Ghosts of the Past (2 page)

Hignite, however, never believed in National Socialism and never trusted the actions of the Nazi party. Therefore, armed with the knowledge of the impending invasion of Poland, certain to take place sometime in the fall of 1939, Hignite had warned his father, who packed up the entire family and snuck out of Germany into Switzerland. Hignite’s father, mother, baby brother, and sister all found their way to the United States less than two months later.

Hignite remained behind, and distinguished himself as one of the finest fighter pilots in the
Luftwaffe
. With 46 kills to his credit, he had been shot down once, wounded in action twice, and decorated with every medal available. However, the winds of war had shifted dramatically, and the heady days when he and his comrades had ruled the skies were long gone. The war was winding down and Germany was being decimated with each passing day. Moreover, with no forewarning, he had been summoned to this remote wooded area, and instructed to wait for orders.

Oberst Dieter Heinrich hoisted himself into the back of the truck and was busy slapping at Oberleutnant Wilhelm Gernert with his riding crop. Gernert was fumbling his way to his feet in anticipation of saluting the superior officer who had so rudely awakened him also.

“Stay seated young man,” Hienrich interrupted him. “Just scoot your self over and allow me some room to sit.”

“To what do we owe this pleasure, Dieter?” Hignite inquired.

“Business before pleasure Max. I have volunteered you and young Gernert here for a very important mission. And you start tonight!”

“Thanks for the advance warning,” Hignite scoffed. He leaned over to shake hands with Gernert. “Major Max Hignite. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, but I didn’t see the need in waking you when they picked me up in this luxury mode of transportation.”

“No apologies necessary Major,” Gernert replied, meeting Hignite’s hand halfway. “Willy Gernert.”

Heinrich leaned back toward the rear of the truck and again applied his riding crop to lifting the drop flap, his aristocratic Prussian background evident in his handling of the equine instrument. Yelling down at the milling soldiers outside, he said “Unteroffizier, please bring us a lantern in here,
bitte.
”

The young corporal standing outside clicked his heals and retreated into the night.

“So we’ve been volunteered,” Hignite shivered as he returned everyone’s attention to the conversation. “I have never liked the sound of that.”

“You may like the sound of this one,” replied Heinrich. “It will allow you to exit this war before the final outcome is determined.”

“This war is over, Dieter, you know that as well as I do. It was over months ago. Hell, for that matter it’s been over for more than a year. Why that maniac in Berlin can’t see it is beyond any reasonable comprehension.”

“Careful Max,” interrupted Heinrich. “Keep your voice down and your thoughts to yourself, at least until you’re on your way with this mission. If it’s any consolation, I agree with you, but I have managed to hold my tongue this long, at least until I can find a way out of this mess as well.”

“Sorry Dieter, I’m a little tired, cold and irritable.”

“No need to apologize to me, old friend.” Heinrich smiled.

The flap once again pulled back, and the winded corporal stuck his arm in holding a hissing lantern that cast a greenish white glow on the inside of the dreary truck.

“I’ll get that sir,” said Gernert, as he reached out and grabbed the lantern handle, and nodded to the corporal, “
danke
.” Looking up he found several rusting hooks wired to the metal supports holding the camouflaged canvas cover over the back of the truck. He selected one toward the front and hung the lantern at the far end away from their eyes.

Gernert returned to the bench and he and Hignite both cast their gaze to Heinrich, who shuffled his body on the bench in a futile attempt to make himself more comfortable.

Dieter Heinrich was tall and muscular, with sharp features carved by generations of his heritage. His once piercing blue eyes were fading to gray, overcome by the weight of too many sleepless hours. He was thirty-one years old, but as with most soldiers at this point in the war, he appeared several years older.

He and Max had met at flight training school in Hamburg and had immediately developed a strong friendship. That bond was made even stronger when Heinrich discovered he was colorblind and was unable to continue flying. Max had spent many long hours consoling his despondent friend, a majority of those accompanied by binges of heavy drinking and womanizing.

Heinrich’s influential family managed to keep him in the Luftwaffe, and to their delight, he was commissioned an officer on Herman Goering’s personal staff. Heinrich was not as pleased. All he ever wanted to do is fly fighter planes. Moreover, to add insult to injury, he had no great interest in the Nazi party, but found himself smack dab in the middle of it.

