Excerpts from “A Time to Run”
In1938 Adolf Hitler was named Man of the Year by Time Magazine. Germany’s pompous new Man of the Year would, in half a decade invite the complete annihilation of their beloved Fatherland and eternal shame upon a once proud nation. He promised them change and change they got. However, when a nation’s founding principles are compromised for the sake of change or visions of national or political grandeur and reflection upon history’s solemn lessons are ignored, Santayana’s immortal words shall undoubtedly ring true.
From Chapter Two: My beautiful golden haired girl.
Albert Connor, the main character in a Time to Run dreams of a childhood experience he had with his father.
A dirty black Model-T bounced its way through the muddy ruts of a Fort Qu’Appelle country road, its passengers being jostled roughly against each other. “Not much further now, Mr. Connor,” the driver announced. “The road should be a little dryer when you come back. Are you certain you won’t want me to hang around to make sure you can get back today?” he asked.
“Oh, we should be fine, Eric,” Albert’s father assured him. “I have all the papers in order. It only needs picking up.”
“Don’t forget to check and see if you have enough gasoline to get home,” the driver advised. “I’ll bet they only put enough in to get the thing out the factory door.” He shot a glance back to young Albert hanging on in the back seat. “I’ll remember to check, Mr. Davison,” Albert promised.
In a few minutes the car turned out onto a wide, graded highway with the town’s grain elevators in sight only a half mile distant. When the Model T pulled in at the Prairie Agriculture dealership and squeaked to a stop, they bid their good-byes and turned to face a newly constructed Quonset building. Mr. Connor took a deep breath, gripped his large wallet and strode purposely forward with Albert following.
The sales room was clad with posters of the latest farm equipment brightly painted in rich greens, bright yellows and deep maroons. Albert put his hands behind his back the way his father always did and proceeded to study the advertising posters around the room. As they waited for the manager, Mr. Connor, hands behind his back, stood proud and straight at the front counter. A few minutes went by before a slim, balding, administrative looking gentleman emerged from the office.
“Mr. Connor?” he inquired.
“Yes, Sir,” Albert’s father replied. Albert turned to watch as the odour of lubricants, fresh paint and the pungent smell of cigar smoke permeated the air.
“Capital,” said the manager. Producing a large brown envelope and squinting at the printing on the label, he announced, “I believe this is the final paperwork here.” He then reached under the counter and produced a large book that he explained was the owner’s manual for their new tractor and began to leaf through the book for Mr. Connor to see. In a few minutes he handed the book to Albert’s father and, taking a long draw on his cigar said, “Now if you would follow me into the shop, gentlemen.”
Albert’s heart raced as he followed his father along a dim hallway through the office area to the dealership’s assembly shop. The place was buzzing with the noise of people stocking parts, assembling machines and mounting wheels.
“Over there is our new line of cultivators,” the man pointed out. “You might have a look at those before you leave, Mr. Connor.” Albert and his father briefly glanced over the cultivator assembly area, but were intent on seeing their new purchase.
“Here we go,” said the manager as he pulled a canvas cover off of their new tractor. “You have made a very wise purchase here, a decision that you’ll not regret,” he affirmed, beaming and rising up on his toes a little.
Albert walked slowly around the machine while the sales manager pointed out the key features and solid workmanship of the machine. The rich smell of axle grease and gasoline teased Albert’s senses. It was perfectly clean and brightly painted in a deep maroon colour with the logo, Macormic Deering printed on the engine cover.
The manager looked over at Albert studying the machine and asked, “Now, young fellow, do you know what the 10-20 model number means?” The man winked at his father and Albert looked dumbfounded as he searched the tractor for a clue.
Without waiting for a reply, the man proudly announced that Ten was the tractor’s drawbar horse power and Twenty meant the horsepower at the pulley. He seemed proud of that bit of trivia and then said to them, “As you have specifically requested, Mr. Connor, you will notice I have mounted new rubber tires in place of the standard steel wheels, but as I mentioned before, I don’t recommend this retrofit.”
Mr. Connor ran his hand over the deep rubber grips of the tire and assured the man that his farm did not have any sharp objects that might cause a problem for rubber tires.
Just then, a serious looking lady with thick spectacles came out of the office and handed the manager a small envelope and a note. “Great Scott!” cried the manager in a loud voice for the whole assembly area to hear. “We have neglected to fill your tank with gasoline as we always do with a new tractor. My good fellows, please accept this cash so that you may fill your new Macormic 10-20 with fuel before driving home.” He handed Mr. Connor a crisp new dollar bill, placed his hands behind his back and looked around the shop to see if anyone had noticed him.
