“Draw straws,” snarled Himmler.
“Give us some pencils,” said Heinrich Number 6. “And where do you want us to draw them?”
Heinrich Number 8 emerged from the bathroom and rejoined the others. “Did I miss anything important?” he asked.
“Shut up!” snapped Himmler. “I want you all to line up numerically.”
“Right to left, or left to right?” asked Heinrich Number 1.
“Yes!” yelled Himmler.
After a few moments of confusion, the twelve super-Aryan Heinrichs were finally in line.
“Where do I go?” asked Adolf.
“Alphabetically,” said Himmler.
“But they’re all numerical.”
“All right—numerically.”
“But I don’t have a number.”
“Adolf, you are an idiot!” screamed Himmler.
“What did you call me?” bellowed a familiar voice from behind him.
“Oh, shit!” said Himmler as his knees began to tremble.
“ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY propositions from French men before we even leave the airport!” said Eleanor wearily. “Can the super-Aryans be any more exhausting?” She paused, frowning. “Maybe having this figure isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I never got this tired fighting off Republicans.”
“I think your response—the one that scared them all away—was a stroke of genius,” replied Einstein. “Three little words and they were dispersed to the four winds.”
“I’ll have to remember them the next time we’re in France,” said Eleanor. “Marry me first,” she intoned. “Suddenly they looked like a bunch of sprinters trying out for the Olympics.”
“Brilliant,” agreed Einstein. “I wouldn’t try it in Beirut, though, or even Dubai.”
“I wonder where all the Nazis are?” said Eleanor. “We didn’t see a single one.”
“Probably at the Folies Bergère or maybe the Lido,” answered Einstein. “Or robbing art treasures from the Louvre. They do that a lot. I suppose we could pop over there and stop them?”
“Why bother?” she asked. “You already said there are no Norman Rockwells there. There are probably no Virgil Finlays or Frank R. Pauls either. Just a bunch of guys with funny names. No, Little Al, I’ve stretched my gorgeous cellulite-free legs now. Let’s move on to Berlin.”
“There’s the plane,” he said, as they entered the small, private airport where Leonardo had set it down and was trying to start the engine.
Suddenly they found their way blocked by five armed Nazis in uniform.
“I’ve been wondering where you guys were,” said Eleanor, sword in hand. “Prepare to meet your maker.”
“Meet my baker?” said one with a hearing aid. “What on earth is she talking about?”
“Your maker, your maker!” she snapped.
“I’m still confused,” said the Nazi. “Is she talking about one of my parents?”
“I’m talking about your God!” roared Eleanor.
“You’ll have to talk to someone else, then,” he replied. “We members of the Master Race aren’t allowed to believe in God.”
“That’s not entirely true,” said one of his companions. “We’re allowed to worship Mars, God of War.”
“And I think we can worship Colgate, God of Healthy Teeth,” said another.
“Enough!” snapped Eleanor. “Prepare to die!”
“If I’m going to prepare for it,” said another Nazi, “I have to go back to Hamburg and write my will, and pay off all my creditors, and tell my wife where I really was during that snowstorm last February. I don’t suppose you could wait right here for eight weeks until I take care of all that and come back, could you?”
“You are the talkiest soulless sadistic fiends I’ve ever met!” said Eleanor. “Well, since Alf Landon and Wendell Willkie, anyway. Now, are you going to fight or are you going to talk?”
“You are Big El, aren’t you?” asked still another Nazi.
“That’s right.”
“Then I guess we’re going to talk. We have orders to escort you to Berlin, and not to rob Herr Himmler’s Horrendous Horde from Hell of the fun of slowly dismembering you.”
Eleanor turned to Einstein. “What do you think, Little Al?”
He turned to Leonardo’s plane. “F equals MC squared!” he chanted.
Both wings fell off, and one of the tires went flat.
Einstein turned back to the Nazis. “You have transportation?”
“Of course.”
“Then I guess we’re going with you,” said Einstein.
As they were climbing aboard the Nazis’ plane, one of them pulled Eleanor aside.
“I don’t mean to be forward,” he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear it. “But if, on the thousand-to-one chance that you survive your forthcoming duel to the death with Himmler’s Horrendous Horde, would you like to get together afterword? I’d love to show you the sights of Berlin at night.”
She gave him a smile. “Marry me first,” she whispered.
He sat as far from her as possible, and didn’t speak to her for the duration of the flight or the rest of this story.
THE RED PHONE on the President’s desk began ringing, and Roosevelt picked it up.
“You know who this is?” said a voice with a heavy German accent.
“I can guess,” said Roosevelt. “What do you want?”
“You know your wife is on her way here with that little turncoat Ein…Ein…”—he forced the word out—“Einstein.”
“I’m aware of it.”
“You really think to destroy my super-Aryans?” demanded Hitler.
“You have nothing to fear but Eleanor herself,” said Roosevelt.
“I have a proposition,” said Hitler. “Why don’t we let the coming battle between your wife and my Aryans determine the war—winner take all?”
“Why should I make a deal like that when half your army is freezing to death in Russia?”
