Something to Remember You By

by Gene Wilder

  “Anna has long auburn hair,” Captain Pryce corrected him.

  “I think she cut it short and dyed it,” Tom said.

  “Why?” Captain Pryce said.

  “She didn’t want to be identified as Rosenkilde, the Jew,” Tom answered quickly. “So she cut her hair and dyed it. Each time I was with her she wore a pink bow. After it got smudged and dirty she probably kept it in her pocket, but she, too, is a very proud woman. I think she wanted to have that bow in her hair in the same way that Madame Lauro wore an elegant dress when they were escorted by the SS. As you told me, Captain Pryce, Anna adored Madame Lauro, after working with her in France, and wanted to help her escape. I know that Anna is Jewish. That makes four Jews and a gas chamber in Natzweiler.”

  There was a long silence as the general and the colonel looked at each other.

  “Are you suggesting something, Lieutenant, or just showing us how smart you are?” the general asked.

  “Send me to Natzweiler, now, before it’s too late.”

  “Do you realize what you’re asking?”

  “I do,” Tom answered.

  “Are you really so brave, Lieutenant Cole?” the general asked.

  “No, sir, but I am very smart, and I speak German and French fluently, and I believe I would be as good as anyone you can find.”

  “What would you need?” the general asked.

  “An authentic SS uniform, pants, gloves, socks, shoes, and a Luger. I would need an authentic French farmer’s outfit, and I would need a radio operator who knew how to use a submachine gun, and I would need two French Resistance fighters in Alsace who would wear authentic Nazi uniforms and who would also have submachine guns.”

  “How the hell do you know all this?” the general asked.

  “Because I was a bloody medic in Bastogne. Very bloody.”

  The general looked at Colonel Hartley. Colonel Hartley nodded his head “yes” with a tiny smile.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tom sat as calmly as he could as the RAF Lysander plane flew him to Alsace. His radio operator sat across from him.

  “ABOUT THREE MINUTES, LIEUTENANT,” the copilot called out from the open cockpit door. Tom nodded. His heart rushed when he heard how close they were. He had gone over all the plans several times with Captain Pryce and now he sat in a plane going to the French/German border. He remembered hearing Colonel Hartley saying, “Eventually you’ll be judged by your ability to make decisions on your own.”

  He remembered the pink bow Anna was wearing in her hair on the night they met. He remembered her giggle very clearly, and her jokes, and how she suddenly reached for his hand when the alarm sounded. Or did he reach for her hand when he saw how frightened she was? Most of all he remembered the single night they made love in her room.

  He looked across at his radio operator, Jamie Clark, who gave him a confident smile and a little thumbs-up sign.

  Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked down at his backpack, stuffed with his French clothes, an SS uniform, and several hand grenades. His German MP40 submachine gun was strapped around his shoulder.

  “ONE MINUTE,” the copilot called out. Tom pictured Anna again. Remember that her hair is short and blonde now. Don’t go to pieces if she’s dead.…

  * * *

  AT THREE hundred feet, Tom and Jamie Clark jumped into the darkness, following the parachuted equipment that they had just sent ahead of them. They landed safely on a somewhat level field that was drawn out for them by the army architect who knew this territory. They were now forty meters above the red-stoned quarry that Hitler used for rebuilding Nuremberg until he ran out of money. They were a half mile from the concentration camp. Tom and Jamie quickly buried their parachutes in the nearby woods. After setting up their small portable tent they climbed in.

  Jamie set up his wireless and sent the short message: “Everybody’s rockin.’ Everybody’s rockin.’” When he got the confirmation, he packed up his radio. “So far, so good,” he said. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Just a little worried about posing as an SS shit.”

  “I heard you practicing on the plane, sir. You’ll be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I don’t think I told you that I met your lady friend when she needed a little help with her wireless radio,” Jamie said. “She’s a very sweet girl.”

  “If she’s still alive. When are the Resistance fellows supposed to be here?”

  “They said eight a.m. Why don’t you try to get some sleep, sir?”

