Chapter Two: Killing Hitler
What if Stauffenberg's plot to assassinate Hitler on July 20, 1944, had succeeded? And what if you were a grad student transported to an alternate thread of reality by a Norse god and just left there?
The blinding pain receded, and Eryn felt her ability to think return. Her eyes were squeezed shut, teeth clenched and body rigid, unwilling to see what strange vision they would witness next.
She forced them open. But they slammed shut again a heartbeat later, her mind too muddled to process where she found herself now.
Her friends were all gone. Eryn stood in the corner of a wood-walled conference room, alone – yet not so. At the room’s center was set a large oak table, on top of that stretched a large map of Europe covered in boxy shapes and wavy lines. Around this table stood around two dozen men, most dressed in the same dour gray uniform, faces fixed in the same grim expression, eyes wary and tired.
She opened her eyes again, and her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly where she was – or at least, appeared to be, impossible as that was. One of the men standing at the center of the table was someone she had seen on television at intervals across all her life, and his presence shocked her as much as suddenly finding herself looking down on Earth from space had.
Eryn now shared a room with none other than der Fuhrer: literal leader-for-life of Nazi Germany and all-around psychotic monster Adolf Hitler.
Almost as strange as this was the fact that he wasn't moving. No one was. Eryn stood in the midst of a frozen scene, like some kind of strange museum display.
A flash lit the room, and to her dismay Loke joined her. He stood on the conference table, mouth twisted in a wicked grin, also dressed in the drab gray uniform favored by German officers.
“Heya, nineteen forty-four!” Loke cried, stretching his arms and letting out a delighted groan, like a dog stretching after a long sleep. “It’s been a while, and boy did I not miss you. Look at this fascist drag show!”
She balled her fists and glared at him. Her head wasn't clear, everything was too surreal to comprehend. But one feeling began to burn through the fog – a righteous anger at seeing the man, or Norse god, or whatever he truly was, standing there gloating.
Loke snorted and shook his head. “So, you’re a little out of sorts, then, aren’t you? Do realize where you are, though, don’tcha? Yes, I can see it in your eyes – and that will be enough. I know you’ll do the right thing once your wee little brain catches up to the rest of you.”
“Where are my friends? What the hell is happening?” Eryn grunted, the words strangely difficult to form on her laps. “I’m not doing anything for you!”
“Oh, sure you are!” Loke smiled dismissively and stretched again. “Because I need Hitler dead, and seeing him standing there, you want him to die, too! I mean, it's Adolf Hitler. Millions dead, whole peoples exterminated, so forth. And not only in your own timeline, but others as well.”
“Not an answer to my question,” Eryn grimaced, words coming out as a pained snarl.
Loke pointedly ignored her. “You’ve got to admit, it’s no great loss to humanity if you off him a little early. Act now and you'll kill the bugger before another couple million people die because of him. The date is the twentieth of July, after all, and we stand in Rastenburg, Prussia, in the belly of the Wolf’s Lair.”
Loke hopped off the table and spun around like a top in front of her, arms crossed. “Oh and don't go whining to me about the space-time continuum or any of that other rubbish. Universe doesn’t work quite like you think, if you had not already guessed. So get to it then, and try to have a good time! After all, how many times in your life do you get to kill Hitler?”
Loke vanished, and before Eryn had a chance to think, the room came alive. She stood in shock, staring into space where he had been, frantically trying to understand what could possibly be happening to her while German officers continued hushed side conversations amid a louder, rather rude lecture delivered by the leader of the Third Reich.
Then that voice fell off, and Eryn, despite feeling rooted to the floor, found herself looking around to work out why. The answer left her feeling as if every drop of blood had drained from her head.
“Sind sie krank?”
Eryn struggled not to pass out from shock, and not only because she had heard the words spoken in rapid-fire German, yet in her mind perceived them in English: Are you sick? No, more disturbing by far was the fact that one of the most wicked men in all of history was speaking to her. A graduate student from mid twenty-teens Canada who absolutely did not belong in her grandparents’ time.
She swallowed and shook her head quickly, like a child might respond to a new family doctor. He glared at her for a brief, spine-chilling moment, clearly annoyed. Eryn somehow knew that Hitler was wondering why a woman was standing in the middle of a military conference.
But after one of those awful instants that seems to last an eternity, he made a small dismissive motion with one hand. He’d clearly sized her up and made his judgment: small, unfamiliar, and female. No threat and not of immediate use, just another thing to disregard. Men had done that to Eryn before, but for the very first time, she was absolutely fine with it.
