Heroes by David Hagberg (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

Keitel said. “Did you have a good trip to Biarritz?”

“Tolerable,” Canaris said. “At least the weather was fine.”

They all shook hands. Canaris poured drinks. They sat down.

“We have some … disturbing news, Willi,” Keitel began. Jodl sat forward. “Our Fuhrer sent us. The military situation is, as you well know, at the moment, critical. There is talk …”

“The Fuhrer wants to streamline our intelligence services,” Keitel said.

“By abolishing the Abwehr?” Canaris asked, his voice surprisingly strong.

“No, not by that. But by merging the Abwehr and the SD under the command of the Reichsfuhrer-SS.”

“There has been too much duplication of effort,” Jodl tried to explain, but Keitel had opened his briefcase. He extracted a single document which he handed over to Canaris.

It was stamped, top and bottom, Geheime Reichssache (secret Reichs document), and was signed by the Fuhrer himself.

It read simply:

Fuhrer Headquarters February 12, 1944

I direct:

1. A unified German secret intelligence service is to be created.

2. I appoint the Reichsfiihrer-SS to command this German intelligence service. Insofar as this affects the German military intelligence and counterespionage service, the Reichsfuhrer-SS and the head of the OKW shall take all requisite steps by mutual agreement.

Adolph Hitler Canaris looked up. “And me?”

Jodl looked away. But Keitel did not. “Our Fiihrer sends his regards. He will decide your future employment in due course.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You’re to leave within the hour for Burg Lauenstein, where you will hold yourself in readiness.”

“House arrest,” Canaris said. “I see. May I take Kasper and Sabine?”

“Of course,” Keitel said, flustered. “Of course.”

—That’s lyrical. I mean, fucking far out!

The older man didn’t know whether the kid was referring to his story so far or to the young woman up on the tiny stage. They had turned off the jukebox, and instead, a stereo system was blaring a brassy melody by Herb Alpert or someone like that, while a young, bony woman took off her clothes. There weren’t many people in the place paying attention to her.

The young man was smoking a joint. He offered it to the older man, who declined. But he ordered another beer.

—I mean, Nam wasn’t so elegant, man. Half the time the guys were trying to figure out how to frag one of the officers.

—How about your heroes?

—You mean Terry, and Major Fisher, and guys like that?

The older man nodded. He was very tired, although it wasn’t terribly late yet. In fact, it was on the early side for a Friday night. But the week had been a pure, unadulterated bitch. And all the while, somewhere at the back of his mind, he kept thinking that he knew the guy across from him. I mean, really knew him from someplace. Like they had lived together, or fought together, or something. But that was impossible.

The kid took another hit and shrugged. He glanced up at the stage and at the thin woman whose tiny breasts were sad.

—They were always in another platoon. Up the road somewhere, you know.

—You read about them?

—Hell, no. They were there, all right. As big as life. Bigggr than life. We all knew about them. Everybody talked about them.

—But you didn’t know them. Personally. The older man didn’t know why he was pressing the kid.

—What the fuck are you trying to do here, call me a motherfucking liar?

—I’m trying to understand.

—Understand, shit. What the fuck do you know?

—Not a lot. I never was in combat.

—You weren’t even in the service, you cock sucker.

The older man shook his head. He could feel tears coming to his eyes. It was as if the entire world was dumping on him.

He clearly remembered going out to Truax Air Force Base, outside Madison, Wisconsin … it was back in the mid-sixties, before the base had been closed. It was an open house.

The University of Wisconsin was just across town, with better than thirty thousand kids, most of them rebels who went around in those years throwing rocks, draping themselves with the U.S. flag, and chanting: WAR, WAR, FUCK THE WAR.

The base commander decided to have what he naively called “Friendship Day.” The entire town was invited out to the base to look around, to meet the officers and men.

The entire exercise was aimed at the college kids. Show them we were the good guys, not some bug-eyed monsters who loved to napalm babies.

It backfired, of course. There was a huge demonstration by late afternoon, and the military police, along with the civilian cops, had a hell of a time clearing them out.

—Hey, look, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck with your head.

He decided that the kid sitting across from him wouldn’t understand the story. Wouldn’t understand how he had managed to remain hidden until retreat was sounded from all the speakers and the base flag came down.

All across the base GI’s were turning toward the flag, coming to attention and saluting.

Christ, but it gave him goose bumps thinking about it now. Those guys were the real heroes that day. Not some son-of a-bitch climbing to the top of Bascomb Hall, ripping the American flag off its staff, and then tossing it down to his spaced-out friends.

Yet the kid across from him had been in Vietnam. He had met the enemy on the battlefield.

—I want to know what happened next. Son-of-a-bitch, don’t leave me hanging.

The older man sipped his beer. For all he knew, the kid himself was a hero. But if that was so, he guessed he didn’t really know what the word meant.

PART TWO.

HEROES

July 1944

Wilhelm Canaris showed up for his new job at Eiche, in Potsdam, on Saturday, July 1st. It had been a warm, almost sultry evening. This morning the atmosphere smelled of a combination of moist growing things and the ever-present plaster dust. The Allies had come through again during the night on a bombing raid. There were many fires across the city to the southwest of Berlin proper.

It had been strange for him to get back to the city after his four months above the Loquitz Valley in Burg Lauenstein. There,