  “Jamie, you’d better stop calling me ‘sir’ or ‘Lieutenant.’ From now on my name is Gerhard Lange, but when we enter the concentration camp I am Herr Standartenführer Lange. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, Jawohl Herr Standhat, Herr Stan—oh shit! Sorry sir. No, I mean, Jawohl Herr Stan-dar-ten-führer Lange,” Jamie said.

  “You’d better practice a little more in the morning, Jamie. For now let’s get some sleep.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The sun came up slowly. It was 6:15 a.m. After feeling his face Tom said, “If you don’t mind, Jamie, would you give me a shave? Right now I don’t trust myself with a razor on my face, and I don’t want to look like I’ve got a hangover.”

  “Did you sleep at all?” Jamie asked.

  “No, but I’m all right, just a little nervous.”

  Jamie put a glob of shaving cream on Tom’s face. “Let it sink in for a while to soften your whiskers. I’ve laid out your uniform. Let’s go outside so I can see your face better.”

  When they both crawled out of the tent, they saw that they were perched on a small mountain surrounded by a forest of evergreens. Tom gazed at it all for a few seconds while he stretched his legs. “A concentration camp on a mountain with a beautiful forest … it’s an oxymoron,” he said.

  “If you’re an SS Standartenführer—whatever the hell that means—what am I supposed to be?” Jamie asked as he started shaving Tom.

  “It means that I’m the assistant to Heinrich Himmler and you’re the assistant to me. I’ve also just made you my barber, but I’m afraid there’s no extra pay, Jamie. I’ll make it up to you if we get back to London.”

  “We will get back. I promise,” Jamie said. “But why are you the Führer?”

  “I’m not the Führer! Jesus, Jamie. I’m only a führer. Just means I’m a leader. And if I’m Heinrich Himmler’s assistant, I must be damned important. I’m counting on that because I want to scare the shit out of those Nazis when I walk in.”

  After Jamie finished shaving Tom, he helped Tom on with his field-gray SS uniform. The lightning bolt double S shape was embroidered on the collar of his uniform and his shoulder pads denoted that the uniform belonged to a colonel. Every aspect of the rest of his uniform—boots, socks, hat, belt, and Luger pistol—had all been taken from dead SS officers and then stored in London.

  “Well,” Tom asked as he stood still, as if he were a model in a fashion show, “do I really look like an authentic Nazi bastard?”

  “You certainly do, Herr Standartenführer Lange,” Jamie said.

  “Good for you. You’d better get into your corporal’s uniform. And Jamie—if you ever hear me say, ‘Tuez les tous,’ it means ‘Shoot them all.’”

  “Tuez les tous,” Jamie repeated.

  “Yes. Remember that.”

  * * *

  AT 8:00 A.M., a long, black Mercedes drove up the hill, with stolen identifying command flags on its fenders. It stopped next to Tom and Jamie. Two men in gray, Nazi uniforms got out of the car and walked up to Tom.

  “Heil Hitler, Monsieur,” the taller man said with a smile as he gave a Nazi salute. “My name it is Claude Breton and here is my partner, Gilles Piccard.” The two Frenchmen shook hands with Tom.

  “This is my radio man, Jamie Clark,” Tom said. Jamie shook hands with both of them. Claude Breton turned to his partner and said, “Il ressemble a un porc SS très bonne, tu ne trouves pas?”

  “I hope I do re
semble an SS swine, et vous les regardez comme des bon nazis,” Tom replied.

  “Ah, you speak the good French. I hope your German is just as good,” Claude said.

  “Mon allemand est très bon, probablement meilleur que votre anglais,” Tom answered.

  “Bravo! So … are you both ready for the grand entrance?”

  “We are,” Tom said.

  “Good. We have shined your Mercedes very nice I hope, Herr Standartenführer Lange.”

  “Sehr gut,” Tom said. “And now, let’s schnell gehen.”

  Tom sat in the backseat of the shiny Mercedes. Jamie sat next to him as his “German assistant.” He had his German submachine gun at his side. Claude drove and Gilles sat next to him in the front seat, both looking quite official. They also had Luger pistols at their sides and submachine guns on the floor.

  Claude drove the Mercedes slowly down the hill.