He turned away and returned to his lecture, and just in time Eryn caught herself about to gasp for air. Moderating her desperate need for oxygen with a burning desire to avoid drawing Hitler's attention again, she inhaled as slowly as she could and exhaled even slower. Once she knew his attention was elsewhere, Eryn felt as if a great weight had left her chest.
She glanced from side to side, noticing that several other men in the room had also been looking at her, but were swiftly re-directing their attention towards Hitler. Most were busy proffering obsequious nods in response to a confident proclamation of imminent victory on some distant battlefield.
Eryn felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. It was just too much to take – one minute, she was spelunking with friends, and now, despite her educated belief that there were supposed to be certain, clear rules about how the universe worked, here she was sharing air with Adolf Hitler seven decades in her past. To make matters worse, she could only stand considering the unpleasant possibilities as Hitler ranted on, no one in the room daring to move, sensing he was now in a new and more unpredictable mood.
Eryn’s scientifically trained mind focused on the options, as if she were coding a database query. One: she could be dead or dying, making this some kind of pre-death hallucination or nightmare or whatever else a person might experience in the moments before dying. Two: she could be physically intact, but this was all in her head, and she was completely out of touch with reality. Three, least palatable of all... this was real.
Eryn knew at once that the fundamental problem with hypotheses one and two was that she had no way to really tell. Last she had heard, no one knew what happened after death. Dreams or other fantasies caused by a critical injury, you either woke up from those, or you didn't. And if she was trapped in her head or utterly insane then nothing she attempted would have any real world effect.
“OK, Eryn, say this is real – what does that mean? What do you do?”
Eryn thought she was speaking to herself, but somehow it all came out in a whisper – and the words she heard were not English, but German. She clasped her hand to her mouth in shock, but to her relief only one of the conference attendees appeared to notice, their eyes meeting across the conference table. But this middle-aged officer seemed distracted – after a moment of blankly gazing in Eryn’s general direction, he glanced at his watch as if keeping a close eye on the time, paying her no mind.
Eryn was startled to realize she knew this man's name, too. He had only one good eye and had also lost a hand plus some fingers. His face was tired yet still maintained a distinctly dignified, even proud bearing. That, plus the date Loke had mentioned could mean only one thing: this man was Claus von Stauffenberg, who, had fate been kinder, would have been remembered in history as Hitler’s killer.
A sudden thrill surged through Eryn’s body, powerful enough to temporarily overwhelm her confusion and fear. She knew exactly what was about to happen. She’d literally seen the movie about it with her world war two obsessed uncles. Very soon now, Claus von Stauffenberg would walk out of this conference and not long after that an explosive hidden in a briefcase under the oak conference table would explode.
But the bomb would fail to kill its target. Stauffenberg and his compatriots would soon be captured and executed in a brutal purge. The Second World War in Europe would continue to grind on to its horrific end after nine more months of escalating horrors.
Unless Eryn did something – and soon, because Stauffenberg chose that very moment to make his fateful exit, leaving Eryn with precious little time. The veteran officer whispered into the ear of another soldier standing adjacent to him, who responded with a curt nod and turned quietly to open a door leading out of the room. Stauffenberg exited without another word, hardly any of the other officers taking any notice.
Her mind raced, a rush of adrenaline taking hold that obliterated any concern for whether she might be making a mistake. She could feel goosebumps all over her skin, aware that under the conference table a bomb was ticking down to its great kaboom. Only one of two charges was armed, the detonation time controlled by a chemical reaction triggered by Stauffenberg before he had even entered the room. It was powerful enough to kill or maim her and most of the people in the room, but as luck or fate would have it was soon to be pushed behind one of the conference table’s thick, dense legs, shielding Hitler from the worst of the blast and saving his life.
Eryn moved slightly to one side, trying to look past the feet of some of the officers around the table. She swallowed, careful not to stare at anyone. Hitler was off on a different monologue now, his audience forced to feign rapt attention, nodding at the right points so as to avoid drawing down his wrath. Anyone outside his immediate line of sight remained pointedly occupied with anything that didn't require looking directly at him most of the time, yet always alert to the possibility that he would suddenly pose a question.
None paid any attention to her, and working her way around the table Eryn saw it: a briefcase just a few paces to Hitler's side. An officer’s booted foot was right next to it, and then she remembered: his name was Brandt, and he was the one who would move the briefcase.