“You’re not supposed to know that!” screamed Hitler. There was an uneasy pause. “I mean—”
“Forget it,” said Roosevelt. “Now, if you want to make a little side bet…”
“A million marks to a million dollars!” said Hitler promptly.
“Come on, Adolf,” said Roosevelt. “You’ve devalued your currency so much that a million marks barely buys a loaf of bread.”
“But it is good German bread!” protested the Führer.
“Not a chance.”
“Wait a minute!” said Hitler. “We own France, too! A million dollars against a million francs!”
“Good-bye, Adolf.”
Roosevelt hung up the phone and went back to studying his crystal ball.
“WELCOME TO BERLIN, Fraulein,” said one of the guards at the airfield.
“Thank you,” said Eleanor, who saw no reason to tell him, or anyone else, that she was actually a Frau.
“You may find our nights a little chilly for your apparel.”
“Have you a nice, heavy, shapeless coat that I can use to cover myself?” she asked.
“NO!” cried all the other guards.
The guard shrugged helplessly. “I guess not.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.
“You are escorting her to Gestapo headquarters,” said one of the Nazis who had accompanied her from Paris.
“Just her?”
Einstein stepped forward. “Me, too.”
“You too?” repeated the guard. “That’s funny. You don’t look too-ish.”
“Actually,” said another guard, “he does.”
“Just get us there,” said Einstein. “We’re wasting time.”
“Who are you to give us orders?”
“I’m Little Al, that’s who,” he said. Suddenly he closed his eyes and began chanting a spell. “The area of a triangle is one-half times the base length times the height of the triangle.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard, as he and his companions seemed to fall i
nto a trancelike state. “This way, sir. Watch your step, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Einstein.
The guards led them to a truck.
“That looks uncomfortable,” said Eleanor. “Haven’t you got a car?”
“The Führer has outlawed all makes and models but the Volkswagen,” came the answer. “Except for his own fleet of Cadillacs, that is.”
“So?”
“The Volkswagen is the smallest, most uncomfortable car in all of Europe,” said the guard. “It reminds me of a beetle the way it hugs the ground. I know the Führer is perfect and infallible and all that, but if he really thinks these undersized monstrosities are ever going to be popular…”
“They don’t use much gas, though,” noted one of his companions.
“You say that as if the world will ever run out of gas,” said the guard.”
“Science fiction writers are predicting that it may someday be so rare that it will cost as much as ten U.S. cents a gallon.”
The guard shrugged his shoulders. “What can you expect from a bunch of unemployable daydreamers?” he said contemptuously. He turned to Eleanor and Einstein. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Eleanor.
“Then climb into the back and we’ll be on our way.”
“I may need a little help,” said Einstein.
Three of the guards boosted him into the truck, then looked their disappointment when Eleanor was able to climb in on her own.
As they rode, avoiding debris and craters in the street, they could hear the whistling sounds of bombs falling, followed by deafening explosions as they tore into the heart of Berlin. Eleanor looked out the back of the truck and saw several buildings on fire after a direct hit.
“It would appear that the Luftwaffe is no match for our American and British bombers,” she remarked.
“Oh, that,” said a guard with no show of emotion. “The Führer assures us that we can shoot down the Allies’ planes whenever we want.”
“If you can, why don’t you?” asked Eleanor. “The whole city is ablaze.”
“The Führer has explained that he only lets the bombers through to save money on electricity. You have no idea how expensive it is to light a modern city at night, Fraulein.”
Eleanor and Einstein exchanged knowing looks.
“I just saw the two of you exchanging knowing looks,” said a guard. “What do they mean?”
“They mean we agree that you’ve found a cost-effective way to light your city,” said Einstein.
“It also saves us the cost of maintaining our streets,” said the guard. “You know—painting lines down the middle, filling in potholes, that sort of thing.”
“It does?” said Einstein curiously.
The guard smiled and pointed to a series of recently-made craters. “No more streets. Now that money can be directed to other enterprises.”
Einstein turned to Eleanor. “I’m surprised the war is still going on,” he remarked.
“As soon as we find an economical way to cure eight hundred thousand cases of frostbite on the Russian front, we should finally have this war under control,” said the guard.
“So you see, you’re wasting your time,” added another guard. “The war is all but over. Why chance having a gorgeous creature like your companion get torn to shreds by thirteen giant superAryans?”
“Right,” chimed in a third. “My apartment is just in the next block. We could stop there right now. You could sit in a corner and bury your nose in a book, while we and the little lady are having a party.”
“What did you call me?” demanded Eleanor.
“The little lady,” repeated the guard.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in thirty years.”
“So how about the party?” persisted the guard. “Are we all agreed?”
Eleanor uttered her semi-magical three words, and suddenly the truck picked up speed and headed straight for Gestapo headquarters.
HIMMLER ENTERED THE HUGE subterranean chamber, clapped his hands together, and called for his super-Aryans’ attention.
“They’re on their way,” he announced. “They’ll be here any minute. I want you looking your best and most formidable. Line up.”
“How?” asked Adolf.
“In a straight line, of course.”
“I mean, by what criterion?”
“Numerically.”