  “Why on earth did they build a gas chamber if they already had a crematorium?” Tom asked as they drove slowly toward Natzweiler.

  “For the Jews,” Gilles Piccard answered.

  “Are you making a joke?” Tom asked.

  “I am Jewish, Monsieur. I don’t make those kinds of jokes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said.

  “Men and women Jews are now sent from Auschwitz to Natzweiler to get murdered in the gas chamber. And when their bodies are still warm they are sent to the University Hospital in Strasbourg for research by a Nazi doctor named August Hirt.”

  “But they’re already dead,” Tom said.

  “How do you say mishuganah in English?” Gilles asked.

  “Mishuganah,” Tom answered.

  “The mishuganah doctor wants to expand the skulls and skeletons of Jews to prove that they’re really animals. He considers it important to hurry because he believes the Jewish population will be exterminated soon and that Jewish skeletons will be as rare as dinosaurs.”

  “He’s insane,” Tom said.

  “So is Hitler,” Gilles said.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A heavy mist hovered over the concentration camp. “This cloudiness might be good for us,” Tom said softly as the Mercedes approached the gate. “Please don’t any of you try to speak in German unless you absolutely have to. Just ‘Ja’ or ‘Nein.’”

  Josef Kramer, the bulbous commandant of Natzweiler, stood lazily at attention when our car pulled to a stop. Claude and Gilles got out and stood on each side of it, holding their submachine guns as Tom stepped out of the car. Jamie quickly got out, with his submachine gun, and stood next to Tom.

  “I am Hauptsturmführer, Josef Kramer, commandant of Natzweiler,” he said while giving a lazy sieg heil. “And who exactly are you?” he asked in German.

  “Stand up straight you bloated pig, and give a real ‘Sieg Heil’!” Tom said in German. “I am SS Standartenführer Gerhard Lange. Colonel Lange, in case you’re so blind, Captain Kramer, that you can’t see my shoulder pads?”

  “I … I am … so sorry, Herr Oberst. Please forgive me. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Open the fucking gate. I want to see the four Jews who arrived recently.”

  “Open the gate!” the commandant shouted to a guard in the small tower above the gate. As the gate slowly opened Captain Kramer said, “But there are only three Jews, Herr Oberst. We discovered that the other woman is a Catholic.”

  “Did she have short blonde hair and answer to the name of Helena Simonsen?”

  “Why, yes. That’s right.”

  “That woman is not Catholic, she is a Jew! You read a fake passport. Her real name is Anna Rosenkilde and we’ve been searching for her for the past two weeks. When do you put these Jews in the gas chamber?”

  “This evening, sir, when the sun starts to go down. That’s when the male prisoners are eating and … we don’t like them to see the women leave the camp, because they will know where they are going.”

  “Then I must see these women now! All of them. Are they together in one cell?”

  “Yes, Herr Oberst.”

  “Do you have a single cell?”

  “I do, sir.

  “Then put the Rosenkilde woman in the single cell. She’s the one I suspect the most. DO IT NOW! I’ll see the other Jews after I talk with her.”

  “Of course, Herr Oberst,” the commandant said as he ran off to the prison. Gilles nudged Claude and whispered, “Notre amie est brillant.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Tom and his “guards” followed Commandant Kramer into the prison.

  “Just here, on your left, is the single cell.” He opened the cell door and then hurried away shouting, “I return immediately, Herr Oberst, with the Rosenkilde woman.”

  Tom went inside the minuscule cell and lowered his hat over his right eye. “Jamie,” Tom said, “stand near the entrance to the prison but turn away, toward the camp yard. Anna might recognize you as she passes by you. Gilles and Claude, stand outside this cell, against the wall, and look out for any Gestapo who come this way, especially if they’re running. But don’t shoot unless they raise their weapons.”

  Tom could hear the heavy footsteps of Commandant Kramer rushing back along the dark prison corridor. Behind his shadow Tom could make out Anna’s smaller one.

  “Here, Standartenführer Lange. Here she is,” the commandant yelled with sweat streaming down his fat face as he shoved Anna into the cell with Tom.

  “Good! Now leave and do not come back till I call,” Tom said in a husky German whisper.

