by Andy Andrews
Erickson grinned. “Don’t be embarrassed that I knew what you were thinking,” he said. “It’s just one of the odd skills I had to develop over the years.”
David was flustered, but he managed to smile back at Erickson and say, “Okay, then, I apologize for being unfamiliar with you. Would you please fill us in?”
Eric leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “No need to apologize.” Turning his attention to Churchill, he said, “Mr. Prime Minister? We never met face-to-face, and I’m certain you never saw a photograph of me, but in the limited correspondence we shared, you referred to me as ‘Gallant Knight.’”
For a long moment, Churchill didn’t say anything, and the others simply watched. Eric stared patiently at Winston with a grim smile, knowing the older man was seconds away from remembering. When he did, Churchill didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or have a stroke.
His faced paled and his jaw dropped. Inadvertently, his upper body moved forward as if to get a closer look at the person he thought he’d never meet. Winston’s lower lip quivered as he blinked. “It can’t be true.”
They all looked back to Erickson, who chuckled slightly, raised his eyebrows, and lifted his hands a bit, smiling as if to say, Here I am.
“It can’t be true,” Winston said again. He stood and proceeded to march around the table. “Sir,” he said excitedly, “I intend to shake your hand.” Erickson stood to receive the prime minister and did indeed have his hand shaken vigorously as Winston said again and again, “It can’t be true; it can’t be true!” and finally, “Gallant Knight indeed!”
David watched this spectacle with awe and consternation, having become more confused than ever. He had gotten to his feet again when Erickson rose to meet Churchill’s advance upon him. Lincoln and Joan had also come up from their chairs, more to get out of Winston’s way than anything else. Now they were all standing again.
Churchill had taken a couple of steps back from Erickson and was looking him over with pride and affection that reminded David of how a father might act after his ten-year-old hit his first home run. “My fine fellow!” he said. “I am simply in disbelief that we are able to meet—that I am able to meet you—at last. And under these circumstances!”
“Winston?” Lincoln said gently. “Perhaps we should be reintroduced.”
“Yes! Yes!” Winston agreed, and with a flourish he gestured toward Erickson, who had been patiently enduring the prime minister’s fawning with bemusement. “My dear friends, this is Eric Erickson, the ‘Gallant Knight’ to whom—come to think of it—I owe my own knighthood. Certainly, there is no doubt that I owe him the life of my beloved England.” He turned to David. “Sir, I declare to you that we might owe him the life of America as well. Who knows what dastardly turn history might have taken were it not for this uncommon man.” Winston suddenly took Erickson by the arm and thrust it into the air. “My friends, I give you Eric Erickson, the man who was single-handedly responsible for defeating the Nazi war machine in World War II.”
David didn’t know what to say or do, but as Erickson freed himself from Winston’s grip, there was a small bit of enthusiastic applause up and to his right. Turning to determine its source, the group at the table saw two men standing and clapping. It was Dwight Eisenhower and the British general Bernard Montgomery—Monty—who had risen from their seats, bestowing a personal standing ovation upon their new arrival. While they looked on, Eisenhower, supreme commander of the Allied forces and later president of the United States, gave a thumbs-up to Erickson, who grinned sheepishly and waved back.
When everyone had returned to their seats, Eric glanced toward the two generals, commenting to Churchill, “I never met them either.” Winston laughed as if it was the wittiest line he’d ever heard.
“Someone,” David declared, “simply must tell us the story here. Fill in the blanks for me.” Joan and Lincoln expressed their interest, and when Erickson appeared hesitant to talk about himself, Winston gladly took the floor.
“Let me begin,” the prime minister said, “by bringing to light a fact that seems to have been swept under history’s rug. The public at large, to this very day, has been blissfully unaware of the hair’s breadth by which the Allies won World War II. We were so close to losing—being completely overrun by the Nazis—that it shakes me to the core . . . even at this moment.”
David glanced up at Eisenhower and Montgomery, who were solemnly nodding their heads in agreement, and blurted out, “We almost lost? How have I never heard about this?”
