Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 1

Lee M. Field 3013 Garden Lakes Blvd. Rome, GA 30161 (706) 232-8483 [email protected]

DROPPING THE PEPPERMINT

By

Lee M. Field Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 2

“The chaos of war conveniently hides things we do not wish to see.”

CHAPTER 1

In a stuffy archive chamber buried deep in an office in Washington, D.C., a reporter sits at a metal desk lit by a solitary lamp. The eerie, sepulchral chamber is silent except for the reporter’s calm breathing. The faint glow from the bulb hints at a mane of long hair. His shirt is polyester brown, a shade that doesn’t exist in the natural world. A Steno pad and tape recorder are sitting on the table in front of him. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, shakes one loose, pops it in his mouth. and lights up with flip butane lighter. He exhales and smoke fills the small room.

There is a faint knock at the door and the person on the other side doesn't hesitate before entering. The silhouette of the figure is backlit from the hall lights.

He is wearing an American Air Force uniform. The shoulder epaulets contain three gold stars. On the breast pocket is a myriad of medals. An insignia patch reads

“military intelligence,” a pseudo-branch of the CIA. He is not as calm as the man waiting and scurries inside. The dark shadows obscuring his face, the soldier slams a folder down in front of the seated individual. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 3

It is a common blue briefing file. The soldier nervously eyes the folder.

“That’s it,” he says. “Don't ask me for anything thing more. That's all there is.

Everything else was burned after the war.”

Leaning forward, the reporter opens the file. TOP SECRET is stamped on the front in big red letters along with the file name: PEPPERMINT. The reporter’s breathing quickens and his hands shake as he turns the pages.

“If anyone knew how close we came to losing and what we did to secure our future, this country's credibility would go down the toilet. These were sealed for one hundred years by the CIA,” says the officer as he leaves.

“Then why show me?” asks the reporter.

The officer does not answer. The reporter looks at the page as the door closes. The faint echo of footsteps carries from the hall. The reporter settles into his seat and begins to read.

MISSION REPORT: Dropping the Peppermint

STATUS: Ongoing

AGENT: Unknown

SUBJECT BRIEFING: Eyes Only - (Unknown Occurrence)

America, 1946 Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 4

The woods are deep and dark. A tiny cabin is secluded in the forest, a place where people go to hide. A single oil lamp burns in the window. The small shelter has no utilities connected.

Inside, a man sits in the darkness, hunched over a table. Notes litter the floor as he hammers away at a manual typewriter. A bottle of whiskey and a pack of Lucky

Strike cigarettes are his only companions. A full beard covers his face, the hair unkempt. His body is emaciated. He has deteriorated so that anyone who knows his identity will not recognize him. He trembles as he reads aloud what he is writing.

“They swore me to a secrecy oath, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep it locked away in my head. The deaths covered up to look like accidents, fabrications accepted as the truth.”

His mind is a jumble and he is teetering on the insanity’s edge.

“I have to get it down before I forget; everything is a tangle of lies and misdirection. Even I'm not sure of the facts anymore. The power of God was unleashed upon an unsuspecting population in April 1945 and I was thrust into the middle of it. I trust no one. Finding out the truth depends on whether you believe the credibility of the source. You must give them your faith. These are the unknown occurrences from the end of World War II. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 5

Armed conflict has a way of shattering what little facts remain, making them harder to distinguish from lies or disinformation. Small bits must be pieced back together to form a clearer picture. What transpired in April 1945 is best described as a birth, the awakening of mankind from its infancy. Like any delivery, it was brought into being through pain and suffering, but this child was unlike any other.

It possessed inhuman power, and if unleashed, would bring nothing but destruction. It was the dawn of a new age whose parents were scientists, but not its keepers. Other men with nefarious plans of their own wanted to adopt it.

This is my story, one of many, and these are just a handful of the details.

These people have the patience to wait till the time is right, to gain enough influence to manipulate politicians and governments at will. If you are reading this, maybe you can make sense of it. The world is a dangerous place. Be careful how you judge us.”

CHAPTER 2 Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 6

Thuringia, Germany, 1945

The sun sets on an early day in spring. There is a chill in the air and frost lingers on the newly sprouted grass in a peaceful valley spared amidst the carnage of a million deaths. World War II is in its final death throes. Combat has chewed up the flesh of innumerable souls. Germany has not known true defeat in its 2,000- year history, surviving and driving out the Romans equipped with only crude swords and clothed in animal skins. The Germanic horde, as the Caesars called them, were a barbaric race, capable of only cruelty and incapable of civilization.

The policy of romanizing a people, turning them into citizens following the occupation was not awarded to the Germans. For hundreds of years, the conflict between the nations continued, finally resulting in Rome’s subjugation by the very ones they tried to dominate. That warlike Teutonic spirit rages still, and like those conquerors of ages ago, so too the armies that now occupy their soil will be vanquished.

It is a feeling that a certain Waffen SS officer knows and believes in all too well. Outfitted with a gray uniform and jackboots polished to perfection, he is the archetypal image of a Nazi, complete with scars of battle he wears with pride. He has suffered much for his country and is not going to let his beloved Fatherland fall prey to the mongrel bands of Russians and Americans that surround him. His charge is clear: obliterate the enemy. It was a daunting task, but through years of Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 7 research and the aid of many scientists, he was now on the verge of accomplishing his mission.

He sits in the back of his staff car with a lovely woman, her face obscured by strands of blonde hair falling neatly over her temples and dark sunglasses. On her arm is a red armband with a swastika, and she wears a brown blouse with a black tie and matching skirt of the female Gestapo lieutenant.

Neither of them says a word. They are cold professionals on their way to a place in history, warriors in the true sense, and a fanatic for the cry of battle. They do not question orders. Neither family nor any emotional attachments will deter them from living their creed. Their country is counting on them and they must see the mission through.

They are jostled as the car travels down a dirt road leading out to a small clearing in the forest. The Jonas Valley in central Germany is ancient woodland filled with majestic black pines. It’s as if the spirits of long-dead warriors imbue the surroundings with an iron-willed strength. All that matters is German soil, soil that has to be cleansed with the blood of the impure masses. Only the master race is worthy of inhabiting the world. The more the officer contemplates this, the deeper into his psychosis he delves, putting him in a trance. He swells with pride that the Fatherland has not yet fallen. He won’t allow it to. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 8

The fading light in the woods returns him to the beginnings of the Nazi movement, the torchlight parades and the patriotic drums beating in time with his own heart. The Nuremberg Rally, where the voice of his Fuhrer thundered to the heavens, proclaiming their divine right to rule and conquer inherits the earth. His flesh rippled with goosebumps as the instrument for their destiny comes into sight.

Ahead is a rocket, standing straight as an arrow but unlike any design seen before, whether the buzz bomb or its predecessor. It is larger, more imposing, and painted black with a large swastika in a white circle on a field of red paint on its fuselage. This is the V3, Vengeance, weapon three, codenamed Mithrandir,

Hammer of the Gods. It houses the most lethal killing device ever constructed by man.

He looks at the rocket proudly as his vehicle comes to a halt at the side of it.

Stepping from the car, he smiles with a sinister grin. Several technicians work around the giant machine. Fuel lines pump liquid hydrogen and petrol into its belly, filling the tanks with what the engines need to thrust the huge rocket into the sky. Fumes from the cold accelerant form an eerie fog that hangs low to the ground. Truly a weapon inspired by the gods themselves. With the help of the

Valkyrie, their handmaiden, it will lift into the air and hurtle towards the enemies of the Fatherland. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 9

He feels this test is a waste of time. Better to expend everything on the enemy immediately before they draw closer. Even if the warhead it’s carrying doesn’t work, the ensuing explosion from the fuel cells will take out dozens of personnel. He admires the V3 as a true accomplishment in German engineering and science. When all this is over, perhaps such craft can be used to send men to the Moon and Mars. First, the dirty business of war must be settled.

The blonde woman walks at his side, the image of the missile reflecting in her sunglasses. She too is mesmerized by the sight, awestruck by the glistening black metal. It seems to be alive, breathing as the pumping and filling of the tanks bring it to life. It stands ready for their worship. It has a power and a presence all its own. Soon it will have its sacrifice on an altar of irradiated soil.

A scientist dressed in a pristine white lab coat approaches the two of them.

He carries a clipboard and hangs on to it as if it were as vital to the war effort as a gun. The rocket and what it contains are his creations.

Worried, he quickly steps up to their side. The officer and the woman snap a

Nazi salute. The scientist barely acknowledges with a faint attempt at throwing his hand up. “Hail Hitler. We are having problems with the guidance system,” says the scientist.

The officer doesn't understand. “It is only fifty miles.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 10

“Sir, if the calculations are off by so much as a centimeter, it could fly straight up and fall back on us.”

The officer stares at the scientist.

“Or track to Berlin.”

This revelation does not sit too well. Either prospect is undesirable, but he needs to test the device now.

“What did you say the yield capacity is?”

“We are not sure at this time. The new material inside is untried,” says the scientist.

“Make it work! We have to proceed tonight.”

Fumbling with the data chart on the clipboard and using a slide rule, the scientist makes a few quick calculations. His expression is hopeful.

“Perhaps if we adjust by adding more weight to the fuselage.”

The officer considers the proposal.

“Do not put it on Berlin. We are expendable.”

The scientist agrees and the work to launch begins in earnest. The pumps pour more gas into the waiting rocket and technicians finish working in an open compartment making last-minute modifications to the craft’s inner mechanisms.

They shut the cover and secure it with bolts. Their task completed they reflect for a moment and shake each other's hand taking a prayerful glance up at Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 11 their creation. The gas truck tops off the tanks and a warning klaxon sounds, urging everybody to stand clear and assume their stations. Like rats scurrying from a sinking ship, they quickly evacuate the vicinity.

The officer, the female, the scientist make haste to an awaiting bunker. The structure is buried halfway and composed of thick, reinforced concrete and steel.

Several steps lead down into a confined compartment. A simple viewing port barely five inches deep and two meters broad affords a glimpse of the open launching area and the surrounding mountains.

The three of them fit snugly in the enclosure. Outside soldiers and other personnel piles into a trench dug in the ground. Over a loudspeaker, the operator counts.

“Zhen, neon, acht…”

The scientist turns to a small remote control panel directly beside him. His finger lingers over a large crimson switch labeled ignition. The three of them put on dark, protective goggles. The officer has to remove his cap to place them on.

The young woman manages to slide hers over the sunglasses. Proceeding to count, the operator comes to ten and the scientist presses the button. The earth shivers as the engines start. They are safeguarded from the flames in the dugout as a wall of fire flows from underneath the rocket. Feathering out across the land, the huge columnar object rises. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 12

Suddenly, the missile shifts to full speed, and more fire blows from the undercarriage. It sprays over the heads of those cowering in the ditch almost singeing their hair. Slowly the monster begins to rise. Everyone holds their breath.

Up a foot, two, then more, increasing momentum till it passes the tree line. As if carried by the gods themselves it ascends into the heavens. Smooth as a bird of prey, it lofts then arcs, traveling to its objective, zooming through the early dusk sky.

Exclamations and cheers come from the crowd of operators, but the scientist is reserved. Only half of this experiment is over. The most significant part is to come. The controller maintains the count. In the background, someone switches on a phonograph playing a record of Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyries.” The countdown is drowned out by the blasting music. It seems unnecessary to keep going, but the controller continues. “Sieben, sechs, fünf…”

“Are we safe in here?” the officer asks, compelled by the successful launch.

“The mountains will act as a shield against the blast, but there may be some shockwaves,” says the scientist.

“If the weapon detonates?”

The observation perturbs the scientist. The statement comes from a recent arrival to the bunker. This officer is taller, more sophisticated in manner. He wears the brown coat of a leading party official. It is Reichsminister Albert Speer, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 13 minister of the war munitions program and Hitler's confidant and architect. The V3 launch is his operation. He set things in motion without the knowledge of Hitler’s other experts. This is the future of warfare, and he is taking it directly to the enemy's front door. Not even America will be out of reach.

...

Miles away from the launching is a slave camp scratched out of the foothills of the Bavarian Mountains. It lies in the bowl shape of a valley. Hills with long tunnels surround the camp. The workers are gaunt and wear striped white and blue outfits. Buchenwald inmates serve as the captive workforce. It is only another day in their wretched world.

In the recesses of one of the shafts is Abraham Weiss, a Polish Jew. He whacks away at the solid bedrock of the wall of the shaft, buried in a sarcophagus of iron and mineral ore that he is digging for his captors. He grumbles in the gloom, swinging the pickaxe, breaking off chunks of stone, and tossing them into a pit wagon. The sunlight from the surface barely reaches him. Finishing up on this bit he slings his tool into the mining cart and pushes it along the tracks around a narrow loop in the tunnel.

Outside there are hundreds of laborers spread out over the compound, toiling. A Soviet and American POW are intermixed among them and scheme to break out. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 14

“Come on, there aren’t any sentries nearby,” suggests the GI, a native of

Brooklyn.

“No, de watching,” replies the Russian.

A whistling noise high above their heads grabs their attention. They look up and the whole sky fills with blinding white light. The men cover their eyes, but it is futile. The atoms that make up their bodies are vaporized. In a flash, the camp and the thousands of workers are gone.

Abraham covers his eyes as the dark tunnel is lit by the flash. The earth shakes beneath his feet and a terrible rush of wind blasts through the shaft and slams him into the rock wall, knocking him out. The illumination diminishes to black and the whine of the mysterious breeze dies away as all life is sucked out of the valley. The forest falls still and silent.

...

At the bunker, the red burst of detonation fades into the night sky. The glow reflects in the goggles as the music reaches its crescendo. The applause goes up again. Their new weapon has worked to perfection. Dust blows through the air.

Lights go out in the camp and the headlights on all the vehicles wink out.

“What happened to the power?” the female officer asks.

The scientist doesn’t have an answer. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 15

Speer addresses the female officer. She has not uttered a word through the whole event.

“You must safeguard this secret and pass information as to when the enemy is in an optimum range for us to unleash this on them. Once the Americans and

Russians are crushed we will deliver more on Washington, London, and Moscow.

The enemies of the Fatherland will be annihilated,” says a determined Speer.

The woman salutes.

“It will be done! Sieg Heil!”

The scientist is somber. He looks at the window at what he has done. He quickly closes the control panel and steps outside the bunker, breathing deeply. He checks to see if anyone is watching him and walks towards his research hut. He looks out to the small village behind the camp. All the lights are out in all the surrounding countryside. The pitch-black is disturbing.

The hut is dark inside. No sooner than he closes the door, a voice emanates from the darkness.

“Our material did the trick, didn’t it?” says someone in a strange, invented accent. The person conceals themselves in the shadows.

“Why won’t you show yourself? Where are the lights? ” whispers the scientist. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 16

“Better if I remain a ghost, old man. It’s called an EMP, electromagnetic pulse, something to do with the electricity in the air. It should come back on, eventually. Your trigger mechanism worked. We’ll need that.”

“I hate this unholy alliance!”

“Without us, that toy of yours is nothing but a big firecracker.”

“Promise you won’t aim it at Berlin.”

“Of course not, but make sure the others are duds. We don’t want to drop a peppermint do we?”

He nods his head and the mysterious stranger escapes out a back entrance.

He sees only a shape, half-illuminated by the camp lights, disappearing into the woods.

CHAPTER 3

London, 1945.

Standing in the shadows of 70 Grosvenor Street, Marshall White, a 33-year- old advertising executive turned OSS spy, watches the heavens with keen intensity.

The early morning sky is lit with searchlights, and an air raid siren blasts throughout the capital. Flak bursts spit at an invisible flying target, bent on destruction. Terrified civilians scurry for shelter wherever they can find it. Low Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 17 hanging dirigibles hover over rooftops, providing a shield against incoming danger. The British have endured four years living under a constant threat from above, but the terror approaching them now is unlike any the world has ever seen.

This creature is a mechanized thunderbolt born from science and aerodynamics, a soulless creature that consumes liquid hydrogen and gasoline. It does not care about the lives it is about to extinguish unclouded by feelings of guilt or remorse.

A terrible device that strikes out of nowhere then collides with whatever is beneath it, exploding into a massive fireball from the packed warhead. The V2,

Vergeltungswaffe Two, the world's only long-range guided ballistic missile, the latest technological wonder by a defeated Germany. Created out of desperation, it is a weapon of vengeance, assigned to attack Allied cities as retaliation for the bombings against the Fatherland. London is the main target for Hitler’s rampage.

The machine became the first man-made object to pass across the frontier of outer space on 20 June 1944. It is produced at the Mittelwerk at the Mittelbau-

Dora, a concentration camp. At launch, it propels itself for up to 65 seconds on then a program generator adjusts the pitch to the fixed angle at shutdown, after which the projectile enters a dive path. The rocket attains an altitude of 50 miles after locking off the thrust. The gas and oxidizer pumps operate a vapor turbine.

Steam comes from concentrated hydrogen peroxide with sodium permanganate catalyst. Both the alcohol and oxygen tanks consist of an aluminum-magnesium Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 18 compound. The shell used is amatol 60/40 exploded by an electrical touch fuze.The substance combination enjoys the benefit of stability during ascent, and the insulation provided by a thick layer of fiberglass prevents the possibility of premature explosion. However, it could still explode in the re-entry phase.

Weighing in at 2,150 pounds, 2,010 of which is the high explosive, its flight is controlled by four external rudders on the rear fins. The guidance method employs two gyroscopes for lateral stabilization. A PIGA accelerometer controls engine cutoff. The V2 typically launches from a pre-inspected region, so the distance to the objective is already determined, but the newest V2s use radio waves broadcast from the ground to keep the bomb on track. The first models used only a simple analog machine that adjusts the azimuth for the missile and the traveling time to motor shut down. When that takes place the rocket stops racing up and arrives at the height of the parabolic trajectory.

In its target range, which is all London, is 70 Grosvenor Street, the traditional residence of the official U.S. presence in the capital ever since John

Adams established the original American embassy to the Court of St. James in

1785. The dwelling is on the corner of Brook and Duke Streets. Eisenhower set up military headquarters here in 1942. Mayfair is a wealthy part of the West End of the city at the easternmost side of Hyde Park. It is one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in the world. The area, itself called Grosvenor Square, is a spacious Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 19 garden section. Aside from its unique past, the basement of the building is where the nerve center of the wartime effort goes on. It is home to the Office of Strategic

Services, a secret bureau of the United States that coordinates espionage activities behind enemy positions. Its other functions include the use of disinformation, sabotage, and post-war affairs. These are the divisions in which Marshall is useful at publicity and planning. An advertising execs job is convincing consumers they require something when they don’t. The subversion Marshall’s work requires is fine, but the work that truly gets his blood pumping is planning how to put Europe back together after war’s end and ensure this level of carnage never happens again.

For the moment, his interest lies in the vicious V2s. To him, they represent a future when human beings will travel outside the puny sphere of dust called Earth.

He doesn't delude himself about the V2; his countrymen desire it for its destructive power. But he hopes there could be a civilian arm of the government that may explore its uses in exploration.

He is dreaming, remembering all those times at the cinemas surrounded by children watching Buck Rogers flash across the silver screen. He enjoyed spending

Saturday afternoons at the movies, even if the children's’ mothers thought it odd to observe a grown man amongst their kids as they arrived to pick them up. He wondered if they thought of him as a pervert, but he's no threat, only a dreamer, a big kid, and the world is short on dreamers. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 20

Marshall remains under the covered archway of the front door. Describing all the technical specifications of the missile to himself, wishing that somehow by doing so he can guide it away from the city. He holds his breath, observing the sky, hoping that the pavement he is standing on is not the bulls-eye for the bomb. He is familiar with the features and all the schematics of this modern “bird” and the destruction it can produce. He wonders at the engineering talent it took to design such a beast. The original German classification of the weapon was "V2", unhyphenated, which applies to any Third Reich second prototype. U.S. publications such as Life magazine were running the hyphenated form "V-2" since

December 1944. This terminology has become the standard name. He grins to himself. It was he who had introduced that usage.

The air raid siren is growing louder and the flak barrage increases. The missile is closing in. A young British lieutenant steps out.

“Please, sir, you can’t remain out here. There’s no telling where it might hit.”

“I’ll take my chances. If it’s a direct one, it won’t matter where I'm standing.”

The inexperienced soldier stares at Marshall, guessing this peculiar

American has a death wish. He doesn’t hang around to argue, retreating inside. It would be prudent for Marshall to move inside as well, but he is too fascinated by Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 21 the incoming projectile. From his vantage point, he sees out across the Thames

River. The Houses of Parliament are backlit by searchlights. The siren carries still as the guns stop. Silence reigns throughout the metropolis. The rocket's engines have ceased and it is in a free-fall descent. The velocity of the drop exceeds the sound barrier so it no longer shows up on the radar beams. To shoot at it now would be useless and produce more harm than good. All anybody can do is watch and hope they hear the explosion somewhere far away.

He strains to try and glimpse the monster. Then he spies it popping out of the clouds hurtling to the ground. Pure destructive power manifested in steel and technology. If only he might see the interior workings before it disintegrates. All that force under men's control, his eyes cannot keep up it is traveling so quickly.

An unexpected blast of wind causes it to deviate and wobble, forcing it to come down at an angle. The rocket is perpendicular to the earth and heading straight for the Thames. It overshoots London Bridge and skips across the water like a stone, flipping over without exploding. It floats in the water for a moment then sinks. The saltiness of the upper Thames will lessen any potential hazard of the device exploding, although that same protection will erode the circuitry. It must be rescued so it can be studied and replicated. In his enthusiasm at witnessing this unfold; he fails to notice someone else outside on the other side of the street. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 22

Marshall needs to act fast to get in on the inspection but he wishes to address this dark stranger. He steps from the passageway onto the pavement without a hurry, hoping to keep from startling the bystander. The transient glow of a burning cigarette illuminates the person’s face. Marshall gets only a glimpse, insufficient to tell if the person is a friend or not. As Marshall gets within five meters the man backs into the shadow cast by the building, obscuring himself.

“That’s close enough,” he adds in a hushed voice. “That V2 is a minor pop gun compared to what’s coming. They have a reliable delivery system, but there is more, and you must locate it. Do not concern yourself with the missile retrieval.

We'll grant you all the pertinent intelligence when necessary. Instructions are waiting for you inside. You’re heading to Germany to assess how dangerous the situation is.” With that, the man begins to walks away.

“Wait a second who the hell are you? I won't accept orders from people I don’t know,” Marshall calls after him.

The man holds.

“I’m not just anyone. My code name is Intrepid. We must have someone like you, unfettered by the military hierarchy, who can interpret the unthinkable, not influenced by words and different enterprises. You are ignorant of the facts, which means you are not part of the plot. That makes you indispensable. You'll be given the specifics and tools you need, but you have to figure it out on your own.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 23

“What if I don’t want to go?” replies Marshall.

“You made your choice when you joined the OSS. Besides, I believe only you can find the clues. Don't dawdle. We may not have time.” The man rushes off.

The stillness in the streets after the attack doesn’t last. Now that the threat is over, people emerge from their shelters to go about their routines, returning to the hectic commerce of an early evening. No matter how often he experiences the raids, it always impresses him how peoples could flee for their lives one minute then as if nothing ever happened, return to normality.

But his situation confounds him. An absolute stranger has appealed to him with a mission he can’t accept, with expectations he will do as they ask without question. His orders emanate from Washington. He’s not a field agent, he’s an analyst that consolidates information, formulating the strongest theories and recommendations and giving his opinion on the soundest course of action. Irritated, he returns to headquarters inside the Grosvenor building.

Walking through the massive wood door, the place is abuzz with work.