Eryn understood immediately what had to happen to ensure Hitler died. She took a deep breath, looked at her target, and walked quickly to his shoulder.
“Excuse me, Colonel Brandt, but you are needed outside.” Eryn whispered in his ear, slightly bowing her head, acting the part of someone’s secretary.
The officer flashed her a sharp, annoyed look. His foot shifted, bumping into the briefcase under the table. Instinctively, his head and hand twitched towards it. Eryn reached out and gripped his arm, hoping he wouldn’t detect the thrill of fear that shot through her. Distracted, he glared at her for a long moment, then glanced towards the oblivious Nazi leader, now glowering across the table at an officer making a report on tactical conditions along some minor sector of the Western Front.
Brandt scowled then turned toward the door without even acknowledging her. Eryn turned to follow, disliking him intensely and wondering why he didn’t bother to ask her how she knew he was needed elsewhere. Brandt opened the door and walked through, Eryn following close behind, blood pounding in her ears, taking care not to look back.
They walked silently down a short hallway and into a smaller room where two soldiers were sitting at desks, one studiously typing something, the other disinterestedly looking out the window. The air of people just doing a routine job, day in and day out – another summer day in the Third Reich.
Behind the typist, however, was set a mirror. And when Eryn saw her reflection, she almost stumbled and fell.
Eryn felt like she was dressed up like some costuming department's far-too-serious attempt at creating a dominatrix getup for a semi-pornographic scene in a cheap movie. A heavy, gray military tunic concealed her small athletic frame, save for where it opened into a V above the top buttons to reveal a black tie hung over a white shirt. A gray woolen cap covered almost the entirety of her short dirty-blond mop top. A bright red armband adorned with a black swastika was wrapped around her right bicep, and though the mirror was too high up on the wall to show below her waist, she could tell without looking that a gray woolen skirt hung below her knees.
For a brief moment, her reflection was all she could think about; the only thing she recognized in it was her light hazel eyes staring back at her from Nazi garb. Out of disgust she reached over to the swastika-emblazoned armband and yanked it off her arm, throwing the rag to the ground. An instant later she realized how foolish that might have been, and was greatly relieved that none of the soldiers noticed.
Brandt had not bothered to turn to address her even now, walking out of the building through a wooden doorway which the two clearly bored soldiers in the anteroom had propped open in an attempt to relieve the stifling humidity of the Prussian summer. Eryn recognized her peril and tore herself from her reflection, following the officer out the door, urged on by the bomb primed to go off dangerously close to where she now stood.
Only when she was across the threshold and he a few steps further on did the officer she followed turn to glare imperiously at her. “Yes, woman what did you need?” Brandt spat, eyeing her suspiciously. “I do not know you—whose staff are you with?”
The questions brought another thrill of fear. Seeing his rising impatience, she said the first name that came to mind.
“Stauffenberg.”
Brandt grunted and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, him. He left the conference a moment ago to take a call. Well, hurry up then – to the telephone exchange.”
Ignoring her again, Brandt stepped off at a rapid pace towards another wooden building just across a clearing from the conference room. She thought a malicious insult at the back of his head as she fell in several paces behind, walking as quickly as the awkward shoes that came with the uniform allowed. They had half a heel and remarkably poor ankle support, and with the heavy uniform and sandy soil to contend with, she couldn't keep pace.
Brandt reached the door of the phone exchange with Eryn left well behind. He threw an irritated look over his shoulder and passed inside. She felt a twinge of anger, then decided to simply discard the footwear – socks would have to serve. Keeling down, she quickly unlaced each boot and worked both off. The woolen socks were sufficiently thick that she barely felt the ground, and feeling much better she took a deep breath and walked inside.
The transition from the bright summer sun to the dingy smoke-filled haze of the telephone exchange left her feeling almost blind. It seemed every German soldier not on duty and some who were smoked at every opportunity, and the room stank of cheap tobacco.
As she squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust, she wondered anxiously how much time had passed since they had left the conference room, Hitler, and the ticking time bomb. How long would it take to explode? And how far from the blast was she? The precise details of the damage the explosion caused escaped her at the moment, but she was fairly certain it had only affected the building Hitler had been in. Unless, of course, she had somehow changed more than she meant to.