Soon, they were rumbling down the road with their new purchase, though Mr. Connor looked terribly out of place riding a farm tractor wearing his brown suit and new Fedora. Albert stood behind his father and clung to the seat. What a feeling it was with the wind in his face, the snap of the engine and hum of the wheels on the road. Albert felt so proud knowing that his father had saved up for a long time to make this 1,200 dollar purchase.
Nearing home, Father pulled back on the throttle and turned down the treed lane to the farm house. Reggie came running, circling the machine and barking. Almost at once the screen door burst open and all the children tumbled out to see their gleaming new tractor. There was much excitement and both Albert and his father took some time to point out the impressive construction of their new and modern purchase. Mother lingered in the doorway drying her hands on her apron.
In a moment she called, “Supper in ten minutes, everyone!” and with a slam of the screen door, disappeared back into the house. Albert and Elsie walked by the garden, talking.
“What was it like?” she asked.
“Do you mean riding the new tractor?” he replied.
“I mean, what was town like?” Elsie said quietly. “I never get to go to town.”
Albert cocked his head around and looked at his sister. “You want to leave the farm?” He was dumbfounded. “If it were me, I would never want to leave.”
She smiled and answered, “I am not surprised. I expect you’ll still be here long after everyone else has gone into the world to make their fortune.”
“My fortune.” He thought about that while. At this early age he hadn’t considered that he might have to leave the farm to make his living.
Later on in the chapter
He lay shivering on the wet ground, wiped the sights clean with a handkerchief and assumed watch while his Section re-positioned along the bank.
The radio man crawled past with a five-foot-long antenna bouncing in front of him. Just then rain began to fall again and the landscape grew deathly quiet. The soldiers were just beginning to feel at ease when suddenly a mighty explosion erupted behind them. A mortar shell had landed only 30 feet away, hurtling a veritable shower of shrapnel, mud and bits of blasted barbed wire. Two of the men were almost buried with debris and two were lying out on the ground, moaning.
A barrage of rifle fire sent dirt flying and puddles of water erupted in small explosions. The men were again moving, ears still ringing, crawling in the mud on hands and knees. They struggled to drag equipment and the wounded along with them and keep below the hail of bullets. In a few minutes they were back in the trees, rejoining the platoon on safer ground.
Mortar crews began setting up and spotters glassed the field with their binoculars. Albert slipped off his wet, muddy pack and fumbled with wet fingers to untie the duffle top and locate his First Aid kit. He cut a slit in a fellow soldier’s battledress and applied a stream of iodine to the wound followed by a field dressing and then wrapped the arm to curb the flow of blood.
The wet earth beneath them shuddered each time their own mortars fired, sending two and a quarter pounds of explosive hurtling toward the enemy. Again, the field was alive with explosions. Soldiers were yelling and cursing profusely amidst a barrage of rifle fire and smoke.
“God, help us!” Albert pleaded under his breath and the battle raged on into the cold, rainy night. Finally, at 11 P.M. the return fire ceased and the enemy retreated, bringing smiles to the muddy, bloodstained faces of that Canadian platoon. Covering up under trees and in trenches waiting for first light, they patiently endured the relentless rain. Chewing on a field rations biscuit, Albert fought fits of shivering as he rested in the dark.
Momentarily dozing off into a dream, he pressed the last 9 mm round into a magazine and slammed it up into the handle of his new Luger. Adjusting an ill fitting enemy uniform, he holstered the service revolver and stepped boldly out from the shadows, falling into step with a passing procession of goose stepping, grey uniformed German soldiers.
A wave of anxiety washed over him as they marched to the booming band music of “Rheinwacht.” Ahead and to the right, he could just make out a shiny black Mercedes bearing bold, swastika flags on the front bumper. If only I could put ol’ Adolf in my sights, he dreamed. The crowds cheered eerily as servicemen and civilians alike saluted the passing division and chanted, “Sieg heil! Sieg heil!” their voices echoing off surrounding buildings.
Then, in a moment he saw him, the Führer, standing in his open Mercedes, arm outstretched, saluting the passing division. The band, the drums and the cheers became deafening as the parade marched closer. Albert tensed himself ready to grab for the Luger. Just now, he could see Heinrich Himmler standing between Hitler and the passing troops with officers and officials of the Third Reich at his side.
