AbrakaPOW

by Isaiah Campbell

  “I’m not letting you drown alone,” Lola whispered.

  Max didn’t voice the appreciation she felt, but Lola knew it was there.

  “Yes, Daddy?” Max said when she reached the bottom of the Stairs of Destruction. Felix was seated in the chair again, his eyes focused on the only Hummel figurine that seemed even remotely fixable: a chubby cheeked little girl saying a prayer next to a sheep, which now rested in his skilled hands. Major Larousse stood in front of him, arms crossed, and his posture revealed how unhappy he was with his next bit of dialogue.

  “In spite of every single ounce of my better judgment,” the major said, “we’re going to continue with Felix’s plan.”

  “What?” Lola exclaimed and let go of Max’s hand. “Isn’t that—”

  “Stupid? Yes, a big part of my brain says it is.” Major Larousse uncrossed his arms and looked into Max’s eyes. “But I understand why you did the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Because sometimes that’s the only way to do something smart.”

  “Wow, your whole family uses the same logic,” Lola muttered.

  Major Larousse broke out in a grin, briefly. “It’s probably a New York thing,” he said. “But it’s true. Going after these guys the military way means we might give them time to get weapons, take hostages, or any number of ways that people could get hurt. Not only that, but taking my soldiers after them, I can guarantee that one or two of those young GIs will ‘accidentally’ pull their trigger in the excitement of hunting a Nazi.”

  “Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Lola said.

  “Maybe not,” Major Larousse said. “But it wouldn’t be good. So we’re going to do it Felix’s way. But we’re going to do his way my way.”

  Felix shot him a confused glance. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re catching the rest of them tonight. Not some today and some tomorrow. All tonight. I’m done with this game.”

  Felix put the Hummel figurine down. “Major, that is impossible. The prisoners have separated. There is no way you can catch both groups together.”

  “If they’ve split up, then so will we.”

  Felix shook his head. “Nein. The plan will not work that way.”

  “Then we’ll adjust the plan.” Major Larousse crossed his arms again. “Or you’ll go back to your hut and probably won’t speak to Josephine again until this war is over. If even then.”

  Felix stared at the little praying figurine. “And you give your word that I will be allowed to make the phone call?”

  “My word as a major.”

  Felix’s eyes snapped to the major’s. “That is not good enough. Give me your word as a father.”

  Major Larousse narrowed his eyes. “Done. You have my word as the father of Maxine Larousse, you will make your precious phone call before returning to camp.”

  Felix nodded and resumed fixing the figurine. “Then I will need at least two hours to revise the plan. It can be done, but you will most likely need more players.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Major Larousse said and motioned for the girls to follow him up the stairs. “I’ll be back in two hours.”

  Once they were out in the sunlight, Lola finally let her opinion fly. “I can’t believe we’re working with a criminal.”

  Major Larousse snapped his fingers at her. “Not a criminal. A prisoner. All of those men, they’re soldiers. Their only mistake was being a patriot for the wrong nation. And there’re plenty of our boys in the same plight over there. So if I hope that the enemy is treating their prisoners with respect, I have to do the same with ours.”

  Max began to well with pride at the major’s civility and altruism. “And you’re going to let him call Josephine?” she asked.

  He glanced at her and pulled them a little farther away from the cellar door. “No, that’d be treason. Perfect way for him to pass secrets to a spy on the outside. After we catch the last of the prisoners, he’s going back into that camp in shackles if need be.”

  “But you said—”

  “All’s fair in love and war, sweetie.” He kissed her forehead, unaware that she was a deflating balloon once full of pride. He walked around the house and drove off in his Jeep. “I’ll be back in two hours,” he called as he drove out of sight.

  “Wow. You New Yorkers need to go to Sunday school or something,” Lola said with a sigh.