Finally her eyes could tolerate the acrid air enough to make out Brandt talking to Stauffenberg. The latter was holding a telephone receiver at his side, interrupted in the act of setting it on its proper shelf. She moved closer, and heard Brandt’s voice rising sharply, the weak side of Eryn’s plan revealing itself now.
“Stauffenberg, your secretary has just rudely interrupted my briefing preparations. He will not be pleased if my return causes any interruption. You know how he can get when the news is not good. So, why did you find it necessary to call me away?”
Stauffenberg stared at Brandt in total confusion and not a little fear. He likely had not have expected to encounter anyone from the conference room where he had just left a bomb. And given that his telephone call was, as Eryn now recalled, a ruse to give him an excuse to leave the meeting ahead of the explosion, he was about to make his escape to Berlin. Complications like this he clearly did not need.
Stauffenberg saw her over Brandt's shoulder, and Brandt turned to follow his confused gaze. It lingered as Stauffenberg realized Eryn had also been in the meeting just moments prior.
“Yes,” Brandt said, nodding impatiently, “this new secretary of yours called me out after you. Wait, is she not wearing shoes?”
Both men looked down at her feet. Eryn remained frozen just beyond the doorway, wondering what to do now. Brandt seemed openly offended.
“My, but she is remarkably casual when it comes to proper uniform wear! Is this how you and Rommel ran things in North Africa? Small wonder the campaign was a catastrophe in the end—everything that man does is held together by a shoestring. This is entirely inappropriate for Rastenburg! I fear I must report this to –”
A deafening roar cut Brandt off mid-sentence. The pressure wave struck Eryn and flung her to the floor, her ears ringing as she lay stunned. Brandt shielded his eyes and was knocked to his knees while Stauffenberg threw himself to the floor. Echoes of the blast thudded through their bodies, rattling the wood of the floor and walls that surrounded them. Then all faded to silence, minus the harsh ringing in her ears.
The silence slowly lifted even as the ringing remained. A hiss of static was the first new sound Eryn heard, emanating from several phone receivers that had been thrown from their assorted perches. Then there came another, duller rumble, followed by a shredding sound of cracking timbers and crumbling rafters.
A shrill klaxon sounded from somewhere nearby, soon taken up by others throughout the compound—and then the shouting began, along with screams of alarm and pain.
Stauffenberg pushed himself to his knees with some difficulty, given that he had only one good hand. Eryn struggled to her feet, then stumbled over to Stauffenberg's side and grabbed one of his arms. Their eyes met, he grunted his assent, and she helped pull him to his feet.
Brandt was already up and stood stunned, chest heaving, head swiveling around in bewilderment. Then with a strange groaning shout he shoved past them to the doorway, staring across the clearing in panic.
“My God!” Brandt shouted, “Hitler was in there!”
Stumbling through the door he staggered away in a sort of half-shuffle, half run. Eryn let go of Stauffenberg's arm and he walked out of the telephone exchange, clearly heading somewhere. She walked somewhat more slowly after him, trying not to think about the pain shooting through her knees from where her fall had shoved several wooden splinters under her skin. The rest of her body ached like she had just been whacked by an angry giant, but what she saw when she too left the building pushed her own pain entirely from her mind.
The conference room was no more. The force of the explosion had broken the rafters and blown out the roof, causing the remains to cave in and drag the walls down on top of them. Flames licked the rubble, and people in uniform were running towards it from all directions, most of them shouting. In the distance a machine gun's punctuated staccato throbbed through the sky, and Eryn saw tracers arc into the heavens before burning out into nothingness, little moths flickering out after coming just a bit too close to a flame.
Eryn knew at once that Hitler was dead. She'd seen the pictures of the conference room after the failed July 20th attack, one wall blown out, diverting most of the blast away from the center of the room. This was a different level of destruction – the building's roof had caved in completely, burying the entire conference room under several feet of burning rubble. The bomb had done its grim work. The blast had totally collapsed the structure, and Hitler could not have survived.
“He is dead, then.” Stauffenberg whispered so softly Eryn barely made it out over the endless ringing. “Thank God in Heaven.”
She walked to his side, but he just stood there looking at the ruins, breathing rapidly. She reached out to touch his arm, but he pushed her to one side and began marching away from telephone exchange, turning his back on the destruction they had wrought.
Without hesitation she followed him. Eryn didn't know why, she was acting purely on instinct at this point. But intuition told her that the only way she was getting out of the Wolf’s Lair alive was at Stauffenberg’s side. As she kept pace with him despite her injured knees and lack of proper footwear, Eryn’s quick mind started to work through what had happened to her.