Albert’s hands trembled as he marched a few steps further until he could get a clear shot. He held his breath. Flexing his fingers, he stepped past Herr Himmler and reached for the pistol, when suddenly someone grabbed his arm! He gasped and spun madly around, still groping frantically for the Luger!
From Chapter seven, Operation Jubilee / The Dieppe disaster.
August 18th 1942, a cool grey Tuesday, Albert is happily leaving Sussex in the south of England to direct his men aboard the Royal Navy destroyer Calpe. After a year and a half of waiting for action the Canadian soldiers are happy to be on the move again. “Any idea where we are going, Sir?” a warrant officer asked him as he crossed the gangway and saluted the flag.
Albert’s eyes sparkled as he told him, “We’re going to send some German farm boys crying back to Mama!” The men filed aboard with hearts full of anticipation, each hoping to be able to contribute to an operation that would bring an end to this cursed war.
The ship’s watch officer came by on the run and announced, “We slip at 17:00.” Albert turned to watch him as he disappeared down a hatch in the Quarter deck. His men were getting settled, gathering in small groups smoking and chatting freely. On the bridge, the ship’s Captain, Lt. Cmdr. Kirkwood glanced at the clock and turned to his watch officer with the order, “Get underway!” As the ship’s crew prepared to slip the lines, many of the soldiers lined up along the guard rails to watch the procedure.
Later that night.....
August 18th 1942, a cool grey Tuesday, Albert is happily leaving Sussex in the south of England to direct his men aboard the Royal Navy destroyer Calpe. After a year and a half of waiting for action the Canadian soldiers are happy to be on the move again. “Any idea where we are going, Sir?” a warrant officer asked him as he crossed the gangway and saluted the flag.
Albert’s eyes sparkled as he told him, “We’re going to send some German farm boys crying back to Mama!” The men filed aboard with hearts full of anticipation, each hoping to be able to contribute to an operation that would bring an end to this cursed war.
The ship’s watch officer came by on the run and announced, “We slip at 17:00.” Albert turned to watch him as he disappeared down a hatch in the Quarter deck. His men were getting settled, gathering in small groups smoking and chatting freely. On the bridge, the ship’s Captain, Lt. Cmdr. Kirkwood glanced at the clock and turned to his watch officer with the order, “Get underway!” As the ship’s crew prepared to slip the lines, many of the soldiers lined up along the guard rails to watch the procedure.
Later in the chapter after the beach landing at Pourville:
“Sea Street,” Albert breathed as he read Rue du la Mer on the round red street sign. Squatting down and checking his field map he told the men, “Rue du la Mer should lead us to the aerodrome; that is one of our objectives. Keep your eyes open and move out.”
The men took to the hedges along the roadside to avoid being seen and in a few minutes they spotted a Panzer tank. It was sitting crossways on the roadway with troops sheltered behind it. They were firing at targets further ahead in a nearby field. “We’ve got you now, Jerry!” Madison grinned. “Lieutenant, we’re behind the beggars, what do you want to do now?”
Albert surveyed the scene a moment and then told them, “Let’s quietly come within grenade range and see if we can get the whole lot with one swing.”
The men crawled on hands and knees along the hedge to within fifty meters. “McCall, put that turret in your sights and see if you can nail the gunner when he swings around. Madison—you ever play ball?”
“I was a great batter,” he whispered.
“Right now I need a good pitcher!” Albert replied.
Without answering, Madison drew a couple of German stick grenades out of his shoulder bag. “Just watch me,” he grinned.
“Alright, look,” Albert said. “We’ll drop a couple behind the tank and before the gunner can swing around we’ll run down there and see if we can get another one into the top hatch.”
“Yes Sir,” replied a delighted Madison. “Ready, McCall? After the smoke clears, shoot anything that comes out of that hatch.”
“Ready Sir,” McCall told him.
Madison fumbled with his stick grenade and unscrewed the porcelain end. Albert warned him, “Count to three before you let go or they’ll darn well throw it back again!” Madison, still grinning, positioned himself and yanked hard on the lanyard, counted to three and heaved the thing. Albert was ready with a second potato masher, watching through the hedge. The first grenade landed a few feet behind the tank and soldiers turned to see what had made the noise.
It just lay there in the dirt. “It’s a bloody dud,” Madison whispered and Albert yanked the cord on his grenade, counted and threw it with all his might. Just as he let go, the first one went off with a tremendous explosion, sending dirt and rocks back over the hedge.
