The Normandy Club

by Bill Walker

  Jack nodded. “I think so. You just described my drug-soaked youth.”

  She socked him playfully. “Just like you to make fun of me.”

  “Chessman says you’re ready.”

  Denise shivered involuntarily.

  “I’m scared, Jack. Popping across a couple thousand miles is strange enough. But fifty years? I don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t forget. I’ll be with you on this one.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Have you guys gone shopping yet?”

  Jack smiled and nodded. “Wait till you see this stuff.” Jack led her over to a pile of neatly folded clothes. Aside from a change of civilian clothes, there were two uniforms, that of a WAC sergeant and a full colonel in the Army Air Corps.

  “I got us a couple of changes of clothes right down to the underwear,” Jack said. “You realize they didn’t have elastic waistbands then? Shorts just buttoned like everything else. It was also damned hard to find anything that wasn’t full of moth holes. And shoes were a real bitch.”

  “You guys did great,” she said. “How about weapons?”

  Jack smiled like a kid in a candy store. “You must be rubbing off on me,” he said, opening up a small satchel. He pulled out two Colt 1911-A1 model .45 automatics and two original Cross daggers, the kind that strapped to the forearm.

  “You found them!” Denise said.

  She picked up one of the forty-fives and worked the slide. It slid back easily and snapped a round into place with a satisfying clack.

  “How about papers?”

  Jack reached into the bag and pulled out two sets of military IDs. “You were right on the money with the Lambda contact. They had them within two days. I don’t know how they did them, but judge for yourself.”

  Denise opened hers and looked at the photo. Even the photographic style matched that of the mid-1940s. They were now Colonel Jack Brenner and his driver, WAC sergeant Wendy Younger.

  “What’s the cover story?”

  “We’re recent transfers from the States,” he said. “Attached to SHEAF under Bedell-Smith. The forgeries are okay, but not perfect. With any luck we can neutralize Kruger and come back before anyone starts asking questions.”

  “You think we can?”

  “It’s all up to you, sweetheart. The closer you get us to the date and location, the less we have to worry.”

  “Hey, you guys, are we going to get some grub or what?” Wiley said, sticking his head into the room.

  “Hold your horses,” Jack said. “We’ll be right with you.”

  Jack stuffed one of the guns into his belt.

  “What’s with the gun?” Denise asked.

  “Maybe this psychic business is rubbing off, but I got a feeling. Maybe after all we’ve gone through, I’m just paranoid.”

  Denise smiled and stuffed the other gun behind her back. “Welcome to the club.”

  The Science & Mathematics building lay shrouded in total darkness save for the warm, yellow glow spilling out the windows of Chessman’s lab. From her viewpoint, Leslie couldn’t see if anyone was there, but she knew they were in there just the same. She and Kruger had been watching them for three days, ever since picking up Jack’s trail during his shopping spree through old thrift shops and costume-rental houses. She turned and glanced at Kruger. He appeared so calm, so assured, staring up at the window, his eyes narrowed intently. She wished she felt the same way. But every time she caught a glimpse of Jack, her heart began to pound, and she felt light-headed and dizzy.

  That, of course, was nothing compared to how she’d been affected by the “trip” to Canada. After Bock’s little dinner party, Leslie and Kruger dropped off Hannah and went straight to Leslie’s condo on Biscayne. There, she changed into civilian clothes while Kruger stood staring out across the bay. They’d barely spoken five words since leaving Bock’s estate. But the real surprise came when she emerged from her bedroom.

  “Do you have a weapon?” he asked.

  Leslie nodded, patting her abdomen.

  “Sehr gut.”

  Then everything got screwy. Kruger reached out and grabbed her hand. She started to fight back, thinking the bastard was trying to assault her, that this entire time-travel business was some elaborate ruse to get her alone. Suddenly, she felt as if someone were squeezing her head, and the room tilted oddly. She stared open-mouthed when Kruger began to glow a bright blue. A moment later, the pulsing aura surrounded them both. A second later everything whited out.