Lincoln smiled and looked to Churchill. He knew the answer, and Winston confirmed it before continuing. “How did you not know?” he asked. “Because that fact is not discussed in your history books, my boy. And as you well know, history is written by the winners.
“Sit still and listen,” Winston continued. He took a deep breath and leaned to examine the hourglass closely. Churchill seemed confused for a moment and tapped the glass with his fingernail. Frowning, he forced his attention away from the timepiece and gestured toward Erickson. “Because of our time constraint, I will relate this account as plainly as I can. Facts only; I will not exaggerate what I know. Neither will I speculate about what I don’t.
“This man before you, Eric Erickson, is a product of Brooklyn, New York. Born into an impoverished family, he nonetheless rose through the ranks of education and hard work, subsequently earning an engineering degree from Cornell.
“Eric worked in the Texas oil fields for a number of years, then for Standard Oil and several other oil firms in Europe and the Far East during the 1920s. A gregarious sort, he made friends everywhere he went. He married a marvelous young woman— you’ll see why I consider her marvelous momentarily . . .” Winston stopped his story and turned to address Erickson. “Sir, obviously I was not privy to a designation other than ‘Ravishing Damsel.’ Might I, at this late date, know her name?”
“Ingrid,” Eric said. “And she is sitting right over there.” He indicated a woman in the seat beside the empty one from which he had come. As everyone turned to look, Ingrid gave a tiny, self-conscious wave.
“Ingrid!” Winston repeated and bowed as formally as he could manage from his seated position. “It is my great honor, dear lady.” Returning his attention to Eric, he said, “You will please note that our gratitude exists in equal measure for your lovely wife.”
Looking back to the others, Winston continued. “In 1936, an extremely odd series of events was put into motion by Eric, slowly at first, but with increasing frequency during the next three years. By this time an extremely successful businessman—and one of no small fame—Eric set about trashing the reputation he had so carefully crafted his entire life.
“As Adolf Hitler was becoming known and despised the world over, Eric began to publicly express admiration for the man! He increasingly proclaimed Hitler’s genius to anyone who would listen and pointed proudly to the Führer’s significant contributions to correct thinking and a progressive world. And Eric became openly anti-Semitic.
“Soon, as you can imagine, friends and business associates began to avoid the Ericksons. This was especially so in 1938 after Eric loudly berated a well-known Jewish businessman in a crowded restaurant. This public dressing-down was done by Eric using particularly vulgar labels, offensive not just to Jews but to anyone with a conscience. The tirade was immortalized with a large newspaper article condemning Eric and anyone who associated with him. This, of course, included his dear wife, Ingrid.
“As for other family members—parents, brothers, sisters, Ingrid’s relatives as well—Eric was disowned. Finally, with every friend he ever had bidding him good riddance, Eric Erickson did the unforgivable. He formally renounced his American citizenship. He and Ingrid moved to Sweden.”
With those words, even knowing there was more to the story, David and Lincoln frowned, avoiding eye contact with Erickson. Winston continued. “Eric set up his oil exporting business in Sweden but didn’t slacken the fervor or regularity of his publi
c opinions that had already caused him to be ostracized in America. Soon he was just as well-known in Sweden for his pro-Nazi stance. And he was shunned there too. The only difference being that in Sweden, an officially neutral country, there were some who weren’t afraid to openly agree with Eric.
Winston placed his cigar, which had already gone out, into the corner of his mouth and said to Eric, “Everything accurate so far?” When the red-haired man indicated that it was, the prime minister continued. “So, with his reputation spreading, it wasn’t long before the men of the SD—this, the security division of the Gestapo who were stationed at the Stockholm embassy—contacted Eric. ‘Germany,’ they told him, ‘has an acute need for oil. You, one of the world’s leading experts on oil, might greatly help the cause of the Fatherland.’
“So a cautious proposal was made. ‘Would Herr Erickson be interested in furthering the interests of the Nazi regime? Financial benefits beyond the norm would also accrue . . .’ Eric responded with wholehearted eagerness.
