Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “I didn’t think she would believe me.”

  “He’s got that right,” Abigail said. “I still don’t know if I believe any of this. But I certainly believe you all do. That’s enough for me to hang around and watch.”

  “Can’t ask much more, can we?” Gracy said.

  “No, we can’t,” Sam agreed. “Since we have a good part of the day yet, let me tell you a little more about my past, how I, and then we,” he pointed to his Board of Directors, “got to this point now.” He stood. “Anyone want more coffee before I start accounting how I came about saving Adolf Hitler’s life?”

  James’ jaw dropped open. “I think I may need something stronger than that, but I had better stick with coffee.”

  “The doctor said no to coffee.”

  “One thing at a time, Abby. I promise you – no heart attack.”

  Abby gave him a dirty look and then sighed an acceptance.

  When everyone else was settled, Sam turned from the window overlooking the Ashley River. “I was seven years old when my parents saw war coming in Germany. We were very well off. My father, not wanting to lose it all, packed it all up and looked toward an opportunity in America. My Aunt Aileen married an American a few years before, 1910 I believe, and settled near Chicago. So that was where my father chose to go. He was a chemist – a damn good one. When the war broke out, he tried to talk his mother and father into coming, but they refused. Their reason – and I didn’t know this until 1943 – was that they were running an underground, smuggling people out. In the spring of 1918, my parents decided they would go and take them out, by force if they had to. I was left to stay with my aunt and uncle. The day they left on the train was the last time I saw them. They all died together in my grandparent’s farmhouse. I was eleven years old.

  “I was extremely intelligent. I became fluent in English, and did not lose any of my German. I could speak in either language without a trace of accent from the other. However, with all my intelligence, what I lacked most was common sense. It was this that guided me for the next 25 years. I made decisions based solely on emotion. My key emotion was anger – anger at America for killing my mother and father. Upon my high school graduation, I talked my aunt and uncle into letting me visit Germany. They knew nothing of my motives. If they had, I certainly wouldn’t have gone, and for certain I wouldn’t be standing here today. When I arrived in Paris that summer of 1923 my Great-Uncle Albert met me. The first thing he said was, ‘What do you expect to find, Nate?’”

  “Answers, Uncle Albert. Answers to why they were killed.”

  “What if you don’t find what you expect? What if you don’t like the answers?”

  Nate looked at his great-uncle, perplexed by his question. “I already don’t like the answers. The Americans murdered them. What is there to like? I want to know why they shelled my grandparents’ home.”

  Albert smiled sadly. “You go and see what you can see, then come back and talk to me.”

  “There’s something else, isn’t there? What am I going to find? Tell me.”

  “No. I tell you no more. You’ll find everything on your own. That’s what you came from Chicago to do, is that not right?”

  Nate nodded.

  “You wait a day so I can get papers for you. You shouldn’t go with your American name.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think it best. It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “And so, at the insistence of my uncle, I reverted to my birth name, Constantin von Frick. But before I got to the home where my folks were killed I fell in with a group called the Brownshirts – Hitler’s boys. I’ll tell you more of that in a minute. My cousin Otto went with me to the farmhouse and showed me the evidence. I was determined to learn how and why my parents and grandparents died. It was right there in front of my face, but I refused to see it. I believed that the American Forces took their lives and nothing was going to convince me differently. I was barely seventeen. I thought I knew everything. I said farewell to Otto and returned to the Brownshirts, to the youths who did the bidding of the Nazi Party, and of Adolf Hitler.”

  Chapter 76

  November 14, 1987

  “Germany was in a bad way in 1923, trying to recover from a war; the economy was in a shambles. Out of those shambles came a young man with political ideas and a voice. He stepped into a Deutsched Arbeiter Partei meeting in 1919, as a stranger, and by 1923 was the head of the National Socialist German Workers Party – later to become better known as the Nazi Party.”

  “Hitler?”

