As would have been expected of a Konig, Sebastian had married a woman from Vienna’s upper strata – but then proceeded to conduct himself as though still a bachelor. Andreas did not remember his father showing much regret when his mother, Christa, died from tuberculosis in 1903.

One thing was certain. His father would think Andreas impulsive for choosing to marry at such a promising, ripe age. Further, Sebastian Konig would caution his son about never allowing a woman to impede the progress of one’s career in the military and beyond. He only hoped that Marina’s beauty and charm might enrapture the father in the same manner in which they had enraptured the son.

They were dining in what had become their favorite restaurant. It was near the Vienna Konzerthaus, where earlier in the evening they had enjoyed the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. During the performance, Marina managed to put the nagging question out of her mind, but now she no longer could wait, Andreas, what if your father disapproves of our marriage?

Once he meets you, there will be no issues, he reassured her, even though he had been mentally jousting with the same concern since she accepted his proposal in October. "But if by some chance he opposes the marriage, we will move forward without his blessing. We then would have to pursue our own lives in Vienna, and either he will eventually soften his position … or he won’t. As I have often told