“Erickson quickly provided the deals the Nazis were seeking and began to explore with them an expansion of their synthetic oil industry. Germany, at the time, was the world leader in the complicated technology required to produce synthetic oil. This was a process that converted coal into oil and obviously removed Nazi dependence on imported oil.
“No one—not the Americans nor the British—could obtain reliable information about the location of German refineries. The security, as you can well imagine, was rigorous. And ridiculously effective. In addition, the synthetic oil production plants were so well hidden, they might as well have been built underground. In fact—ha!—jumping ahead a bit, that’s exactly where they were. Underground! Every blasted one of them!
“These synthetic oil plants were highly evolved, to the point that the Nazi war machine was indeed beginning to fill all its needs from the output of these hidden locations.
“Now,” Churchill said, clearing his throat and grinning devilishly, “this is where the tale gets interesting. In late 1942, ‘Gallant Knight’ managed a meeting with Heinrich Himmler himself. Himmler—the very head of the Gestapo—a calculating mass murderer unequaled in the annals of history!
“There, in the psychopath’s own office, Eric proposed to build a huge synthetic oil plant in neutral Sweden. Such a factory, he explained, would be safe from the possibility of Allied bombers, and running at peak capacity—in the event the German plants were damaged or destroyed—it would provide all the oil Germany would ever need.
“Eric provided export plans already approved by Swedish businessmen and bank financing arrangements already signed by Swedish banks. All he needed, Eric said, was the approval of Himmler, who would have to receive approval from Hitler himself. ‘Might this also be a way,’ Eric asked, ‘in which personal funds could also be invested? Personal investment from Himmler,’ Eric suggested, ‘would not only speed the project along, but it would provide income for the Gestapo chief cached in Swiss accounts if, God forbid, things should go badly for the war effort.
“It was a brilliant proposal, of course. Genius, actually. Himmler fully embraced the idea, invested in it personally, and with Hitler’s approval, ordered the project to begin immediately. Of course, for Eric to build a synthetic oil plant and to build one quickly”—Winston spread his hands and opened his eyes widely with an expression of innocence—“it was obviously crucial that Eric become familiar with the German technology he was supposed to reproduce in Sweden.
“Ha!” Winston slammed his palm onto the table. “So he went back into the viper’s den. In Himmler’s office again, Eric secured a top-level Gestapo pass signed by Himmler himself. The pass waived all security clearances and requirements and authorized Eric to travel anywhere in the Reich, to investigate any oil refinery or synthetic plant he wanted to see. The pass further stated that he was to receive any information he requested from any plant expert or security personnel. Eric also secured an order, personally signed by Adolf Hitler, providing automobiles, drivers, and unlimited petrol coupons.
“In the weeks and months to follow, our friend here toured almost every oil refinery and synthetic plant in Germany and the occupied territories. He obtained detailed plans of the operations. He procured maps to and from the factories.”
Winston glanced at the hourglass and paused. Once again, he appeared slightly confused by whatever he had noticed, but without telling the others exactly what that might be, he said, “Time is growing shorter, my friends. I could talk all day about this. I could write a whole book about it, and someone certainly should have.
“Suffice it to say, that by 1943, the German plants— underground locations included—began to be struck by persistent American bombing attacks.” Winston’s eyes twinkled as he warmed to his story again. “And these bombers were not only precise in their target acquisition, but mysteriously on schedule with return raids when a damaged plant was repaired.
“Within months, supplies of petrol from the refineries were drying up; and by the end of 1944, the synthetic oil production of the Reich collapsed in total. And so, while Luftwaffe planes still outnumbered our own . . . while their Panzer and Tiger and Panther tanks still outnumbered our own, they simply ran out of fuel to operate them. Little known, but true, the Messerschmitt 262—the world’s first operational jet fighter— had already rolled off the assembly line. And in numbers! But they sat on the ground for lack of fuel.