  “Yes. Adolf Hitler. ‘The misery of Germany must be broken by Germany’s steel.’ Those were his words, and the basis upon which he built his following. He knew that the future of Germany was in its youth and so he figured out a way of clothing and feeding hundreds and then thousands of teenage boys, the parents of whom could not feed them. They became Hitler’s young police – the Ordnertruppen – Storm Section – SA – Brownshirts. That was where I saw my future. My cousins and their families were just sitting around and accepting their fate, thus creating their own fate. The party was active, making changes, growing another fate out of the ashes. As an angry young man, as were many of the postwar teenagers and young adults, I wanted to not only see change but be part of it. And so I disappeared for a time into the world of the Ordnertruppen.

  “Many of the Brownshirts were overly violent. I carried anger but I had no desire to beat up anyone or kill anyone as they did. I was the intellectual. I committed to memory the twenty-five points that paved the road to Nazism: territorial expansion, anticapitalism yet importance of industrialism, Jewish sanctions, and the outline for a new and promising government, etc. Even though I had no desire to smash heads, I was still physically fit, maybe not as tough as some of the others. Swift as Greyhounds, tough as leather, hard as Krupp Steel. That was Hitler’s description of the SA. Apparently I was tough enough to be included in a crash on a public meeting held by Bavaria’s Governing Monarchist, Gustav von Kahr.

  “Kahr wanted to remove Bavaria from the German Republic and form an alliance with Austria. He was holding the meeting to present his argument to the people. Hitler didn’t want this to happen. The financial structure of Germany was crumbling and there was fear that communism would attempt to grab a foothold again.

  “I made a number of friends during that time in the SA. One of them was Herr Model. He was the leader of our group. Another was Kirk von Stinedorf. He was a plant to keep an eye on us. I did not know that at the time. Some history portrays the Ordnertruppen as a bunch of out-of-control boys. Actually, it was very well organized.

  “Anyway, I was with them and several truckloads of Brownshirts on that November 8, 1923. Hermann Göring was with us. General Ludendorff was in another truck. We were sitting in the trucks outside the meeting hall. I remember Hermann Göring looking seriously at the twenty-eight of us sitting at attention in the back of the truck. ‘Der Führer, Adolf Hitler will be here soon,’ he said. ‘As we enter, you men in this truck along with the truck parked right behind will form a line in front of the podium and up the side aisle. Those in the third truck and I will, as quickly as possible, remove Herr Kahr and anyone else who could interfere or give resistance to der Führer as he steps to the podium. Keep your truncheons visible but low. Use them only if absolutely necessary and that is, first, to protect der Führer, and second, to protect yourself or a comrade. The purpose is to allow Adolf Hitler to speak and be heard, so silence any hecklers as quickly and quietly as possible.’

  “Before I knew it, we were out of the truck and running up the front steps of the building. Then suddenly we were in a room full of people. I knew this could get ugly because if Kahr was holding a meeting chances are that most of these people were leftist or leftist sympathizers. I saw Hermann Göring and a bunch of armed Brownshirts forcing Gustav von Kahr and several military officers off the stage. Anger flew over the people sitting in the hall, but no one moved or said anything, quite aware of the power of the SA a
round them.

  “As Hitler spoke, I initially watched the reaction of the people. Someone at the back got up suddenly but was immediately forced back down in his seat. I think that got me to thinking about my own worries. How many knew about my parents? Did Hermann Göring or even der Führer know? If they did then why would they still allow me to be in the SA? I always felt on the outside. The other Brownshirts used their truncheons freely whenever they had the opportunity, sometimes even on each other. But I didn’t. In fact I had raised mine against another person only three times. I let the others do the dirty work. I did believe in the Party and in der Führer, but I felt my contribution would be better served through my intelligence. But they, no one, knew of my intelligence, my American education. I hadn’t spoken a word of English since arriving in France. I had to keep that hidden so as not to have the biggest bullies of the SA raise their truncheons against me. I was young and strong but I was no match against the older, seasoned veterans.

  “‘... a united Germany.’ Hitler slammed his fist onto the podium. ‘Bavarians are not Austrians. They are German, pure German blood. We must be a united people to withstand the threat of Communism and Capitalism. We must remain united as one Germany!’

  “No one appeared inspired, as were those at many of Hitler’s other speeches and demonstrations, but before long, an agreement was reached and we were back in the truck.

  “It was the next morning that everything happened. I was sitting with several others, consuming eggs and bread soaked in dark gravy. They were full of excitement over several Jewish men they had the fortunate opportunity to physically persuade to get off the street. They laughed at how the men hid their bleeding heads as they ran away from them. I remember not liking it.