Again, it is business as usual. The war continues with the feverish activity that occupies most days with mountains of paperwork and reports, exchanging hands a dozen times before showing up at their ultimate destination. It is a miracle the

Army gets anything accomplished. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 24

Heading for his basement office, he gets caught in a rush of additional personnel coming up the stairs. Lieutenant Dobbs, a colleague of Marshall’s, runs into him, causing Marshall to stumble.

“We’re going to join the River Guard to bring up the weapon,” Dobbs says.

“I’ll come with you.”

Marshall begins to leave with them when a large hand seizes his shoulder.

William Donovan, his commanding officer, has him in his grip. He is the OSS, having set up the unit by personal mandate from F.D. Roosevelt himself. He wears two stars on his collar.

Donovan is closing in on fifty but is a shrewd analyst. During the interwar years, he gathered intelligence on foreign dignitaries, traveling in Europe and Asia, establishing himself as a player in global affairs, honing his talents as a fact gatherer overseas. During World War 1, Major Donovan took control of the 1st battalion of the 42nd Division. Serving in France, he suffered a shrapnel wound in his left leg and was blinded by gas. After carrying out a bold rescue under fire, he was awarded the Croix de Guerre but turned it down because a Jewish soldier who had taken part had not been given similar recognition. When this outrage was corrected to his satisfaction, he accepted the distinction. He received the

Distinguished Service Cross for leading a charge during the Aisne-Marne offensive, in which hundreds of members of his command fell. Donovan's men Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 25 gave him the nickname “Wild Bill.” Marshall had seldom encountered the man, so running into him like this could mean only one thing.

“Come with me,” Donovan says, but with only a trace of his authority. He hated barking orders, preferring to submit them as a challenge. It allowed those on the receiving end to feel less intimidated.

He unlocks the entrance to his office and bids, Marshall, to sit then goes to his chair. Folding his arms, he leans across the desk and his face takes on a more sober expression.

“I need you to go to Germany for me. You are to be assigned to the Third

Army under General Patton.”

The order corresponds with what the man on the street said. Intrepid must work for the OSS. Marshall reflects for a moment and entertains asking about what occurred and if it is related, but in the realm of espionage, something tells him

Donovan already knows.

“Might I inquire why, sir?”

Donovan hands him a manila folder bearing his orders and extra instructions. “This is all your pertinent operational constraints and a rundown of all material available to you. There are conduct methods of when and when not to engage in communication and with whom. You are putting on the duties of a common intelligence officer, but you are more. Remember that. Memorize this and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 26 destroy it, understood? You’ll be leaving at 0700. Remember, you’re an American above all else! Do your duty, Colonel, and do not drop the peppermint. Find your confidence before then, dismissed.”

Donovan’s face registers rigid conviction and worry. Marshall gets the impression he is being given a suicide mission, but he does not question his marching orders. Marshall is sure all will become clearer once he is on his way.

Taking the envelope, he leaves Donovan’s office.

It is only one hour till departure. That doesn’t allow him long, but he senses he’s been offered a little interval to arrange things in his brain. He wastes no time and bounds down the steps to his basement office. His orders coinciding with the

V2 attack could mean something.

He hunkers down at his private desk and takes out a notepad of paper and begins to scribble his thoughts. It is a process he uses when struggling to come up with ad campaigns that have served him well. He writes every utterance of both

Intrepid and Donovan along with any other image that pops into his mind. The list of images says, “Delivery System, Pop Gun.”

The delivery system, that’s easy, it’s referring to the missiles themselves carrying munitions. The term Pop Gun is a slang expression for a weapon more powerful than the average explosives within the warhead. But that is broad.

Intrepid said to interpret the unthinkable and military hierarchy. That could Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 27 suggest either the people he’d be working under or the Germans, or both. They wanted him because he is an outsider. He suspects he will spy not only on the

Nazis but his countrymen. That could be the problem since the Third Army is presided over by one of the most outspoken generals America has ever known.

George S. Patton, old Blood, and Guts himself, an individual who despises their allies as much as the enemy. The man’s colorful image, hard-driving personality, and success as a commander were overshadowed by his controversial public comments. His strong insistence on rapid and aggressive offensive action proved effective. While Allied leaders held varying viewpoints on him, he was respected by his adversaries in the Wehrmacht which when he thinks about it could be a true dilemma. His superiors may be concerned about which direction the General is heading. Although he finds it difficult to believe, Patton could sell out his nation in many ways. Through some error, he might be influenced to pursue a path that would work for the Axis cause. Patton’s distaste for the communists is dangerous.

The U.S. and England need the Soviets and do not want to piss them off. They could find themselves pitted against two armies, even with the Nazis practically wiped out. America still had the Japanese in the Pacific. Patton is known for violating procedure when he feels it’s justified and trusts in his superior ability on the front line, even disobeying orders from Eisenhower, which more than once got him into trouble. This is more about the Third Army than the enemy, but the truth Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 28 remains hidden. Another component or danger is lurking deep down that no one is telling him about. He has to figure that part out for himself. All the clues are there, but no one has eyes on the situation to piece them together. That is where I come in.

With the clock ticking he throws what he can in his duffle bag. There’s no time to continue going over the where’s and why's. Given the vast security involved in an intelligence organization, it must be hard to spot or find all the cracks. With the war ending, the wear and tear on the fabric covering many separate places are stretched to the max.

His concern now is what to bring with him. There isn’t much in the office except for his graduation photo from the OSS. He takes it from the wall and detaches it from the frame and puts it into his briefcase. Holding the envelope from

Donovan, he empties the contents onto the top of his filing cabinet to take a quick survey and construct mental observations. Another reason he was chosen could be because his dossier reads like an open book. Marshall’s activities in the corporate world aren’t detailed, but it is well known he has a photographic recall. Sometimes it is a handicap with all the facts and figures floating around from years past he can’t rid himself of. It’s nothing but garbage cluttering up what brain cells he hasn’t killed with vodka and gin at client dinners, award ceremonies, or numerous love affairs. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 29

He can recall his initial day at school with crystal clarity, right down to what color shirt the child in the in front of him in the lunch line wore. It served him well, helping him move up in the advertising business. Now he must rely on it for his life.

The envelope Donovan gave him holds only a single page of the paper, some keys, and several short 35-millimeter film rolls. Unfolding the message, it reads like a grocery list followed by a set of characters. His destination is outside of

Potsdam at the Castle Fugue. The Third Army is stalled there till more gasoline is made available. Next, within his lodgings, he is to find a concealed compartment containing a briefcase transmitter. The operating frequency is three zero megahertz, powerful for a tiny device. According to the instructions it will reach

Washington, D.C. if need be, but the setting is only to be used in an emergency.

After finishing the report, Marshall takes out his lighter and ignites the paper, watching it burn and wondering what he has fallen into. Using the flame he kindles a cigarette and stares at the disintegrating papers at his feet. He examines the keys from the envelope. There was no reference to them in the report or a clue as to what they open. Perhaps the keys maybe a piece of the puzzle that neither

Donovan nor Intrepid could figure out. Marshall senses that he will know what they are for when the time comes. Pocketing the keys, he grabs his bag and steps out. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 30

Passing through the corridor and up the stairs, nobody regards his departure.

He has played a minor part in the war until today. He is but an actor, and he only hopes that no one realizes that he’s ad-libbing his lines.

Proceeding outside the Grosvenor building, he glances back one last time.

He never asked where the driver was to meet with him. It follows they can locate him. So far his movements have been watched, perhaps to test his readiness for the mission. He needs a drink before he leaves and there is a local bar he frequents around the corner. He shouldn’t be hard to track down.

The Lamb and Flag were established in the 1550s. Five centuries have infused the walls with a smell of stale ale and smoke that no measure of soap will ever get rid of. There is a hint of sweat and piss in the air.

As he walks in the door, Marshall collides with a half-drunk sailor. The sailor apologizes for his instability. “Sorry, chap.” Balancing two pints in his hands, the sailor continues towards a group huddled in a booth.

Marshall posts himself at the bar alone. He learned not to make friends keep himself from the misery of their sudden loss. In war, it’s worth it not to have close acquaintances. He holds his arms close, tucked under, as he watches everyone in the mirror over the counter pass. There is another like him, sitting alone in the rear of the pub, giving him the eye. The man keeps his jacket collar folded up as he sips from a full glass of warm lager. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 31

Might he have followed me in? Could that be Intrepid?

Marshall resists the temptation to walk over and talk to him. With his gaze fixed on the individual, he is not paying attention to the bartender standing in front of him attempting to get his order.

“Hey, yank, you want something or not?”

Marshall comes around but does not abandon his surveillance.

“Glass of cold ale,” he says, annoying the fat barkeep, who doesn’t approve of the American invasion. As the bartender steps aside to fill his order, Marshall resumes his observation of the strange man in the corner. His trench coat is the same design that Intrepid wore a holdover from the First World War After the veterans returned to England, the coats became a popular fashion item, so the simple matter he has one on does not mean it is the same man. The man draws up his drink and Marshall catches sight of a valuable ring, perhaps a wedding band.

After sitting the glass of lager down, the man appears to rotate the ring on his finger.

Marshall’s surveillance is interrupted as people pass by. The smoky atmosphere hurts Marshall's eyes, fragmenting his focus. Through the gaps between groups, Marshall sees that a blonde woman in dark clothes has sat down with the man. It could be the uniform of a WAF, but he can't be sure. The man and woman lean close together to talk. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 32

The bartender slaps the ale down in front of Marshall, sloshing the yellowish foam over his coat. Marshall shakes his sleeve, hoping the ale won’t stain and gives the oversized bartender an annoyed once over.

“That'll be two bits,” he says.

Marshall pays him and takes a sip. The duo remains pressed together like lovers. Marshall can’t see the woman's face, but she has a beautiful body. The man produces something from his coat pocket, handing it to her under the table. Could this be a romantic rendezvous? Or is it the clandestine activity of a spy? There is no better cover than to drop off intelligence in plain sight.

Marshall is getting wrapped up in this little affair when somebody taps him on the shoulder. Marshall averts his study trying not to be caught staring. A private stands beside him. “Sir, we have a ride waiting for you,” says the soldier. Marshall drinks down his beer and glimpses back into the bar mirror once more, but the couple has disappeared. He scans the tops of heads seeking to locate where they went with no luck. Doing an about-face, the blonde woman bumps into him but keeps low, hurrying out the entrance. He attempts to apologize but she is gone in a flash. Hoping to see her face, he tries to follow but is held up by the crowd.

The private carries Marshall's duffle bag and briefcase outside to a waiting jeep. Marshall climbs into the passenger side and the lieutenant plunks his possessions down on the metal bed with a thud. With cool efficiency, the private Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 33 gets into the driver’s seat and grinds it into gear and takes off. Marshall holds onto his cap. The city is devoid of traffic, so the boy floors it, speeding through the narrow streets and traveling over London Bridge. Below the bridge, the River

Guard cruises over the point where the V2 went down. Marshall longs to be with them and have a closer inspection. He has been waiting years for the chance, only to have it wrenched away. It makes him ill to his stomach realizing someone else would get all the answers.

It doesn’t take them long to reach the modest airbase at Lockerton. It is small and out of the way, excluded from maps to keep its whereabouts secret. Only covert missions assigned by the OSS and British intelligence launch from here.

The jeep screeches to a halt next to a running Douglas C-47 Skytrain, a military transport aircraft. The Americans refer to it as the Gooney Bird because of its unique appearance. The airplane is the workhorse of the army. Without it, the

Allies would have never made it this far.

The private gets out and carries Marshall's luggage to the plane and hurls it in. Marshall salutes. “Thank you, private.” There are no other passengers, only the pilot in the cockpit. His voice comes over the intercom.

“Please seat yourself and strap in, Colonel. We’re lifting off.”

The private closes the cabin door and a few moments later the plane begins to taxi. Marshall takes the closest seat. Another manila folder is left with his name Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 34 emblazoned on the front in red ink. He opens it. It is his transfer orders and a small note that reads, “Observe and Report.” Anything he finds out he is to pass on to headquarters, no matter who or what it is about.

CHAPTER 4

Forty miles away from the city of Potsdam, Patton’s entire army is encamped around the seven hundred-year-old Bavarian Castle Fugue. Marshall strolls down a covered walkway with a stack of paper in his hands towards one of the castle’s many doors. The power inside the castle blinks and Marshall tries to turn on his flashlight, but the battery is dead. He stumbles up a stone stairway and a strong wind whips up, almost blowing the paperwork from his hands. Following a low rumbling, Marshall feels the stonework around him shudder. To the east, a red glow silhouettes the mountains. It is fading, but he catches a hint of some strange cloud that is fast dissipating. He dismisses it as nighttime bombing from the British and continues up the steps into one of the medieval towers. Reaching a door at the end of a small hallway, he knocks out of courtesy and proceeds inside.

The door opens into a giant office furnished with palatial decor. Standing at the open window smoking a cigar, General George Patton has been watching the red glow in the sky. The room is lit by a large fireplace and candles burning in ornate candelabras. He envisions Patton as an American Napoleon conferring with Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 35 his generals on a battle plan to invade Russia. Something is bothering Patton and

Marshall knows why.

Several days prior while moving through the region to the north of the castle, Patton’s men came across a runway over two miles long and a quarter-mile wide made of concrete and asphalt. The end was sloped upwards at a forty-five- degree angle. What could they be using a launching ramp for? Every man stationed in Europe had heard tales of secret Nazi weapons, months before they had introduced jet aircraft that could fly circles around Allied planes. There is no telling what else they may have produced. A new power structure is being formed in the aftermath of the war, dividing the planet between East and West. The alliance between the Eagle and Bear is fast disappearing. Patton knows this and fears what Stalin has in mind for the future, perhaps not stopping at Berlin when

Germany surrenders but trying to drive the Army into the sea. Patton would love to issue a preemptive strike and push Russia back. Marshall stayed clear of that discussion. So far, it is only talk, but if his commander shows signs of acting on that talk, Marshall is to report to Washington. He’s taken notes for months and hidden them away. They’re only to be used when necessary. For now, the Germans are the enemy, and Patton is a true soldier who will follow orders until he finishes the job. The General moves out onto the balcony to get a better view. Marshall joins him. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 36

“Here is the intelligence you wanted, nothing much, no Russians,” Marshall says.

Patton is preoccupied with watching the glow on the horizon.

“My concern isn’t with the mongrel Bolsheviks. It’s the Hun that worries me,” he says, indicating the redness in the sky. “They haven't been licked yet,

Colonel. I know it in my bones. What do you make of this power outage?”

“The bombing knocked out an electrical plant?”

“Good. It’s about time I have someone who can give a quick answer.”

No sooner does he get the explanation than the lights flicker on. Patton calls for his aide, William Harcourt, a black man who has been with him since his academy days. Not saying a word, William knows what to do and lights Patton’s cigar. Puffing, Patton blows the smoke into Marshall's face. Marshall refrains from coughing.

“Up for another flight, Colonel?” asks Patton.

“Suits me, sir, better than walking,” replies Marshall.

“We’ll need you tomorrow to survey more ground and see what’s ahead. I’m sending out scouting parties, but I want you in the sky.”

Requesting reconnaissance over an already-covered area is akin to asking assistance from the Air Corps, which he despises. As he once stated, “Aerial support makes up for lack of performance in the field and nobody will say that Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 37 about my troops.” Why is he being so cautious? He is an intelligence officer but his commander shields his countenance, aided by others in his little cabal of loyal officers who view Marshall as an outsider. This is fine by him since part of his true mission is to keep secrets from them. It is a wonder the General ever listened to his reports anyway, and Marshall wondered if he wasn't being spied on. So this is

Patton’s strange way of asking for his help.

“The limeys will have another plane waiting for you at that runway we found.”

Patton never liked the British, or was it Montgomery that got under his skin?

They were a lot alike, prima donnas in charge of massive arsenals, two kids too big for their sandbox.

He glances at the photos Marshall handed him and gives them a quick once over then returns them. There is nothing there but open terrain and woodland. The

Germans might hide something down there, but why? Their supplies and men are depleted. The only anomaly is a small road leading into the forest, but that could be anything. It was marked as ambiguous by the other staffers. Marshall didn’t believe it was, and it warranted further investigation. Patton had given him a gift to study it more, this time with a better camera provided by others in his tradecraft.

“Inconclusive. That is a polite way of saying, ‘None of my fucking business or you are an idiot.’ It is my business, Colonel!” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 38

“Not on either, General. There is not enough evidence to point to any threat posed by the Soviets after the war's conclusion.”

That was not the answer he was looking for. Patton wants justification for his, so far, idle threats against their ally. Patton takes the chewed cigar from his mouth dismisses Marshall. It was like most meetings with the old man, frustrating and quick. Marshall has a thick skin. As soon as the war is over, he'll leave all this behind.

His report isn't entirely accurate. There are indications the Russians are not being transparent about their operations. The best he can tell they were doing the same thing he was, trying to unlock and recover secret German technology. It has become a race. What Marshall has found he can't reveal, suspecting there may be a spy amongst Patton's officers. The General is not one to keep secrets, either, so

Marshall has to be careful what he lets him in on for security reasons. Patton is boisterous about his accomplishments and a blabbermouth.

There is a war taking place in the shadows with players that can’t be identified, secret operatives that hide in plain sight and pass messages with a simple comment for everyone to hear. They are skilled warriors who say one thing and mean another. It is a deadly game that has no training ground. The only instructor is experience and therein lays the problem. One slip and thousands could die. Knowledge kills better than bullets. So he had to be careful and analyze his Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 39 every move and a bit of information to act out each phrase or a passing exchange as if the enemy is all around him. It is a terrible strain to be on guard 24 hours a day. He worried that he might talk in his sleep. He had requested private quarters, but that's impossible even for his bosses in Washington. Patton is the king of his little principality in the Third Army. While Marshall is here, he is subject to his dictates.

Marshall is only a pseudo-spy and has to go by the rules, at least in public.

Having no authority, save to gather intelligence, make a report, and then send it along to others who are trained to pick things apart. He assumed that the military saw those of his profession were used to lying and telling only half the story to sell their wares. There was truth to that claim, and maybe it made him an ideal candidate for America's burgeoning intelligence program. Hide everything in plain sight. That’s better than their allies, who are so lofty in their schemes, too caught up in their misdirection.

He had learned a great deal from them. They had more experience in this sort of thing, but from what small contact he had with them, he gathered they were more interested in making a name for themselves than winning the game. They looked down their noses at the poor Americans who needed their help. Most

Britons he didn't have much to do with except for Lionel Turlington. Lionel was typically English but different somehow, perhaps because his mother was an Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 40

American. He was attached to the Third Army as a liaison with Montgomery; so naturally, Patton despised him and kept him out of the loop, which lent Marshall to believe that Lionel isn't a spy at all. The Brits, for all their arrogance, would not be so dumb as to place a person in a position to be denied confidentiality. That wasn’t their modus operandi, having an officer be left out of official briefings. However,

Marshall had never seen Lionel leave the compound unescorted. Lionel complained about his role, calling himself “a useless cog in the wheel.” Marshall recalled when Lionel said his “major function around here was twiddling his thumbs.” If it was an act, he was putting on a good show of it. Altogether, it painted a clear picture of a man stuck and pacing himself till his tour of duty is over. Still, Marshall guarded his conversation with him. He needed someone to talk to; keeping the secrets was getting to him. For appearances, he had to communicate with Washington through what he referred to as standard classified channels, but it was just a ruse to hide his true capabilities of gathering and sending intelligence. It consisted of a rather awkward and almost funny routine and set of variables.

Transcripts are only relayed when a special courier was dispatched to his area, and he would only know they were coming when he received a letter postmarked from a relative in the States. It was clever and silly all at the same time when he thought of his Uncle Samuel standing in for the U.S. government. It presented a carefully crafted image of his job description, an officer performing as he is supposed to. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 41

Adding to the cloak and dagger is the turmoil of war. Nobody questions his actions. America is a newcomer at this but is a quick learner and is catching up fast and getting better every day. He is the sharpest razor on this cutting edge of espionage and he aims to keep it that way, finding and weeding through reports that on the surface help solve the problems of today, namely, the defeat of

Germany. What he's after will affect the world to come and there is a lot out there for him to look for. The conflict is moving to a rapid conclusion and soon that part of the job is over. What concerns him is what comes next if he is to remain within this line of work. For now, he needs to decrypt his notes from the last couple of days and put them in a form of euphemistic language, hidden as simple, matter-of- fact, routine information. For instance, troop strengths and losses in the guise of a bet wagered on the Army-Navy football team or the discovery of receiving a late

Christmas present from an unexpected benefactor. The past forty-eight hours have been uneventful in that respect. The only thing out of the ordinary was the strange red luminescence earlier tonight and the power outage.

Marshall passes along a breezeway connecting the tower to the main structure, then a courtyard entrance that is a drawbridge spanning a moat. The wood is still strong enough to hold the weight of the Deuce and a half Army truck that drives into the enclosure. The area is almost black when the sun goes down in the mountains. The floodlights should have kicked in by now, but they haven’t. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 42

Obscured by the cover of nightfall, he stands out of sight, curious at such a late delivery. Once it gets dark, chow is served and the troops turn in for the night.

Not much goes on after six p.m., so this is a treat. More than likely just supplies or food rations, Marshall can tell by the crates as they pull them out. As he waits, several other guards rush from the supply office. Even though it’s night, he sees by the faint light the soldiers have on rubber gloves and leather aprons. They move with cool efficiency to unfold the rear flap and hop up into the vehicle. The others wait as a long cylindrical metal canister is slid from the back of the bed into view.

Two waiting privates grasp the grips on either end. Whatever it is heavy and they strain under its weight as they carry it inside. A moment passes and they return.

There is a similar crate perched on the tailgate, ready for them to haul in. Coming to finish their unloading, one of them stretches his arm before grabbing hold. When he does his glove slips off and he grasps the handle with his bare hand.

“Shit!” he cries. Unaware of what he’s done, he’s surprised by his partner’s horrified reaction. They get the mitt back on and rush him into the sickbay. A doctor runs across the courtyard and into the office. From inside Marshall hears a flurry of curses and admonishments followed by a sickening quiet. The other troops rush to retrieve the other container and hustle it away. With that, the truck revs up its engine and does a fast u-turn and speeds out of the compound. Marshall Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 43 waits for a moment to be positive the coast is clear then heads to his room to record it all before he forgets.

CHAPTER 5

Marshall is up by four-thirty the following morning, and wanders outside long before morning revelry but not before Patton. On many occasions, Marshall had stepped out to the center courtyard on the first level only to see the old man standing on his balcony puffing on that damned cigar. They were two kindred spirits in that regard, both appreciated the predawn hours to collect their ideas before the approaching day’s work. Today though, his partner in this routine is missing. He guessed Patton to be sleeping in. The war is dwindling and there are no big offensives on the horizon, at least not yet. His command is set on hold while the Russians take the Nazi capital. Their only function, for the time being, is to dispose of what little resistance continues and free the remainder of Germany.

Marshall retrieves a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and flips one out, lighting it and delighting in a deep drag. He enjoyed that nicotine rush first thing, even before caffeine. It dispelled any remaining cobwebs to help him focus. The peaceful reflection is short-lived as Lionel drives up in a jeep.

“Morning,” Lionel said as he stopped.

Finishing his cigarette Marshall drops it in the dirt and stamps it out. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 44

“Damn you’re perky,” says Marshall.

“For once I have to carry out a duty. Jump in and I’ll drive you.”

Lionel is generally not so gracious. Marshall's suspicious nature makes him want to ask why. He assumes there may be a reason but holds that question for later. Crawling in, he gets comfortable as Lionel puts it in gear and rushes out. The wheels bump on the wood bridge exiting the castle. The jeep speeds down the single lane road into the forest.

Lionel steps on the gas. The open-top offers no shelter against the rushing wind created by the acceleration. Marshall keeps a hand on his cap to restrain it from blowing off. Lionel’s driving irritates him. The wind prevents them from talking without shouting.