“At the Battle of the Bulge, German soldiers created forts around their tanks when the petrol ran out. Lack of fuel forced three hundred thousand German troops to surrender in the Ruhr Valley. All across the European Theater, the war itself finally ground to a halt . . . for the enemy could no longer move.
“And it was all due to the efforts of one Eric Erickson, the Gallant Knight who now sits before you.”
In the pause that followed, Eric shifted self-consciously in his chair. David didn’t know what to say. He was astonished. First, at the bravery and selflessness this man had displayed in service to his country . . . to his world. And second, because he had never heard even a part of Erickson’s story. Lacking any other words, David blurted out, “Is this true?”
“Every word of it!” someone yelled from the crowd in the theater. As heads turned, David realized that the affirmation had come from Eisenhower.
Seeing that the former supreme commander of the Allied forces had just attested to his narrative, Winston added, “General Eisenhower—excuse me, President Eisenhower— stated for the record that ‘Eric Erickson shortened the war by at least two years.’ Albert Speer, Hitler’s minister of armaments and war production, testified at Nuremberg that ‘the oil attacks brought about the end of the war.’”
Lincoln, who had been quiet, asked Eric, “Were you ever in danger of being exposed?”
“Constantly,” Eric replied. “I recruited confederates in the occupied territories, and being back and forth to Sweden as I was, I never knew if one of my own spies had been caught and tortured by the Gestapo while I was gone. So returning to Germany was always tense.
“One of my people, Marianne von Mollendorf, was executed in front of me. She and I were looking into each other’s eyes when she was shot. She could have turned me in, of course, but she didn’t. And I could have spoken up at that moment . . .”
Winston saw the guilt and confusion in Eric’s eyes and leaped into the void. “They’d have only killed you both, my boy. You know that. There was no other choice you could have made. You stopped the war.”
“I suppose,” Eric said flatly. “That’s what everyone seems to think.”
Winston pushed on. “Eric? Eric, listen to me. May I tell you something of which you were never made aware?”
“Sure,” Eric responded.
Winston looked to Eisenhower, then back to Eric. “Actually, I signed papers—as did several others—swearing that what I am about to tell you would never be divulged.” Lincoln, Joan, David, and everyone else in the room were at full attention. “I’ve t
hought about this many times, and frankly, since arriving here, I’ve had no one I wished to tell. Being in this place, however, renders my promissory signature rather moot, wouldn’t you think?”
Eric smiled.
“In any case,” Winston said, “here it is. Your exploits, though most have been unknown to humanity to this day, saved hundreds of thousands of lives. But I will now reveal to you that it was much bigger than that. Well after the war, upon examination of German records and top-secret testimony connected with those records, we discovered just how vital your work truly was.
“All the refineries and synthetic oil plants were targeted, of course. But the bombing of one particular location—the synthetic plant at Merseburg-Leuna—just happened to destroy a building in which experiments were being conducted with heavy water. For Germany’s atomic bomb project.” He paused and leaned forward. “Word was, my boy, that without your information—without the destruction of that particular building at that particular time—Hitler would have wielded the bomb well before the end of the war.”
After the appropriate hard swallows that information caused, David said, “You’re absolutely right, Winston. We owe a debt to this man. Eric,” he turned and asked, “did your family and friends find out the truth about you after the war?”
Managing a smile, Eric said, “Yes. And that was a great day for Ingrid and me. Except for one other friend of ours, Ingrid bore the whole burden of this matter alone.
“Several months after the war was over, the State Department held a special dinner. It was all a big secret. Our families, former friends, businesspeople—a huge crowd was invited, and they didn’t know why. When they were all seated, an American embassy official got everyone’s attention and announced the guests of honor. Ingrid and I had been hidden offstage, and when we walked out, the audience literally gasped. Quickly—before they could stone us, I thought—American officials told the whole story. Or at least as much as they could. It was a tearful reunion with our families and friends . . . and I suppose all’s well that ends well.” Eric shrugged. “And that’s it, I guess.”