  “Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. There were shots and then shouts and men running. The entire room exploded with scraping and falling chairs. We ran to the doors and windows where men were bunching up. Off to the left, some fifty yards away, were a dozen or more Bavarian Soldiers using vehicles for protection and firing their rifles at anyone they could see. A group of Brownshirts was running for cover. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The soldiers were shooting at unarmed men who were running away. I saw a Brownshirt fall forward on his face and not move. Someone grabbed me and said, ‘Come on! Let’s get him in here!’ Without thinking we were out the door, running fast and low the thirty yards to where he lay. As we carried him back, I could hear gunfire all around and expected at any second to be shot, but it was as though they left us alone to retrieve the wounded.

  “He was dead, and if not for a few cool heads there would have been chaos. The next thing I know, we are all in the big hall listening to Hermann Göring.

  “‘This is an outrage!’ his voice was like a bullhorn. ‘It seems that while Gustav von Kahr and his people were agreeing yesterday with the proposals outlined in Adolf Hitler’s campaign, others of his staff were preparing a counter coup. Kahr’s army now surrounds us. The rest of the city is under Martial Law.’ He pounded on the desk in front of him with the truncheon, and in a timber that could be heard in most of the building, yelled, ‘THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!’

  “Not a person in the hall moved. Not a cough. Not a scratch. Nothing. Göring’s eyes slowly scanned the men, our eyes locked on his. After he appeared to look into the soul of each and every Brownshirt, he brought the truncheon to his shoulder like a short rifle, and quietly said, ‘Two of your comrades are dead. A half score are wounded. We cannot turn this into a battle. We are outnumbered and out armed. It’s the wish of the Führer that we stage a march of defiance to the Feldherrnhalle.’ Several Brownshirts stepped forward, acknowledging themselves as being steadfastly loyal to der Führer’s wishes. Following suit in the next few seconds, all of us in the hall stepped forward one pace. A look of pride showed on Göring’s face. ‘Prepare to depart in one hour. You will be led in the march to the military memorial by myself, General Ludendorff and der Führer, Adolf Hitler.’

  “Suddenly Herr Stinedorf, a Brownshirt leader, grabs my arm and says, ‘Follow me,’ and before I know it I’m in a back room with five other men. We’re being handed karabines. The weapon felt smooth, well weighted, powerful. I’d never been allowed to carry anything but a truncheon or riding whip. I had been trained on its care and operation, but only fired it at practice targets.

  “Then Hermann Göring stepped into the room. We all stood at attention while he paced in front of us.

  “‘Herr Kueppre!’

  “He looked straight into the man’s face for several seconds and then moved on to the next.

  “‘Herr Nehring!’

  “I wondered how Hermann Göring knew each of us.

  “‘Herr Kampf!’

  “Sure, he could have been given the names but how did he connect them to our faces.

  “‘Herr Stragberg!’

  “Being too well known made me nervous.

  “‘Herr Frick!’

  “I wanted to divert my eyes, turn away from the steel blue that bore into me from the face of Hermann Göring. But I dared not. Show no weakness. I kept my shoulders square, my back straight, my jaw tight. It seemed to me that Hermann Göring looked into my face longer than any others.

  “‘Herr Stinedorf,’ he said as he turned away, speaking to the group, ‘has assisted me in picking this team.’ I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. ‘I asked for five men who are without a doubt steadfast loyal to Adolf Hitler and the party, and who,’ he stopped and stared into the face of Herr Kueppre, ‘are able to remain cool under pressure.’ He moved to Herr Nehring. ‘Men who are not hot headed.’ He moved on down to me. ‘Men who are not frozen by the fear of possibly putting themselves in the line of fire.’ Again, he seemed to hold me for an exceptionally long time.

  “‘Der Führer is the party. Every man in the organization can be replaced. I can be replaced. General Ludendorff can be replaced. Herr Stinedorf here and all of you can be replaced. But, der Führer, Adolf Hitler, cannot be replaced. He is the power, the heartbeat of the party.