Heinrichs 1 through 12 lined up in numerical order.
“Where do I go?” asked Adolf.
“Just stand at one end or the other,” said Himmler wearily.
“Which end?”
“I don’t care!” yelled Himmler.
Heinrich Number 8 raised his hand. “Excuse me a minute,” he said, walking toward the bathroom with increasing haste. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take his place,” said Himmler.
“But my name doesn’t begin with an H.”
“Just do it!” screamed Himmler.
Adolf shrugged, walked over, and stood between Heinrichs 7 and 9. “But I am in this spot under false pretenses,” he complained.
“I could have been a farmer,” muttered Himmler. “I was really good at milking cows and harvesting corn. I was happy sitting atop a tractor. The sheep and pigs never talked back to me. Mostly, I didn’t have to deal with a bunch of empty-headed super-beings.”
Heinrich Number 8 returned from the bathroom and approached his fellow Aryans.
“He’s in my place,” he whined, pointing to Adolf.
“Move to the end of the line,” Himmler told Adolf.
“Which end?”
Himmler pulled his revolver out of his holster and fired six quick shots at Adolf’s chest. They all bounced off.
“I’m invulnerable,” Adolf pointed out. “Shooting can’t hurt me.”
“But it makes me feel better,” replied Himmler, holstering his gun. “Now go to the end of the line. And before you ask, the left end.”
“My left or your left?”
Himmler hurled his revolver at Adolf’s head. It bounced off and fell to the floor.
“I’ll get it for you,” offered Heinrich Number 3.
“Don’t bother,” said Himmler disgustedly, walking over to pick it up. “You’ll forget where you were standing.”
“On my feet,” said Heinrich Number 3.
“Why did I ever think Aryans were the Master Race?” muttered Himmler.
Suddenly a red light began flashing.
“They’re here!” said Himmler excitedly. “They should be entering this chamber in less than three minutes. Achtung!”
The thirteen super-Aryans stood at attention.
“The forthcoming slaughter is what you were created for,” said Himmler, walking up and down in front of them. “I want you to show Big El absolutely no mercy.”
“Even if she begs?” asked Heinrich Number 11.
“She won’t,” Himmler assured them. “She’s made of sterner stuff. It’s your job to dismantle her and spread that sterner stuff all over the room.”
Heinrich Number 10, the one with the queasy stomach, put his hand to his mouth, then raced off to the bathroom.
“He’s just sensitive,” said Adolf apologetically.
“What about Little Al?” asked Heinrich Number 2.
“You leave Little Al to me,” said Himmler. “You guys just concentrate on Big El.”
“Not to worry, sir,” said Heinrich Number 4. “I’ll cut her heart out and eat it. I’ll decapitate her, gouge out her eyes, and use her head as a bowling ball. I’ll—”
Heinrich Number Ten, who was just emerging from the bathroom, listened, groaned, and ran right back in, while Himmler found himself wondering how Geronimo or Shaka Zulu would have handled these problems.
“YOU’RE NOT NERVOUS, are you?” asked Einstein as the guards escorted them down the dark winding stairs to the Aryans’ chamber.
“Not in the least,” answered the closest guard. “It
’s not as if I have to fight you.”
“I was talking to Big El,” said Einstein.
“Is my make-up smudged?” asked Eleanor.
“No.”
“And my hair’s not messed up?”
“Not a bit.”
“Then I’m not nervous,” she answered. “How about you, Little Al? After all, you’re going to be facing the notorious Heinrich Himmler while all I’m doing is fending off thirteen foul-tempered and invulnerable giants.”
“I feel sharp,” said Einstein. “And I’m getting close to the Ultimate Spell. Once I’ve got it, he’ll never know what hit him.”
“The Ultimate Spell?” asked Eleanor.
“Watch this,” said Einstein. He raised his arms, closed his eyes, and chanted “E equals NC squared.”
Suddenly all the guards’ pants vanished.
“Damn!” muttered Einstein. “I’m so close! I can feel it!”
“Can we have our pants back?” said one of the guards. “Herr Himmler is a stickler for decorum.”
Einstein shrugged. “I don’t know where they are.”
“We ought to get something out of this,” said another guard. “Say it again and make her clothes vanish.”
“Just be grateful I didn’t make you vanish,” said Einstein.
“You can do that?” said a third guard. “You’d be a handy guy to have around in case we get transferred to the Russian front.”
They came to a massive steel door. The lead guard opened it, and a moment later they were facing Himmler and his thirteen super-Aryans.
“Finally!” said Himmler. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment!” He looked at the guards. “You’re not wearing any pants.”
“Neither are your supermen,” said a guard defensively.
“This is wartime. There are the usual shortages. We don’t have enough material to make pants for them. But you already had pants.”
“Look,” said Einstein. “If you guys want to argue, we can go out for coffee.”
“This is Berlin!” snapped Himmler. “You would go out for beer! However,” he added with an evil grin, “you are not going anywhere. Here you have come, and here you shall die.”
“That’s wrong,” said Heinrich Number 5. “It should be: ‘Here you have come, and here you shall stay.’ There’s a certain poetic unity to it that way.”
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