“I didn’t realize you limeys knew how to drive on the right side of the road!”

“It calls for a respectable Englishman to recognize you Yank's weaknesses.”

Marshall laughs. The thick forest they weave through was only a month earlier occupied by the Nazis. Most of the belligerents were rounded up but there is still the occasional hold-out radical. They have to be on guard. Riding in the dark is inadvisable, but dawn is breaking.

Marshall shared Lionel's anxiety about being cooped up around headquarters. It was confined and cabin fever seized them both. The drive is just what they needed but a little dangerous. They'll be safe enough once they get to the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 45 airfield. Lead elements of the British 8th Corps should be nearby and Patton’s patrols will not be far behind them.

They crest a ridge and there below them is the immense concrete runway. A dozen airplanes lined wing to wing could fit across its breadth. It was designed with something bigger than any conventional aircraft in mind. Sunlight peeks over the mountaintops as they head towards it. Marshall sees a small, single-engine

Cessna sitting on the tarmac with a fuel truck topping off the tanks.

Wheeling up beside it, the two men step out to the waiting attendant, a fresh- faced private without a whisker. Marshall is a little annoyed by the thought of wagering his life on this green kid checking out the aircraft. How could someone almost half his age be responsible enough to run through the procedures list and engine specs? Lionel is likewise dubious but shrugs it off.

“What can you do?”

“All gassed up and waiting to go,” says the private.

“How old are you?” Marshall asks.

“Nineteen.”

“Where’s the flight manifest?” Marshall says.

“I got your search grid coordinates circled in red,” says the private. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 46

From the folder, Marshall retrieves a map of their area sealed in plastic. His flight path is outlined in a marker. It’s not that far away in an open country, no mountains to contend with, so it should be an easy jaunt.

Behind the group, they hear the blare of a truck horn. Turning, he sees two

Army types of transport bearing down on their location. On the side of each is the white American star. Third Army’s scout patrol is arriving. Marshall is a little relieved at the sight. Speeding across the runway, they screech to a stop a dozen yards away. The military is always in a hurry even when they don’t have to be.

From the trucks pour twenty-four troopers. These are battle-hardened foot soldiers; they know their business. A crusty sergeant takes the lead and forms up the platoon.

“Alright, you sons of bitches fall in!” says the Sergeant.

There is no grumbling as they line up in perfect order, standing straight with weapons to their shoulders. They count off as their leader makes sure all his patrol is accounted for. Satisfied, he walks over to Marshall, the senior officer present, to report in. Stopping in front of him he snaps a salute.

“Sergeant Wittenauer reporting in, sir, the second platoon ready is for deployment.”

“At ease, Sergeant,” says Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 47

Marshall looks to the map to get his bearings then gives them their marching orders.

“You’ll swing east following my lead. We haven't covered the area over that ridge towards Thuringia.”

Marshall points to the foothills two miles beyond the runway. Both he and the Sergeant know it is still enemy territory.

“Keep in radio contact. If there is anything suspicious I’ll give you a heads up. Lionel, go with them if you want.”

Lionel perks up. He’s done little for the war effort but now is his chance.

“Thank you, old boy.”

“You won't be so grateful if you get yourself killed. You owe me a chess rematch.”

Marshall climbs into the cockpit. He dons his headset and adjusts his microphone.

“Test one, two.”

From outside the sergeant answers him over the walkie-talkie.

“Roger. We read you, Colonel.”

With that taken care of, he checks his gauges. The fuel gauge reads three hundred pounds. He thumps the altimeter and it floats in the middle of the artificial horizon on the readout screen. All is set. He motions for the crew and other Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 48 soldiers to step away. Pushing the ignition button, a low growling sound emanates from the wings as gas is pumped into the thirsty motor. There is a popping noise as the pistons ignite causing the combustion to turn the prop. The sputtering dies out, and the propeller picks up till spinning half-speed, enough to move the plane forward. Marshall nudges the controls to first and the plane inches ahead. As

Marshall gives the engine more, the plane taxis to the dead center of the runway, pointing due east. With everything ready, Marshall grips the steering column with one hand and places the other on the throttle. The propeller is up to full rotation.

He advances the gear shift checking to make sure the mixture is right. As soon as the plane moves, he performs another visual check. The oil pressure is right on target and the temperature is green. He calls out to himself, "Power available 2300

RPM” out of habit, “Airspeed alive.” The gauge rises to thirty-five knots. Pulling back on the yoke it reaches fifty-five. The engine roars as he is pushed backward in his seat, speeding up to over 140 miles per hour. Tarmac rushes past him as the speed indicator climbs to two hundred. He rotates the rudder, lifting the craft into the sky. He lowers the nose once off the ground for the best rate of climb. Flying higher he circles the airport and sees the platoon moving out.

Alone now, he relaxes. Germany has a park-like appearance with the manicured countryside. Even the woodlands appear to be arranged, ordered, structured, and groomed over a thousand years. The hills roll, covered in green, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 49 with neat patches of forest. There are farms with finely tilled pastures. It is enjoyable being in the air. There’s no one around barking orders, getting in his way. His full concentration is on flying. For a moment he forgets where he is and it feels like he is back in the States, soaring over the fields of Kansas. In his heart of hearts, he would have loved to have been a crop duster, not cooped up in an executive's office, but that is where the money is and he’s gotten used to a certain lifestyle. When most folks were struggling through the Depression, he was living well. Enough reminiscing, he needs to concentrate and be on the lookout for the enemy and anything the enemy left behind.

He prayed they wouldn’t discover another concentration camp. Their existence had been a shock to the civilized world and all humanity. Even the strong, incredulous Patton had been taken by surprise. There were rumors about them, but nothing concrete till the day Third Army had stumbled upon one.

Thousands of unburied corpses and ovens still smoking with remains greeted them at Buchenwald. It was a ghastly sight Marshall won't soon forget. Countless, nameless victims had been eradicated because of their heritage. The last report from his intelligence put the number of dead in the millions. Marshall closes his eyes remembering the gaunt skeletal figures walking up to him wanting food and water, some dying after seeing him. They survived all this time, then in the hour of their liberation falling prey to malnourishment and neglect. How could any so- Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 50 called sane people treat other human beings in this manner? He assumed the entire public had gone crazy, hypnotized by a madman, lured by the promise that if they carried out his bidding their futures would be secure and they would never want for anything else again, giving a false sense of security by justifying murder and mass genocide. It beggars belief and he wonders if that spell is broken. Until the war is over and Germany subjugated, no one knows for sure. Even then, hatred and fanaticism will remain embedded in the human soul.

He shakes off the bad memories and returns to the present. He has to make sure the Nazis haven’t got something else up their sleeve that could reverse the war’s dying momentum. Reaching into his field jacket, he pulls out a fixed focal length 35-millimeter camera. The film inside is a super high speed that affords great resolution. Designed for reconnaissance work, it allows for ease of handling by a single pilot. The military may not get many gadgets right but they did this one.

He adjusts the aperture and winds the film into place, its tricky work while trying to fly a plane. A small ridge is dead ahead, and beyond that is uncharted territory, the heart of Nazi Germany. He hopes most of them have given up the fight. Pulling back on the yoke he gains elevation, clearing the tree line. As he does he scans the valley below. What he sees is hard to describe. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 51

Where there should be green rolling fields there is nothing but scorched debris. The trees lie in rows, matchsticks burnt to a crisp. It was as if some great wind came and blew them down. He begins taking photos with the camera.

Continuing his flight, he passes over an expanse that appears to be the epicenter of whatever happened. A blackened, circular crater radiates outward like an eight- pointed star. There is a sheen to the ground. As he flies lower, he sees that the dirt and rock look melted. He pulls to a higher altitude for another picture. He spies the platoon emerging from the woods and positions himself, taking a couple more snapshots in rapid succession. Cruising away from the region, he ventures further out to get a sense of what is beyond the area of desolation. In air distance, he travels twenty or so kilometers, making a wide circle to get an impression of the landscape, with every revolution outward taking several photos for good measure.

There may be more than trees below. Satisfied he's gotten everything, he heads back.

CHAPTER 6

Marshall keeps radio silence and rocks his wings to let the patrol know he sees them. Wittenauer throws up his hand in acknowledgment. As he looks back, something else catches Wittenauer’s eye. He freezes, holding his breath. Soviet troops have moved into the area. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 52

The Red Army may be America’s ally, but they are a suspicious lot. Maybe they had good reason to be. Just like the United States, they were attacked by surprise but were unable by geography to withstand the German juggernaut. Their strongest weapon had been the severe Russian winter. Its harshness had frozen the

Germans in their tracks long enough for supplies from America to arrive and help them regroup. They have a wealth of manpower to throw at the Nazis, who themselves were running through their reserves.

The roles have been reversed now. Russia is the steamroller and will not stop till Germany is under their heel. Zhukov and his men are loyal to Joseph

Stalin, who has other designs for Europe after the war. Marshall and Patton both know this. The Soviets and Americans interacted little, but when they happened across each other, it was cordial. “They don’t trust us either,” Wittenauer thought.

Much of the history between the two peoples has been beneficial. Lincoln had asked Nicholas II for help during the Civil War and the Czar had sent ships to protect the United States from possible invasion by Great Britain. America had been the first to send food and supplies to Russia when the Germans invaded, so it is a mystery to Wittenauer why they cannot reach a more congenial understanding.

Today looks to be another one of those occasions, tense but not dangerous unless provoked, a Mexican standoff between U.S. cowboys and Soviet commissars. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 53

What are they doing in this location? From Marshall's vantage, he sees that the platoons have acknowledged one another. Wittenauer has moved ahead by several dozen yards. His counterpart, a Russian of similar rank, heads away from the Soviet regiment to meet him. Both have their hands on their weapons, ready for any sudden movements. The Russians have a political officer with them that can speak some English. That component of the Soviet army keeps the troops in line, making them ever conscious of the fact they are being watched by Moscow. The

Americans did so as well, but more subtly by placing “observers” among the U.S. ranks to spy.

The soldiers approach each other. Wittenauer is the first to sling his weapon over his shoulder. The sudden move takes the would-be allies by surprise and the tension increases. Wittenauer understands he shouldn't have been so quick, so he shows his hands in a sign of good faith. The other troops back down from their defensive posture. For the moment, the sergeant has defused the situation. He holds out his right hand to offer a friendly handshake. The Soviet lowers his gun and extends his hand. The men grasp each other’s firmly, both trying their best to make the other flinch by squeezing the hardest. Wittenauer cracks a grin and pulls a pack of Lucky Strikes from his field jacket, the Russian smiles.

“Good American cigarettes!” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 54

The tension is broken by the nicotine. How many thousands of years had men come together over something as simple as a smoke? Wittenauer offers one to his new friend. The GIs behind him fan out to greet their twins from the other

Army with offerings of their own.

“You speak English?” Asks Wittenauer.

“Da, a little,” says the Soviet soldier.

“What do you think happened here?”

The man looks as frightened and confused as Wittenauer is. With a reservation, he shrugs his shoulders. The ground the soldiers are standing on cracks like glass as they shift weight from one leg to the other. There are strange shadows frozen within the brittle earth. Wittenauer points at the frozen ground.

“Is that a man’s shadow?”

He and the Soviet leader kneel for a closer inspection. The dark shape resembles a person’s torso with outstretched arms. A hand with five digits fanned out is visible. Wittenauer rubs his finger across it. There is no residue, nothing adheres to his skin. It is completed fused into the glassy ground. The Soviet shivers.

“The souls of the dead have no place to go if they are taken,” he says.

Wittenauer looks around. There are hundreds of apparitions at their feet, the other soldiers’ pair off, examining the forms. As Wittenauer surveys the rest of the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 55 area, he notices the rock face of the cliffs and hills forming a semicircle around the small valley. There are telltale signs of tunnels carved into them. From what he can make out, the blast has sealed most of them with debris and rocks. He takes his walkie-talkie out and pulls up the antenna, hitting the squawk receiver.

“Colonel, you see all this? Whatever happened, it was huge.”

Marshall glances at the damage then averts his eyes back to the sky. As he does, he sees a plane heading straight for him! He dives, getting out of the way just in time. The turbulence caused by its buzz-by jostles his plane.

“What the hell?”

Was it German? He looks out the window as the other aircraft swings around to make another pass. It is unmarked. Do the Russians have a lookout as well? It arcs high in the air and flies towards him. Marshall calls on all his skills as an aviator to maneuver away. It misses.

“What are you doing, you asshole?!”

The plane buzzes him again.

“Okay...”

As the other pilot is diving, Marshall goes low and performs an inverted circle, coming up behind his attacker. He stays on the other plane’s tail, only feet from the target’s wing. He matches each move. One miscalculation and both Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 56 planes will crash. After a minute of this deadly cat and mouse, the airplane veers off. Marshall sees he’s heading for the runway and follows.

The Americans and Soviets on the ground are distracted by the small contest. They cheer like fans at a football game with each maneuver, each group favoring a different plane. Wittenauer and his counterpart manage to keep them in line and motion the troops to make their way back to the runway.

“All right, calm down. Let’s go see what’s going on,” Wittenauer says.

The Soviet eyes him, but agrees. The enemy is still Germany. He issues orders to his men to follow the Americans.

“Das Sul-Americana.”

Grumbling, the Soviet troops fall in as Wittenauer gathers up his men.

Marshall keeps a keen eye on his adversary on the approach to the landing field. The enemy pilot is skilled, he will grant that. He watches as the man lines up with the runway. In the glide path, the craft is in the exact pitch angle it should be, the wings dead straight. Even Marshall, with his hundreds of hours in the air, hasn’t been able to achieve that. A car waits on the tarmac.

The enemy plane touches down, but Marshall circles the airport before making a landing. The scene below seems a little odd to him as he rounds the outer marker of the runway. Wittenauer, the Americans, and the Soviet troops emerge from the tree line. A supportive crowd will be waiting for Marshall. He unwinds Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 57 the film and places it in his inner coat pocket under the flight vest. This is one item he wants to keep to himself. He hides the camera under the seat. With everything secure, he finalizes his approach. He throttles back, bringing the airspeed down to fifteen knots. Coasting in, the wheels touchdown and he gently skids past the onlookers. The engine idles and turns the airplane towards the small group.

As he steers the plane closer, Marshall sees an unfamiliar general stepping from the waiting car. He doesn’t appear to be field material but rather a Harvard lawyer type whose daddy thought he needed a commission. Marshall has seen his kind before.

Marshall’s plane comes to a halt near the people. He sees the pilot and passenger from the other plane disembarking. Marshall cuts his engines and takes off his radio microphone. With the airplane secured he steps out. The general approaches. As he gets closer, Marshall notices that the man looks younger than himself. Marshall doesn’t hide the fact that he is none too happy with the altercation in the sky. His reconnaissance plans were thrown off. The general extends his hand.

“Colonel White, my name is General Howard. We had a mix up at HQ with the incoming flight. You have my deepest apologies.”

Marshall may not be Regular Army, but he knows the protocol. He can’t just blow up at a superior officer. He must be forceful through logic. The pilot and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 58 passenger remove their gear, revealing a man and a woman. She is a fiery redhead.

Marshall relents, but not before making a point.

“I understand, but the enemy still is undefeated. We need to be careful with our orders and departures.”

The general gives a smug smile. He doesn’t care what Marshall says.

Marshall shuts up because he knows he won’t win the argument. The new arrivals walk over to be introduced.

“Colonel, this is Dr. Clyde Bailey and Lachelle Keating, his nurse,” says

Howard.

“I am sorry for the mix up in the sky. I’m not great with these sorts of things and I thought you'd lead us to the runway,” says Clyde.

“Might need a little more instruction before you take to the air,” replies

Marshall.

He acknowledges the gentle scolding with a nod.

“The doctor and Miss Keating have been sent over from CQ to attend to our well being. They are replacing Doctors Smith and Lance, who are being reassigned to the Pacific.”

“Well, you almost had your first customer, doc.”

“That’s enough, Colonel White. Headquarters is waiting for your intelligence report.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 59

Lachelle moves forward to take Marshall’s hand. The men stare at her and a few whistles softly. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“Colonel, let me offer an apology to you. I was eager to get on the ground.

Flying scares me to death,” says Lachelle in a soft, New England accent.

Her voice is intoxicating.

“Planes are not like automobiles,” he says confidently. “They’re temperamental. The sky is no place to be wandering around.”

“Oh, is that right?” Lachelle says, drawing closer to him.

Marshall smells a rosy perfume from Lachelle’s hair, and just as he’s about to say something else, Lionel edges in.

“Hello, dear, my name is Lionel Turlington, at your service.” He takes her hand and kisses it. Marshall rolls his eyes.

The soldiers pile into awaiting trucks. Their departure is noted by someone hiding in the bushes at the far end of the runway, camouflaged by the shadows and the foliage adhering to his helmet and clothing. He watches through a sniper’s scope attached to a long rifle, but keeps his finger from the trigger, remaining silent and motionless as the trucks drive away.

CHAPTER 7 Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 60

General Howard sits in the front seat of the staff car with his driver while

Marshall and the new arrivals are crammed into the rear. Lachelle is in the middle between the men. Marshall has forgotten what it’s like to have the company of a woman. His wife wrote him off even before he shipped out, having grown tired of the life of the advertising executive’s bride. Marshall was not a loving husband and chased every skirt in the office. More than once she confronted him when he came home drunk from another cocktail party disheveled and smelling of perfume and cheap liquor. He played at romance and lovemaking, but it was meaningless to him. The physical act of sex itself was the reward for all his hard work. In his mind, women should be honored by the experience. It didn’t hit him what he’d had lost till he got to Europe. His mortality stared him straight in the face as if to say,

“Idiot! No one will care if you die here. All you cared about was the almighty dollar and a signed contract.”

His wife loathed him so much that there wasn’t even a “Dear John” letter.

She sent a package with divorce papers and her expensive wedding ring. At first, it angered him for her to be so reckless, but it occurred to him she should have waited to see if he was killed. As a widow, she would get the Park Avenue apartment; his share of the business, and be set for life. It wasn’t her who was naïve; she had plans for the future. Tiring of his antics, she found someone else, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 61 waiting till he was overseas to sever their bond when he was knee-deep in misery.

It was cold, but he deserved it.

The incident affected him so much he swore to himself he'd never take love for granted again. He feels Lachelle’s warmth beside him. Should I make a pass?

Better not with the General in the front seat, besides, I don’t know anything about her. She could be engaged to the doctor. The fact that she has no ring doesn't mean a thing. Those are expensive and the average person can barely afford one. Even if they could, they’d never wear it in a combat zone. Marshall rubbed the ring on his left hand with his thumb. I’ve already screwed up enough. I’ve never taken the time to get to know someone, female or otherwise. He has an intimate understanding of the way people think because of his business, but he doesn’t comprehend the emotions behind them. Number five on the list of things he wants to fix about himself.

Lachelle stares straight ahead as the car rocks back and forth. Not once has she glanced his way. In New York, Marshall would classify her as a cold fish, but she is a professional and should be treated as such. As hard as it may be for him to swallow, he must remember that. If Lionel were here he’d be gawking at her chest.

Marshall averts his gaze looking out at the countryside. The long silence is troublesome. He is used to bullshitting his way through board meetings and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 62 entertaining bored clients. He could still hold his own at the occasional dinner party, but small talk with women is a struggle.

The drive is short, it doesn’t take them long to get back to headquarters. As they arrive the base is a flurry of activity but nothing out of the ordinary.

Lachelle admires the soldiers working in their various tasks. The vehicle bounces over the drawbridge, entering the courtyard and wheeling up to the field hospital set up on the first floor of the castle. A private in a white medical smock greets them with a salute as he opens the car door. Marshall is the first to step from the vehicle and he helps Lachelle out. The private greets them in a long, southern drawl.

“Welcome Doctor, Nurse Keating.”

“Please, call me Lachelle. I hate formalities.”

“Just Clyde,” says Doctor Bailey.

“I’m afraid you won’t have much to do around here. Most of the fighting is over. The Russians are pushing into the outskirts of Berlin and the old man is mad as hell,” says the private.

Lachelle grips her purse tightly.

“What will happen to the civilians?” she asks.

“The same people who stood by and let millions be slaughtered by the Nazis and did nothing? They get a taste of the own medicine,” says Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 63

He watches her carefully, studying her reaction.

“I was speaking as a nurse, Colonel. The innocents pay for the aggressors’ actions.”

Marshall nods, but he still finds their arrival odd.

“You say you've only been flying for a short while?” Marshall says to the doctor.

“I got my pilot's license last week,” the doctor says, smiling.

“Those moves up there and that landing was flawless. Now either you’re the most gifted amateur I’ve ever seen, or you have had military training.”

“That’s very kind of you, Colonel.”

There is an edge in the doctor’s voice.

“If you’ll excuse us, Colonel, I need to get these folks settled,” General

Howard says.

“We have a bad case of the stomach flu in sickbay, Doc,” says the private.

General Howard guides the doctor and Lachelle away to check on the patients.

Lionel rides up in a hurry and jumps out.

“Say, where did the birdie go?”

“She and the doctor went to attend to the sick.”

Marshall sees now how foolish he once was in Lionel's behavior.

“You need to calm down,” Lionel says. “Let’s get some coffee and lunch.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 64

...

The officer's mess in the castle has far more amenities than the average troop chow tents. Trained cooks offer better culinary selections than the strange hash and mystery meat mixture that feeds the troops. Fine china and silverware adorn tables covered with white tablecloths. Patton would not have it otherwise. There is a rumor he foots the bill for his staff's food. It is a known fact that the old man is wealthy, but more than likely it is because he is invaluable as a field commander, and Washington wants to keep him happy. Patton’s mouth may have gotten him in trouble a few times, but his push across France and Germany has been brilliant.

The press, who once vilified him, now praises his military genius. Nothing wins battles like a favorable public opinion poll. It gets people to buy bonds. Bullets kill the enemy, but money wins the war. At this stage in the campaign, Patton is a winner and a cash cow and they plan for him to stay that way.

The General starts his meals at the allotted hour and after fifteen minutes nobody is allowed in. It is ten after twelve as Marshall and Lionel hurry up the steps and into the dining hall. Most of the other officers and staff are already seated and the orderlies are serving. There is a table in the back which suits Marshall. As they make their way to it a server stops them.

“What are you drinking sirs?” asks the young lieutenant.

“I don’t suppose you have a scotch?” says Lionel. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 65

Marshall believes Lionel is kidding but then notices that Lionel’s hands are trembling. Perhaps his friend does need the scotch.

“Two large lemonades,” says Marshall.

Lionel doesn't say a word. He tries to act normal, but something is bothering him. The soldier returns and hands each of them a cup. Lionel takes a flask of whiskey from his pocket and pours it into the lemonade. He guzzles it down quickly and exhales as the alcohol calms his jittery nerves.

“Did the nurse get to you?” Marshall says.

“Not the skirt, old boy.”

Lionel takes another swig.

“I found something this morning.”

...

Lionel’s eyes glaze over as he relates the story.

“We had entered the valley. The others were in front talking to the Russians.

I used the glasses to check the formations on the surrounding hills, which looked to be entrances to tunnels. There were rocks collapsed in on whatever they were extracting or building. They appeared to be deliberately caved in by demolitions...”

...

Lionel walks away from the other troops to the denuded rock quarried from the Cliffside. The earth, mixed with gravel, seems to be fused. It crackles under his Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 66 weight as he walks. He nears the entrance of a tunnel sealed by tons of rocks that have collapsed under some great, unknown force. Bleached white, limestone cliffs form a long wall in a bowl shape around the area, an ideal backdrop for the strange shadows that resemble people. It was as if they were standing there and a tremendous light embedded their shadows onto the surface. Moving up a manmade ramp on the hillside, Lionel passes more mine entrances filled with debris. From what he gathers, this was a deliberate act to hide something. His curiosity is piqued, wanting to find an opening that isn’t closed. He gets to the top so he can see out over the whole valley. What used to be lush green forest has been obliterated.