  Chapter Forty

  Boy oh boy, I don’t know how the major came up with this plan, but it’s so crazy I think it’ll work,” Gil said from the driver’s seat of the Jeep, completely unaware that he was actually playing along in a game designed by his least favorite prisoner.

  Max shivered in the backseat and tried her best to exude the same level of confidence. Her problem wasn’t with the plan, which she’d never even thought to doubt since Felix had thus far been more keen at tricking his fellow prisoners than even a proper magician would be in the same situation. Rather, her inhibitions were rising due to the players involved this night.

  To put it plainly, she was nervous about the group of which she was not a part. The team being driven at that exact same time by Major Larousse in his Jeep. The team that had Lola masquerading as Max.

  It was, according to Felix, the only way such a drastic change would work. There had to be two of her. Which was rather difficult, since she barely knew how to be one of her, let alone instruct Lola on how to be a doppelgänger.

  “The one part I don’t get, though,” Gil said, “is why we aren’t just grabbing them if we know where they are.”

  “Because it has to look like it’s just bad luck,” Shoji said, watching Max’s face. He’d never seen a girl throw up, so he had no frame of reference, but even without it he was fairly sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. He smiled at her.

  She tried to smile back, but it came across as though she was imitating a constipated baboon.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Who cares if they think they broke a mirror or had a black cat cross their path?”

  “If they suspect that the army is on to their plan, then they might change it,” Max said with her eyes closed. This did not help the nausea that was rising.

  “But once we have them, there’s not much of a plan to have.”

  “Except for the ones we don’t capture,” Shoji said. “Like Blaz.”

  Gil nodded. “And Felix. Though, who knows, the major could be wrong and those guys could be in the group we get.”

  “Doubtful,” Max said, and then gagged over the side of the Jeep. Thankfully she hadn’t eaten dinner, so it was more of an abdominal exercise than a regurgitation.

  “Feeling sick, kiddo?” Gil asked. “Go ahead and catch some z’s. We’ve still got sixty miles to go.”

  Max put her head back against the seat and despaired of her life, or at least of the life choice she’d made when she had said that Lola should join Carl, Eric, and Major Larousse in apprehending the two prisoners that were, according to plan, heading toward one of the more wealthy ranches in the area. She hadn’t completely realized what an undertaking it would be as she accompanied Gil and Shoji the ninety miles to San Angelo. Nor had she anticipated how erratic of a driver Gil was after dark. With night vision that bad, it was a wonder he hadn’t been classified as 4-F when he enlisted.

  Sleep finally found her about seven miles from where they were predestined by the almighty hand of Felix to stop. Shoji shook her and only barely dodged her fist. As it does for every person it touches, the war had taken up residence in her dreams and would not be driven away easily.

  “Are we there?” she asked groggily.

  “Pretty close to there,” Gil said. “Can’t get much more ‘there’ or we might be so ‘there’ that everybody out here knows it.”

  She groaned. “I am not in the right mindset to decode your gobbledygook. Where are we?”

  He laughed. “On the other side of the hill that the major says the three rascals we’re after are camping on.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “So this is it, then.”
r />   “Like tag,” Gil said.

  She blinked at him as though trying to make sure he wasn’t a very confusing dream.

  “You know,” he said. “When you’re playing tag and someone is ‘it.’ So this is ‘it.’ Like tag.”

  “Wow, you get weird after dark.”

  “You have no idea,” he said. He jumped out and pulled a bundle out of the back. “Here’re the coats.”

  She took the pack, then a breath, and set out to walk over the hill.

  “We’ll give you twenty yards before we follow,” Gil whispered after her.

  “Thirty,” she said. “You’re supposed to do thirty.”

  He sighed. “Okay, it’s your funeral.”

  As she disappeared into the dark, Shoji touched Gil’s elbow. “Tag, you’re it,” he said with a grin. “That was a good one.”

  Gil rolled his eyes. “Great, I’m stuck with a kid who thinks he’s George Burns.”