  “Yes, Herr Oberst. I understand,” the commandant said, trying to match Tom’s whisper as he hurried away.

  Tom began to tremble when he looked at Anna. Her soft, white skin was bruised and dirty, and her raspberry cheeks were red with bloodstains. He wanted to come closer to her, to hold her, but he was afraid that she might scream. Anna didn’t look at him. Her small bow was still in her hair, but it was hardly pink anymore.

  What a brave woman, he thought. How could I have suspected that she might have been a double agent?

  “Are you hungry?” Tom asked.

  “Not in the least,” Anna answered quickly, without turning her head toward him.

  “Even if I could offer you some sautéed octopus from the Shepherdess Café?” he asked.

  Her eyes popped open wide. When she turned to look at him she was about scream with happiness, but Tom put his hand over her mouth. “You must be very quiet now, Anna,” Tom said softly as he took off his hat and then kissed her. When she looked at his face she could hardly catch her breath.

  “Tom—” she tried to say without choking, but then she suddenly pulled away when she saw Claude and Gilles standing against the wall in their German uniforms. Tom said, “Those are our friends, Anna, from the French Resistance. And Jamie Clark is guarding the door. He helped you once with your wireless radio, remember?” When Gilles touched two fingers to his lips and threw a kiss to Anna, she buried her face in Tom’s chest.

  “Anna, lead me to the cell with the three other women, but you must look cold, the way you did when the commandant brought you to me,” Tom said. “Your tears are all right, it will just look as if I said frightening things to you. Whatever happens in the next few minutes, you mustn’t smile. Understand?”

  Anna nodded, “yes.”

  “Now step out of this cell with me and walk slowly by my side. Our friends will be in front and behind us. Can you do this?”

  Anna again nodded, “yes,” and they walked out of the cell. As they came close to Claude and Gilles, Tom said, “Both of you walk in front of us, not too fast, just a steady walk. Clear?”

  “Ja,” they both said.

  When they passed Jamie, he smiled at Anna. “Don’t do that!” Tom said. “You don’t know her and you don’t like her.”

  “Sorry. It won’t happen again,” Jamie said.

  “Walk a few feet behind us, Jamie. If you see any black-shirted guards don’t rush to conclusions, and don’t nod to them, even if they nod to you. Just be ready with you
r submachine gun and remember my French signal.”

  When they reached the unlocked cell that held the three other women, Tom walked in with Anna. The three women looked bitter and defiant until they saw Anna take Tom’s hand, which baffled them.

  “I’m not an SS officer,” Tom said quietly. “I’m in the SOE and we’re going to try to get you out of this place. Those three men standing outside are not Germans. Two of them are French Resistance and the other is my radio operator, also in the SOE.” Yolanda Beekman and Madame Lauro closed their eyes and smiled. Diana Rowden took Anna’s hand and held on to it.

  “I have to ask each of you to do something special … don’t smile or show any happiness until we’re out of here. Let the Nazis see your bitterness. If you want to spit on someone, spit on me. They’d believe that. It’s probably happened to most of them often enough. You are four remarkable women, and I’m proud to know you. Now I’m going to get the commandant.”

  As Tom stepped out of the cell, he saw Commandant Kramer walking toward him, confidently this time, along with four black-shirted soldiers.

  “So, Oberst Lange, or should I say SS Standartenführer Lange, assistant to Heinrich Himmler. I want you to meet four very good friends of mine,” Captain Kramer said. “They are Waffen-SS soldiers, extremely loyal to Hitler, and would die for him without a second’s hesitation.”

  “Commandant Kramer,” Tom said, “may I ask why you pay me this unexpected pleasure right now, when I’m in the middle of an interrogation?”

  “Of course you may ask. It’s because I called Reichsführer Himmler’s main office and was told that they had no record of a colonel named Gerhard Lange,” Kramer said with a slow and caustic smile.

  Tom looked at the eyes of the four Waffen-SS soldiers whose hands rested near the triggers on their guns.

  “May I ask you one more question, Captain?”

  “Of course you may.”

  “Did you speak with Himmler himself, or did you get this brilliant information from some asshole who works in his office?”