He then hears a shuffling noise. Grasping his weapon, he moves on. Then there are muffled moans coming from below. A man, what is left of one, comes crawling on his hands and knees from one of the mines. His striped clothes are tattered and ripped. Forgetting all protocol, Lionel shoulders his rifle and runs to assist. Getting closer he notices the individual's color looks terrible and there is an odor of burned flesh. The man’s skin is falling off; he is no more than a skeleton with moments to live. Lionel kneels beside him. He can only offer the solace of stopping a solitary death.

“How are you?” Lionel says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 67

It is a worthless question, but better to keep a positive attitude. The man is chalk white, almost blending in with the limestone. His voice rattles as he tries to speak.

“Abraham... That is my name.”

Lionel retrieves his canteen as he cradles the man’s head. He gives him a drink. Abraham upends the metal container and guzzles the water. The liquid streaks a fine layer of dusty residue across his parched skin. He finishes, gasping for air.

“The sun came out last night,” Abraham says.

“You mean there was an explosion, old boy?”

The man is growing weaker by the second, but he manages a nod. Lionel presses for more information but assumes it was a bombing raid by the Allies.

Abraham is irritated and wants to get it all out. Struggling with each breath he explains.

“Facility… built by slave labor... something big, secret."

The work camp he begins to describe was winding up with its daily routine.

In the surrounding hills, deep tunnels were being carved out. The workers were transferred from Buchenwald to be the laborers. He was in one of the shafts when there was a burst of light that lit up the entire cavern. Then an earthquake and a terrible rush of wind hurled him into the rocks and knocked him out. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 68

“How many bombers were they American or British?”

Abraham shakes his head.

“I heard no planes. One second, life, then everything disappeared.”

“Gone? Where did they go?”

Abraham’s hand picks up a handful of the powder scattered on the ground.

He lifts it into the air and releases it. The wind takes it away.

“Here they are!”

Abraham gasps, and his body shudders in Lionel’s arms.

...

Marshall looks square at Lionel with an odd expression.

“What do you make of it?” Lionel says.

“This man witnessed... Well, what?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Lionel takes another drink and a trickle of blood runs from his nostrils and plops into the lemonade.

“Damn.”

“Better get that looked after,” says Marshall.

Lionel nods and uses his handkerchief to stop the bleeding. He gets up and leaves. Marshall shrugs it off as paranoia. His friend saw nothing more than the results of carpet bombing. It was strange, nonetheless. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 69

Marshall finishes his meal and sits drinking coffee. He sets it down and a private comes to give him a refill. Marshall shakes his head. The boy bends over to whisper in his ear.

“Sir, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard what that British guy said.

There is someone you need to talk to.”

“Why the secrecy, soldier?”

“Please, just come to the kitchen and make it look good.”

Marshall gets the setup. The boy needs him to create a scene as an excuse to go with him. He stands with a start.

“Damn it all, there’s a hair in my eggs! Where is that goddamned cook?!”

The private gives a perfect performance trying to act penitent. Marshall storms off with the waiter in tow. The outburst only garners a slight interest from the rest of the officers.

Marshall bursts through the door continuing to appear disgruntled. He looks around to where he should direct his ire. The boy nudges him and nods his head toward an older female in her late fifties. Marshall’s glare strikes fear in her eyes.

He points to her.

“Come with me!”

She dries her hands and straightens herself up. Marshall holds the door open to a hallway. Together, they march out, not saying a word. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 70

“Mein Herr, what did I do?”

“Not here,” he says. Marshall guides her down the small corridor leading to the wine cellar beneath the castle. He opens the entrance for her and she steps inside. Closing it, Marshall looks around for anybody who may overhear. Satisfied it is secure, he turns to her.

“Sorry, Fraulein, what’s your name?”

“Frau Mueller.”

“Ma'am, the waiter said you had something for me.”

The question bothers her and she’s scared, but she holds her fear and relates her story.

“Sir, I have been a cook here for many years for the Nazis, but I never liked them. They killed my son.”

“Go on.”

“A few months ago, before you arrived, several high ranking generals had a meeting here, including Reich minister Speer. He had two trucks with him and the men unloaded several long crates. The soldiers wore strange rubber gear with goggles. One of them spoke English and had to have a translator. He said something about Manhattan.”

An official who doesn’t speak German with a high ranking Nazi-like Speer?

The mere mention of an American city is concerning. There is more to this. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 71

He nods for the woman to continue.

“A few days later some of the men died. They had nose bleeds and couldn’t keep anything down. I know this because my son was one of them. His skin fell off as if he’d been burned.”

She weeps and finds it hard to go on.

“Sir, there is death in this castle. I can’t stay.”

She tries to run, but he grabs her.

“Please, I need more. I don’t see how each relates to the other.”

“Talk to my sister Helena Fizer. She lives in the town square in Orndorf, 101

Strassen Plaza. It’s only a few miles from here. She has more.”

She breaks free and darts to the door. Marshall remembers the men and crates from last night.

CHAPTER 8

Marshall must make an excursion to Orndorf before he is tasked with another assignment. The area is cleared but deemed of no particular value.

Marshall must report in with the duty officer before leaving, but a carton of cigarettes should keep him quiet just in case he gets detained. His first notion, to stop by sickbay, must wait until the evening. He needs to take advantage of the free time. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 72

The activity is constant in the motor pool below the castle as vehicles come and go. It shouldn't be difficult for Marshall to come up with an excuse to borrow a jeep. Marshall makes his way through the traffic. Tanks are being fueled for another offensive should the orders come through. The roar of the diesel engines is deafening. Among all this organized chaos is the young duty officer, a private first class. Like the men who gassed up his plane, most of the hard work is done by kids. This boy is in charge of million-dollar equipment and a host of personnel that would fill any factory back home. Stateside, he’d only be pumping gas at a local garage, not coordinating the world's most powerful army.

This familiar youngster is always giving him advice on women. Marshall takes it in stride and pretends to believe the boy’s testosterone-filled fantasies of how the female of the species thinks. Little does he know that he hasn't got a clue?

The boy's name is Todd, but he is supposed to keep a certain formality when addressing other men. Marshall isn’t that formal and forgoes protocol. Sooner or later it will get him in trouble but not down here among the ranks. Besides Lionel,

Todd is his only other close acquaintance. Someday he may need to take him into his confidence as a third party. He has investigated this boy from the Midwest, a farm kid who used the war as an excuse to escape a boring life at home. Todd is organized and good at keeping secrets. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 73

Todd sees him approaching and greets him with a warm smile and a friendly

“Howdy.”

“How's it going?” Marshall says.

“Fine, sir.”

“I will need a jeep, son.”

“Can I see your requisition orders?” asks Todd.

Marshall reaches under his coat and steps closer. He pulls out a carton of

Lucky Strike cigarettes. Trying to hide the handoff, Todd places his clipboard over the goodies. He secures them under his arm and zips up his jacket, and then fills out a phony requisition order that will allow the vehicle to disappear without suspicions being raised. Todd rips the paper from the pad and hands it to Marshall.

“This is a maintenance check. As far as you know, the drive shaft is going bad. You were helping me out but got lost. If you get caught, it ought to cover our asses. As long as you're back in a couple of hours, nobody will notice anyway,” says Todd

Todd puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles for a jeep and a soldier driving by wheels up to them. The green soldier trembles at the sight of a full colonel. Todd ignores him and looks at the fuel gauge.

“She’s all gassed up, sir.”

Marshall climbs in then speeds off. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 74

“At ease dummy, he’s gone,” Todd says. The panicked soldier sighs.

...

Marshall flies down the road, enjoying having the vehicle all to himself.

Ornduff is only five miles away, so he should make it in plenty of time to find

Helena.

Topping the rise of a low rolling hill, he comes into view of the quaint hamlet of Orndorf, one of the few German villages that haven't been touched by the ravages of war. Not so much as a blade of grass has been disturbed. The Third

Army swept through the village earlier and found no resistance. Patton made sure that none of his troops looted or mistreated any of the townspeople.

He enters the town by the only artery in or out. Like most small German towns it is formed around a central common plaza with a fountain at the center.

Streets fan out to meet a circular perimeter road. Viewed from above, it resembles a giant wagon wheel. Driving up to the central square, Marshall parks the jeep and gets out. The people are careful not to meet his eyes, an instinctive habit picked up during the Nazi regime. White sheets are hanging from the windows, banners showing total surrender. Marshall wonders if they are just replacements for where the Swastika Blood Flag was once draped. Are the inhabitants sincere in their capitulation? Probably not, but what other choice do they have? For Marshall, it's easy to choose sides. The Nazis are a ruthless dictatorship that has caused the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 75 deaths of millions of innocents. For the everyday German who did not see the horrors committed in their name, they are seen as saviors, their brutal methods a mere necessity. Hitler promised the nation they'd be fed and he delivered, but now he was gone, and once again an uncertain future loomed.

There is no question in Marshall's mind that these are good and decent folk but they have been radicalized and hypnotized after a decade of propaganda. It would be up to him and those that followed to break that spell and convince them of a better way, to open their eyes to the atrocities so they may re-enter the civilized world. Reaching out to Helena will be the first step in finding out exactly what the last die-hard Nazis are up to.

He passes by several townsfolk who head in the opposite direction as he approaches. His German isn’t great, but he speaks enough to get by. He looks to the street signposts and spies Strassen Plaza on the far side of the square. His steps across the cobblestones almost echo in the stillness. Marshall knows the town is full of people sequestered indoors, scared his presence might invoke some terrible retribution. The fear is real, but he senses no danger to himself; he's a soldier trained to know when to be concerned. The ordinary folk caught in the middle do not understand and so remain alert and apprehensive at all times. He must gain their trust and lead by example, showing no animosity and being as much a friend as an investigator. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 76

The address is easy to find. It is on the corner of the block facing the square.

The rear of the structure overlooks the valley towards Thuringia. The ground level of the two-story building is a bakery. Like most small German shops, the people who run it live upstairs.

As Marshall steps in he is greeted by the intoxicating aroma of fresh-baked bread. Patton's chefs are good, but there is a difference between mass-produced food and homemade. Behind the counter is a heavyset baker with flour spattered all over him. A thick mustache covers his upper lip and his dimples are rosy red. If he had a white beard, he could be Santa Claus. He welcomes Marshall with an honest grin and wipes his hands on his apron. He seems overjoyed and grabs

Marshall’s hand, shaking it up and down. Marshall has to forcibly pull away from the grip of his overzealous new friend.

“Uncle Sam, welcome, I’m Carl Hizer. We have baked strudel!”

Carl pours it on strong, but Marshall recognizes he’s a simple, sincere person.

“No, no thank you. My name is Marshall White. Helga sent me.”

“Is she alright?” he asks.

The German understands him which is a little suspicious.

“You speak English,” says Marshall.

“I used to live in Milwaukee. I have cousins still there.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 77

His story rings true enough; Wisconsin has a huge German population.

Perhaps that is why the beer industry sprang up there. Marshall’s doubts are alleviated.

“I am here to see Helena. Helga said she could help me with something.”

“Ah, is that right? Helga, sweet Helga, well, Mr. White…” Carl says. He holds his hand, still covered in flour despite the rough dusting, towards a staircase.

“We go this way, and you see Helena.”

Marshall follows and Carl continues the conversation as they climb the

steps. “We worry about Helga after she lost Willie. He was such a good

boy.”

Their family is close. They’ll talk to one another about this visit. I have to be careful how I proceed. Not give out any information that might compromise me or the Army. The interview must appear routine and not cause any alarm or suspicion.

At the top of the steps is a landing with a common area, what in America would be called a den. It has a couch and an easy chair with a small coffee table.

The walls are lined with photographs, whole generations of the Hizer family on display for everyone to view. There is one special picture of a young German soldier with a wreath over it. Must be Helga’s son thinks Marshall... Carl leads him to a bedroom. The door is open and Helena is sitting by the window doing Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 78 needlework, her eyes squinting trying to thread the needle. The room has ample light. He suspects she needs glasses and is too proud to wear them.

“Dear, this nice American came from the castle. Helga sent him. His name is

Mr. White.”

She turns her head. When she does, Marshall notices one-half of her face appears sunburned. He tries not to stare.

“Hello, ma'am we’re just doing a routine check to see how civilians are holding up and if they need anything.”

“You must excuse my state. I’m having a little trouble focusing after last night.”

“Oh?”

“I have spots in my eyes. Like after a flashbulb goes off but lingering.

Forgive me if I don’t address you directly.”

“Quite all right, ma’am.”

“First, let me say we are not Nazis; we worked for the resistance during the war and helped as many Jews as we could.”

“We thank you for your help. Could you tell me what happened?”

Helena looks outside.

“It was about seven o'clock last night. Carl was still downstairs closing up. I was at this window and there was a gentle breeze blowing in from the east. The Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 79 evening was calm; nothing was stirring outside. I sat down to read the newspaper but dropped it. As I bent down the room was flooded with illumination. I jumped up to see what was happening and my eyes caught sight of what I believed was the sun. It blinded me, and then the light faded quickly. A moment later a blast of wind blew through the window that almost knocked me down. I called for my husband and he came running up. I thought I was blind for good.”

Helena takes Carl’s hand.

“So how many bombers do you say there were, five hundred or a thousand?”

“None, it was quiet. Before it happened, the power went out.”

Marshall remembers his encounter with the strange wind and electrical outage. He finds it hard to believe, but then again he has heard of Hitler’s “Nero

Decree” that all towns and villages are to be obliterated. They can use high ordnance demolitions explosives to do just that. The facility that was destroyed may be an attempt to hide more evidence of the final solution. The indications of burning and the charred shadows might have come from incendiary bombs coupled with a huge amount of TNT which destroyed the place and its occupants. His assumption fits the available facts and that is what he’ll report to Washington for now.

He has all that he came for, more pieces to an expanding puzzle. Time is short and he needs to return to base. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 80

“Thank you, ma'am, I hope when this war is over Germany will be a strong ally and friend, but we have to move beyond this. If you have any more information, you should tell me now.”

Helena looks to Carl before she speaks.

“There are rumors of a secret alliance, but it is guarded by the Ver Wolfen, or as you may call in English, Werewolves.”

“Wolfmen?”

“Not the mythological sort, but a euphemism for people just as deadly and fearsome. They are an elite band of the SS that has broken from the main army, fanatics that use a drug called methamphetamine to enhance their legions, making them ruthless. From what I’ve gathered, they formed before the invasion of Poland.

Why I am not sure. Perhaps they knew Germany could not sustain a drawn-out conflict. I'm certain what they envisioned was more long-term, a secret guerilla war that would outlast this one. They seek to form partnerships in the scientific, military, and political arenas to undermine alliances already in place behind the backs of the Nazi high command. They didn’t trust Hitler, or else they were using him. Patience is their strongest trait. They wait till everyone’s guard is down then strike. I understand this sounds bizarre, but the Nazi elite fear them. Most generals have resigned themselves to the fact that the end is near. They do not want any more bloodshed. It has become such a concern that Nazis wishing to run away and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 81 hide from their crimes have units out looking to infiltrate their network to foil or stop any of their plans. This may, in turn, hinder their escape. These ranking officials have huge bank accounts plundered from the Jews and wish to keep that information hidden. The Werewolves want those assets to remain in the fight, bankrolling other projects that were abandoned by Hitler. He was Germany’s worst enemy for not exploiting new technologies. It is said they have an ultimate weapon and spies that even the Gestapo hasn't been able to ferret out. Their true identities are so cloaked in secrecy that some have come to believe they don't exist at all.”

They are an unknown group of secret soldiers’ codenamed “Werewolves?”

“You spoke of covert alliances with whom?” Marshall says.

“That I do not know. Somehow, I have remained hidden from them, but I fear after what I witnessed last night that they may win. Most of us in the resistance disbanded after the Americans came. I only found out about the

Werewolves’ existence a few days ago. We had an operative in the high command and they left this for me at one of our drop sites. We maintained our animosity from the other members as a precaution.”

She hands him a document that reads verbatim what she told him, but there is something else about the paper. As he examines it he sees a watermark. When held up to the light, the paper has a family crest on it.

“May I keep this?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 82

She agrees.

“It’s very admirable of you to come forward.”

Unless I’m being played, is this some setup? No, I have to trust them, but I must be on guard. If I turn up missing, more Americans will come looking for me.

From what I’ve been told they don’t want to draw attention to themselves yet. It’s clear something is in the works, but I need more concrete information, not speculation.

He pockets his notes and the document. Helena stops him before he leaves.

“I cannot be involved anymore, but if I were you, I would follow the money.

Be careful at night, the Werewolves can see in the dark. They have special goggles called Vampyres which give them night vision.”

Damn, another secret device? Helena is a wealth of intelligence. I wish I could stay and learn more.

“You're aware that I can offer you protection,” Marshall says. “I'll take you back to the castle. You’ll be safe there.”

“No. I would be marked. There may be spies lurking around which we do not know about. Events are unfolding fast; everything you say and do is to be guarded so as not to let on you know about them, else they might move their timetable forward. You must wage your war in secret. You're a smart man,

Marshall. I’ve been watching you for some time.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 83

With that Helena shuts up and Carl hands him a bundle filled with bread.

Marshall knows not to say another word and departs.

Outside the shop, he has to keep himself from rushing away. He is in the game now and has to make a good show of it.

Marshall makes his way to the jeep and places the loaves in the backseat then takes out a cigarette. He has to steady his shaking hand to light it. For the first time in a while, he feels vulnerable. How long has she been watching him? It dawns on him that Helga is one of them, or maybe a sympathizer. This may be disinformation to throw him off track, but his gut tells him no. Why would an almost blind woman fabricate such a story and give up valuable details of a covert conspiracy within the Nazi hierarchy?

Waiting long enough for anyone watching to believe he’s only a GI out to buy bread; Marshall gets into the driver's seat and cranks the jeep. He circles the fountain and heads out of town. Again the road is deserted save for the occasional civilian farmer on a wagon pulled by emaciated horses. The sun goes down in this mountainous region fast. It turns to dusk by four o'clock in the afternoon. By five it'll be pitch black. In the states about now, there are still several hours of daylight.

He has much to consider before returning and can’t waste a minute. He must risk using the hidden radio. He was instructed not to use unless necessary as the signal might be picked up by the Army’s dispatchers in the castle. These signalmen, as Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 84 they are called, never sleep, with three shifts monitoring communications. Unlike his plan to develop the film later that night to avoid detection, he needs to transmit his message earlier. Hypothetically, the transmission will be intermixed with other radio traffic and get lost.

Marshall contemplates the report when he puts through his call. He’s not worried about answering for his absence as Todd has that covered. If his luck holds out, no called meetings have been issued. His boss is known to do that to keep the men on their toes. He’ll just have to cross his fingers. How is he going to disseminate all the intelligence Helena gave him into a quick briefing and relate her feelings that a plan is in motion, one that is set to coincide with the American and Russian armies approach to Berlin? She had not said this in so many words but that is what he felt she was getting at. He tries to repeat it to himself to see if it makes any kind of sense. In his mind, he reasons it out.

“There is an organization of fanatical, cunning Nazis that broke away from the High Command to form their plans for defeating the enemy. Since before the war, they have formed secret alliances to fulfill this goal. It is rumored they have money hidden in Swiss bank accounts and have used such funds to create new weaponry. It is not clear if their agenda is to include the Wehrmacht or proceed on their own. From what I have found so far, even Hitler does not know of their Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 85 existence, but they wish for Germany to prevail with or without him. The group goes by the codename Werewolves. My source told me to follow the money.”

Luckily, he has a photographic mind and years of practice writing advertising copy for products. Before the war, he never dreamed that coming up with catchphrases and basic bullshit for merchandise would come in handy, but it did. Maybe that’s another reason he got the job, to paraphrase vital information so people will remember it. Helena had helped him with that in the simple statement,

“follow the money,” which summed up all he knew at this point. He has a vague sense of the timeline and objectives, but nothing more. There is no solid evidence to tie the Werewolves to an explosion the night before in Thuringia or even prove one had occurred. All he had was that it was big and bright and a camp was destroyed.

That’s it he slams on the brakes, the place where Lionel found the survivor.

From what he said, Abraham had been in an underground tunnel, so that meant there had to be another entrance farther from the explosion site. There could be a mine shaft that remains accessible. For a moment he entertains the thought of trying to find it but daylight is fading fast and he doesn't need to be out at night alone. He gets a creeping sensation that says to play it safe and not dig too deep.

I’m an officer in the intelligence community. Safety is not a concern; information is. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 86

He reaches into the glove compartment and retrieves a map to get his bearings. The Jonas Valley sits in the middle of the Thuringia region. From

Lionel's account, the man emerged on the other side of the mountain range that rims the canyon. Guessing, Marshall pinpoints a possible location. He can’t be sure, but that is what he’s here for. If the Germans were indeed testing a new weapon, why destroy the camp unless there was something else hidden there? The spot isn’t more than five miles away. With any luck, he can reach it with enough light left to make a preliminary investigation. He is taking a chance on a reprimand or worse from Patton for leaving without permission, but better to learn what is going on first. It could save all their lives. His mission is far more critical. As

Helena said, he has to wage his battle in total secrecy. No one must know what he is doing. He drives on.

CHAPTER 9

The route on the map is well marked. The US Army Corps of Engineers

Geospatial Center manages all topographic field maps and they are damn good at their job. To Marshall, it seems every bush and tree in the region is indicated. The road shows no evidence of any combat activity and no indications of heavy traffic or armaments. If the Werewolves had been through here, might they have moved Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 87 whatever they were working on and covered their tracks? He looked at the unpaved earth that ran alongside the lane to see if there were any ruts. There is nothing but soft grass, undisturbed.

It is perplexing that such a vast open space has been devastated by an explosion if no one heard bombers overhead. No heavy equipment was delivered into or out of the valley, so how did the bomb or TNT get here? Had the area been booby-trapped with explosives over time? Was it a V2 rocket launched from elsewhere? The V2s are virtually silent as they fall back into the atmosphere, but a hundred such rockets couldn’t cause the damage he saw from the air earlier. The puzzles and questions grow.

The road runs just along the edge of the ridgeline there is nothing but rock and denuded earth where trees once stood. What great force reached over the mountaintop and flowed over this landscape, turning it into a barren wasteland?

The destruction is awful, but it makes the task of finding the mine entrance simpler. He stops the jeep near the spot on the map. He can’t be one hundred percent certain that this is the place, not by visual reconnoitering alone. Taking out his compass, he checks the coordinates and they line up. Somewhere around here is where Lionel came across Abraham. The light is fading and dusk is upon him, he must be quick. He takes into account that the man was in terrible condition and couldn’t crawl very far and starts a circular search pattern. It doesn't take him long Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 88 as he starts up the hillside. Stumbling over the loose gravel he spies a small crevasse, the beginnings of a breakthrough. This was the end of an unfinished tunnel that leads through this small hill. This is where Abraham emerged from.

The earth and rocks are loose and he has to support himself by bending over to keep from slipping downwards. The crack is larger than first surmised, big enough for him to slip through. He takes a flashlight off his field belt and clicks it on. There are indications of an unfinished mine track; the crossties have been fitted into position but no iron railing. The wood is rotting. The tunnel is large but appears to widen. The only illumination comes from the entrance. There is scant evidence of excavation. It appears that this is but a small part of a vast underground network. After several yards in, he notices the walls are smoother and more finished. There is a strange shine to them. He leans forward for a closer examination. Veins of nickel streak through the granite surface. Could this be a storehouse for looted treasure? There are no signs he can tell of mining. He dismisses the idea that the Nazis overlooked the ore or that it was ignored. More investigation is required.