  Max climbed the hill and looked down into the valley on the other side. She could see the light of a campfire in the midst of some mesquite trees. There were her Nazis.

  She moved quietly through the brush and the weeds, or as quietly as she could considering it was mostly dry brush and weeds and not a field of pillows or feathers. She slowed as she drew closer, doing her absolute best to maintain the element of surprise. It was most likely the only factor working in her favor.

  She accidentally kicked a bush and a jackrabbit shot across her path and off into the night. The men at the fire jumped and picked up their walking sticks, which they had whittled to have spear-like points at the ends.

  “Halt! Wer da?”

  She almost raised her hands but then remembered that these men had no guns. Menacing as they might have seemed had they been in the middle of a battlefield in France, here with spears in hand and their eyes glazed from dehydration, they were as harmless as the jackrabbit that had alerted them. More harmless, depending on whether you inquired of a ferret.

  “It’s just me,” she said. “Fräulein Max. Felix gesagt, dass ich hier sein würde , nicht wahr?”

  The men, hearing her use their native tongue to ask if Felix had told them she would be there, lowered their weapons.

  “Ja,” the man in front, whom she would eventually learn was named Horst, said. “Ja, aber er sagte ihr uns morgen treffen würden.”

  “Ich weiβ nicht sehr viel Deutsch zu sprechen,” she said, telling them that she didn’t speak much German.

  “Felix told us you would meet us tomorrow,” Horst said.

  “The plan changed.”

  The men exchanged wary looks but said nothing.

  “Come on,” she said. “You guys need to learn to play to the changes.” She wondered if Gil had heard her use his motto and now silently danced a jig thirty yards behind her. Or probably, knowing him, twenty.

  “Why? Horst asked.

  “Because we’ve gotten you a hotel to stay at in San Angelo. It’s about ten miles that way.” She pointed to the lights of the city illuminating a spot on the horizon.

  “A hotel?” Horst looked very suspicious. More than that, though, he looked very tired and thirsty.

  People believe the lies they either hope or fear are true.

  “Yes. With fresh water and soft beds and hot Folgers coffee.”

  The men inched closer, as though she herself was a piping pot of said Folgers.

  “And they will give the room to us? We who are escapees. We who are German?”

  She smiled. It truly was always best when people set themselves up for the next magic trick. “Well, not looking like this they won’t. But that’s why I brought you these.” She held out the trench coats. “In the top left pocket of each coat there’s a mirror and a rag to clean your faces. In the top right of each there’s a matchbook and a pack of Lucky Strikes.” Gil had been unwilling to part with any of his Pall Malls, but his bunkmate’s Luckys were fair game. It didn’t matter to Max. She just needed the magician’s staple of smoke and mirrors to make this particular trick work perfectly.

  Horst took the coats from her with suspicion. “Why are you helping us?”

  Felix had helped her craft the answer. “Because my grandmother is German, and she told me the stories of Der Erlkönig and how he comes after the sons of Germany and will take them if they don’t make it home.” Der Erlkönig, or the Elf King, was an old German legend, the subject of a fine poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and a riveting song by Franz Schubert. However, none of these renditions mattered in this moment to these grown men, who had been frightened as children by the image of the dark figure snatching sons away from their parents and taking them to a land from which there was no escape. These men’s eyes betrayed them. In spite of the years between their current state and their childhood, they still stood terrified. Terrified of what lurked in the shadows.

  Max held out her hands, waved her left over her right, and produced three tin cups, one after the other, and handed them to the men. Then she pulled a piece of paper out of the air, rolled it into a cone, and, turning the cone on its side, poured water into each of the cups, after which she set fire to the paper and tossed it into the air.

  “Der Erlkönig is coming after you men. So you must hurry. The map is drawn on the wrapper of your Lucky Strikes. If you do not reach the hotel by midnight, the opportunity will disappear and I fear greatly for your safety.”

