One Thousand Years

by Randolph Beck

  A third man stepped into view. It was a black man in a black SS uniform, armband and all — or something like an armband. McHenry took another deep breath. A black Nazi! That didn't make any sense. He decided it must be part of a dream. The black man said nothing although he must have known his presence frustrated McHenry's comprehension.

  The junior Luftwaffe officer took the initiative. “You are on a ship,” he said gently. He paused and looked at the doctor as though looking for his approval. “It will not be easy for you to accept this but you can consider us to be your friends. The doctor tells me that you still have some healing to do. I promise you it will be fast. You must lie still for a few minutes longer.”

  McHenry took another deep breath and felt much better. He was becoming fully alert. The black Nazi reminded him of Mike Jenkins, a student at Tuskegee. Jenkins was sharp and had been training with them for a few weeks until the Army decided he was just too big to be a pilot. But these men were even bigger than Jenkins. A lot bigger.

  He looked down and saw the metal box that enclosed his torso. There was also a metal band strapped to one arm, and something on his head, which he thought might be bandages of some sort. He couldn't see his legs from the other side of the equipment but they felt free. He stretched his legs as he looked around to examine the room. This was a large room with two other beds like the one he was lying on. Each bed had a large white panel on the wall behind it. He tilted his neck back to look at the panel over his own bed, which wasn't blank at all. It was brightly lit with lists of numbers and some German writing in one corner, but most of the panel displayed what looked like a brightly colored cartoon image of the inside of a human body. His body? He stretched his free arm and the image on the screen moved accordingly. Curiously, some of the numbers changed as well.

  McHenry wondered if this could be an elaborate ruse intended to coerce secrets out of him. The uniforms just seemed a little different from the photos he had seen. Or they might be homemade renditions for someone's strange idea of amusement. He looked back at the medical screen behind him, and raised his arm again. Even the best white hospitals didn't have this kind of equipment. Without waiting for an answer, McHenry tried lifting himself out of the contraption but quickly gave up struggling. He was firmly attached to the device.

  “Who are you?” he finally asked, staring at the black Nazi. The words came out easily this time.

  “You have been through much,” the doctor said. “You suffered from drowning, some broken bones, including your skull. The treatments you received have been successful and we will be able to remove the equipment in a few minutes. I am Doktor Oberleutnant Evers. This is Oberführer Mtubo; and here is Leutnant Vinson. Herr Vinson was one of the people who rescued you from the sea.”

  “Well, thanks,” McHenry acknowledged sarcastically. He couldn't feel that anything was broken. He still didn't remember crashing but that, at least, sounded plausible. More plausible than a black Nazi, anyway. He thought through his briefings, trying to remember Nazi ranks, and guessed an Oberführer to be something like the Nazi equivalent of a colonel.

  Oberführer Mtubo stepped to the side of the bed and stood with his hands behind his back, looking down his nose at McHenry. It was a smug pose, as smug as he would expect from any Nazi in the movies. “This might have been easier for you if I had waited until you were fully recovered. Even so, your mind would still find this difficult to grasp. Simply put, we have come here from your future.”

  “You're saying that you're time travelers?” McHenry asked warily.

  “I mean exactly that,” said Mtubo. “We went backward through time. We left our home in the year 2968.”

  McHenry said nothing, unsure which was easier to believe, time travel or a black Nazi or the whole notion of a black officer seemingly in charge of these other men. The black Nazi didn't even look old enough for the rank he appeared to hold.

  “Consider it this way: The aircraft of your day were not possible fifty years ago. Yet even now the Reich is building weapons that will smash London from the coast of France. Mere decades from now, they will build rockets that can fly to the moon.”

  The American still did not answer, so Mtubo went on. “Do not be surprised what can be possible after one thousand years. This ship can travel through time just as your primitive aircraft can fly through the air.”

  McHenry raised his head slightly. “Does that mean we lost the war?” He knew it was a stupid question, but he needed to be sure.

  Mtubo laughed, none-too-gently. “The Reich prevailed, just as it always has and always will.”

  McHenry pushed his head back into the restraint and let out a sigh.

  “From our point of view, the war you were fighting ended long ago,” Mtubo continued. “You may consider yourself to be our guest here, Lieutenant. The Kommandant of this ship may even grant you some limited privileges to walk about the ship, but do not attempt to interfere with our operations here.”

  The Oberführer did not wait for a response. He turned to Vinson and spoke in German, issuing an order McHenry couldn't hope to understand.

  “Jawohl!” Vinson replied with a click of his heels.

  “Heil Renard!” Mtubo said, thus ending the conversation.

  Vinson and the doctor clicked their heels against the deck and echoed the Oberführer's salute. “Heil Renard!”

  Mtubo turned and strode out the door, which seemed to slide open without prompting. The door closed behind him on its own.

  McHenry lay there, pulse-pounding, dumbfounded. He had understood only the Heil part. “I'm guessing Renard is your Führer now,” he finally said.

  “Yes, she is,” the doctor answered.

  “She? You mean, your Führer is a woman?” He resisted the urge to laugh.

  “Yes.” The doctor was looking directly at him now to see his reaction.