Turning a corner the shaft opens to a larger area. The floor here is concrete. He steps off the rocks and onto the slick surface. There is a workroom in the darkness, an engineering complex. There are draft tables everywhere and the room is littered with shredded paper. Whatever was going on down here, they destroyed it. Or was Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 89 that to throw intruders off track? The occupants seem to have taken great pains to hide the space while leaving it accessible. There must be more hidden within these walls.

As Marshall walks, his footsteps echo. Suddenly, the sound is different, hollow. He is standing on a round trapdoor. The handle is a flat iron lever molded into the surface. Marshall bends down and lifts. It is unlocked. The door is heavy and he must use both arms. Rotten air rushes out of the chamber. The hatchway is on a hinge and lies flat when sealed. Marshall picks up his flashlight to inspect the hole. There is a metal ladder that leads down. Summoning his courage, he begins the descent. The foul odor grows stronger. Marshall’s imagination begins to race with the possibilities.

Reaching the bottom, he scans the enclosure. It is devoid of any furnishings.

There are boxes of food rations stacked next to the wall, along with other crates that are unidentifiable. What is that awful smell? In the corner, there are three bodies huddled together. One is collapsed near a wall safe. All three are dressed in the blue striped outfits assigned to concentration prisoners, but they do not appear to be malnourished and are nicely groomed. None of them are bloated or decomposing in the least. Marshall inches forward, taking out a handkerchief to cover his nose. He bends and lifts the arm of one of the men. Rigor mortis hasn’t yet set in. They have been dead twelve to fifteen hours at the most. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 90

The man nearest the vault is wearing an expensive watch. Marshall rolls the man’s sleeve up to check the inside pit of his upper forearm. On it is a tattooed pentagram with the Schutzstaffel abbreviation. He’s seen the standard SS insignia before on ordinary militia but this is a special marking. A pentagram is a different form of identification. It is popularly the sign of the devil, but in fifteenth-century

Germany, it was also the mark of the wolf. These are not Jewish camp inmates but persons of importance in hiding, members of the Werewolves. This is a bunker designed and built in a hurry without planning. From what he can tell, these were rich men planning an escape. It is unlikely they were suicides. There are no ventilation shafts in the chamber. Given the absence of any outward signs of trauma like bullet or knife wounds, they must have suffocated. Something frightened them enough to stay down here, even at the cost of their lives. Whether through miscalculation or threat, they simply ran out of oxygen.

Marshall feels around in the open safe and retrieves a folder. Inside there are several photographs. A few are of blueprints for a heavy bomber resembling a giant wing. Marshall freezes at the last picture. It is an aerial shot of Washington. It is overlaid with concentric circles with the Washington Monument at the center.

Each circle has a mile radius diameter measurement. From the midpoint, it reads half a kilometer. An estimate is written that says “total destruction.” The next circle measures a radius of 1 kilometer, “Half destruction.” The Nazis haven't Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 91 enough bombers to complete such a mission or even reach the coast of the United

States. This must be an old estimate, an objective the Nazis were planning early but never implemented.

On further inspection, he finds a diary written in German. He takes everything and pockets it; he must wait till he returns to do any more research.

He'll need an interpreter for the diary. He remembers Helga’s saying that one of the men she saw with Speer mentioned Manhattan. Marshall needs to move fast. If he’s discovered dead Werewolves some of their compatriots might come looking for them. There’s always a chance they went missing and took secrets the others may want to be returned. A larger, more detailed investigation will have to wait.

After climbing the ladder Marshall closes the trap door. As he does the flashlight quits working. The blackness is complete. He feels as if he is swimming in ink and has no depth perception. It disorients him and he loses equilibrium. With arms outstretched, he gropes through the void the best he can to no avail. He senses a panic attack coming so he slows down and breathes deeply. He tries to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The soundless vacuum is disturbed by the noise of footsteps. He grabs his gun, but that is pointless since he can't see to aim. He fears the Nazis have returned to find their missing men.

The beam from a flashlight breaks around the corner. His vision focuses on a clearer delineation of the sides of the tunnel. They aren’t very far away, but he’s Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 92 disoriented and helpless. His heart pounds as every muscle in his body tenses with anticipation, unable and unwilling to move. Maybe if he stays still, they will not find him. Marshall has gone the entire war without being put in mortal danger, but now it’s occurred twice in one day. It is Time to face the unknown and swallow the fear. They are approaching his position fast. A flashlight catches him right in its beam. The sudden brightness causes him to squint and he attempts to shield his eyes as a gesture of surrender. He gulps hard, anticipating a bullet.

“Colonel, Is that you?”

It’s Todd. Marshall sighs in relief and lowers his pistol.

“How'd you find me? What are you doing here?”

“Weren’t hard, you said you were heading into town, so I went looking.”

Marshall nods. Was I that obvious broadcasting my whereabouts? A little slip like that could have gotten me killed.

“Sir, we got to be getting’ back.”

Todd leads the way, but Marshall hesitates. I didn’t tell him where I was headed. Could the boy have guessed where I was going? Am I being paranoid? He tucks the thought away. Being alone in the dark is an invitation for trouble, but what if Todd is a spy? He could have an armed contingent outside ready to pounce.

The Army was infiltrated by Germans impersonating Americans in the past. Could

Todd be a deep mole planted to keep an eye on the spies? Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 93

Marshall grips his sidearm as they squeeze through the opening. There are only two jeeps parked outside. Night has fallen as the men get into their vehicles and drive off.

The lights of the castle glow as they round a bend in the road. Not much further and they'll be safe behind its walls. Marshall must then set about getting information and instructions from Intrepid.

CHAPTER 10

As Marshall and Todd pull into the motor pool, troops are still hard at work doing maintenance. The two men are overlooked as they park. Neither says a word.

Marshall gets out and strolls towards the castle. At least he won’t get reprimanded for taking a vehicle. He checks the folder and diary in his inner coat pocket, making sure they are tight against his chest so as not to be apparent. He hopes his absence has gone unnoticed as he walks up the small road entering the courtyard.

Two military policemen guard the entrance and ask to see his identification.

Marshall hands them his ID card and after a quick check, they return the credentials and salute. The inner quadrangle is largely idle as it is closing in on dinnertime. It’s not mandatory to attend at night; Patton prefers the breakfast and lunch hours to have his officers around him. The evening meal is more social, or Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 94 really, political. Unless Marshall is so ordered he won’t go. Even if does, the general will probably be oblivious to his presence.

As he smokes Marshall watches everyone hurry about their respective duties in the twilight and the clock on the bell tower ticking towards six. The second-hand moves to the straight-up position and the bells chime. No one approaches him, so he guesses he dodged that bullet. He takes a long drag and sees Lachelle standing outside the medical office having her smoke break and looking haggard. Marshall drops his cigarette, stamps it out, and walks over. He is nervous as he nears her; this has never happened before. He fumbles to get the words out. “Nice night.”

Lachelle is lost in quiet contemplation. Marshall begins to back away.

“No wait,” she says. “Sorry, long day.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Her dainty fingers bring the cigarette to her mouth. There is blood on the edge of her hand.

“No, a healthy person is a welcome sight.”

“Problems in the medical unit?”

“So many deaths, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

“How do you mean?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 95

“A few of these men have the strangest symptoms. They're suffering nosebleeds and can’t keep anything down. Most I give bicarbonate and send them on their way. Your friend, Lionel he’s not doing well.”

Marshall’s heart jumps up in his throat.

“Lionel? He was fine just a few hours ago!”

He bolts past her into the doors of the sickbay. All the beds are empty save for one towards the rear of the room that has a privacy screen. Doctor Bailey comes from behind the screen, scribbling on a chart. He looks up his and

Marshall’s eyes meet. Bailey is dour as he steps towards Marshall.

“Turlington’s kidneys are shutting down. Most of his organs are barely functioning.”

“Is it contagious?” asks Marshall.

“He doesn’t have a fever. He appears to have been exposed to something.

The other men show similar symptoms but to a lesser degree.”

“What about the other soldier? How’s he?”

Bailey looks up at him from the chart.

“What other men? Turlington is the only person in sickbay.”

“Last night a GI was handling a crate and his glove slipped off. The other doctors rushed him in here. The orderly told you of a case of the stomach flu you needed to look after. Perhaps that was him?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 96

Lachelle speaks from the door of the sickbay.

“We treated that man and he left.”

Marshall considers this and looks back to Bailey.

“Can I see him?”

“Should be okay,” Bailey says.

Marshall steps around the screen and is immediately shocked. In a matter of hours, Lionel has lost all his hair. His skin is a pale gray; he has the mark of death.

They allowed him the dignity of keeping his uniform on. Marshall sits on the edge of the bed.

“Getting to go home before you, old man,” Lionel says, blackly.

“You're not going anywhere till we finish that chess game.”

Lionel attempts a grin but a racking cough stops him. He arches in agony.

He covers his mouth with a handkerchief. It becomes full of blood and mucus. He continues to hack and nurses run to Lionel’s aide, pushing Marshall aside.

“You need to leave, Colonel. We’ll take care of him,” the lead nurse says.

The sincerity in her voice convinces him to bow out and let them proceed. There is nothing he can do except finding out what’s killing Lionel.

So far there are more questions than answers, no hint at the big picture. If there ever was an emergency to use the transmitter, now is the time. Everyone is at dinner, so he's safe disappearing for a while, but he’s been gone all afternoon, so Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 97 he at least has to make his presence known. He’ll walk by the mess hall so that other officers will get a glimpse of him.

Climbing the steps in the castle, another idea occurs. If the Americans are getting sick, so are the Russians. It might behoove him to attempt contact, but how? He can’t just march into their camp; he has to arrange a meeting. He remembers seeing the troops conversing with the Soviets. That will be a place to start. Wittenauer is a seasoned veteran. If anyone can get through the lines, he can.

As Marshall ascends the steps, he runs into Wittenauer. Wittenauer doesn’t appear to be in any hurry and salutes Marshall as they cross paths on the stairwell.

“Hold up a moment, Sergeant.”

“What can I do for you, Colonel White?”

“Let’s step into the hall,” Marshall says.

Wittenauer follows Marshall.

“What’s the matter, Marshall?”

“Will you arrange something for me and keep it quiet?”

“Of course.”

“Some of your men have gotten sick, haven’t they?” asks Marshall.

“They have and so have I. Must be some kind of bug going around.”

“Possibly, but you may have been exposed to a substance on patrol this morning. I need to speak to the Russians to be sure. Can you arrange that?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 98

Wittenauer steps closer, looking Marshall straight in the eye.

“Oh, is that all? Are fucking kidding, Colonel? You realize how the old man is about the Reds. He’d have my stripes if he found out.”

“Please, Sergeant. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Just you and me that's all.”

Wittenauer sees the seriousness in Marshall's eyes and gives in with a groan.

“Tonight after lights out I’ll come to get you, but if we’re caught, there’ll be a court-martial for sure.”

The Sergeant doesn't say another word and stomps off. Marshall continues to his quarters. The halls are empty with most everyone eating, so he slips in unnoticed. Locking the door is inadvisable. Patton is a stickler for this. Marshall wishes for the privacy, however, and if he hurries no one will notice or care. His concern is more of a habit than a necessity to make certain that the closet hideaway is secure. If he came out of his little hiding space and someone saw him it would lead to questions that might blow his cover. Better to have them knock and have to make an excuse. He won’t have to worry about that until 6:30. That leaves 25 minutes to get everything done.

He steps into the closet and closes the door. Behind his clothes is a panel that looks to be part of the enclosure. It is pressure sensitive so all he has to do is apply weight. The panel folds back into the wall, opening wide enough for him to Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 99 squeeze inside. He has to duck but once inside he can stand up. The panel automatically closes behind him. The tiny corridor is cramped, not meant for comfort but as a getaway. He shimmies in a few feet; it opens into a wider area.

There are a small stool and wooden crate where he sets the transmitter. He positions the flashlight over to the side, lighting the front of the machine. It takes a moment for him to recall the procedure as he has only practiced it once before during training. His call sign is 0100, but he still has to give a password. Setting the dial to 1210, his ex-wife’s birthday, he never could remember it when they were married, he puts on the headset and presses send on the microphone handset.

With a crackling noise, the radio comes to life. Marshall adjusts the frequency to clear it up. He knows not to say anything till they respond. The less time he is on the airwaves, the better. There is a long pause before someone answers on the other end.

“Report,” says the voice.

Marshall’s nervousness causes all his rehearsing to slip from his head. Collecting himself, he begins.

“Believe covert enemy operation underway. Not part of the general Nazi strategy. Party involved codenamed ‘Werewolf.’ Source tells me to watch for money transfers to Swiss accounts. Looking for more intel for a better picture,” says Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 100

“Will advise, anything else?”

Marshall waits, he fiddles with the diary in his pocket. He should tell them about it but holds back.

“Yes. Mysterious illness broke out among troops, caused by exposure to yet unknown material, still investigating. Make contact again at zero six hundred hours tomorrow, should have something by then over.”

There is a squelch as the nameless, faceless voice signs off. The whole message lasts less than a minute.

With a few moments to kill, Marshall opens the book to examine it further.

It is white, leather-bound, with a tiny lock on the front cover. Easily picked with his small pocket knife, in a few turns, it pops open. Signed on the inside sleeve is the name Kammler, but the handwriting does not look like a man’s. It is daintier, more feminine. It is dated November 12, 1938, beneath the signature, but that is all that he can read; the rest is written in old Hebrew intermixed with German. Being in advertising he is familiar with different tongues but cannot translate complex writing. From what he sees, the text is made up of a mixture of several languages.

There is no way to decipher it without a linguistics expert or someone who at least recognizes phrases. Marshall would have to check around camp to see if he could find such a person. He could have chosen a dead drop to leave the diary and have it analyzed somewhere else as that is what he is supposed to do, but something tells Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 101 him to hang on to it; there is an element of time here, and he is the one closest to what little information there is. Speed is of the essence and he must find out the facts soon. He has committed himself to fight this unknown war that Helena spoke of. Marshall resolves to get to the truth what is going on no matter what. His friend is dying, and he owes him that much.

Marshall flips through the pages and sees calculations scribbled on every page but they are gibberish. Maybe I could jot down an equation and inquire about it with the medical personnel? He takes out his small notepad and turns to a particular formula and jots it down. With that done he has to hide the diary; he can’t keep carrying it with him. Even though he trusts this room is secure, he needs added protection. Looking around, he notices some of the mortar holding a stone in the wall is crumbling. With his fingertips, he tries to pries it free. It does not take a lot of effort, and he pulls it from its socket. The hole is large enough for the book to fit inside. He replaces the rock and wets his fingers with his tongue to smudge the edges around the stone and give the appearance that it hasn’t been moved.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he slips out of his tiny hideaway.

CHAPTER 11

Before he steps from his room, he checks the hallway to see if it is clear. He doesn't want to walk out and have someone catch him off guard. He cracks the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 102 door and pokes his head out. It is devoid of any activity. Marshall walks out and jumps down the stairs. He hasn’t been gone that long so he should not have attracted any attention.

As he rounds the corner, he almost bumps into Lachelle, who is being accompanied by General Howard.

“Evening, Colonel. How goes Army intelligence?” asks Howard.

“Always finding more intelligence and passing it along,” says Marshall.

“The Germans are done, my boy. It’s the goddamn Russians we need to worry about.”

Howard is only voicing the general sentiment of the officer corp including

Patton. But how has this assumption come about so fast when Germany isn’t defeated? He wonders if they have become blinded by their success on the battlefield. With an enemy almost defeated are they are looking for a new one or is it more than that? Do they feel the Russians want a different Europe and see the

Soviets and Stalin carving up the continent and claiming it for their own? Is that what’s coming, and he's too naïve to realize it? That is another point to ponder for later. Right now he has to keep on track with the adversary in front of him. As far as he can tell, the Nazis are not going down without a fight and might still have a few surprises left in them. Why is it he is the only person who sees this? He must Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 103 be the silent protector and vigilant. Marshall comes back with a quick quip he hopes won’t get him thrown in the brig for insubordination.

“Well, we should concentrate on the ones who have guns pointed at us.”

Howard looks at him for a long moment as he lights a cigar and puffs on it.

“Keep telling that to yourself, Colonel. Joe Stalin is more dangerous than

you think, if you’ll excuse me, sir.”

He bows to Lachelle and struts by, bumping into him.

“What an asshole,” says Marshall.

She laughs. It’s the first time he has seen her smile. She has cleaned up and is wearing a nice black dinner dress. Nothing fancy, quite traditional. It fits her in all the right places. They had met under such strange circumstances and then encountered one another in the confines of the field hospital and a sick friend. This is more of what he is used to, casual and somewhat relaxed.

“How’s Lionel?"

Her face is somber, but not too much.

“He’s resting. We’ve given him morphine, but I must tell you, Colonel, his prospect isn’t good.”

“Call me Marshall.”

She puts on a friendly smile and they drift down the corridor and onto the breezeway that faces the central court of the castle. The twilight is still and sweet, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 104 only the faint murmur of limited work around the camp flows through the air. The occasional cricket and tree frog embark on an evening concert. For now, at least, the war is removed. This is the ideal setting for the old Marshall, an opportune moment for him to put a move on her and take her upstairs. He puts that thought out of his head. Lachelle is a nurse entrusted with the responsibility of her patients.

She mustn't have emotional involvement, and neither should he, but that does not mean they can’t get to know one another better. He must win her confidence and he can only do that by behaving like an officer and a gentleman.

Strolling and enjoying the night, seeking not to brood over the effusion of blood all around them, Marshall starts with the typical small talk.

“So, you’re from New England?”

“Connecticut. How did you guess?”

“I’m in advertising, or at least I used to be. Reading people was part of my job. I was good at it.”

“You still are, Colonel.”

The sound of her calling him by his rank doesn’t fit.

“Please call me Marshall. I hate the title.”

This seems to surprise Lachelle and her expression changes.

“You dislike the Army?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 105

“I’m as patriotic as the next guy, but I just want to do my job here and end the war so I can return to Fifth Avenue.”

“New York. I should have guessed. They say you guys work fast.”

Marshall looks lost. Lachelle understands he missed it.

“I meant why haven't you put a move on me?”

“Perhaps it’s out of respect. You're a nurse and I need to be professional.”

“Good excuse, but men never learn. It's not in your nature.”

She’s mocking him and he doesn't get it. He’s lost a step from not being in the game. He wasn’t counting on a woman to be so presumptuous and it takes a second for him to come back from the blow. The talents of the lady killer have been suppressed, but his masculine psyche has not. This would be an excellent challenge to his virility but for now, she is his equal and he'll treat her as such. It is doubtful even her companion Clyde will do that. Marshall wishes to impress her with his contemporary age thinking. Women’s liberation is on the upswing and men need to put away their clubs and bearskins and take notice. The time is approaching when the gentler of the species won't stand for that sort of attitude.

Eventually, the established roles of husband and wife might be altered. Marshall is making an effort to seem genuine. He’s never attempted that before. None of this should concern him since there's no purpose of engaging in a romantic association.

Nevertheless, it may develop. Sometimes love goes that way: it just occurs. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 106

For the time being, the issue is settled. They both relax and enjoy each other's company. It is Lachelle’s turn to tell her story.

“I’m from Hartford, and my father is a practitioner at Boston Common. My mother is a homemaker, and I was determined not to follow in her footsteps. When the war broke out, I joined the Medical Corps to save lives and practice medicine in the trenches. It appeared I could learn more that way."

Marshall admires her candor: a woman who communicates her mind and keeps nothing back.

“Well I got drafted, and the Army put me here. At first, it was no grand crusade, but with things drawing to a conclusion, I see the misery. I survived the corporate system long enough to figure out that humans resort to whatever steps necessary to avoid disaster.”

He’s not getting through to her he can tell.

“I analyze the information. In advertising, we call it market evaluation, which aids in an overall plan of action. Crap, I’m rambling, pardon me. I am not used to speaking to a woman as an…”

“Intelligent creature,” says Lachelle, laughing. “You’re trying too hard.”

Caught, Marshall gives up and looks at his wristwatch. Time has gotten away. He wants to question her about the equation but needs to come up with a Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 107 blanket story so as not to reveal the source. He takes the paper from his pocket and conjures up an account.

“I came across this going through some old paperwork. What do you make of this?”

Marshall hands her the note. He studies her face for any hint of recognition.

“It looks to be a physics hypothesis dealing with energy.”

“What kind, like a lump of coal or gas?”

Lachelle shrugs. Marshall Pockets the paper and suddenly takes his hand.

The softness of a female touch is a feeling he had almost forgotten. What is this? In a few minutes a measure of sympathy or, daresay, romance has crept in. Or is it just the reaction of a nurse not wishing to see another life lost? Does she know he is heading into danger? He has not said a word of his mission later tonight. There is a tugging from deep inside to kiss her, but he can’t do that. It would only complicate an already complex set of circumstances.

“The night is so peaceful. Stay, if only for a little while,” says Lachelle.

“Sorry, I need to check on something. I’ll catch you at breakfast.”

Better to just walk away and leave it at that. A part of him wants to turn around and look at her face one more time, but that would make it harder. Damn it all to hell, despite his efforts he cannot help himself. He’s fallen for the first skirt he's seen in months. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 108

Marshall continues his cursing as he steps up to his quarters. He puts

Lachelle out of his mind; there are more important matters to attend to. He wishes now he had just stayed upstairs and waited on Wittenauer. In his haste for answers, he may have stumbled his way into a relationship. No, he's not going to take it that far. It’ll interfere with his efficiency.

Back in his quarters, he waits, pacing every few minutes he checks his watch. He is eager to get this done. Lachelle said the formula looked to be an energy equation. Perhaps the Germans were experimenting with something that got away from them. Their electrical infrastructure is gone and if they are to continue to produce munitions they must find another source of power. The Russians may be able to shed light on the paper as they are familiar with the German mindset more so than the Americans. During briefings on Soviet spies, Marshall heard that they are better and more subtle at gathering information. From what he has been told they go for small victories, continually nibbling at pieces of the grand prize till it's all theirs. They do not spend inordinate resources on gigantic goals but are chess masters, thinking five moves ahead. He too has to be a forward thinker.

Marshall is coming in on the tail end of a program that has been around quite a while. To get ahead of it, he has to discern just what it is to form a plan of action.

All he can do is gather more intelligence. His eagerness will not help. He needs to slow down and take one step at a time, verifying everything. From his Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 109 observations, people are getting sick and that could have been caused by the explosion in the forest. Energy production is a part of it and there is possibly a group of unknown, radical Nazis behind it conducting experiments beyond

American or Soviet understanding. His speculation is not helping. His watch reads

11:30. It is over an hour since lights out and he's still sitting in the dark waiting.

There is a small knock on the door. Marshall opens the door and Sergeant

Wittenauer is there, dressed in his field jacket with a .45 holstered at his side.

Marshall was expecting him to be in full battle gear.

“Are you ready to go, Colonel?”

“Don’t you need more guns?”

“We’ve got to travel light.”

They walk down the steps to the open quadrangle. Only a single guard is posted at the entrance. Wittenauer halts.

“Shit. I thought he’d be on a smoke break by now. They’re supposed to change guards every hour.

A small hand settles on Marshall’s shoulder. He almost comes unglued, turning with a start. Lachelle holds her finger to her lips.

“What the hell are you doing here, girl?” Wittenauer says.

“I’m here to help,” says Lachelle.

“How did you know?” says Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 110

“I saw it in your eyes. The men who are getting sick encountered the

Russians in the field. It’s a good bet the Russians are ill, too. I need information just as much as you if we’re to combat this disease.”

“Shouldn't Doctor Bailey be here?” asks Marshall.