But none of it made any sense. Except a name: Loke.
It wasn’t much, having a name to attribute responsibility for her suffering helped. The more she considered her situation, she she was sure no dream could feel like this. If the pain in her knees wasn't real, then she wasn't sure real was a particularly helpful concept in the present situation.
So, how she had gotten there – blame it on Loke. She could worry about the how or why later. For now… Survive. That was it. Survive, and see if she could find a way back to her friends. Even if nothing else made any sense anymore, that was a goal she could cling to.
And she did have one other advantage: she knew, broadly speaking, what was supposed to happen next in the German Resistance plot to depose the Nazis and rid their country of the monsters who had driven it to ruin. Eryn was one of the many people in the world who knew history mostly through popular culture and futile arguments between history buff uncles at holiday gatherings. Yet she also had an extremely good memory, and was able to put most of the pieces together as she strode through the woods with scattered bursts of gunfire rattling across the skies.
It didn’t yet form a coherent narrative or even a plan, but Eryn at least knew that Stauffenberg was getting the hell out of Rastenburg as quickly as he could manage without drawing suspicion. An airplane was waiting to shuttle him to Berlin, where he would join his fellow conspirators in their desperate attempt to overthrow the Nazi regime.
To Eryn, getting far from this place was her first priority. And given the security around Hitler’s command center, her only way out was to follow Stauffenberg. Eryn had to get on that plane with him however she could manage it. After that – who could say? It wasn’t as if she had ever expected to find herself trapped on the wrong side of the lines in the Second World War.
Fortunately Stauffenberg paid no attention to her, following a well-worn path through the trees, the browns and greens richly blending in the bright summer sun. It was humid to the point of stifling, and to avoid breaking out into a suspicious sweat Eryn unbuttoned her uniform tunic and loosened the tie as she walked before pulling them both off and tossing them aside. She untucked her shirt and let it flow freely over the skirt, feeling somewhat better.
The pair walked into a clearing, clearly man-made, low stumps scattered between the forest and an ugly metal fence. On the other side of a security gate several cars were parked, but on the side she and Stauffenberg were still stuck on two heavily armed guards in SS uniforms stood by a narrow, barred gate. They stared in the direction of the blast and ongoing antiaircraft fire, restlessly fingering the safety latches on their sub-machine guns.
“Stop!” Eryn saw one of them step forward, weapon clutched in his hands. “A full lockdown is in effect. You can not pass!”
Stauffenberg obeyed, slowing to a halt with his hand visible to the guards. Eryn carefully positioned herself behind him, but he paid no mind to her. The guards were not aiming their weapons at them, but they clearly intended to communicate how quickly that could change in the way they held them close to their chests. They waited silently, staring at Stauffenberg.
“Gert, Jan,” he said, recognizing them and greeting them warmly. “I am fortunate it is your shift! There has been a raid, and there are many casualties – Hitler himself is among them. I must return to Berlin and inform the Reserve Army of the situation at once. This tragedy could not have come at a worse time! I know that you have orders to prevent all movement, but I must get to Berlin as quickly as I can. Let me pass!”
The soldiers looked at one another, shock and fear clear in their eyes. Eryn didn't know which was Gert or Jan, in their gray combat uniforms they could have been twins. Tall, blonde, Nazi twins. Eryn recognized the insignia on their uniforms: they belonged to an elite unit, the former Fuhrer's personal bodyguard.
“God in Heaven!” The one on the right said weakly. “But Colonel, as you say... we are forbidden from allowing any entrance or exit. Our standing orders are explicit.”
Stauffenberg nodded, but pressed his case. “Gentlemen, standing orders were not meant for this kind of crisis. Germany may now stand without a leader even as the war stands on a knife's edge across every front. This is an exceptionally dangerous moment for the Fatherland. You must let me through so that I may join my adjutant and make contact with my superiors in Berlin. It is our responsibility to stabilize the situation, and your orders, gentlemen, do not absolve you of your responsibility to act independently if the situation demands. And so it does!”
The guards looked at him, taken aback by the sudden fire in Stauffenberg’s voice. Then they gazed at one another for a long moment. Then in unspoken agreement they turned together and raised the gate without another word.
