by Robert Webb
Chapter 2
It all started twenty years earlier when he was a young man proudly serving in the US Army in West Germany; a calling that had been passed down through the generations by the male members in his family. Since he was a little boy, he knew that he was expected to enlist in the armed forces and complete, at least, one tour of duty. He had a proud family, going against family tradition by failing to enlist and serve the nation, would have been an act of treason in his family circle.
He had completed his basic training as a Calvary Scout while stationed in Ft. Knox, Kentucky before being shipped off to Europe as part of a two-year stint with an Infantry unit. At first, he missed his family and did not want to be stationed outside of the United States, but as he spent more time in Europe, he grew to enjoy the different cultures represented in a small geographical space.
He spent most of his working days training for war, in one way or another, but for him most of that training consisted of busy work and seemed to be designed to take up time and not for preparation. He settled into the Army life rather easily, which was not much different from home, due to the order and structure of the military.
The long weeks of training and war games seemed endless, but he still loved what he was doing and it showed. He remembered being surprised when he first entered the military, thinking it would be a twenty-four hour a day job, only to find out that it actually followed similar hours to most of the businesses in the United States. There was a predictable set of hours that he and his buddies worked, other than an occasional charge of quarter duty or late night training. He was still just like any other young army recruit and after another long and dull week of training, he was ready for the weekend.
With the knowledge of their limited time in Europe, the friends made the most of their free time, thus, nearly every weekend they left their military base and headed towards the many sightseeing opportunities all around the southern Bavaria area of Germany. Tom had already visited many once in a lifetime places, like the horrible, Dachau, the Jewish concentration camp that was the gruesome end to many peoples’ lives at the hands of Hitler’s Secret Police. He especially enjoyed mingling with the people of the continent, like when they took a day trip to an exciting open-air concert in Brugge, Belgium. This weekend was not any different and he and his fellow soldiers, being in the prime of their lives, were already considering their options for the weekend.
It was Friday morning and he, along with three other roommates who shared the large red painted room, the largest room in the barracks, sat around discussing how they wanted to spend their upcoming weekend. He was amused with these sessions, and even though he participated, he knew the outcome would be the same as in any of the other high-level planning sessions.
"I don't have much money left," John said with a pitiful look on his face.
"Why don't we all just pool our money together this weekend and head over to Illesheim?" Tom asked, trying to get the group to pitch in and help John.
He liked John because they got along well together, and he and the army medic liked to participate in much the same type of activities. Besides, he didn’t feel up to traveling any great distance.
There wasn’t any disagreement.
“We agree then, we will combine the money in one pot,” Tom said.
Except for John, the men split up and hurried off to their separate responsibilities on the base.
"Thanks," John said patting him on the shoulder.
"Don't mention it you would do the same for me," he replied.
“I owe you one,” John said somewhat embarrassed at the handout.
“You owe me more than one. I won’t let you forget.”
He had never been comfortable excepting gratitude, but that did not mean it was not appreciated. The two friends went off to their jobs wondering how many times the plans that the group agreed on, would change.
The last workday of the week crept by, and not wanting to waste any more time, he and his friends spent little time prepping for the evening. They ran to the front checkpoint and got into one of the taxis that lined the exit of the base. The drivers of the taxis knew that this was the place to make the most money on the weekends, and made it custom to be stationed there on Fridays. He and his friends were in a jovial mood, alive with the excitement of the upcoming nightlife that always appeared after the sun fell.
The small historic town contained very few new buildings or businesses to attract tourists; instead, it relied heavily on tradition and the warm spirits of the townspeople to charm visitors to the area. He really enjoyed this quaint town adjacent to the military base where he and his friends served; it was exactly where he wanted to be at this stage in his life.
The group had already been in one of the local bars, known as Guesthouses, and had already partaken in a few mugs of the rich and potent beer, on their way to achieve the goal of getting plastered. The boisterous friends were congregating just outside the Guesthouse doors deciding which establishment to visit next to retrieve more of the fabled German Beverage. He and his buddies walked across the dimly lit cobble stoned square, the only emitted light coming from two small fixtures hanging on the rooftop corners of the town hall building that was located on the square. Unlike the strobes that adorn American downtowns causing night to turn into day, these gave a sense of mystery to the darkened corners of the square.
The alcohol was taking effect and his friends were having a merry good time making a lot of noise, and generally living up to the stereotype that Americans had overseas. He was never one to be rowdy, so when they drank, he just trailed along with the pack just in case he was called upon to stop his friends from doing something stupid and landing themselves extra duty after the local police escorted them to their commanding officer.