When the second grenade exploded, Albert grabbed for another one and crashed through the bushes, running for the Panzer. The turret began to rotate slowly toward them as the top hatch opened and the gunner peered out to see what had happened. As Albert and Madison reached the tank the gunner collapsed half out of the hatch. McCall’s shot had been dead on.
Madison boosted Albert up on the tank and he twisted the end off of his grenade and pulled the cord. Dropping it down the hatch he pushed the gunner back in, slammed the lid and jumped off the rear of the machine. The men rolled into the ditch just as the grenade went off. The Panzer suddenly lurched in reverse and roared backward up the slope toward McCall. The gun turret was rotating wildly with the machine at full throttle. The tank careened through the hedge and down the far side of the hill into the river. The men dashed up the slope to see what had happened to their friend.
They found McCall’s rifle where it had been squashed under the tank’s tracks and he was lying ten feet away on his back.
“Don’t they teach them Jerrys how to drive!” he gasped. The men laughed out loud and moved on up the road. The firing had ceased now so they worked their way further into the countryside.
From Chapter Ten: "An Islamic Friend"
“I am an educated man; through my business connections I have many trusted contacts in England, Prussia, Bosnia and across Europe but they are not aware that I opposed the party and I prefer that they never find out. I am also not eligible for conscription because I hold Bosnian citizenship.” Alek seemed proud of his credentials.
“When did they contact you to join the Reich?” Albert asked.
Alek stepped to his desk and extracted an envelope containing a letter which he handed to Albert. It was written in German and bore the emblems of the eagle and the swastika. It was signed by Artur Martin Phleps, Commander, 13th Waffen Mountain Division.
“What does it say?” Albert asked, passing the letter back.
“It is an invitation to join the SS and help the Führer recruit Bosnian and Croatian soldiers. I have a week to decide,” he explained.
Albert asked, “Is this what you really want?”
Alek stared at the crisp new uniform in deep thought. “The Nazi party is so absolutely sure that they are to become lords of the earth. If they succeed, it could be very good for me and my family.”
Albert moaned and stood up, “Alek, you have heard the speeches, have you not? You must have read the papers at least. What are the Germans saying about conquering the world? Does the Nazi party speak clearly of their intentions? You tell me, Alek, you live here, what do they say this war is all about?”
Alek thought for a while and then sputtered out the various objectives that had been disclosed by the Nazi Party. “Well, first,” he said, “Lebensraum, they need more land. They wish to obtain the resources of Poland, Russia and other countries. Germanization, every country and person that they conquer must become completely German. Then, Judenrein, they wish to obliterate the Jewish people from the globe.” He stopped and looked at Albert as if expecting a rebuff.
“You forgot to mention the part about racial cleansing,” Albert told him. “The Nazis are on a crusade to purify the Aryan race by whatever means at their disposal. Could you and your family pass the Aryan test?” Albert asked. Alek stood silently processing the question.
“What you refer to are the Lebensunwertes Leben. That is, lives unworthy of living,” he said shyly.
“Who do they say are unworthy to live?” Albert queried.
Alek hesitated a moment then blurted out, “Well, the Jews of course and Roma or Gypsies, and the Mischlinge and Slavs and naturally the Communists, homosexuals and the mentally and physically disabled.”
“What does Mischlinge mean?” Albert inquired.
“Half German or mixed Aryan, the race must be pure,” Alex quoted.
“You mentioned Slavs?” Albert asked somberly. “What about Bosnians and Croatians?” Alek looked at his feet and didn’t speak.
Albert said, “The Reich has been instructed that only the purest elite of the German people will even receive an education. All other people will be considered as slaves—English, French, Polish, Scandinavians and especially the Russians and Slavic people along with every nation they conquer. Am I not correct?”
Alek nodded slowly and slumped onto the bunk again.
“If I am mistaken,” Albert pleaded, “please correct me.”
Finally, with a defeated look on his face Alek looked up into Albert’s eyes and told him, “No you are not wrong. That is what they say. I was just hoping that I might win their favour and a place in the Reich. They are actively recruiting Islamic people to join the Reich and are promising us power and land.”
“Are the Reich’s objectives not written as law?” Albert inquired. “Do you remember the promises they made to the French? The French people were told that if they collaborated with the Army, they would be allowed to keep their lands and businesses. If you haven’t already heard, the Reich has never kept their promises. Once they were firmly entrenched on French soil they took whatever they wanted and the French found themselves as slaves.”