Stauffenberg clicked his heels together, saluted them, and marched through, Eryn following close behind. The guards both looked at her feet, one flashing a bemused look as she walked quickly through the gate, which Eryn remembered was only the first of several guard posts between them and escape.
But at least on this side an officer's staff car was waiting for them, exhaust fumes already curling skyward. A young officer sat behind the wheel, watching them approach from the open window. Eryn decided he must be Stauffenberg's adjutant, a junior officer assigned to drive his senior around and take care of various administrative tasks.
Neither man said a word as the adjutant exited the vehicle, marched to the rear passenger door, and opened it to allow Stauffenberg inside. Not knowing what else to do, Eryn hurried to the other passenger door and climbed straight in.
Both men turned to look at her—the driver with a curious expression and Stauffenberg in complete and total surprise. Somehow he hadn’t noticed her following along behind.
“Who are… it’s you!” Stauffenberg stammered. You were in the radio exchange. And the conference room. Your knees are still bleeding. And now you are here? Why do you follow me? Who are you – and whom do you work for?”
She gulped. What lie to tell? She could think of no other way out of the area but alongside him. She knew that she had to escape, because sooner or later someone with a gun and an attitude was certain to notice the strange woman wandering around that no one knew and who had arrived just as a bomb went off. If Stauffenberg didn’t accept that she was an ally, she was doomed.
“I am a friend,” Eryn said with as much confidence as she could muster. “I helped you get the job done. Brandt was going to move the briefcase, and I led him away. You owe me – now let’s get out of here!”
They eyed her in shock, Stauffenberg's mouth working but no words escaping. Eryn stared back at him, hoping for the best. Finally, with a confused shrug, the adjutant turned away, clutched the car into gear, and pulled it onto a dirt road leading away from the fence.
“Well, Colonel Stauffenberg,” he said, “if she knows about our operation then we must assume the best for the time being. For the present, we must escape while your blessed luck holds.”
Stauffenberg shook his head. “But Werner, how is it possible that she knows?”
As if in answer to his own question Stauffenberg's hand whipped to a compartment under his seat and emerged holding a very wicked looking pistol. He plunged the barrel into Eryn's side before she could even begin to think about reacting.
“Who are you?” Stauffenberg hissed. “Are you a member of the Gestapo?”
Eryn consciously recognized that she should be afraid. But something about the sudden violence of the movement or the upbraiding tone in his voice transformed that germ of fear into fierce indignation.
“No!” Eryn spat. “I am the one who just made sure that Adolf Hitler met an early end. Your half-armed bomb was about to get discovered by Brandt, and he would have saved Hitler's life. This plot of yours would be dead in the water and you and all your friends would be dead by tomorrow night if I hadn't been there to make sure things went as planned.”
“And you'll still end up dead despite it all,” she added, “if you don't keep it together long enough to make it past the next checkpoint. The next set of guards won't believe you as easily as the last guys did.”
Stauffenberg's face went white as a sheet. The barrel of the gun rose as he tensed, pointing right at the center of her forehead. The car slowed slightly, as if the driver, Werner, wanted to make sure Stauffenberg had an easier time of aiming. Eryn could only stare into Stauffenberg's eyes, speaking as calmly as she could manage.
“The next checkpoint is around the bend,” Eryn said, trying to ignore the weapon. “I don’t think a corpse in the back seat will help you get through it. Don't be a fool. I am a friend sent here to help you. Clearly, you need it.”
When you are all in, you are all in, was a bit of wisdom Eryn had also learned from her uncles, who also enjoyed playing poker. Sometimes people respect boldness – particularly those, like soldiers, who are institutionalized to respect a leader who seems to know what they’re doing. Besides, there was little sense in backing down with her life at stake.
So Eryn just listened to her heart pound and waited while the car rolled along. Stauffenberg's eyes suddenly looked through, or past, her. As quickly as it had been produced, the pistol was withdrawn and secreted again.
They did not speak to her again for the duration of their drive. Not when, exactly as she had predicted, the guards at the second gate refused to let them pass until Stauffenberg convinced them to phone their superior, who was apparently a more flexible, or perhaps simply less competent, man. He ordered them be let through, and that was that.
Nor did they address her when Stauffenberg handed his adjutant, one Lieutenant Werner von Haeften, a small tube that had been stashed under the seat. Haeften tossed it as far into the woods as he could. It was the unarmed portion of the bomb, and for her part Eryn was glad to be well separated from it.