  “Ah!” McHenry said. It all made a kind of sense. Then he laughed. “It's nice to know you're not heiling Hitler anymore.”

  “You have seen Adolf Hitler only through American propaganda,” said Vinson, obviously a little offended at the remark.

  “Leutnant,” the doctor said to Vinson, “there will be plenty of time to talk about such matters when Herr McHenry has become fully acquainted with his situation. He needs time.”

  “No,” McHenry protested. “I can talk about this right now.”

  Vinson sighed. “Dr. Evers is correct. I have to return to my debrief. There will be time for us to talk later. I hope we can become good friends.” He held out his large hand for McHenry, who accepted the handshake only with suspicion. “I will see you later today if it is all right with the doctor.”

  “That should be fine,” the doctor said.

  McHenry watched as the automatic door opened for Vinson. Mtubo was right about one thing, he realized. His predicament was hard to accept. All of it. It was easier to believe that these men were from the future than that America had lost the war. We were doing so well, he thought.

  But as the door closed behind Vinson, McHenry understood there could be no better explanation. These men were indeed from the future. And Germany had won the war. He was probably safe enough for now. The only important question was, will he ever see home again? Then he saw the swastika on the doctor's tunic again. No, he realized. The first question was, how was he going to escape?

  “We can only imagine what you are going through,” Dr. Evers said. “If it is of any consolation, please know that there has been a lot of concern throughout the ship for your well-being.”

  “Thanks,” McHenry replied stiffly.

  *

  Chapter 5

  “If Fascism comes to America, we shall not even have the excuse of being the first fooled.”

  — John Land, The American Mercury, (April 1944)

  “All is finished. You are ready to be removed from the machine,” Dr. Evers said, keeping his eyes on the images. He stepped back as the enclosure slid down from around him. In three seconds, it seemed to McHenry t
hat they just dissolved into the frame of the bed.

  Naked, McHenry sat up and looked down. There were no scars. He felt like a new man. “Do you have my clothes?”

  The doctor spoke in German to no one in particular, something he called Rechner, and a drawer opened at the wall. It revealed a neatly folded sky blue uniform with a pair of boots. Taken aback, and ever distrustful of his benevolent captors, McHenry grabbed the whole ensemble and placed them in a pile on the bed. The drawer closed again, leaving him to wonder whether it would have closed immediately had he not taken it away. He was going to comment about the rechner but he chose not to. If this truly was the future, he could assume the Hollerith machines would have improved beyond the relays and punch cards of his day.

  The garment's material was strange, but of plain design. The pants pulled up loosely, with no belt or zipper, as though they were several sizes too large. But the fabric tightened up once it reached his waist. Almost like magic, they became a perfect fit.

  “Whoa!” he said aloud, and then cursed himself silently for revealing his surprise.

  “I had not expected that our clothing would surprise you,” said the doctor. “But I should have. Technology has advanced immeasurably in even these minor details.”

  McHenry didn't need the doctor to tell him that. He pulled the blue shirt over his head, and it tightened up around him in a way that seemed almost alive. He stood erect and looked down at himself. This was most definitely a Luftwaffe uniform, much like Vinson had worn, but it had no markings on it, and thankfully, he thought, no swastikas.

  “These boots are the most comfortable I ever had,” he said finally.

  “The analysts who went through your effects had commented on the primitive nature of your clothing. You will certainly find life to be very comfortable in our time. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yeah, sure.” McHenry followed the doctor to a small office adjacent to the infirmary. This could be a good time to make a break for it, he thought. He sized up the doctor, who was a foot taller and clearly quite brawny. Then he remembered that Vinson and Mtubo were the same height. If all the men on this ship were this big, it would be difficult to find circumstances where he could take any one of them on. The office door closed behind them, automatically like the others. McHenry would have to learn what made them open and close before he could entertain any notion of escape.

  The doctor sat behind a desk and gestured for McHenry to take a seat beside a wall covered with anatomical illustrations. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Yes, both please.”

  The doctor said something in German — a command for the rechner — and a slot beside the doctor's desk opened with two mugs of steaming coffee. The swiftness astounded McHenry, who couldn't imagine that coffee could even be poured in the time this took, let alone brewed.

  The doctor gave one of the cups to McHenry. “You will learn to appreciate the technology we have here, Lieutenant.”

  McHenry tasted the earthy brew and was pleased. “Your rechner makes good coffee.” He liked the doctor but fought the temptation to reply more respectfully than propriety demanded.

  “This ship has the best of everything. You are on the finest ship in the Reich.” But the doctor may have sensed he should not rush the man into appreciating what to him had only recently been an enemy nation. It was a difference probably greater than the thousand years time.

  “You can say you were resurrected on Easter Sunday,” the doctor joked.

  “That's blasphemy, Doctor,” McHenry responded.

  “Are you a religious man?”

  “I wasn't before today. I'll have to see how the day goes. Regardless, I am respectful of others.”

  “It is a good way to be,” the doctor said contritely. “You have my apologies. Well, then, you must have many questions.”

  “Yes,” McHenry answered without hesitation. “How many Negro Nazis are there?”