Alek buried his face in his hands and Albert watched his demeanor tumble from relative confidence to utter disappointment. “I’m sorry,” Albert said, “I realize how you must have hoped. But now, my friend, let me give you some real hope. The whole world is against this regime and we will win. The free world is not going to stand by and become slaves of a madman. Did you know that the United States has joined the Allied Forces?”
“Alek looked up suddenly. “That’s a lie!” he retorted. “The United States is not against us!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you again, Alek, but when I landed at Dieppe last month we came ashore with Canadian, British and American troops. President Roosevelt declared war on Germany last winter as did Chiang Kai-shek.”
Alek looked surprised. “The United States and China!” he breathed. “I did not know.”
From Chapter Eleven: A Beautiful Dilemma.
Presently, Greet excused herself and left the apartment to Alek and Luise. “So tell me, Auntie, where is Erdmann?” Luise’s eyes darted to the closet door. “Oh, Aunt Luise, you’re a terrible actor. If you are ever questioned you must never take your eyes off the person who is interrogating you. You see, your eyes told me that there is something in your closet that I should see.” As he stepped to the closet door she put her hands behind her back and watched what Albert’s reaction might be when Alek opened the door. He slowly drew open the door, swept aside the hanging coats, then stood back looking surprised.
“I - I’m very sorry,” he told her, turning back. “I was sure that he was in here.” Before she spoke, yet another knock came at the door, this time much more aggressive. Alek scowled, opened the door and stood facing two men in civilian clothing. “Are you trying to wake up the neighbourhood?” Alek demanded, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you want?”
The younger of the men audaciously stepped into the doorway, reached into his coat pocket, withdrew an identification folder and held it out. “Kriminalkomissa, Fredrick Hahn,” he announced proudly, looking around the room. Alek could see that his eyes had noticed everything including the two tea cups which were now on the kitchen cupboard.
“Alek handed the ID folder back and clicking his heels together said, “A pleasure to meet you, Untersturmführer.” The man did not smile but pressed past Alek into the room. In a moment, he signalled the other Gestapo agent to do a search and then took Alek and Luise by the arm into the parlour. “Are you not going to offer me a cup of tea also?” he demanded, looking to the tea cups and then at Luise.
“Why, of course,” she sputtered and fled to the kitchen. The man continued to look around, taking in every detail. Walking over to the book shelves he announced loudly, “You’re a reader, Mrs. Bernhardt,” all the time watching Alek to see if his knowing her family name would surprise him. “I’m a reader also. Who is your favorite philosopher?” There was no answer from the kitchen so he stepped back and looked through the doorway. “Who is your favorite philosopher?” the Gestapo leutnant insisted.
Luise came to the kitchen door drying her hands. “Nietzsche,” she lied, “Friedrich Nietzsche.”
“Ah, you share the same fascination as the Führer,” the man said, grinning and shaking his head. “I don’t see his books here anywhere,” he replied, looking back at Luise.
She walked quietly forward to the dining room table and lifted Nietzsche’s Der Antichrist from under a newspaper that Albert had been reading. Looking him directly in the eye, she handed him the book and without speaking, returned to the kitchen. The man grinned again and tossed the book back on the table. Alek could see that he delighted in intimidation. Presently, the second agent came into the room holding Albert’s uniform cap in his hand. He looked to the Untersturmführer.
“Is this your hat?” the Leutnant asked Alek. Alek waved his own cap at the man and shook his head. “Nien, doesn’t match a Waffen uniform, does it?” he chuckled.
The Leutnant walked over and stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the cap. “This belongs to your husband, then,” he said, baiting her.
She looked back from her duties of preparing tea and answered, “You are a detective. You must know that my husband has been dead for several years and he was never a Wehrmacht officer.” Luise lifted the tray with cups and tea to the parlour table.
“Whose, then?” the man demanded.
“You must also know that from time to time I provide a boarding service for the Reich,” she told him. As she spoke, she stood upright and faced the man directly, folding her arms. “Herr Hahn you also know that I am a trusted member of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (Nazi Party) and have been serving the Reich since before the war began.”
He looked her up and down, “Your hair is quite dark,” he said, insinuating that she might not be pure Aryan.
Luise smiled, “You will find that my family’s roots go back to the founding of our Fatherland and may I remind you that you also have dark hair.”
With that, the man spun around and grasped a cup of tea, clearly not happy with being counter intimidated. “You haven’t yet told me who owns this hat,” he demanded again, studying the book shelf.
“About a year ago I boarded a Colonel who was training the Heer for a short time. He left it here when he was suddenly called away.”
“Where did he go?” the man asked.