  In the next instant, they stood in a dirty alley strewn with broken liquor bottles, shredded newspapers, and fast-food wrappers.

  “Welcome to Canada,” he said, a smug grin on his face.

  “What?” Leslie said, her head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

  “Come. We begin.” He strode toward the mouth of the alley. Still reeling from the experience of being telekinetically transported, Leslie staggered after him, her legs rubbery.

  After three days, they’d picked up Jack’s trail and followed him. From their hotel in the morning, Jack, the Malloy woman, and the second man Kruger IDed as Wiley Carpenter, made their way to the university. After an hour or so, Jack, sometimes accompanied by Wiley, would begin scouring the antique stores specializing in militaria and war surplus. It was such a routine, Leslie got so she could predict where they were going. But now, standing outside the eerie, Gothic building on the darkened campus, she found her patience wearing thin.

  “Why don’t we take them now? You know they’re up there.”

  Kruger turned and gazed at her with thinly veiled contempt. He’d made it clear very early on that she was with him only on Bock’s orders.

  “All in good time, my dear.”

  Leslie resisted the urge to put a bullet in his brain. Doing so would leave her no way to get back to Miami, except, of course, by the conventional method. And that was no option at all. Here she was, illegally in Canada, with no passport and carrying an illegal weapon. They’d throw her to the dogs, especially after finding out who she really was. Outside of the Original Reich, Avalon, and the occupied countries of South and Central America, the SS were the targets of vicious reprisals. Canada was known for its long prison terms.

  Leslie snapped out of her reverie when she spotted three figures emerging from the building out of the corner of her eye. It was them. Jack, the lesbisch cunt, and Wiley Carpenter. The three figures walked away from where she stood with Kruger, moving at a leisurely pace toward the corner. Leslie started to move after them, but Kruger grabbed her roughly.

  “Let them go.”

  “What!”

  “Let them go. They will be back, and we shall be waiting for them... upstairs.”

  Leslie watched as Jack and his friends turned the corner and disappeared from view. She felt an ache in her soul when he turned the corner. Shit. Why did she have to fall for the jerk? He’d caused her nothing but grief.

  “Come,” Kruger said. He stepped out from the shadows of the building and crossed the street. Leslie followed. Kruger slipped out a thin piece of metal the size of a credit card and slipped it into the slot between the door and the jamb. In a second, the door opened, and he slipped through it, striding purposefully for the wide, stone staircase. Leslie fumed. The man had absolutely no manners.

  Hurrying, she followed him up the steps two at a time. On the second floor, Kruger turned and marched toward the lighted room at the end, stopping to listen at the door. Leslie placed her own ear to the dark wood and heard Chessman muttering to himself. Satisfied, Kruger reached out and tried the door, and found it unlocked. He smiled, pulled out his pistol, and threw open the door.

  Chessman started violently as the door crashed against the wall. When he saw Kruger, all the color drained from his face, and he staggered back against some large piece of machinery. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a strangled croaking sound.

  “Good evening, Herr Doktor,” Kruger said, leveling the gun at Chessman. “I’ve come for my refresher course.�
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  Wiley shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t see how you guys are going to do this.”

  They sat huddled in the booth of an ersatz English pub tucked away down a small side street. Being long after the dinner hour, only a few other patrons remained, and they kept to themselves, drinking their pints of bitters and staring at a soccer match on the large flat-screen opposite the bar. It was a comfortable place with dark wood paneling and decent food at cheap prices. Students jammed it on the weekends.

  Jack took a sip of his Guinness and gave Wiley an impatient look.

  “It’s the only option we have. It’s where Kruger went.”

  “This St. Peter’s school?”

  “St. Paul’s in Hammersmith. West London.”

  “Why don’t you run this by me one more time,” Wiley said.

  “All right. On May fifteenth, nineteen forty-four, Eisenhower and Montgomery gave a briefing to Churchill, King George VI, and all the major commanders involved, detailing the entire invasion plan. This meeting is unprecedented because at no other time were all who were integral to the plan assembled in one place. St. Paul’s was the headquarters of 21 Army Group, Monty’s command. It had a lot of advantages, including the fact that it was easily defended, somewhat out of the way, and didn’t look like your typical army command post. Only someone who knew his history could take advantage of the situation. You know the rest.”