Turning to face Hignite and Gernert, Heinrich began, “You’re both flying tonight.” Holding the palm of his hand face up to Hignite, “Before you interrupt me, let me finish. You’re going up in a Ju-52.”

Hignite’s reaction was subdued. He reached up with his left hand and massaged his neck, but managed not to interject.

“This flight was authorized by Goering himself and there will be no record of it ever having transpired. I was given the freedom to choose the best pilot I could find, so here you are Max. No disrespect to you oberleutnant, but they wrestled you up because you were available.”

“No disrespect taken,” said Gernert.

Hignite could not wait any further. “I don’t like the sound of this, Dieter. This has the makings of something covert, and I am not about to start being a spy now. Or it has the nasty smell of being illegal, and I’m not interested in pissing off the enemy any more than we already have.”

Before Heinrich could reply, the rumble of an approaching car engine, and the authoritative shouts of officers, captured the attention of all three men. It was Gernert’s turn to crouch forward and lift the flap to observe the disturbance.

Two large, black Mercedes sedans accompanied by four BMW motorcycle sidecars and two half-ton Mercedes trucks were all vying for parking rights in the clearing where the other assemblage of vehicles had congregated. They all seemed to come to halt in unison, as if this show of force had been choreographed many times before. Jumping out from the passenger door of one of the sedans was a leather-coated Luftwaffe captain, who never broke stride as he approached a young lieutenant snapping to attention and offering up the Hitler salute.

“Heil Hitler, Herr Leutnant!” barked the captain as he returned the salute.

“Heil Hitler, Herr Hauptmann, what can I do for you sir?”

“Where can I find Major Heinrich?”

“Right over here Hauptmann.” Heinrich stepped to the back of the truck and hopped down to the soft, moist ground. As he made his way closer to the captain, he mimicked the young lieutenant’s curiosity, “What can I do for you captain?”

Again, the captain raised his arm at the required forty-five degree angle. “Heil Hitler Herr Major!” Heinrich returned the salute with a casual flip of his hand. “Sir, the Reichmarshall would like to have a word with you.” And as if on cue, out struggled Reichmarshall Hermann Goering from the back of the second sedan, while an obedient sergeant held the door for him.

He was immaculately dressed in his medal-studded Luftwaffe uniform and full-length wool topcoat, and as usual, carried with him his trademark baton. He was a large man, who seemed to grow larger every day, not only in physical stature, but also in what he perceived was left of the disintegrating Nazi regime. He walked powerfully over to where Heinrich was standing and before Heinrich could muster a salute, Goering placed his hand to the brim of his hat in a traditional salute, which Heinrich duplicated immediately.

“Good to see you again Dieter, and
dankeshoen
for dealing with this delicate matter.” Goering laid his hand upon Heinrich’s shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Herr Reichmarshall. I’ve secured everything according to your orders,” replied Heinrich.

“Who did you select to fly?” Goering inquired.

“Major Hignite. I believe you’re familiar with him?”

“Quite. I believe I gave him the Night’s Cross last year. But I didn’t know he was flying transports?”

“He hasn’t been, but he has flown them before. He is also familiar with the terrain, having actually flown into the Swiss Alps on numerous occasions before the war. In addition, I thought he was the best pilot available in this area, under such short notice. His squadron just returned from combat yesterday afternoon, and there were not many aircraft left. In fact there were more pilots than planes, so I took him and a newly assigned leutnant, who would not have been much use in combat anyway.”

Goering nodded “Very well. Does he know the nature of the cargo?”

“No Herr Reichmarshall, I haven’t mentioned any of the specifics of the mission. In fact I was just briefing Hignite and Gernert when you pulled up.”

Goering turned away from Heinrich and observed the congregation of men milling around waiting for the orders to proceed. With a flip of Goering’s hand gestured toward him, the captain barked several orders at the drivers still seated in their trucks. Everyone began to move toward the clearing, where four waiting soldiers were already drawing back the camouflaged netting that had been covering the Junkers Ju-52.