  “‘There’s growing concern for his safety any time he is in public places. Your job is to protect him. I know what you are thinking. There is an entire regiment of men whose job it is to safeguard der Führer. They will also be part of this march. But, against my better judgment, der Führer insists on leading, which of course places him in a very vulnerable position. You will be his personal bodyguards. You will stay close to him at all times.’ From one to the other his eyes moved as he spoke. ‘You will not talk to him, for talking to him will take you away from your duties to look for threats. You will not look at him. Your eyes should be elsewhere, watching for any person, police or citizen, who may be bringing arms to bear upon der Führer. You will not fire your weapon unless fired upon and then only in the protection of der Führer.’

  “I recall the hairs prickling on the back of my neck, and wondered again why I was chosen. This should have been the job of der Führer’s elite guards, not a bunch of unproven Brownshirts. This was too important.

  “‘We’ll depart in fifteen minutes,’ Goring added. ‘Any questions?’

  “‘Herr Goring?’ I asked.

  “‘Yes, Herr Frick.’

  “‘How can we protect der Führer when we see someone is going to shoot at him if we can’t shoot first?’

  “Goring looked directly into my eyes and said, ‘Your only job is to protect Adolf Hitler, Herr Frick. That means you will physically place your body so as to shield him.’ He looked for a second at each man. ‘That’s all,’ he said and walked out the door.”

  “And then what happened?” James asked after a long silence.

  Sam sipped his cold coffee. “We marched out of the headquarters, unhindered, all the way to the Feldherrnhalle. Hitler, Göring and Ludendorff were in the lead. I clearly understood that we were nothing more than bullet shields – expendable. When we got there, police were all over. For a time it seemed like a standoff and then a shot was fired from o
ut of our ranks and one of the policemen fell. Several policemen returned the fire and then the military memorial turned into a battlefield. We formed a barrier around Hitler. Stragberg got hit and fell. The next thing I remember is something hot burning across my head, and then pulling Hitler to the ground. I must have then blacked out. When I came to – I was only out for a few minutes – it was all over. Hitler was gone and Herr Stragberg lay beside me, dead. Göring was bleeding in several places and Ludendorff was being arrested. To make this long story a little shorter, Hitler got away but was arrested later and sentenced to five years. This, you might say, was his turning point. He became very popular, writing his Mein Kampf in the nine months that he actually served. He became a millionaire off the book, and powerful.

  “The first thing he did after getting out of Landsberg Jail was search down Stragberg’s family and me. In a rare moment of generosity, he gave the family some amount of money and offered me whatever I wanted. The timing was right because I was itching to go back to medical school, but I didn’t have the credentials to get accepted. He made it happen. In 1924 I entered medical school in Germany.

  “This did not come without further obligation on my part, however. In 1931 I became a member of the SS, an official SS doctor. I fell under the rule of Heinrich Himmler. He’s the one who began the idea of an Aryan Race. Everyone thinks it was Hitler, but it wasn’t. SS men had to be pure of race. One of my duties was to give physicals to the women they wanted to marry to ensure they were perfect. It wasn’t until 1933 that they decided to check the purity of the doctors and they discovered I wasn’t who I said I was. I was locked up and drilled over and over about my parents and grandparents. Apparently, they knew of their underground exploits during the first war. They didn’t share that knowledge with me. I continued to insist I only wanted to avenge their murder by the Americans. In the end, the Reich Interior Minister, Wilhelm Frick, a distant cousin, came to my defense and I was allowed to return to my duties. After that I always felt I was being watched. But it didn’t change my loyalties. Maybe they eventually saw that, or else found a way to get rid of me. In 1937 Hitler came up with the notion that he wanted to send operatives into other countries – spies in the layman’s term. Himmler jumped on it. With my fluency in English I was, of course, a good choice. So off I went to medical school again, this time in Chicago – under a new name – Nathaniel Bronson. They were able to send me with enough fake transcripts that I slipped into a two-year refresher program, which was followed by a two-year residency. It was during this time that I met Francine. We actually talked of living together, but then I was called back to Germany. That was summer of 1941. All I could tell her was I had some things to do, that I would be back. I didn’t really know that for sure. ‘Don’t expect me to be waiting for you,’ she said. I did return, eight months later. She was still there. She was very cold to me at first, but she eventually warmed up.