He had stopped paying much attention to the festive gang; instead, he was busy looking at the antique buildings around him, when his attention was turned to a bright yellow phone booth located next to a small German inn on the square.
Inside the booth stood a very beautiful young woman who appeared to be trying to place a call, but was having difficulty. A small light flickered over her head, reflecting its beams off the surrounding glass enclosed compartment. Almost without realizing it, he had wandered away from his friends, and was standing just outside the phone booth. It was as if a giant hand had picked him up and placed him in that spot, although he knew he had walked there.
He stood transfixed at the stunning woman on the other side of the glass, who was continually pressing the numbers on the phone, and pounding the side, in an attempt to operate the instrument. She was becoming agitated with the mechanism and was yelling a few choice words at the machine, and though he could not make out what those words were, he had a good idea what was being said, and he was sure it wasn’t anything pleasant. In one motion, the woman turned around to the closed door that separated them, and in complete surprise, she swung open the door and looked directly at him.
“Do you know the country code for Canada, so I can get this damn thing to work?” she asked. Her body language and tone became animated. He wondered if he might want to reexamine if he had picked the wrong time to approach her.
“Do you know the country code for Canada?” she again asked, except with much less abruptness, almost as if she realized the force and tone of her first question.
He was thinking of a way to sound charming in hopes that his voice alone would somehow make her melt and fall into his arms. Unfortunately, for him, she was as impatient of a person as he was, and did not wait for him to come up with a reply. That sure didn’t go like it did when I played it out in my mind, he thought.
“Never mind,” she said. “I will try again tomorrow I didn't really want to talk tonight anyway.”
Still mesmerized by the tall olive skin beauty with tantalizing black hair, he still could not find his voice to speak.
He noticed she had paused turning the corner of her mouth up, probably thinking of a way to communicate with him.<
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“Hi, I'm Alyse. Do you speak English?” The stunning beauty asked.
It was then, that he realized that she had not heard any words come from his mouth, and probably assumed that he could not even speak her language.
“Hi, I'm Tom,” he said, finally able to speak.
“Are you in the German military?” She asked while staring at his obvious military shaved head.
“No, I am an American soldier stationed at the base just outside the city,” he replied.
“American, Wow! What a small world, I’m your neighbor from Canada, here on vacation,” she said with much excitement.
They found an instant liking to one another, and talked about the irony of running into each other in the small town, all these miles away from home. It left him gratified that their countries of origin gave them something to talk about, which helped break the ice. He liked her, and from what little they had already talked about, he found that the two of them had much in common.
It wasn’t long before he said goodbye to his friends and ushered her into the guesthouse that he and his friends visited prior to meeting her. He was content, sitting there transfixed by the mesmerizing woman as the conversation went late into the night. The place had become crowded, and the noise made it difficult to hear at times, but he did not mind; he was so enamored with her. He wondered how he could have such strong feelings for a woman that he had just met; he hoped the feelings were mutual.
She explained that she was on vacation in Europe for two weeks, a vacation given to her by her father, who used to tell her endless stories of his days when he was stationed at the same base as Tom. Apparently, her dad was a Canadian Lieutenant attached to the American military at the installation. She went on to tell him that her mom was of Spanish and French origin, and her father was a Canadian when the two met in Spain during her mother’s semester of studying abroad while enrolled at the University of Toronto. He surmised that Alyse had received her naturally tan and clear skin from her mother, along with her exotic looks.
He, in turn, opened up to Alyse and told her of his strict childhood and his family legacy of military service, but left most of the talking to her; she was much more interesting to him. The parallels of their lives seemed to intertwine and they openly talked about deep thoughts and future expectations they had for their lives, as if they had known each other since they were children.
She looked at her watch and grimaced, “I hate to end this, but I must get back to the inn, got a big day of sightseeing tomorrow.”
With mixed emotions, they exited the door and stepped on the cobblestone square; he really wanted to ask her out the next night.
“I’m not working tomorrow either, how about lunch?” He asked with urgency, “Same time same place.”
“It’s a date,” she said touching his hand, but failing to give him the kiss for which he had longed.
He walked across the suddenly vacant square feeling happy to have connected with someone all these miles from home, and lost in the bliss, did not even notice the two men in a van parked near the inn watching Alyse’s every move. Just as he was about to round the corner and exit the square, he heard a commotion from the direction that he had just come; it sounded like someone in need of help.
Turning, he saw two men confronting Alyse in front of the inn where she was staying. She and one of the men were in a heated conversation, but he could not be sure if she was in distress, or if she knew these men, and was upset with something they may have done. She did not say that she was on vacation alone, maybe these people came with her, he thought, as a hint of urgency started to creep up within him.