“There will be no need to get specific with Herr Hignite and his co-pilot regarding the cargo, is that understood, Heinrich?” Goering returned his focus back to Heinrich, locking his eyes in a cold stare.

Heinrich snapped to attention. “
Jawhol,
Herr
Reichmarshall.
”

“Good to see you again, Dieter.” With that, Goering turned and walked over to the clearing and spoke briefly with the captain. Once there one-sided conversation was complete, he strutted back to the waiting staff cars, returned to the backseat from the one in which he came, and sped away.

Heinrich watched as the captain retrieved a Kriegsmarine metal briefcase that had been delivered to him from one of the cars. He placed it on the top of one of the wooden crates being unloaded from the first truck in line and removed a single sheet of paper. Walking over to the back of that same truck, he began to check off the crates one by one, as they were carefully moved from the truck to the waiting plane.

“That’s my plane, I assume,” Hignite said as he and Gernert walked up to Heinrich from behind. He leaned his head forward to observe the Reichmarshall’s entourage, “Even in the grip of defeat, he is one pompous asshole!”

Heinrich glared at Hignite and then relaxed looking away, “He represents everything I detest about the Nazi party. Him, Hitler, Himmler, Goebels, Bormann… they have brought Germany to the brink of destruction, and now he wants me to be a part of making sure his ass will prosper from the spoils of war. You’re too kind with your description Max.”

Hignite and Gernert followed Heinrich’s lead as he turned and they all began to walk toward the plane.

The night was peaceful, except for the occasional bark of an order, and the constant cadence of soldier’s feet moving to and from the parked trucks and the awaiting plane. The cold, damp air was invigorating to Hignite’s face. He consciously ignored the noise and stared out into the darkness of the surrounding countryside.

This area had been principally spared from the Allied bombing, and the ground war had not yet punctured the pristine beauty of the land. The ground was lit up dramatically from a three-quarters waning moon, with every star visible in a pitch black, cloudless sky. The gently rolling landscape was spotted with patches of unmelted snow, and way off on the northwest horizon, highlighting the far western range of the Black Mountains was the ominous, yellowish glow of Nuremberg ablaze from an aerial bombardment earlier that day.

With total control of the skies, the British and American bombers were pounding the major cities and industrial centers just north and south of here with devastating accuracy. The beautiful cities, the history, the architecture, the memories of his childhood… all disappearing at an alarming rate.
The
end
was
near.
Please,
let
it
come
soon,
thought Hignite.

“Do you smoke?” Gernert’s question returning Hignite to reality.

“I’d love one,
danke,
” replied Hignite, as he slid the protruding cigarette out from the pack in Gernert’s extended hand.

“There are no markings, Major,” Gernert said nonchalantly.

Hignite hesitated in confusion, and then realized what Gernert was referring to. He glanced over to the Ju-52 and noticed the lack of any insignias. The entire body and wings painted one dull, gray color. Nothing to note its origins or owners.

“It must be a secret,” chuckled Hignite sarcastically. He leaned over into Gernert’s cupped hands, igniting the cigarette on the dwindling match Gernert had struck up for the both of them.

Hignite wasn’t sure which was better, the long inhale of the smoke, or the crisp, fresh air he sucked in on top of it. The enjoyment was brief however; as an acknowledgment from one of the soldiers to Goering’s captain-in-charge indicated the plane was being loaded with the last of the cargo.

Heinrich moved toward the captain, who was motioning for the last crate, upon which lay the briefcase and his checklist, to be loaded onto the plane.

“Herr Captain, may we borrow the crate for a few moments,
bitte
? I need to review the flight plan.” Heinrich cocked his head toward the approaching Hignite and Gernert.

“Gladly Major. Unterfeldwebel, please load this onto the plane as soon as these gentlemen are finished.”

“
Jawhol
, Herr Captain.” The young sergeant saluted and backed away toward the plane to wait.

Heinrich pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his coat and spread it out on the crate. He reached down to his belt and released the buttoned flap to the holster, and removing the Luger pistol he placed it on the map to keep it from rolling back up. He looked for his own flashlight, but realized immediately he had left it in the truck He beckoned to one of the soldiers who had just sat down to relax. “Bring me a flashlight,
bitte.
”