  While they drank from the cups, cleaned their faces in the mirrors, and lit their Lucky Strikes, she disappeared into the dark.

  When she got twenty-five yards away, a hand grabbed her and pulled her down to the ground next to Shoji and Gil. Gil had his rifle trained on the Nazis.

  “That was good,” Shoji said. “The water cone thing was a nice touch.”

  “Madame Herrmann would be proud,” Max said. “But now we need to go. We have to get everything set up in San Angelo.”

  Gil shot her a look. “I thought we were just sending them on their way and then calling the cops.”

  Max grinned. “Where’s the magic in that?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Josef and Herbert had just stolen milk from a cow.

  They, above all the other escaped prisoners, were the two most committed to surviving off the land until they returned to the battlefront. In fact, they weren’t simply going to survive. They intended to thrive.

  “How do you think the others are doing?” Herbert asked. It should go without saying that he and his partner spoke in German.

  “I don’t doubt they’re making it,” Josef said. “But if they are as comfortable with the journey as we are, I will eat my own shoe.” He opened his backpack and retrieved yet another can of sardines and a pack of crackers. He ground the sardines with a rock, poured two drops from a bottle of brandy they had stolen, mixed it and minced it with a butter knife, then spread it on the crackers. “More pâté?”

  Herbert took the cracker and devoured it, savoring every millisecond that it was in his mouth. “I am so very fortunate to have been paired with you on this excursion. When this war is over, you could be a fine restaurant owner.”

  “I only hope to own a double chin,” Josef laughed.

  “You’re halfway there,” Herbert said. He held out his hand. “Can I have another?”

  “Later,” Josef said and stood with a stretch. “We must continue down the road if we are to meet this girl who will point us in the easiest direction to return home. Though I can’t imagine what she can offer us that will be better than what we can offer ourselves.”

  “Then let’s forgo the meeting,” Herbert said, drinking the last of the milk from the cup. “It seems we might be better off.”

  “The lazy cat settles for water when the cream is just one house farther.”

  Herbert stared blankly. “Is there a cat in here?”

  “No, it is a saying.”

  Herbert stood. “I do not like cats.” He picked up his backpack. “Come now, let us go and discover if this girl is of any value to us.”


  Josef sighed and followed his daft companion.

  They walked through the woods toward the road, following their well-worn map-napkin. They stopped about five meters away. Herbert found the watch in his pack.

  “Twenty minutes and she will arrive, if all goes according to plan. If she is not punctual, I propose that we leave.”

  Josef had no problem with this plan, because it provided them the time to eat more pâté.

  Eighteen minutes later, a tiny girl emerged from the other side of the road and walked toward them. She stopped at a tree two meters ahead of them.

  “Is that her?” Josef asked.

  “I don’t know,” Herbert said. “I only saw her once. But it doesn’t look like her.”

  They didn’t move.

  The girl scanned the trees around her, looked over her shoulder, and then, with as thick a Texas accent as they had ever heard, yelled into the darkness, “Josef! Herbert! I’m here!”

  Herbert started to stand but Josef held him down.

  “Who are you?” Josef yelled in English.

  The little girl took a big breath. “I’m—” she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m a friend of Max’s.”

  “No, you are Max,” a voice hissed at her from the bushes at her side.

  “I’m sick of all the lying,” she said.

  The bushes shook and a boy with an eye patch stepped out, wagging his finger at her. “Great. Just great. You and your morals. They’re probably long gone now.”

  Josef chuckled. “Who is he?” he yelled to her.

  “See, they’re still there,” the girl said. “This is my pal. We’re here to help you fellas.”

  Now Herbert held Josef down. “Perhaps your help is not what we need,” he said.

  The girl and boy exchanged a worried glance. “Right, of course not,” the girl said and began to back toward the road.

  The boy stopped her. “Okay, you don’t need our help,” he said. “But are you tired of eating snakes or whatever you guys have been dining on since you left the camp?”