“I’m not sure about Bailey. I’ll distract the guard while you getaway.”

Lachelle puts on an innocent look. She swings her hips as she walks towards the guard. Wittenauer watches her.

“You shouldn’t let her in on this...”

Marshall cuts him off and motions for him to keep quiet. This is his operation and he’ll use any ally he can find. The sentry hasn’t picked up on her yet, but she makes her presence known with a heavy sigh. The guard catches her figure out of the corner of his eye. “Halt!” Lachelle keeps strutting, the heels of her shoes echoing on the cobblestone walkway. The guard runs after her and grabs her by the arm.

“Ma'am, its lights out, you must go back to your room.”

She gives him a puppy dog expression.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn’t know,” says Lachelle. Her lovely face strikes him.

With the guard’s attention diverted, Wittenauer and Marshall take their cue and steal away into the night. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 111

Lachelle watches as the men walk around and disappear out of sight. With their departure, she continues her innocent act.

“It’s so dark. Could you see I get back?”

The guard complies, not once thinking of the consequences.

CHAPTER 12

Wittenauer maneuvers the shadowland like a prowling animal, his faculties heightened by four years of war. He knows the sounds of all the creatures of the evening.

After about fifteen minutes, Wittenauer and Marshall reach a corner where the woods bend and another field opens. Marshall’s vision has adjusted to the darkness. A bush can be mistaken for a man, and if you let yourself stare at it long enough, it will move. He assumes his eyes are playing tricks on him but the figure shifts again then the cry of a whippoorwill, a bird that is foreign to these parts.

Wittenauer crouches and answers it with a similar call. He motions Marshall to back up into the tree line. The figure keeps low and hurries towards them. The three of them slip into the bushes and kneel in a huddle. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 112

“You Americans are so stupid,” says the soviet soldier. His breath is foul, and he reeks from not having bathed in days. Marshall can only imagine the conditions they serve under in the Red Army.

“You're not so bright yourself, meeting us out here like this,” says

Wittenauer.

“May I remind you two that we have a mutual problem to solve and not a lot of time to do it in? People are dying,” Marshall says.

Even with the Soviet’s face obscured by the shadows, Marshall can tell this bothers him.

“Our troops are not so good, either. I have trouble keeping food down.”

Marshall remembers the man who had dry heaves. He takes out his flashlight. Wittenauer grabs it.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

“Cup your hands over the beam,” says Marshall.

Wittenauer does as he’s told as Marshall shines the light on the Soviet's face. There are red splotches and pieces of skin are peeling away as if it were leprosy.

“The Americans and Soviets were in the same area at the same time, but the effects on the US troops show up to a far lesser degree.”

Wittenauer backs away from the Soviet soldier.

“Good God. Are we going to wind up like that?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 113

“How long have you had this?” Marshall says.

“Several days, maybe three, it’s hard to remember,” says the Soviet soldier.

“That’s impossible,” Marshall says to Wittenauer. “Thuringia occurred only yesterday, so whatever’s affecting the Russians is something else.”

It confirms Marshall’s notion that the Reds have been roaming the area far longer and may have investigated a similar event.

“So this didn’t start today?” says Marshall

“No, we came through and circled behind your army after we caught your transmission.”

“Broadcast, we didn't hear a thing,” says Wittenauer.

“It was not a radio signal per se, but an intercepted message from the

German high command. It said they were testing a weapon of great strength but needed materials from a factory in Runstad. We were ordered there to stop or retrieve whatever they were talking about. There was nothing there.”

“What did it look like?” Marshall says.

“Like any standard warehouse, large and capable of storing just about anything. It seemed to be a working facility and there were areas where people could sleep and shower. There were a lot of pipes to carry water to the basement.

When we went to investigate, we discovered a huge open pit that had round slits in the walls. I climbed down into it and noticed a puddle on the floor. I realized it Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 114 must be a holding tank for some kind of material. While I was down there, I got sick almost immediately and climbed out fast. Other soldiers combed the rest of the structure but found nothing of consequence. Some of them rummaged through the storage lockers for whatever they could find to eat. The Russian officers don’t treat us well and we had to scavenge to eat. We hadn’t even left the building before some were vomiting…”

The Soviet hesitates.

“What is it?” Marshall says.

“As I was leaving the facility, I found a candy wrapper on the ground. An

American brand called Hershey's. Some of the US food parcels sent to them in the early days of the war contained them. But I hadn’t seen one in years. What was it doing there, crumpled up on the ground outside a German facility?”

A glowing red dot appears on the Soviet's forehead and a second later the man’s skull cracks as a bullet rips through his head, spattering Marshall and

Wittenauer with bone and brains.

“Shit! What was that?” says Wittenauer.

“A Vampyre night vision scope, it’s something the Germans have been working on.”

“When were you going to tell me about it?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 115

Both of them hit the dirt as more bullets spit through the air, striking trees and rocks.

Wittenauer crawls on his stomach through the brush towards a small dip that leads down to a creek. The natural hill provides cover. “This way!” he calls back to

Marshall. Their assailant continues to fire, hitting limbs above their heads. They reach the stream and splash headlong through the water as it winds its way through the woods. The gunfire ceases. They slow down to catch their breath. After a moment, they keep going till finding a clearing that looks out over the valley. The castle windows stand out in the night. It is not more than a mile away.

They stay low till they reach the edge of the camp. Guards are posted everywhere, but this is Wittenauer’s territory and he knows how to get in and out.

They crouch low and head towards the tent that houses Wittenauer’s quarters.

Wittenauer lifts the side canopy and the two men slide underneath.

“Stay here till revelry. The guards change at 0500. Better get some shut-eye,

Colonel, and then let me in on what’s going on.”

Marshall lies down in an extra cot. The day's events flash in his head.

Everything is a jumble and his eyelids grow heavy.

In what seems only moments, he’s jostled awake. He sits up and takes a moment to get his bearings. Wittenauer stands above him like an inquisitor.

Marshall adjusts himself and wipes the sleep out of his eyes. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 116

“What time is it, Sergeant?”

“We need to have a conversation.”

Marshall swings his legs over the cot and sits up. He can’t divulge his entire job description to Wittenauer, but he can fill him in on the essentials of what he’s found. He needs an ally. He had considered Todd, but his showing up in the mine left Marshall suspicious. The boy’s basic inexperience could be a disadvantage, as well. He might have a slip of the tongue. Wittenauer distances himself enough from the other officers to make him a good choice, and he does not have to account for his time as much as does Marshall. He'll work. The problem comes while

Marshall is attending to other business as if there aren’t more important matters to take up Wittenauer’s time. He begins with a simple question and answer.

“We have two huge armies, the Russians and ourselves, near one another, investigating something that has gotten both parties sick, but only patrols in certain areas. It’s not a disease, so what could it be?”

Wittenauer pulls up a crate and sits down.

“When I worked the gas lines out in Oklahoma, sometimes the methane would seep up through the ground and get everybody sick. Stomach aches, bloody nose, similar to what we’ve seen so far.”

“They are working on some alternative energy for use with something I found. And the downed trees in Thuringia, could that have been a gas explosion?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 117

“If that’s the case, there would still be leakage and anyone lighting a cigarette would blow themselves up. I had one while I was there. What did you find?”

“I’m with the energy commission for finding alternate power sources. The gasoline issue is part of the reason for my being assigned to the Third Army. We’re trying to research what the Germans are working on to replace their supply. The

Nazis have been using synthetic petrol for a while. Their formula did not always work, causing a myriad of engine problems, but that could be a cover.”

Marshall recites the equation he showed Lachelle to see if he gets any kind of reaction from Wittenauer. As expected, Wittenauer hasn’t a clue what it means.

With that story in place, he explains the scenario in the context of the group called the Werewolves. They are tasked to safeguard this project for the Third Reich long enough to where they can mass produce the mystery fuel, and then engage in a guerrilla offensive that could drag the conflict on for years.

“So what happens now? Do we report your findings?” asks Wittenauer.

“No, I’m taking you into my confidence. We need more evidence so a strategy can be formed in case this scenario plays out. If we don’t, we could find ourselves bogged down in Germany for decades.”

The prospect of continuing to fight a horrific war that has no ending scares even the battle-hardened sergeant. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 118

“Keep our mission secret for now and watch out. Some of the Werewolves could be disguised as American or Soviet troops.”

“They could be among us, then.”

“Indeed. Now, I don’t know about you but I need a shower,” says Marshall as he looks over his dirty uniform.

CHAPTER 13

Marshall hates that he did not get to the film. Now he has to wait till tonight, but events could already be spinning out of control. He is frustrated by his paranoia that a plan is in motion, even if he has no proof. Someone tried to kill him, but that’s war. The Germans aren't defeated yet and he can’t assume the Werewolves are behind it. So far he has a lot of threads that don’t weave a pattern, but he cannot afford to waste an entire day without more actionable intelligence. The risk is too great, and he has to make time for the darkroom. He cannot pursue his suspicions at the cost of dereliction of duty or reports to command. For this information to remain hidden could be a mistake. He must report on what he saw.

He decides to take a chance and process the material in the operations darkroom.

With any luck, there may be something useful. Marshall has a nagging sensation that General Patton must be clued in on this. Marshall’s been told by his superiors in Washington not to tell Patton anything and to consult them first, but Third Army Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 119 is here and whatever a pain in the butt Patton is, he’s a patriot. Marshall has observed his keen mind in action. If he can get Patton alone, he'll listen. The two of them honestly appreciate each other's abilities. His commander has always given him leeway and values his opinion. He can still keep his cover and not be dishonest. If Marshall briefs him right, it may go a long way. It could afford him protection when he desires it most.

The castle is abuzz with activity, more so than normal as it’s not yet 0600. The guard at the front entrance salutes as Marshall enters. General Howard is soon bearing down on him. Marshall does not answer to him but any flag officer can push subordinates around.

“Colonel, may I have a word with you?”

Marshall wants to tell him to piss off, but is cordial and salutes him.

“Yes, sir?”

“We missed you at dinner last night. What news do you have?’

“I report to the man running this outfit, not you.”

“You're addressing a superior officer, White.”

“With all due respect, I did not know you existed until yesterday. Until General

Patton orders me to, I will not divulge any intelligence to you.”

Howard gets right in Marshall's face. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 120

“You were seen taking an unauthorized jeep into town I want to know who you talked to!”

Did Todd squeal?

“That’s not your concern, Commander,” barks a voice from behind them.

Patton approaches, chewing on a cigar. Howard tries to explain himself but

Patton waves him off.

“Dismissed, Commander.”

Howard slinks away. Patton towers above Marshall, but Marshall doesn’t flinch. He knows what's coming and prepares a blanket answer.

“You were out-of-pocket yesterday, White.”

Patton pauses, sizing up Marshall, but he stands firm, staring straight ahead.

“I allow my officer's certain freedom,” Patton continues, “It gets things done without me hovering over them. The caveat to that is I expect information.”

“Sir, I am compiling what I found, if I may have more time.”

“This Army is moving out tomorrow. I want whatever you've got tonight after dinner.”

Patton puts his hands behind his back and marches off. Marshall watches him disappear then breathes a sigh of relief. This couldn't be better. Patton has quiet time to review paperwork by himself after evening chow. Asking Marshall into his secret sanctuary at that hour might mean something. Marshall is certain he Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 121 already knows about the strange illness affecting his men and thinks there’s more to. Patton could want Marshall's opinion. One thing for sure, he has to get to work.

He needs to check on Lionel first.

Proceeding to the medical offices, he locates Lachelle with a group of soldiers packing supplies into a crate. She has a clipboard in hand and is busy checking off items as they go.

“We need all the plasma and to set up blood donations,” she says to the men.

They obey and hurry about their business. As she glances back up, she sees

Marshall. A big smile comes across her face.

“Well, good morning! Where have you been?”

Marshall takes her by the hand and leads her to an out-of-the-way spot. He grabs her hips and pulls her close. She wraps her arms around him.

“Ah, I see Colonel. We should not do that.”

He pulls her close again. She interlaces her fingers behind his neck.

“I’m glad to be alive," he says.

“I had forgotten what it's like not to be a part of an army.”

“Regrets, nurse?”

Tears trickle from Lachelle's eyes.

"All those young men, languishing, it's awful seeing so much death."

Marshall grips her hand. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 122

“Where do we go from here?”

“Nowhere, Colonel, we have too much to do.”

“Right, how is Lionel?”

“Worse. He’s been shipped to a hospital near Brandenburg,” she says. There is more that she is not telling him. Even though they have known each other for a short time, Marshall can read her like a book.

Personnel hustle by, interrupting their privacy. Lachelle motions to move back, further out of earshot. She’s got something else to tell him.

“There was another young man I wasn't aware of whose condition was more advanced than your friend. Dr. Bailey and General Howard were arguing over them. Later a transport came by and picked them both up and whisked them away.”

“Where was Patton during all this?”

“I never saw him. It was done in the middle of the night. My room is next to the medical facilities, and I heard them and got up to investigate.”

“What else?”

Lachelle bites her lip like a little girl not wanting to tell a secret.

“Later, several soldiers protected by rubber gloves and face masks gathered up their uniforms and the others who went on the patrol and took them out back and burned them. They were frantic to find you and Sergeant Wittenauer.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 123

“You still don’t believe this is a disease?” asks Marshall.

“No, everyone is having varying degrees of symptoms. Nothing is consistent.

How are the Russians faring?”

“Terrible. The one we spoke to looked like a leper.”

“I think the clothes carry a residue from where you patrolled and should be removed. Put them somewhere so we can examine them further.”

Marshall pulls away, his fingers mingling with hers for a moment longer.

Not a word is said as Marshall takes off up the stairs. The message from

Washington will come in soon and he can’t miss it. He walks into his quarters and proceeds to his secret hiding place.

The radio sparks to life immediately. Exactly at 6:00, he picks up the microphone, and Intrepid's voice comes over the line.

“We have intelligence on the money. There seems to have been large amounts transferred to US banks from Swiss accounts. They’re private holdings, so it’s difficult to find out who’s they are right away. That will take more time. However, there is one that is troubling us: a Defense Department research project account.

The name on record is called Brooklyn Heights Group. We only recognized it because the Pentagon pairs city names with covert operations and the address is a

Post Office box in Washington. Funding goes directly in for pick up. We are surveilling it now. As far as we can tell, it looks like a covert operation.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 124

That is not what Marshall wanted to hear, Nazi loot leaking into the US to feed an as of yet undisclosed project.

“My info is as urgent,” Marshall says.

“...Continue.”

“Men are getting sick from an unknown agent. I took it upon myself to contact the Russians.”

“Shit!”

This is the first time Intrepid has shown any emotion. There is more silence. The static over the radio intensifies.

“That is not standard procedure, but what did you find out?” asks Intrepid.

“They are as sick as we are, in fact, sicker. They discovered another secret facility where the Nazis were working. I think those troops were exposed to something else. I couldn’t get more out of the man when a sniper killed him. I got away,” says Marshall.

“What more do you have?” asks Intrepid.

“...Earlier in my reconnaissance, I came across a hidden bunker that the

Germans were attempting to cover up that may be the source of the explosion.

Inside there was a chamber with what I believe were four dead scientists. They had the Werewolf tattoo.”

“Nazis hiding their true identities.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 125

“I recovered a diary written in ancient Hebrew and German. I can’t decipher it, but the owner's name was a man named Hans Kammler. I think he was one of the dead men.”

“Go on.”

“Kammler is or was in charge of weapons research. We would like to capture him alive. We need that diary. Can you get it to us?”

“Where and when?”

“The large airfield, I will come myself meet me in the hangar at 1200 hours.”

Marshall looks at his watch.

“Godspeed,” says Intrepid.

The radio goes silent.

Intrepid is coming here?

Whatever Marshall has must be a gold mine for the head of secret operations to be meeting him. But how in the hell is he going to sneak out tonight? His every move is scrutinized because of his actions from the day before. He can’t worry about that now. The information about the bank accounts is something he can investigate without risking the clandestine operation.

There is more. His brain goes into overdrive. Maybe Nazi spies infiltrated

American banking institutions to fund their projects right under the noses of the US government. Are they planning an attack on the homeland? Perhaps that is where Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 126 the money is going. He has to go outside the chain of command and contact an acquaintance in the States who has eyes unfiltered and unfettered by the military,

William Stroud at Chase Central in New York. Looking into accounts should be routine. He can disguise his request in everyday language to safeguard the quick- minded Stroud. At present, he needs to work on developing the film and approach

Patton about his findings to get a better sense of what he must do next. He’s betting the General will view his intelligence information as a good cause for concern.

Something is amiss in camp.

CHAPTER 14

Reinvigorated after cleaning up, Marshall proceeds down through the corridors of the castle. The constant chatter and clamor of men gearing up can be deafening. As his commander is fond of saying, the Army is a team; it lives and breathes as a unit. Marshall likens it to a living organism with multiple moving parts, some of which don't work well with each other. His branch is especially combative with everyday operations.

The radio room is just off the main corridor. As he strolls in he sees the door leading to Patton’s office is closed, so far, so good. Soldiers manning the center look like ordinary phone operators connecting calls by inserting plugs into the appropriate jacks. Each is part of a cord circuit with a switch associated with a Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 127 particular caller that lights up when a message is received. Unlike company machines, these are field units that do not have a proper generator to power them.

Each dispatch requires the operators to crank the receiver system. It is strenuous and hectic work. Orders must be relayed to the many tentacles that make up the

Third Army. When the offensive begins, everything has to function in perfect unison. Nothing can be laid to chance. War is but organized madness.

He meanders up to one of the busy men juggling the switchboard, a professional used to listening and doing his job at the same time. Marshall taps him on the shoulder. The soldier keeps working and doesn't miss a beat.

“What do you want, sir? No, I was speaking to someone next to me. I’ll put you through, Captain.” The man stares at Marshall, fire in his eyes.

“Make it fast.”

“I need to get a call through to the States. My father is ill,” says Marshall.

“I have an ailing dad, too. What’s the number? I’ll patch it through. You can take it over there,” the operator says, pointing to a table in the corner with a phone and stack of paper sitting on it. Marshall wanted it patched through to his office, but the operator is covering his ass. He can always state he was ordered if he gets caught.

Marshall gives him the number and heads to the tiny desk. It doesn't take long and the call is connected. The soldier on the other line tells him he'll patch him through. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 128

It rings, once then twice. He prays that Stroud isn’t at lunch or a meeting. There may not be a chance like this again.

“William Stroud speaking.”

“Bill, its Marshall. How are you?”

“My God, I can’t believe it. Are you okay?”

“Fine, listen, can you look in on Pop for me?"

There is a long silence from the other end.

“Pop? Sure, I suppose. Send you a telegram?"

“Thank you. Be careful with the funds. Check on the doctors and nurses and see if they are the caliber to take care of him. I wish you'd get in touch with me directly. Say, do you recall that first room we shared at Bellville Station? What was the street address?”

There is another long pause.

"Oh sure, it was 209. I could only call out after ten p.m. and then only when no one was around. Those days were great. It's hard over here."

“I’m so sorry,” says Stroud.

“Thank you. Father is not well. Be a good fellow and see after his account at

Brooklyn Heights. I must find out how his finances are faring while I am away.

You understand don’t you?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 129

“I'll send a telegram tomorrow. I'm sorry it won't be until six p.m. before I can do it and can't reach you before three a.m. your time”

“Thank you. Be careful with the funds, Bill.”

Stroud hangs up. After returning the phone to its cradle, Marshall thanks the operator and departs.

He proceeds to his office as he has other reports to check on. His official residence is a small affair, not much bigger than a closet. The hallway is filled and more hurried than it was earlier. It is a clear day. Sunlight beams through the large windows that line the great hall. He ponders how an entire world is tearing itself apart on such a beautiful morning. At the door, he takes out his keys and enters.

The stack of paperwork he left from before is still waiting.

The office is plain. On the wall is a photograph of him and the Intelligence

Corp graduation at Fort Hampton. Underneath it reads, "Congratulations to the first

109 cadets."

His file cabinets contain the daily reports from other offices scattered throughout

Europe. He is the hub and has to sort the clutter, distinguishing the fanciful and preposterous from useful data. This is the info the Army wants to present to the public and most of it helps the war effort in its planning of strategic and tactical missions, but the real nuts and bolts of his work are carried out in secret. Although Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 130 rare, tantalizing information does emerge from the minutiae of this pile of documentation.

He yawns. There are letters to go over and he opens his top drawer to find the opener. It is not where it’s supposed to be so he rummages around. He has trouble reaching in. Something is causing it to stick. He feels underneath and there is an envelope secured to the underside. Wiggling it loose, he pulls it out. It is a regular size army briefing folder like the many scattered across his desk. Inside is a standard studio shot of a Nazi colonel with his dossier attached. As he looks over the documentation he remembers that the officer had come on his radar once before. He was the organizer and designer of the concentration camps, but that is not all. Marshall scans the biographical information. Besides his

"accomplishments" in streamlining extermination efficiency, he was called in to advise on the modalities for boosting the daily output of the gas chambers from

10,000 to 60,000. His methodical and efficient leveling of the ruined Warsaw

Ghetto and meticulous accounting of every last brick and stone removed paved the way for him to be put in charge of weapons development at the Skoda Munitions facility in the City of Pilsen, Czechoslovakia, installed him as the operational commander of the terror bombardments of London, Liege, Brussels, Antwerp, and

Paris, got him a position as administrator of the Building and Works Division, the department which handled all large construction projects for the Reich and supply Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 131 roads for invading German legions into Russia and brought him into direct control of all production and research on the V-2 and the intercontinental ballistic missile.

Not only was Kammler a butcher, but Hitler had entrusted him with more power than he had to any other single person. The list goes on and on. Marshall cannot believe his eyes. How has Kammler not been apprehended if the Allies have full knowledge of his activities? This is the work he is supposed to relay to the top, but it isn't his handiwork, he realizes this did not come from anywhere in the US or

British network. But possibly from another spy working for both sides? His suspicion is now heightened that there is someone nearby who is both friend and foe. From experience, Marshall knows such an agent can be dangerous and unpredictable. Whoever they are, they accessed his office with ease, but then again picking a lock on these old doors is easy and he has been away for a long while, so anyone could have slipped in without being noticed. Could they know that he is a deep-cover agent disguised as an ordinary intelligence officer and spying on his troops? He entertains the idea that the data might have come from Helena. As a resistance fighter, she may have a source close to her then passed it off to Helga, who has the total run of the building. No, she would have given it to him when they met. All she said was to "follow the money." This dossier was something else entirely, carried out by someone well-trained, organized, and smart. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 132

The hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The dossier came from someone he knows, someone who knows his movements. It might be anyone. As he ponders the point there is a loud rapping at the door. He stuffs the folder under the mountain of others.

“Come in,” he says.

Wittenauer walks in. He looks rested.

“Morning, Colonel. I guess you know?”

"Know what?”

“The Third and Sixth Armies are joining up to take the National Redoubt.”

"The Nazis last line of defense."

Himmler had drawn up the plans and presented them to the Fuhrer in early

1943. It called for Germany's government and armed forces to retreat to a spot in southern Bavaria, on the border of western Austria. According to Marshall's sources, it was never endorsed by Hitler, and no serious attempt was made to put the plan into operation.

“Several intelligence reports found that the area held stores of foodstuffs and military supplies built up over the preceding six months as well as armaments facilities. Within this fortified terrain, they said, the Nazis could evade the Allies and cause tremendous difficulties for the occupying Allied forces throughout

Germany,” says Wittenauer. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 133

He had told him to keep his ear out but this kind of overall picture seems peculiar coming from a mere sergeant.

Wittenauer hands him a slip of paper he snuck out of the communications room.

“Hitler issued an order on 24 April 1945 for the evacuation of the remaining government from Berlin to the Redoubt near the city of Pilsen.”