  The doctor didn't even try hiding his smile. “The world has changed since your times. People have changed. It is only natural that the Reich would change, too.”

  “It can't be that simple.”

  “Yes, it can. We have had one thousand years of social progress. The nations of the world, as you knew them, have all joined the Reich long before I was born. The people are so much more interdependent in modern society.”

  McHenry wasn't ready to believe. It was too much to hope for, too much to believe. He had heard too many promises in the past. But he wasn't going to argue over it either. It was better to get back to business.

  “Well, what happens to me now? When can I go home?”

  The doctor sat back, held his breath for a moment and exhaled visibly. “I am afraid you can never go home.” He paused for another moment as the meaning of this answer could sink in.

  McHenry was not surprised but would pursue any argument. He would grasp at any straws if need be. “I am entitled to the rights of a prisoner of war under the Geneva Convention with all the privileges of my rank. You are required to contact the Red Cross to notify them of my capture.”

  “You know that is impossible. You are not a prisoner. You are a guest. That war is over for all of us.” The doctor leaned forward again, but looked into his coffee. “History records that your aircraft was lost over the sea, and your body was never recovered. If you were to return to your home in the present day, your actions would affect how events were to unfold. Even if you only introduced one small change into history, that one change could ripple through an entire chain of events, causing some of our people — perhaps even my grandparents — to never have been born.”

  McHenry mulled that over, looking for a way out. “But then couldn't your picking me up change what happens?”

  “In theory, yes. You are taking in the complexities of time travel very well. There are still some theoretical risks but there was no chance that you could affect history. We had taken all possible precautions. Your aircraft was already underwater. You were deep enough that our equipment needed to clear your airway and restart your heart.”

  “And I suppose that's easy to do nowadays.” McHenry looked again at the diagrams on the wall.

  “Very easy to do, if we can recover you in time. Your bones were already repaired even before your body came aboard this ship. My greatest concern was that brain damage would cause loss of memory.”

  McHenry sighed. That might have been for the best, he thought. Then he took another sip of coffee and remembered night phenomena. Were they from the future too? “Tell me, Doctor. We had seen a very fast aircraft. Could that have been you guys?”

  “Absolutely not. We had taken great pains to ensure that no one would see us. You probably saw some of the jets or rockets the old Luftwaffe developed during that war.”

  A chime sounded, prompting the doctor to tap the swastika button on his collar. “Evers,” he said.

  A woman's voice spoke. McHenry recognized only the word “Amerikaner” and assumed that was about him. He was startled that a woman was aboard the ship, but kept this thought to himself.

  “Jawohl!” replied Dr. Evers. He released the button and stood. “The Kommandant is ready to see you now. Are you ready to see more of the ship?”

  “Certainly,” McHenry said. He stood and took one more sip of his coffee. It had not cooled off in the slightest. “One more thing, Doctor. What if we had seen your ship; would that change anything?”

  “It might have ramifications,” the doctor conceded. “But do not build up false hopes. We know what we are doing. We have been very meticulous in our work.”

  The doors opened for them as Dr. Evers led the way out of his office, through the familiar dispensary and out into a long wide corridor. There were, indeed, women aboard the ship. They passed several men and women wearing Luftwaffe blue or SS black. All were tall and fit like the others McHenry had seen thus far. Even the women towered over him. This master race was Hitler's dream come true. And astonishingly, it included people of all races working as equals.<
br />
  They smiled and nodded their heads in silent greeting as they passed in the corridor. Everyone seemed respectful and friendly enough. He was not prepared to meet these men and women as friends.

  They reached an elevator and stepped in. “Kontrolle,” the doctor ordered. It took a long second for McHenry to understand that the command was meant for the elevator, then the doors closed and he quickly understood that elevators no longer needed attendants. He could feel the pull of upward and then sideways motion. Their movements felt so swift that they seemed to be moving a considerable distance. They watched an indicator move along a diagram of the vessel.

  “How big is this ship?” McHenry asked.

  “Over nine kilometers in length. That includes the engines. The actual living environment is less than half that. That is large enough that it might have been visible from the Earth if it was not designed to be hidden.”

  “Visible from where...?” But there was no time to finish the question. The doors opened and he immediately saw a black sky. The two men climbed a short stairway up into the ship's large control room. McHenry stopped momentarily and stood in awe. There didn't seem to be a ceiling. They were in a dome surrounded by stars. And right below them was the planet Earth.

  *

  Chapter 6

  “It has been claimed at times that our modern age of technology facilitates dictatorship. What we must understand is that the industries, processes, and inventions created by modern science can be used either to subjugate or liberate. The choice is up to us.”

  — Vice President Henry A. Wallace (April 9, 1944)

  McHenry stared out across the dome. This was his familiar Earth seen from a new and heretofore impossible vantage point. It couldn't be a real window, he realized, although his depth perception gave the illusion that it was. There were faint grid marks of latitude and longitude on the planet. Another more-distant blue grid marked the background of space itself. Numbers and symbols appeared in the foreground, sometimes flashing or highlighted by colorful borders. They all looked to McHenry like finely-detailed cartoon images overlapping a real sky.