He started to run towards her, when the small white van that he had not noticed earlier, accelerated in the direction of Alyse. Two younger men, dressed in business attire, exited the vehicle and pulled her into the van; their movements appeared rehearsed
The men returned to the front seat of the vehicle and sped off into the night before he could reach the inn. He stood frozen with disbelief and upset with himself that he was unable to get to her. It had become so quiet, he was sure he was the only witness to the kidnapping, and outside of him, he doubted that anyone would even know that she had been taken.
Quickly overcoming the shock, his wits returned, and he knew he had to get help fast. He ran inside the inn and awoke and old man with gray hair snoozing behind the inn’s check-in counter.
“Call the Police, someone has been kidnapped,” he barked.
“Vas,” the man said questionably in German.
Tom was dismayed. Great, the only German that I have met since I been in this country that doesn’t speak English.
“Polezei,” he shouted, picking up the phone as the man nodded his head in understanding.
Within minutes, two squad cars in a less than urgent manner for his liking arrived at the entrance to the inn. Not waiting for the officers to make their way to him, he ran to their location, only to have a hand held out by the officer. He knew that he must have entered that invisible space that cops did not like anyone to enter when they were in uniform, so he backed away slowly.
The officer started to speak in German, but the sight of Tom was all that the officer needed to realize he was not German, “Awe, American,” the officer said while shaking his head like Tom were an unwelcome visitor to his city.
He wondered if the man wanted to piss on the side of the building to mark his territory while he was at it.
“Two men just kidnapped a woman that I was with." He said getting back to the point at hand, “We had just said goodbye at the guesthouse across the square and she is staying here at the inn.” He went on to give detail to the officers the description of the van and Alyse, and any other information he could think that happened during his short time with her.
“Are you going to put out an all points bulletin, set up roadblocks, or something?” He was disgusted at how little importance they were giving to this case.
The officers were complete morons, he thought as they started asking him the same questions repeatedly. He wasn’t sure if they were giving him a hard time because he was an American, or if they were just inept.
“Perhaps these were her friends, and how do you say it, “a college prank,” was all that you witnessed tonight.” One officer said as if he had solved the whole incident.
“Or she doesn't want you to know where she's staying, and this was her way of letting you down easy, we all know how easy you Americans get your feelings hurt.” The officer added his idiocy.
It was clear that the police did not believe anything that he was telling them, so they were just going through the motions of taking a report.
“Listen, her name is Alyse, she’s five-six or five-seven, she’s a beautiful girl with dark hair and olive skin in her early twenties, and could not weigh more than one-hundred ten pounds. He stood there shocked and confused as to why it was taking so long to get any positive action to happen from these two men, when he noticed the younger of the two officers go to his squad car, and using his car radio, broadcast Alyse and the van’s description to other units that were on duty.
“Hell, it’s about time,” he exclaimed, not even trying to hide his disgust.
He now could breathe again, and the adrenaline dump within his body caused him to stumble backwards and lean against the wall of the inn.
“Sir have you been drinking?” The police officer asked.
“No!” “I mean yes, but I’m not making a story up just so you guys have to get off your lazy asses and do something,” he knew that was a mistake even before he finished the sentence. He rubbed his hand over the spot where one of the cops walloped him with a nightstick, and was feeling lucky that they did not also take him to jail. He looked around at all the people that had gathered to watch the excitement, and as if he were a leper, they kept their distance, not daring to take their eyes off him. Knowing that there was nothing more that could be done, he decided it would be best to head back to his ba
se.
Endless thoughts were racing through his head when he lay down on his bunk, which he had finally made it back to just before sunrise. Most thoughts were on Alyse, God he hoped that she was not being hurt, but he still kept thinking of all the cruel things that the two men might be doing to her; soon he fell asleep hoping to wake up from the nightmare. He finished his entire assigned tour of duty in the military at the German installation, routinely going through the motions of his daily tasks, all the while, checking with the police to see if any news or leads had been found of Alyse, but to no avail.
He had hoped that someone somewhere would encounter her, so that there was a report of her existence, but that was not to be. Most confusing, was the lack of anyone filing a missing person report in Germany or Canada that matched Alyse’s name or description. He could not understand why Alyse’s father did not file a report of her disappearance, so he had thought of finding her dad in Canada himself; however, since he failed to ask Alyse’s her last name, there was little he could accomplish.
He spent much less time with his friends after the kidnapping; instead, he spent the majority of his time searching for Alyse in the surrounding towns. When he ran out of places to search, he spent time in the town square where she had been kidnapped, not that he expected the captors to bring her back to the inn, but being in the square somehow made him feel closer to her.
He would never forget Alyse, and the special night that he found his soul mate, even if it were only for a night.
