Czech Mate

Georg Whitner was still groggy from his best friend's bachelor party. Vienna in August 1939 became a hedonist playground for him, the groom-to-be, and a few friends from university. No sex club was too crazy no beverage too unsavory for these three men to drink, eat or play with. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, Georg knew something was off, not right. A night of revelry had gone wrong and his world was sliding out of focus.

He was not in his flat in Vienna and his mates were gone. His head felt like an ice pick had been driven through it, eyes watering he tried to lift his head and passed out from the pain. A captain in the Luftwaffe, he was trained to assess and move quickly. What he was not prepared for was the tangled blond wedged up against him. Dead. The shock forced him to sit up quickly, clocking his head on an overhead shelf and stunning him into focus. The cramped boxy room swimming in velvet, the sun shining through beveled glass, and the constant rocking meant it was an earthquake or a train. Either way, he was screwed.

The smell of death, the hangover, and the rocking brought up last night's party spewing from his mouth onto the bed. Struggling to untangle himself from the wet sheets he knocked his shin against the bed frame.

He ticked off his surroundings. Dead blonde, need to find out who she is. All the signs are in Czech. That's a problem. Uniform gone and in boxers. Bigger problem. No wallet. Huge problem.

“Pane, jste v pořádku?”

“Pane, jste v pořádku" as the knob began to twist.

Georg reached for the door to lock it, knocking the body onto the floor in a twisted heap of limbs and oddly one red shoe with a black satin bow.

Reich officers had to know several languages and Georg mustered as much Czech as he could remember.

“Vše dobré. Včera večer příliš mnoho piva. Můžete mi prosím říct další zastávku? "

"Sorry to have to use Czech. Whitner, it’s Lancaster. British Intelligence. Captain, there’s not much time to explain except to share that the train we are on holds unspeakable cargo and we are quickly hurtling toward the brink of war. Under the bed is everything you need along with instructions. Someone is coming. God be with you, Captain.”

Reaching under the bed he retrieved a large black attache case with gold clasps. Quickly flipping the latches he was shocked by the contents. A black suit and hat, white shirt, a simple gray and white striped tie, underwear, and socks. Neatly folded as if by a valet. Buried under the clothing were two passports- one British, one Czech, both with his picture and 100 korun.

Stuck in a corner was a Luger pistol and in the other a small brown envelope. Opening the brown envelope, Georg unfolded the letter inside and started reading. It all started to make sense. The time in Vienna, the missing days, waking up on a Czech train bound for a rehabilitation camp with human cargo, and the blonde. She was used and thrown away, her life of no value to the enemy. Holding the letter in his hand he finally knew her name. Pulling the clothes out and dressing, he knew his mission, knew what he was born to do. For the world, and Esther.

Georg was standing so close to the Fuehrer he could smell his sweat, like a bag of onions left in the sun too long. He could see the prize, the long manila folder encased in leather, embossed with the red swastika and in German the words: Final Solution. Georg tried to control his breathing and he was so sure that everyone within ten feet of him could hear the thump thump thump of his heart. Edging closer to him, he made his initial attempt at grabbing the document folder, the one that would change the course of history.

“I wouldn't Georg. You won't get out of here alive anyway.”

Not bothering to turn around, Georg took a deep breath and spoke barely above a whisper.

“Vadim. I knew this was coming, I just didn't know when. You left us all in Vienna and we assumed you find some girl to harrass. Is the gun in my back necessary? This train hasn't stopped at any station. Where would I go? “

“Where all the rats go. He whispered in his ear. Scurrying away into the sewer. I never guessed my best friend was involved in a British plot to steal documents. Twenty years of friendship and I never knew. Never knew what a traitor you are to the Reich. Do you want to know how I discovered you?”

“Not with the Luger in back, no.”

“Humor won't help you now. Step away from the Fuehrer or I will blow you away right here and now.”

“Is that what you thought of Esther? Is she a rat in a red dress? You have no morals or shame Vadim. Are you willing to die- for him? For the Reich?”

“Move Georg.Now.”

“You think you can roll over humans and people will look the other way, pretend it’s not happening. You couldn’t be more wrong. Do you think I’m the only agent on the train? Kill me, kill them but you will never stop the drive to stop you. The Americans, the British, the French are all after one thing. To stop the madness before it even starts and release the oppressed."

Vadim pushed the gun further into Georg's back. Laughing. "You're too late. It's already begun. Just as you are ending."

"Do what you need to do Vadim. In the end, fear will never triumph, no matter how many troops and tanks you use to subdue people. The human spirit always survives."