  “So Kruger, disguised as some limey lieutenant, plants ten pounds of Semtex with a digital detonator and blows them all to hell.”

  Jack nodded. “You got it. With everyone connected to the plan killed or severely maimed, the invasion was postponed indefinitely. With one masterstroke, Kruger altered the course of history—changed everything. He never had to go into Germany to convince Hitler of anything. Within days of the blast, Der Führer knew what had happened. Two months later, he invaded England, and the rest we know.”

  “But wasn’t Kruger supposed to deliver the letter?” Denise interrupted.

  “He was. We can only assume that the Nine Old Men got what they wanted without it. I’ve done a bit of research. All of them, including Bock, are far wealthier than they ever were in the other timeline, maybe ten times as much.”

  “Shit,” Wiley said, draining his beer. He picked up the pitcher and refilled his glass. “So you guys are going to try and beat Kruger to the punch?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Everything you’ve said makes sense except how you’re going to get into the school. You may have forged papers that’ll get you into SHAEF headquarters, but you know damn well that meeting will be closed tighter than a drum.”

  “Kruger did it,” Denise said.

  “Hold on a minute,” Jack said, raising his hand. “Wiley’s got a point. Kruger did—does have an advantage we don’t. Everyone was accounted for after the blast except for a Flight Lieutenant Liddington. Everyone assumed he’d been closest to the bomb and blown to bits, except someone saw a man in RAF uniform running from the building moments before the bomb went off.”

  “Kruger?”

  Jack nodded. “From what I can gather, Flight Lieutenant Liddington actually existed and had recently joined the SHAEF staff, attached as one of Monty’s aides. No one at SHAEF had known him prior to his posting there. I’ll bet my life Kruger killed the man and took his place. You can’t get much better credentials than that.”

  “So what are you guys going to do?” Wiley said.

  Jack shrugged. “To be honest with you, I don’t know. From what I’ve read in the books here at the university, the briefings on April seventh and May fourteenth remained top secret. Everyone, including Churchill, was notified the day before by hand-delivered, sealed orders and told to report to a certain classroom at the school at a certain time. They didn’t even know what they were going there for.”

  “Then what do we do?” Denise said.

  “We’re going to have to get ourselves there and hope like hell we can bluff our way in.”

  Wiley raised his glass and said, “Well, I’m just glad it’s you and not me, thank you very much.”

  “Yeah, well, you just better pray we pull it off, or it’s good-bye Charlie.”

  Jack finished his beer and looked at his watch.

  “Come on, let’s get back to the lab.”

  Out on the street, Wiley bid them good night and headed back toward the hotel. Jack watched him stroll away and wondered if what he’d said was right.

  “You shouldn’t let him get to you,” Denise said.

  “Reading minds now, are we?”

  Denise let out a sigh. “Jack, cut the crap. I know you’re scared. Hell, I’m shittin’ bricks, ’cause I’m the one everyone’s depending on.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right. He did get to me,” he said, shaking his head. “I wonder if it’s possible to change everything back?”

  “Kruger did it.”

  “I know. You keep saying that. But maybe time only gives you one shot, maybe this mixed-up world is all we’ll ever have.”

  Denise shook her head, took him into her arms, and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and felt himself melting into her. Suddenly the world flashed white and they were now outside Chessman’s door.

  “How ya like them apples?” she said, grinning.

  Jack felt slightly nauseated and his head ached.

  “Goddammit, Malloy, you might’ve warned me!”

  “And spoil all the fun? Come on, Dunham, chin up.”

  She chuckled softly, grabbed his hand, and they both walked into a nightmare. Every piece of equipment had been ruthlessly and completely smashed. Papers littered the room as well as broken test tubes and the like.

  “Damn, I knew it,” Jack whispered, pulling out his .45.