So that's the reason for the massive effort by Patton to get underway. The General is going to miss this fight, but he can’t ignore the information about Kammler. It seems too convenient that Pilsen was mentioned prominently in the report. The

Skoda Munitions factory is located there. Could that be of consequence?

Wittenauer salutes and leaves. Lachelle is standing in the hall, waiting to enter.

“Busy?” she says as she walks in.

“Very much so, you too?” says Marshall

“Getting ready for another round of bloodletting is not my idea of excitement. I hope it's all over soon.”

“This will be the end of it. Hitler is making a last stand in Upper Silesia, a

National Redoubt. The orders are for Patton and Bradley to head there in full force.

The Nazis can’t hold out much longer.”

Saying it out loud gives him a boost. Maybe he is getting worked up over nothing. He has no physical proof that any vast conspiracy exists and no idea how all the pieces fit together if it does. Eisenhower wouldn't have ordered all the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 134 armies under his command to bypass Berlin if he didn’t think he was able to bottle up Hitler in a corner of the Reich. The Reds are on the outskirts of the capital and it won't hold. Additional rear elements of General Gregarine's Second Soviet Army will most likely be to the north of Silesia and surround the remaining Nazi thugs.

Marshall can't afford wishful thinking. He needs to sort this out. Wars can change on a dime. A wrong call or miscalculation can cost everything so he’ll keep digging.

He stares at Lachelle. Her perfume reminds him of Central Park in spring. He imagines having a picnic, the Manhattan skyline against the blue sky. He and

Lachelle drink wine and listen to an evening concert at sunset. The notion inspires an irrational thought. It would be a dereliction of duty, but the Army can spare him for a while.

“Hello, you in there?" says Lachelle.

“Lachelle, would you like to have a picnic?”

She looks at him as if he's lost his mind.

“You're kidding?”

“No, we'll make an early lunch of it. I know a spot behind the castle where no one will bother us. It’s only for an hour. What do you say?”

She nods her head timidly.

“Meet me in thirty minutes.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 135

She leaves and closes the door. He picks up his phone.

“Put me through to Brandenburg,” says Marshall.

It rings several times before someone answers.

“Regimental Command Field Hospital Unit, Lieutenant Fincher speaking.”

“Colonel Marshall with Third Army intelligence, I'm looking to find out the condition of one of your patients. He was transferred last night.”

“Name?”

“Turlington, he’s an Englishman.”

There is a momentary flutter on the other end of flipping through papers.

“Sir, I have nobody by that name. If he's British he would have been rerouted to their facilities. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“Thank you, lieutenant.”

Rerouting is not uncommon, but the only way Marshall will know for sure is to

investigate. There are hundreds of field units he could have been taken to and the

nearest British hospital is in Elsen. He simply doesn’t have time to take such an

excursion. For now, he will have to wait.

CHAPTER 15

Marshall and Lachelle steal away and head towards the kitchen. Marshall sneaks in the entrance. The cooks are busy preparing for lunch. No one notices Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 136

Marshall grab a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. Lachelle watches from the kitchen door, laughing. He stuffs the food in his trousers and makes a clean getaway. He motions her to follow and stay quiet. They creep down the stairway leading to the underground level of the structure and pass the unoccupied operational darkroom. Most of the crew is finishing up breakfast. Another door opens into a wine cellar, Patton's grand prize. The former owners were from an ancient and rich Bavarian family. Some vintages go back hundreds of years. A layer of fine dust covers the oldest bottles. Patton makes sure he and his officers have the finest selections for their evening meals. The General may be adamant about his troops not looting the civilians but for his culinary palette, nothing is off- limits. Marshall's heard the old man say, "We're just stealing from those who stole it." In a way that's correct from what Marshall knows of the castle's history. It housed the SS for a long time. Many high ranking Nazis have stayed there including Albert Speer. If there was a Nazi to be concerned about it was him. Speer is a brilliant individual who's kept Germany fighting longer than it should have.

Under his guidance, the Reich increased munitions production to 90% capacity during the heaviest Allied bombing. Marshall halts as he scans the wine bottles.

Lachelle mentioned the Reich minister by name. Did she throw that out as a simple observation or was it more? Marshall hands Lachelle the bread and cheese. "Wait here." He hops up the steps and heads to the kitchen. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 137

Helga is busy directing the other chefs. She moves to each station with precision, sampling the goods as she goes. Marshall rushes up to her and grabs her by the arm. The sudden force frightens her.

“Follow me,” Marshall says.

“Sir, what is the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, come on.”

He guides her into the hallway. She shudders.

“I need to ask you a few more questions, okay?”

She nods.

“Did you ever see any other high ranking Nazi officials here?’

“...Yes.”

“Who?”

“They all had a big meeting here back last year I think. There was Heir

Speer, Himmler, and Martin Boreman.”

“Was there a man named Kammler?”

The mere mention of the man’s name sends her into a panic.

“Sir, I can’t talk about such things.”

“Please, it’s important.”

“He was in charge.”

"Tell me about it." Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 138

She is fearful but gets up the nerve to go on as she remembers that fateful evening.

...

Helga scurries about the kitchen. The chefs are all dressed in white aprons with a swastika emblazoned on the front. Helga wears dark formal attire. She looks is in control and comfortable. Dinner is over and five officers sit at a grand oak table awaiting glasses of brandy. Helga prepares a silver serving platter with china cups and saucers and a pewter carafe. She holds a lofty, honorary title as lead chef for the Nazi elite.

At the head of the table is SS-Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler dressed in the traditional all-black uniform, his hair slicked over the top of his head. His eyes are a piercing blue. He surveys the other officers without expression. To his left is

Heinrich Himmler, a former chicken farmer from Munich. Himmler is blank. Of all the Nazis, he’s the most boring and meticulous, a small man with a monstrous agenda. Himmler is squinty-eyed and wears a pencil-thin mustache. Across from him is Albert Speer, the epitome of the German aristocracy. Speer is a technocrat with a sky-high IQ, as far above the other Nazis intellectually as a human over an amoeba. What they lacked in brains they made up for in cunning and evil. Speer, efficient, brilliant, maintained a dignity about him. Two chairs down from Speer are Martin Bormann, Hitler's right-hand. No one is closer to the Fuhrer. Bormann Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 139 is a pudgy fellow with an irritating laugh and a peculiar sense of hygiene. He avoids bathing for several days at a time, fearful that contagious germs will float through the air and attach themselves to bathed flesh. Neither Speer nor Himmler could stomach dinner because of Bormann's odor. Another man just arrived, sits at the end of the table, his back to the kitchen. She does not recognize him.

Kammler motions for Helga to set the tray down on the bar next to the fireplace.

“We will not need you anymore this evening,” he says. Helga acknowledges him with a slight nod of her head. She walks away but remains out of sight behind the cracked doorway, listening. As the state would have it, every citizen must be on constant guard, ready to spot suspicious activity. If she’s caught, however, it could mean her death. She will linger just long enough to hear what the meeting may be about. She watches for her staff to make sure she is unseen.

Kammler rises and pours himself and the new guest a glass of brandy. Such subservience is uncharacteristic.

“Are we assured complete immunity?” asks Kammler.

The high backed chair hides the person. She only glimpses his hand and arm reach for the glass. From her vantage point, she notes he is dressed in a regular business suit. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 140

“Yes, but we want all the operational diagrams and blueprints. We have enough fuel,” he states in a low voice. His German is broken.

“And then what? Use it against us!” Himmler says.

“It will save our necks,” says Speer.

“Shut up both of you. We have no choice now,” says Kammler.

“Japan is our objective,” replies the mystery guest.

Helga, drawn into the conversation, fails to maintain her guard.

“What are you doing mistress?” asks one of the young female waitresses.

Helga almost jumps out of her skin and closes the door, still unnoticed by the men.

She makes up a quick excuse.

“Nothing, dear, attend to your duties,”

The naive child dismisses the incident and carries on. Helga rests against the wall, closing her eyes and sighing.

...

Marshall stares at Helga.

“It was you who put the folder on my desk, wasn’t it?”

“No, sir!"

She doesn't look to be lying. Why would she? So far Helga has been upfront with him. She has lost everything and tired of war, but he has to be clear and escorts her Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 141 back to his office. He pulls the manila envelope from the drawer. He shows her the picture of Kammler.

“Is this the man you saw?”

“Yes, that is Heir Kammler.”

“Did you ever see him again after that night?”

She shakes her head.

"Say nothing of what we've talked about, Helga."

Helga nods and leaves with haste.

In all this, he has forgotten about Lachelle. After Helga's footsteps fade, he runs back downstairs and finds Lachelle, just where he left her.

“What was that all about? Where did you go?”

“Trying to get a clearer picture, let’s not worry about that just now.”

...

Marshall and Lachelle climb the steps leading up from the cellar and sit in a small grassy area hidden by oak trees. The shade makes it cooler. Lachelle shivers in the early spring air. Marshall slides closer even as he knows there is no chance for romance, not in the middle of a war. Soon the army will move on to another battle, maybe the last, but people die. For now, the grass seems greener and the sun brighter, a pipe dream for a better tomorrow. He is a master of advertising slogans that sway millions to remember his products, but that ability fails him now. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 142

“What was that earlier?” she asks.

“Spur of the moment stress reliever?”

Lachelle laughs.

“Is that all I am?”

"Oh, um..."

“I get it, me too.”

He pours wine into a tin canteen cup for them to share.

“Never had six-hundred-year-old hooch before,” says Marshall.

“I wonder if there was a war going on when they bottled it? Were there people like us, just caught in the middle? How long have we been putting each other through this torture?” says Lachelle?

She drinks down everything in the cup. Marshall takes it from her and pours more. He offers her some bread and cheese.

“I don’t know, but I want to think there are more people like us, people who hate it. Our numbers are growing. Someday, when mankind evolves, there may come days say in another six hundred years that men and women can enjoy wine from our time and wonder, 'What was war?' In their collective memory, warfare will be a mere concept, a phantom relegated to the history books, a paragraph or footnote of the primitive way man once resolved his differences, before he learned Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 143 to talk and work problems out with laws. The battlefield of tomorrow is the courtroom. Ink must replace blood,” says Marshall.

“That is a lovely thought, but before that happens, there needs to be food to feed the millions starving. Plus land for people who want a place to live and jobs for an honest day’s work. Until there is a system fair to everyone, war will continue to be the means to an end for our species. Conflict is man’s greatest sin. When we eliminate the causes, only then can we cease the destruction.”

“Were you always so depressing?”

“No, I was like you, hopeful, but everything changed on February 2, 1942, when I lost my husband. I decided that it would be my duty to carry on the fight and do what I could. And you?”

I couldn’t handle a gun so they put me into intelligence because I could write.”

“You seemed concerned enough for Turlington and the other sick men, enough to risk your life to find out what's wrong with them.”

Lachelle looks down at his ring finger and notices the wedding band.

“What’s her name?”

“We’re divorced. I couldn’t bear to take it off. I wasn't a very good husband.”

After a lifetime of reading people, he tries to discern if Lachelle believes his little fib.

“Remove it then, you have me,” she says Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 144

He removes the ring and places it into his pocket. He sets the cup on the ground.

He moves closer.

“I have to get back to work,” he says.

“Don’t go.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

Marshall pulls away and leaves.

CHAPTER 16

Marshall proceeds to the operational darkroom to develop his film and finds the place empty. He switches on a red light bulb that is mounted on the wall in the hall to indicate the darkroom is occupied. It warns passersby not to enter and risk exposing undeveloped pictures. Most of the time it works, but some soldiers get in a hurry and bolt in any way. Marshall can’t risk what he has on some stupid mistake, so he locks the door. There is a tight area cordoned off at the back of the darkroom, a spot that will allow him to unroll the 35-millimeter film onto a spool in complete darkness. He puts the spool into the developer bath and starts the 15- minute development process.

With that done, he hangs the wet film on a clothesline draped over a sink and uses a standing fan to dry them. In the meantime, he sets up the enlarger, an optical apparatus similar to a slide projector that projects the image of a negative Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 145 onto a base. It can control the focus, intensity, and duration of light for making prints.

He takes the dried film and cuts it into strips of six frames each, deciding to print the rolls of film by making a contact print of the negatives as a quick reference to decide which images to enlarge. Marshall places a sheet of photographic paper to be exposed underneath the enlarger and puts the negatives on top, then places a clear piece of glass over everything to hold it flat. He turns the enlarger's light on for a moment. The development liquids in the baths were leftovers from the day before. I should have taken the time to restock them. Oh, well. He lays the paper into the Dektol Developer. As he suspected, it takes a long time for the image to appear. He places the paper in the fixer bath to stop the process and waits a moment to turn on the lights. Most are the shots of the blast area are clear. He can make out some of the troops on the ground. He leans close to each film cell, his eyes moving slowly. On the next to the last frame, there is a long, angular object.

He takes the film to the enlarger. His breathing is rapid, and sweat is beading on his forehead.

He places the negative in the holder to fit into the film carrier and moves it into the enlarger head. He adjusts the elevation knob and the image is ready to be projected through a lens fitted with an adjustable iris aperture on the enlarger. By adjusting the ratio of the distance from film to lens to the distance from the lens to Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 146 paper, various degrees of enlargement may be achieved, with the physical enlargement ratio limited only by the structure of the enlarger and the size of the paper. As the image size is changed it is also necessary for Marshall to change the focus of the lens. The enlargement is made by first focusing the image with the lamp on, the lens at maximum aperture, and the easel empty. Marshall uses a focus finder or loop, a small plastic lens that enhances the grains of film, to pull them into sharper focus as he makes adjustments. It is still a jumble of shapes reversed in the black and white image. He can't distinguish anything. The image is focused by changing the distance between the lens and the film and adjusting the length of a light-tight bellows with a geared rack-and-pinion mechanism. He pulls and adjusts, bringing the image into as sharp a focus as possible. The enlarger lamp or shutter mechanism is controlled by an electronic timer, but Marshall forgoes this, choosing instead to mark the time of the exposure with a clock by counting the seconds. He turns off the lamp when the exposure is complete. He takes the exposed paper to process it.

The image materializes but he still can't tell what he’s got. After a minute the image is as good as it will get. He places it into the fixer to see what is in the photograph. He holds his breath as he flips the light on. There is a glint of sunlight reflecting off of something metal. Marshall squints and leans closer. It is the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 147 pointed top of the fuselage of a V2. It will take selling to convince Patton what it is, but he can make out the shape if he can only convince the General.

He makes another print to keep for himself, an added measure of security to ameliorate his paranoia. He takes a towel and blots the prints dry, folds them up, slides them into a nearby manila folder, and stuffs them into his coat pocket.

It’s still early, but he is surprised no one else has tried to enter. His luck seems to hold out as he gathers up the negatives and eliminates any trace of his being there. Marshall checks the area three times.

Armed with this new information, he rushes to speak with Patton immediately. It’s still early, so he may have to bull his way in. Other officers will be present and he will tip his hand if he's not careful. They will be curious where he got such a high-quality film. He was only issued the standard press camera.

Third Army had moved so fast that new equipment was hard to obtain. Marshall’s photos will be a welcome asset but might raise questions. At this late stage of the war, he hopes the quality will go unnoticed and be greeted with Patton’s blessing.

Marshall may be a spy amongst his troops but he wants a positive outcome to the war. He wished he could come right out and say what his mission parameters were but they weren’t even clear to him.

The operator hollers for Marshall as he passes by the radio room.

“Sir, Telegram for you.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 148

So soon? He walks over and the man hands him the envelope. He pockets it and heads to the General’s office.

He knocks on the door and enters. Howard is the only person in.

“Can I help you, White?”

“Where’s General Patton?”

“He is checking with his commanders about supplies. Why?”

“Nothing that can't wait, sir.”

“One moment, Colonel.”

Marshall does an about-face. He does not like Howard. The man has only been there a few days and already he has gotten under his skin.

“Colonel, I’m not sure where you were trained, but this army runs on discipline and you have none. You come and go as you please with no regard for protocol. Plus you seem to withhold information, we cannot have that.”

“Sir, I do not answer to you. I was assigned by Divisional Headquarters and only answer to General Patton.”

“Not anymore, Colonel,” says Howard, a smirk on his face. He hands

Marshall the orders. The letterhead is marked "Supreme Allied Command

Headquarters, London."

The letter informs him he is being transferred to the rear, back to Paris, and is signed by General Eisenhower. He recognizes the signature as authentic. He Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 149 knows it well from all his intelligence reports. Marshall looks up from the paper, his brow furrowed.

“Effective immediately you are to turn over all intelligence data,” says

Howard.

Fortunately for Marshall, he has the photos tucked out of sight.

“Does Patton know about this? It is important I see him,” says Marshall.

“The General does not question orders and neither should you,” says

Howard.

“All my reports are in my office, sir. But I seem to have misplaced my key.

It may take several days to find it.”

“Don’t play games with me, Colonel. Troop re-assignments will be here tomorrow and you will be leaving with them. You have 24 hours to turn over what you have. Good day, Colonel.”

Marshall salutes one final time and leaves. He heads to his quarters. He has to inform Intrepid of this occurrence and see what his orders are.

...

As Marshall opens the door to his room, he sees Dr. Bailey standing over the desk.

“What the hell? We do not have much privacy around here and you're invading what little I have!” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 150

“Sorry Colonel but we needed to talk,” says Bailey.

“I’m out of a job, Clyde. Anything you have you must report to Howard.”

“I don't trust him. What I have to tell you is more urgent than any chain of command. It could mean everyone's lives."

"Fine, be quick about it, though."

"Please, Colonel, have a seat." Marshall closes the door and sits down.

“Have you ever heard about radiation?”

Marshall shakes his head.

“I hadn’t either until a couple of months ago. Doctors communicate with one another in coded language. Sometimes it helps us keep on top of things. Anyway, I have a colleague working in a hospital near Los Alamos. Several soldiers were brought in with the same symptoms as ours. The Army wouldn’t tell what was wrong with them, but one of them told before he died that radiation did this to him.

Only one thing emits radioactive isotopes harmful to humans."

"Which is?"

"Uranium, a German officer named Kammler was working on it in the thirties.”

Kammler again? Marshall is rapt.

“So you're saying uranium was in New Mexico and now it's here. Why and how? What's the Army using it for?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 151

“I have no explanation for that."

"There was another case before you arrived here. The cook, Helga, said her son fell ill and died. Could that be from the same thing?”

“I found out about that after the fact. When I confronted the General about it, he wouldn’t give me any information. I left to go check on the other men and when I returned Turlington and the other man were gone. I told Howard he had no authority to transfer them. They were my patients and were too ill to be moved. He gave me more Army bullshit and that’s when I decided to come and to you. You're the only other sane man around here.”

“I have a lot to think about. Please don’t tell anyone what you told me.”

This new information only adds to Marshall’s worries and clarifies nothing.

"Adieu, Colonel. I will stay mum."

Marshall closes and locks the door after Bailey leaves. He takes the photos from his pocket and steps inside the hidden chamber. He retrieves the diary from its hiding place and folds one photo, placing it between the pages. He loosens up his boot and stuffs the other in the sole and puts the boot back on. For added security, he seals the diary in a waterproof pouch and returns it to the wall, then replaces the brick covering. With that done he steps back out into his closet. He opens the front pocket of his field jacket and places something inside it and zips it back up. He then exits the closet. Marshall collapses on the bed and reaches Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 152 underneath for a bottle of whiskey stashed there. The command does not look kindly on personal drinking. Taking a swig he remembers the times he and Lionel shared a glass. It brings a smile to his face.

He sits the emptied glass on the table at his bedside. There is a red splotch on his wrist. The spot is hot and irritated. It burns at the slightest touch. Marshall winces at the pain. It looks like what he has seen of the other men who have gotten sick. When he gets done with what he has to do, he’ll let Lachelle look at it. He’s got other matters to attend to. He pours another whiskey and returns to his hiding place.

As he straightens up inside the closet, he becomes lightheaded. The room spins and he tries to make it to his cot. What’s happening? The cot is a fuzzy mass in front of him. He aims for it before everything goes black.

CHAPTER 17

Marshall’s eyes flutter open. Everything is blurry. His vision gets better, but the pounding in his head does not. It takes all his energy to sit up. He is lying on an old army cot covered with a rough blanket. The room is dark despite a single light bulb burning above. Marshall swings his legs over the edge of the cot. He rubs the back of his neck and feels a lump. He attempts to orient himself. Am I dreaming?

Did I fall? No, someone hit me. His sight clears and he sees steel bars in front of Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 153 him. A hard-jawed MP armed with a pistol and Billy club is posted outside.

Marshall looks around the cell. There is a window at the top. Night has fallen, but what day is it? How long has he been out? He stands but becomes dizzy and has to sit. The throbbing eases and he rises again, steadying himself with one hand on the cell wall.

“What’s going on, soldier, why am I in here?” asks Marshall.

The words tumble from his mouth and he isn’t positive he spoke. His jaw doesn’t seem to want to coordinate with his brain. He can’t be sure of what he says or does. The deep shadows of the night do not help. His depth perception is gone but he begins to make out the features of the guard. The white MP arm patch is clear, as is the gleam of the steel prison bars. He sees he’s still dressed in the same khaki uniform as before.

“Answer me, soldier, where the hell am I?”

The guard remains at full attention, unmoved by the questioning. Marshall knows he is wasting his breath. These guys are trained to let nothing but the proper authority avert their concentration. Marshall has seen this many times when he was on the other side of the bars and looking in on German POWs. It is a psychological maneuver designed to break inmates called interaction deprivation. The whole idea is that humans are social animals who have instinctive desires to converse when confronted with an unfamiliar situation. The longer answers are denied the more a Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 154 suspect is willing to make a statement when interrogated. Even the enemy can assuage that desire. The prisoner will say anything, even to the point of incriminating themselves, just to speak to another.

He knows the drill and decides not to waste his energy. When they are ready, someone will come in and reveal what is going on. He touches the prison bars to make sure they are real. In the back of his mind, he hopes he is in a waking nightmare or a hallucination. Grasping the cold steel with his hand tells him he’s very much incarcerated. Marshall has never been so helpless. He has consistently prided himself on maintaining discipline, but being thrust into the unknown is disconcerting.

Disgusted and looking like an ordinary prisoner, he stands with his arms draping through the bars. He hears a clamor out in the hallway and a female voice.

“Let me through, damn you!” Marshall perks up when he sees Lachelle. She bursts through the door with another guard trying to grab and pull her back. She breaks from his grip and runs to the jail cell and takes Marshall's hands. She leans in and kisses him.

“What the hell am I doing here? What’s going on?”

Lachelle holds a pointer finger to her lips and points to a corner of the cell.

Marshall cautiously looks. There is a wire attached to a small round microphone.

Lachelle sees the worry in his eyes. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 155

“You need to keep quiet," she says. "Dr. Bailey was found murdered in your room. You were caught trying to leave the castle and brought here.”

“What? That’s impossible. Where are we?”

“The dungeon in an unused section of the castle, the Third Army is preparing to move out. They've delayed your trial pending an investigation, but since the war is moving so fast it could be weeks before anything happens,” she says.

This is too much even for a counterintelligence officer to take in. Could it be a possible set up from General Howard refusing to turn over his files? It has to be, but Marshall's memory is fuzzy. He remembers Bailey being in his room and recalls the conversation about radiation. He has to be careful what he says.

“Do you remember anything?” asks Lachelle.

“No, but I know I was drugged, then I guess I fell and hit my head.”

Another voice comes from behind her.

“No, that happened when you struggled with our security personnel. We wanted you alive,” says General Howard.

“What’s this all about? Let me out of here.”

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Lousy Kraut spy,” Howard says.

“You believe I’m a German?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 156

“You went into Orndoff without permission and met with known Nazi sympathizers."