They still said nothing to her even beyond the third and final checkpoint, through which they were waved through without any need for explanation. Still their silence held as they drove onto the tarmac of an airstrip and left the car together.
Eryn exited the vehicle and followed them to the waiting aircraft, then up the metal steps leading through an aluminum hatch into the innards of a Heinkel bomber converted into a passenger transport. There Haeften stood aside and gestured for Eryn to walk in front of him. The dingy interior was divided into sections, and Stauffenberg soon disappeared beyond a partition. Before she could follow, however, Haeften's firm hand gripped her right shoulder.
“Sit here, please,” he said, pointing to a seat. His voice carried neither pleasantness nor menace, yet somehow communicated in a stark imperative that she knew must be obeyed without hesitation. He watched her fumble with the crude straps passengers used to secure themselves in the ancient aircraft, then Stauffenberg returned, looking extremely anxious.
“While we wait for the pilot to finish his pre-flight routine,” Haeften said, standing next to his superior with his arms folded, “you will tell us exactly who you are and what you know. Do not lie! We will find the truth, sooner or later. One learns much of the art of interrogation after years of war.”
Stauffenberg leaned forward. “Whoever you are, you have assisted in accomplishing a great deed, and you should be rewarded. But when we reach Berlin there will be much to do. We will have no time to verify your history or motives, whatever you claim them to be. So before we can allow you to leave this aircraft, you must tell us exactly what you know.
Eryn swallowed back bile. She had known this had to be coming, frantically working to come up with a plausible explanation throughout the silent ride. She knew the plan she had concocted was a long shot, but it was her best shot. And the best lies are, after all, rooted in truth and sustained by fear—or hope. If you are very, very lucky, a little of both. So she took a deep breath, and tried to exude the necessary illusion of absolute confidence in her tale.
“Gentlemen,” Eryn said, “I am a member of a private intelligence service sponsored by a wealthy American industrialist. He seeks grounds for an armistice between Germany and the Western Allies, to enable all of us to stand united against the Soviet Bolshevik threat.
“Great thing about being rich,” Eryn went on, “is the ability to sustain a decent intelligence budget. We have even infiltrated Himmler's dreaded Gestapo, who have, I am sorry to say, been aware of Operation Valkyrie for some time. My mission is to assist you, ensuring Hitler's death if at all possible. Phase one is now complete, but I see that you will need my help in order to carry the rest of the coup off! If you didn’t already know, the Gestapo has plans to swiftly to install Heinrich Himmler in Hitler's place. If that happens before your people move, nothing will change. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”
The German officers stared at her. She stared back. She was tempted to continue making her case, but realized that to say anything more would just arouse suspicion. There was nothing left to do but wait and see what would happen next.
The two men stared at her for several silent minutes. Then together they turned and walked to the front of the aircraft without another word.
Moments after a great buzzing began, growing into an ear-splitting roar as the Heinkel's engines came to life. The aircraft taxied towards the runway, and she felt the force of it accelerate as it raced to liftoff.
Eryn closed her eyes and took deep, steady breaths to try and still her racing heart. She didn't know whether her story had worked. Eryn wondered if she would find out during the flight, and whether they would throw her from the plane. And if not, what next? What could she really do to help the German Resistance, and how long would it be until they saw through her ruse?
Eryn was struck then by a kind of gnawing fatigue, then an overpowering urge to sleep. She knew it to be the start of the kind of complete physiological gear-down that always comes after an adrenaline rush, after danger fades and the body recovers. The steady roar of the engines as they pulled the Heinkel slowly into the bright summer sky didn’t help her effort to remain awake to think.
Her eyes felt droopy, and she had to fight to keep them open. But then, in between several hard blinks, Eryn caught a glimpse of something extremely odd, even given her present situation.
It was like a golden mirage shimmering just beyond normal sight, orb-like, filled with or perhaps comprised of flowing tendrils that seemed to writhe and twine like serpents. She wondered at it, and then to her shock heard a voice in her mind, distant and faint at first, but fast growing stronger like a kind of reverse echo.
“Grasp the Web. Grasp the Web!”
She opened her eyes as wide as she could make them go, expecting the likely hallucination to dissipate. But it didn’t – the golden light only grew brighter. Translucent and roiling in front of her, it hung there in midair, impossible – but no less so than anything else she had been through today.
“Grasp the Web. Grasp the Web!”
Eryn decided she had no real choice. So she reached out with both hands, and grasped the orb.
Once again, everything changed.