  Denise flipped off the safety on hers. Both of them looked into the next room where the Psionic Wave Detector sat. From their point of view, most of the room lay out of sight, but Jack could smell an odor of burning plastic and a light flashed on and off, like a fluorescent with a faulty ballast, casting weird shadows across the room.

  They crept along the wall, careful to avoid stepping on anything that might make a noise. When they reached the door, Denise held up three fingers. Jack nodded and Denise mouthed off the count. One... two... three. On three they sprang through the door, one high, the other low. It was a foolhardy way to enter a room, but there was no other way in.

  The room lay empty, save for the smashed Wave Detector and the usual scattered notes and debris.

  “Where’s Chessman?” Denise said.

  “Oh God!”

  Denise turned and followed Jack’s gaze to a spot near the Wave Detector. The door stood open and behind it laid an outstretched hand. Jack reached him first, recoiling at the sight. Chessman had been systematically and brutally beaten. Jack felt his pulse and found it weak and irregular. The man’s skin felt cold and clammy.

  “He’s in shock. Call an ambulance,” Jack said.

  “That will not be necessary, Mr. Dunham.”

  Jack and Denise whipped around. Werner Kruger stood in the doorway, aiming a pistol at them.

  “Drop the guns,” he said, his voice hoarse and menacing. “Now.”

  Jack thought about going for it but changed his mind. He put his gun on the floor, followed by Denise’s.

  Kruger smiled. “Good idea, Mr. Dunham. No sense in playing the hero now. Kick them over.”

  Jack kicked the guns. They skittered across the floor and came to rest against the far wall, well out of reach.

  “Ausgezeichnet. For your reward, I have a little surprise for you.”

  Leslie stepped out of the shadows behind Kruger, a pistol gripped in her hand. Her eyes looked tired, and new lines etched her face where none existed the week before. She still looked beautiful, though, and Jack felt a curious mixture of hatred and desire.

  Denise eyed her with open hostility.

  “Leslie!” he said.

  “Is this the one you prefer, Jack?”
she asked, stepping forward, gun leveled.

  She looked Denise over, her expression edged with contempt. Then, without warning, she hauled off and slapped Denise across the face, knocking her off her feet and slamming her into the Wave Detector.

  “Come, come, my dear Brigadeführer,” Kruger said, an amused grin on his face, “jealousy does not become you.”

  “Shut up, Kruger!” she snapped.

  A glimmer of unbridled fury flashed in Kruger’s eyes, gone an instant later. He smiled and chuckled.

  “Women. What is it you Americans say? ‘You can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em’?” He laughed again. “Then again... maybe you can.”

  Spinning around, he pointed the gun at Leslie and fired it point-blank into her chest. She cried out and crumpled to the floor, her gun sliding across the floor, out of reach.

  “You son of a bitch!” Jack said, lunging at Kruger.

  The man re-aimed the gun, halting Jack in his tracks. “Tsk-tsk, my dear Mr. Dunham. I thought you had more sense than that.”

  Leslie groaned and Jack saw a steadily growing pool of blood spreading out beneath her.

  “You may go to her, Jack,” Kruger said, motioning with the gun. “It is time for the poignant good-byes so common to your lugubrious cinema. You see, I am a sentimentalist at heart.”

  Wasting no time, Jack bent over her. Her eyes fluttered open and filled with sadness. “I’m sorry, Jack... for everything.”

  “It’s okay, Leslie, I...” He stopped, unable to think of anything to say.

  “Was I someone you loved in your other life?”

  Jack smiled, remembering. “Yes, you were.”

  “Good,” she said, sounding weaker. “Come closer, Jack.”

  Jack bent over her and felt her press a small dagger into his hands.

  “I hope she’ll make you happy,” Leslie whispered. “Believe it or not, I loved you in this life too.”

  Suddenly she stiffened, drawing her last breath in a halting gasp. Then it was over. Jack stared at her now lifeless form, his eyes clouding with tears. Even after knowing who she was and what she stood for, he suddenly realized he still cared for her.