“They never tell me where they go,” she answered, “but I expect he will be back for it when he returns to Berlin.”
The man, looking disgruntled, tossed the hat on the couch and then turned to Alek. “What do you want here?” he demanded.
Alek leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “I am simply visiting my old friend Luise. I call her my aunt because we are such good family friends.”
“Your papers,” the man demanded, reaching toward him. Alek slowly sat back and drew his identification and travel authorization papers from his inside pocket and slowly handed them to the Gestapo detective. “What is your command?” the leutnant blurted.
“SS Handschar,” Alek told him calmly. “13th Waffen Mountain Division.”
“Are you staying overnight?” the man demanded.
Alek looked to his host and then told the leutnant, “Naturally. Aunt Luise and I have much catching up to do.”
With that, the man extended his arm and with a loud, cold voice proclaimed, “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler,” Alek saluted. The man scowled and looked to Luise. “Heil Hitler,” she said in a softer tone.
Spinning on his heels, the detective marched to the door and jerked it open. Turning back, he said to Luise, “You were one minute late this morning! Don’t be late again.” Leaving the door open, the man dashed down the stairway and out to the street, followed closely by his partner.
“Well,” Alek grinned, “what a lovely evening, Aunt Luise.” He took her in his arms as though he might dance with her but she melted onto the couch with a great sigh. Alek reached for the table and pulled an English/German dictionary from under the papers. “You really must be more careful,” he told her. Luise’s eyes grew large as she realized that the book was right under their noses all the time.
“And what is this you are reading, Auntie? Der Antichrist?” he asked. “It doesn’t seem to be your style of book.”
“This is true,” she told him. “I was worried that some of my boarders might take exception to my library so I removed many of my favorite books. And, knowing Der Führer’s fascination with Nietzsche, I thought it best to display this copy to appear sympathetic to his philosophy.”
Excerpt from chapter twelve: Invitation to an air raid
On the afternoon of October 10th, Greet came through the doorway with her arms full of supplies, surprised to see Albert dressed in his railway coveralls and cap, ready to go out. His tool bag was by the door and he was studying the Berlin city map.
“Are—are you going away tonight?” she stammered. She took his hand. “Erdmann, the bombings get closer each time and there are patrols in the streets now. Where are you going? When will you be back? How long will you be gone, Erdmann? What do you want me to do?”
Albert smiled at her barrage of questions and asked, “Will you leave the door unlocked for me?”
“My door? Why yes, for how long?” she cocked her head to one side as she asked.
“I know that it is a risk but if you would leave it unlocked only at night when you are home. During the day you must lock the door as usual.”
“Alright,” she said, “but…”
“But what?” he asked.
She looked to the floor and fidgeted with her hands. “I’ll worry about you,” she said. “What if I never see you again?”
“Did you pray for your brother when he went to war?” Albert asked.
“Yes, yes I did,” she said, “I was so worried.”
“Then that is what you must do for me,” Albert told her. “And don’t worry about me, I’m a soldier,” he reminded her.
“Where are you going?” she asked again.
“For your sake, it is better that you don’t know. If you are ever questioned you will be able to answer honestly that I never told you. Today, I hid my uniform and every sign that I was here in case you get an unexpected visitor.”
“Don’t forget your accent,” she reminded him. “You sometimes forget that W is pronounced Vee,” she cautioned.
Albert smiled and gave her a warm hug. “Have I ever thanked you for all the help you have given me in learning the language?” She looked up from his chest and shook her head. Albert looked into her eyes, pulled a lock of long golden hair from her face and stroked her cheek. “I appreciate you very much, pretty Greet,” he cooed. She buried her face in his coveralls and began to sob.
“Don’t cry,” he told her. “I will be back, if not tonight, then very soon.”
She cried, “This is what Rolland told me also.”
Albert closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. “Dear, dear Greet, how can I thank you enough for risking your life for me, for an end to this wretched war.” She suddenly released her hug and looked up into his face with a serious, determined look. Albert, for the first time, noticed a distinct change in her usual girlish appearance to that of beautiful stateliness. They stood there for a moment, eyes locked, searching each other’s souls.
Slowly, she reached her hands up and clasped them behind Albert’s neck. With her eyes fastened to his she drew his face down to hers and kissed him. She held him there for a long time until Albert felt his will beginning to crumble. He broke away, placed his cheek on hers and whispered, “I will return; will you wait for me?” She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him once more. As she stepped back, smoothing the pleats in her skirt, she said, “I will wait only if you promise to return.”