He couldn’t know about the visit with Helga unless Todd informed him. All the more reason to suspect a German spy is within this command. Why was Clyde killed? If only he could remember more of their conversation. His mind is a jumble. The best thing for him to do is keep his mouth shut. There is something urgent he must do, but it escapes him and the only way to figure it out is to get out of the cell. He needs to calm down and think. Howard leans in.

“We'll find out the truth, White. If you won’t talk, we have ways of getting it out of you.”

“I will not stand here and let you accuse this man of a crime when it hasn’t been proven. I'm not going to let you torture him either. The Military Court of

Justice handbook states no personnel is to be treated with malice while in custody and awaiting trial,” says Lachelle.

Marshall can tell she is bluffing. He knows in a time of war the authorities may do whatever they want to suspected spies. It works well enough that Howard backs down. It is unusual and Marshall makes a mental note of it.

“We’ll see about that. When this is all over I’ll be back to take care of you.

We’re moving out in a couple of hours for the Redoubt at Pilsen,” says Howard.

He leaves without another word. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 157

Lachelle is shaking. Marshall admires her for risking a court-martial for his sake. His doubts about her are fading. Alone now except for the guard, she leans in and kisses him through the bars. Marshall takes her hands and as he does, she notices the red splotch on his wrist.

“We need to check this out.”

He pulls her close.

“I’ll be fine. I want you to get a telegram from Mr. Stroud, addressed to me.

It should be in the dispatch office.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Make up an excuse.”

Lachelle nods and leaves. She walks upstairs. He can't do anything but wait so he returns to his cot. He tries to think about what to do and who could have killed Bailey.

The roar of the tanks passing outside carries through the high window. The staggering amount of armor shakes the building to its core. Dust from old mortar falls from the ceiling of the cell splattering into Marshall's face. He spits out the residue. He is at once impressed by and worried about what may happen to the

Army. Soon, the castle and the surrounding area will be deserted save for a few troops assigned to maintenance and guard duty. He is growing fatigued. It has been a long day and his head hurts. Marshall was expecting trouble in the form of a Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 158 bullet, but his imprisonment came out of nowhere. A chill from the dampness of the dungeon causes a shiver. He zips up his coat and drifts off.

He is jostled awake by the sound of footsteps. Marshall sits straight up as if awakening from a nightmare. How long has he been out? Looking around, he sees it is Lachelle returning carrying a tray of coffee and doughnuts. She stops in front of the MP and offers him a cup. "Thank you, ma'am," the MP says. He drinks the cup quickly. She moves to the cell bars and winks at Marshall, patting her coat pocket. A moment later, the guard crumples to the floor. Marshall cranes his neck.

“I gave him a dose of Phenobarbital. He’ll be out for hours,” says Lachelle.

She sets the tray down, grabs the guard's keys, and unlocks the cell.

“Most everyone is gone. The building is deserted except for a few people. A jeep is waiting in front of the castle for me and the last of the medical supplies and personnel. You'll have to pretend to be my orderly.”

"I need to get something from my quarters before we leave.”

Lachelle glares at him.

“I risked a lot to get this far, and now you're talking about going back inside? There's an exit down here that leads outside to where the jeep is waiting.

We can leave unnoticed. It’s dark and the lone guard won’t bother inspecting me since I'm already allowed to use it.”

“Please, Lachelle. It’s important.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 159

"We have to hurry, then. This is suicidal, you know."

"I know."

They seal the guard in the cell and creep up the steps to the first level.

Marshall cracks a door and peers out. The hallway, once bustling with activity, is quiet. He opens the door all the way. The hall is deserted and dark except for a small lamp on the desk outside the dispatch office. They walk up the grand staircase unabated and proceed to his room.

Tape that reads "DO NOT ENTER" is tacked over the door to Marshall's quarters. Marshall rips it down. A large splotch of dried blood covers the floor where Bailey's body was found.

“He was stabbed through the heart. It would have been instantaneous,” says

Lachelle

“Where was I?”

Lachelle points to the corner of the bed.

“The guards burst in when Clyde called out. There was a fight and they clubbed you.”

Their criminal guesswork must wait and is secondary. Marshall tells her to stay while he heads to his closet. He disappears and moments later returns with his briefcase. She doesn’t inquire where he went. It is odd, but he is relieved not to have to answer questions. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 160

Lachelle steers him to the medical office as they enter the castle courtyard.

They walk past the waiting jeep to the sickbay. All the beds and examination tables are empty but the equipment remains sterilization steam units for surgical instruments, cabinets full of medicines and antibiotics.

"Shouldn't they have hauled all this off by now?" Marshall asks.

“It was left in case the Army needed another field hospital. Here, sit on this examination table."

Marshall does as Lachelle asks. She angles an exam lightly and reaches for his wrist to inspect it. She walks over to the nearest cabinet and takes out gauze and what appears to be a jar of ointment. With her bare fingers, she dips out some of the clear, odorless goo. She applies it to the red area on his wrist.

"What is this?" Marshall asks.

“Petroleum jelly, we use it to treat burn victims. That’s what I guess this redness is.”

She coats the spot and wraps a cotton bandage around it several times. With that completed, she grabs her medical bag and hands him a smock and a standard- issue GI cap for his head.

“You should drive so you'll be on the opposite side of the checkpoint. The guards shouldn’t question it,” says Lachelle.

She's planned everything. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 161

The cover of the night allows them to slip into the vehicle. The guard motions for them to slow down.

“I'll need to see your papers, ma’am,” he says, holding a flashlight on her face.

She searches through her bag slowly. She hands the identification to him. He holds the paper under the flashlight for but a moment and returns it to her.

“You can join the main army outside of Orndorf. Good luck, ma’am.”

He steps back and salutes. Marshall puts the jeep in drive and speeds away.

CHAPTER 18

Marshall floors the accelerator. Without warning, he veers from the main road onto a dirt trail.

“Where are you going?” Lachelle asks.

“I need to check something out.”

The creeping grayness just before dawn surrounds them, shadows, and substance merging. It is a perfect time to hide. Marshall dims the lights on the jeep hoping that he doesn’t hit a pothole and bust the axle. The lane looks like a long dark tunnel and is getting rougher. After several minutes of this torturous ride, the forest clears and they arrive at the huge airfield. Marshall remembers seeing a road to the side from above during his reconnaissance. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 162

The arduous dirt path gives way to the smooth concrete of the airfield.

Marshall drives towards the perplexing hangar. The hangar is similar to those used for dirigibles, featuring a high ceiling and bay doors that open to a 200-foot wide enclosure. It is a modern structure for new aircraft that is as of yet unknown to the

Allied forces. The little investigation that has taken place there has not revealed anything, but Patton didn’t want to get bogged down in a lengthy examination when he still needed to win the war. He deemed it a curiosity and left it for others to figure out. Marshall wants to explore further.

He stops at a side door and reaches into the back seat for his briefcase.

“Wait here, I won’t take long.”

Lachelle doesn’t question his instructions. Marshall leans in to kiss her.

Marshall walks to the entrance. The door creaks as he opens it and the sound reverberates through the cavernous abyss of the structure. He takes out his flashlight to illuminate his way. Windows to provide ventilation run along the upper perimeter of the room. Aircraft fumes are combustible and float upwards, necessitating ventilation. There an inordinate number of the openings. Whatever were there needed large quantities of volatile fuel?

He checks the offices opposite his position first. Inside are more drafting tables. He saw this before when he was here, but something is different. There are signs that someone has been in here since. There is a sleeping bag in the corner and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 163 rubbish in the trash can. There are blueprints on one of the draft boards. Are some

Nazis hiding out here? He takes out his sidearm and proceeds to the draft table.

Holding his flashlight high he sees two separate designs. The first appears to be the

V-2, but its classification and model number are C-3. It is much larger than the rockets they are aware of. He folds the design over. The second design is a mechanical schematic of a monstrous aircraft. It’s an incredible plane, a giant fixed wing shaped like a boomerang. There is no fuselage and the cockpit is housed at the pointed tip where the wings join. From the little German he can read the range capacity printed below the drawing is six thousand kilometers round trip.

“It's called the Amerika-bomber or Wunderwaffe 2,” says a voice in the darkness. Marshall points his gun in the direction of the voice.

“It is designed to hit New York and return to Germany.”

The person steps from the shadows. Lionel looks well for a man who the day before was on death's doorstep. Marshall rubs his eyes.

“No, old boy, you’re not dreaming.”

“You were sick, dying. They said you were transferred to a medical facility.”

“Oh, I have a touch of radiation poisoning, but nothing so severe I can’t complete my mission. I took something to make me seem sicker than I was, but

Bailey was getting suspicious. I couldn’t be exposed.”

“You killed him didn’t you?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 164

“And framed you, I predicted you would escape. We're out from under the hierarchy and can move freely, friend.”

Marshall stares at Lionel.

“Don’t give me that look. I know what you are. We’re on the same team.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I assume you brought the girl along?”

“She helped me escape.”

“Be careful around her. She may not be who she seems.”

“What proof do you have? She's done nothing but help the both of us.”

“True, but Bailey was a double and possibly triple agent, working for the highest bidder.”

“Why would he have let me in on it and tip his hand? He was the one who told me about radiation poisoning.”

“What?"

“It's not important now. Watch your back with the girl. Love has a way of blinding you to more critical matters.”

Marshall stares and keeps his gun leveled at Lionel.

“Clyde Bailey was part of a new department called the Atomic Energy

Commission," Lionel says. "It was formed as a branch of the government working on the Manhattan Project. Heard of that?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 165

Marshall remembers what Helga told about the Englishman speaking with

Kammler and the others. Lionel wouldn’t go to all this trouble if he didn’t need him to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. He wants something.

“No? It's a project to develop an atomic bomb. It was fast-tracked because we feared the Germans were developing similar plans, but all our surveillance and reconnaissance led to the assumption they neither had the resources nor the people to be a success. We understand now that that was what they wanted us to believe.

That there was a faction working on it unbeknownst to the Nazi high command.

They've been involved in it since 1931 and might already have a functioning weapon. That is what I think was tested in Thuringia a week ago.”

“If they had it for so long, why have they waited to test it?” asks Marshall.

“Bureaucracy, red tape, greed, some of them weren’t finished plundering the

Jews. Since they were going outside Hitler and his inner circle they couldn't be sure they wouldn’t be better off under western leadership. They needed a government they could worm their way into to play the victors, someone who would welcome them and allow them to continue their research. That's but a guess on my part. The simplest explanation is they were waiting for other technologies to catch up, such as the C-3 and the Amerika-Bomber. Having a bomb is one thing, but a delivery system is another. With the Fuhrer squandering resources on lost fronts, they were limited in their access to funds and advancing other technologies. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 166

Now they have them and I think they intend to use them on multiple targets. The organizing element in all this is the Werewolves. Our problem is to find out where and when they are planning to strike, how many of these weapons they possess, and where they are. Perhaps there are clues in that diary you found. You brought it, didn’t you?”

The explanation is plausible, but Marshall can’t hand over his single advantage.

“I hid it along the way. Why should I believe you? Can you tell me what

General Howard has to do with this?”

Lionel does not answer him.

“Okay," says Marshall, “here’s what's going to happen. I can’t trust a man who tried to frame me, so I'm taking these plans and I'll find these weapons. Others are willing to help.”

“Don’t be an idiot! The game is far more complex than you can comprehend. There are too many factions and different agendas in motion. They aren’t all in Germany. There are Russians involved and even so-called friends with their own hidden goals. The situation is too volatile. You may cause a catastrophe if you get reckless. We need to proceed with caution.”

“The Russians want to end this and destroy these things, just like I do.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 167

“Don’t realize what you're dealing with? These are nuclear weapons capable of destroying entire cities in a millisecond. If they're used on any of the armies encroaching on Germany, it’s game over. If they launch those rockets who knows what will happen? Washington, Moscow, everything could be destroyed and those bastards would win. The situation is far more desperate than you know.”

"Shove it, Turlington, if that's even your name."

Marshall grabs the blueprints and stuffs them into his briefcase. He hurries outside to the jeep. His face is ashen now that the sun has peeked over the mountains.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” Lachelle says.

“Maybe I have. We have got a long day ahead of us.”

He takes off across the runway, deciding to use it as a shortcut to the crossroads that lead to Orndoff. The flat surface allows him to fly along faster than before. He has several pieces of the puzzle that Lionel does not in the diary. Was the Englishman Helga was referring to Lionel? Is he working on both sides of the equation? As Marshall glances at Lachelle, he wonders whether Lionel was throwing suspicion on her to deflect it away from himself. He keeps his eyes on her not paying attention to where he is going. Lachelle looks at him. Unlike Lionel, she has risked everything to aide him. Despite Lionel’s accusations, he trusts her whether it's wise or not. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 168

“Watch where you're driving,” she says. There is terror in her voice. He doesn’t flinch. He remembers from the reconnaissance flight that there is a sheer drop-off of about two hundred feet at the end of the runway. Right before that, a road veers off to the left that travels down the mountainside and into the Jonas

Valley. Orndorf and the lead elements of the Third Army should be beyond that.

He drives straight ahead. Lachelle grips the side of the vehicle. “Marshall, what are you doing?”

“What street?” he shouts.

“Stop, what?”

“Where you grew up!”

The end of the runway is fast approaching. Within seconds they will plunge to their deaths.

“Tell me now!”

“104 South Hampton!”

Marshall slams on the brakes. The front bumper of the jeep is hanging over the edge. Lachelle shivers, tears stream down her cheeks. Marshall reverses the jeep, parks, and walks around to her. She slaps him.

“Bastard!”

“I had to be sure you were who you said you were. People don't lie under duress. I looked at the files you were born in England and later adopted by an Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 169

American couple you didn’t find out till the court released the records. You may have been raised in the United States, but you always had a fascination with your birth parents. Your mother died last year, and you listed your paternal father as next of kin. He still lives at 104 South Hampton.”

Lachelle gets out of the jeep. The wind whips up and she shivers. Marshall puts his arm around her.

“I had to find out.”

“What scared you so much in the hangar?”

Gunshots ring out and ricochet off the concrete. Marshall covers her and they dash to the jeep. Lachelle looks towards the hangar as she sits down. A figure emerges from the hanger, firing. Marshall stomps the accelerator and the jeep speeds down the mountainside road.

CHAPTER 19

The terrain at the bottom of the mountain is unfamiliar. Marshall pictures the area from above. He is back on the plane. Below is another thoroughfare that cuts through the forest beyond the Jonas Valley, miles from the epicenter of the zone of destruction. This place is green, undisturbed. There is a bend in the roadway that swings around to the left at an almost ninety-degree angle. He spies a crossroads sign at an outcropping of rocks and dirt that has been bulldozed and moved aside. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 170

The ground is graded, indications of recent construction. The earth shows signs of being tiled and scraped. Marshall halts the jeep and gets out examining the road.

Lachelle joins him. There is evidence of trademarks leftover in the dried mud, possible evidence that the dreaded Tiger Mark II tank passed through. Whatever it was, it was a vehicle much larger or at least carrying something heavy. He stands and takes off his shoe; she looks at him as if he’s crazy.

“This is no time to go running barefoot. We’re not in Central Park.”

Marshall laughs as he peels the photograph from his boot sole. The image is small but he recognizes that they are in the same area. Somewhere up this road is two of the massive weapons and with them, the Werewolf Militia. The missiles certainly are to be used soon, but if he finds them in time they could be disabled. How will he do that? Should he? The nature of his mission is to secure new technology for the American military. Now that it is in his grasp, will he ignore his mission and destroy them? He thought he could trust Lionel, and then he remembers the blueprints. Lionel made only futile attempts to stop him or hide the plans. They were out in plain sight. If he was the enemy, why would he have let Marshall get away with such valuable information? Where did he obtain them?

Marshall considers contacting Washington, but should he? His transmission would allow the Germans or anyone else to zero in on his position. Then there's

Lachelle to worry about. He is being watched. Someone has to be watching. He Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 171 can’t stay and risk being found out. Todd was a mechanic. If he finds him, perhaps they can return under the cover of darkness and figure out what to do about the missiles. Pretending he is lost, he puts the photo back in his boot without letting

Lachelle in on what he suspects.

“I was convinced we were on the road to Orndorf, but I think this is leading us away,” he says.

A red dot appears on his sleeve. He saw this right before the Soviet soldier's head exploded. If they wanted him dead, they would have killed them already.

They are waiting. He eases back towards the jeep.

"Lachelle, let’s go."

He cranks the engine and drives away from the vicinity. He maintains a calm demeanor. Only when he has put enough distance between themselves and where they stopped does he allow himself to breathe easier.

Why would the Werewolf militia maintain surveillance on them and allow them to escape? Marshall must put himself into the equation. Is it he that is being used and is part of the plan? If that is the case why let him leave with the blueprints? Do they also know about the diary?

He considers the rockets. They run on fuel and the Germans are running low on regular gasoline. Their aviation supplies are non-existent. From intelligence reports, he knows the V-2 uses a combination of liquid hydrogen and nitrogen, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 172 both of which can be synthesized. Of course, that would mean having a formula combined with the specifics as well as diagrams of the engine housing and pump requirements. It could be the projectiles aren’t in the forest behind him at all, but being transported to a location that can aid in the manufacture of the rocket propellant using the information he is carrying. His escape was organized because they know he has the diary and the equations for the mixture. Lionel may have been played too, having been given the plans by someone pretending to be an ally.

But they couldn’t have known about... Wait! In their final communiqué, Intrepid instructed him to meet at the hanger. So, Lionel is Intrepid. He knew about the diary because Marshall told him about it. Where does Lachelle fit in? He remembers Lionel saying Dr. Bailey was getting too close. She, being the Doctor's assistant, could have told her that something was up. Then again, why is he being corralled in such a way? Why don’t they just kill him and take the diary and blueprints?

He somehow has to reverse the roles. He knows a few lines of his performance and the part he is supposed to play. What of Lachelle? He glances at her with the wind whipping hair around her face. She catches him studying her. What is behind those graceful blue eyes?

Another shot rings out. The bullet ricochets off the hood. Marshall swerves. The jeep lunges back and forth as it strains, grinding gears against the hot axle. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 173

Marshall jerks the steering wheel to the right. The jeep bounces upwards and cascades into a pothole from a leftover impact crater. The jeep stops dead in the roadway. Neither he nor Lachelle is injured.

"The Germans?" Lachelle asks.

"That gunshot didn't come from a German Mauser; it had to be the standard

M-1 Rifle of the American army."

Marshall draws his sidearm and runs around to the passenger side of the jeep.

He grabs Lachelle and pulls her down for cover behind the jeep. The shooter hasn’t made another attempt yet. Marshall peeks over the side and squints trying to get a glimpse of where it came from. As he does his ears catch the faintest sound of sparks and the acrid smell of burning electrical wires. Almost without seeing the source he knows what it is and can’t bear to look. He looks in the back of the jeep and sees the gaping hole in his briefcase a bullet has ripped through it and the transmitter inside. The shot wasn’t meant for them at all but only his means of communication to the outside world. It could not have come from Lionel. Why would he lure him out all this way to destroy it?

“Shit!” Marshall says.

"What’s wrong?"

He takes out the briefcase and opens it to the tangled mess of wire and circuitry that once was the communication set. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 174

Lachelle stares at the destroyed electronics.

“Marshall...Who or what are you?”

“An analyst, that’s all.”

"Don't lie to me."

"Why would I lie?"

"Listen to me, mister. You've put me through hell the last few hours. I've risked my life to get you out here. Now either you start trusting me or leave or I'll find my way out."

“Okay, okay. I'm an intelligence officer assigned to the Third Army..."

"And?"

"My job is to report any findings of German technology that the American government can use and try to retrieve it.”

Lachelle fumes at him.

"Well?" says Marshall

“Okay, where do we go from here? What’s the next step?” says Lachelle

“We're cut off for sure now. The only solution is to reach Orndorf. I have

friends there that will help.”

They approach the town on the same road Marshall used the day before. The massive Third Army has pushed through. Tank tracks have chewed up the terrain and the once green fields are destroyed and muddy. Up ahead he can hear the rear Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 175 elements of the juggernaut converging. The peaceful village is soon to be overrun with Americans. The Hizers should be overjoyed at seeing their liberators. Friendly or not, however, soldiers in combat don’t treat the private property of a former enemy with care. He hopes that won’t be the case this time with the American occupation. MPs will be on the lookout so he parks in the woods beyond the city limits. He puts a hill between him and the line of sight of the other troops. A few hundred yards away men have already pitched camp and are making campfires.

“We’ll wait till dark to sneak in,” says Marshall.

They sit in the jeep to await the sunset. Marshall lays his weapon on the seat and gets out. He gets the transmitter case out of the back of the jeep. He sets the case on the hood.

“If you fix it, who will you call?” asks Lachelle.

He ignores the question. The inside of the machine is a mess. The SCR 536 designations' main fuse bulb is gone. There is no way to transmit. His face droops.

He closes it up and returns it to the briefcase.

“No hope of sending a telegram, eh?” said Lachelle.

"I suspect we're being manipulated. If we had remained back there we could have been kidnapped or worse."

"Who would want to kidnap us, the Germans?"

"They are Germans but call them the Werewolves.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 176

"Werewolves, you must be joking?"

“Far from it, by putting ourselves near the Americans, we may keep them at bay."

“If these soldiers are so cunning, don’t you think they realize you're being hunted by your countrymen?" says Lachelle. “And who the hell was that in the hangar? They were trying to kill you. Level with me, Marshall. That’s what people do who...”

If he tells her, she will be in danger, but if he holds back, well.

“It was Lionel.”

“What? But that's impossible. He was too sick to move.”

“He was using you, and me. He took stomach medicine to fake his symptoms. He was investigating Dr. Bailey. He is a deep cover spy for the OSS.”

“What is all this?” she says.

“I’m nobody, a low-level intelligence officer whose gotten caught up. I don’t know what my next move is, but I have friends in the village that can help. You must trust me on that.”

CHAPTER 20

They approach the village from the south on a pig trail that leads through the woods behind the square. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 177

He tells Lachelle to remain with the jeep while he goes and makes contact with those who can help them. He slips out and creeps down along the path. He hears the ordered chaos of soldiers and officers performing routines, gearing up for the next day. The village offers a welcome break of scenery and the last stop before the onslaught as they drive deeper into Nazi territory. Many of these men could be dead in a few days. Besides the Hizers, Marshall needs to find Todd. He tiptoes past a few of the command tents set up on the outskirts. Marshall's training kicks in. He has an opportunity to gather more intelligence by listening in. He crouches down, rubs his hands in the dirt, and smudges his face. The staff jeep outside the tent is emblazoned with four stars. It has to be Patton's. Eavesdropping on the old man could yield much.

He drops to his belly and shimmies along the ground to the edge of the cloth wall of the tent. He hears the crunch of rocks under boots. He looks to his side. A sentry is approaching. Marshall keeps still, trying to blend in with the earth. He holds his breath. The slightest sound will give him away. The guard passes within inches of his head and marches on. Marshall exhales and maneuvers closer to the tent. Patton's commanding voice is more subdued than usual.

There are other officers. Marshall distinguishes Howard's voice from the others'. He strains to hear. There is a tiny tear in the canvas to peep through. The two men hover over an operational map table. With them is General Hobart Gay, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 178

“Hap” for short. He has been Patton’s Chief of Staff since the African Campaigns and one of his closest friends. Patton looks concerned as Howard takes up the discussion.

“Sir, we believe the fifteenth Panzer Grenadiers and Waffen SS fourth Division have dug in deep near Pilsen. That is where the Redoubt is forming up. Because they're prepared for a frontal assault, we can take advantage and swing around to the south of the city and secure their munition works.”

“And that’s where this thing is?” asks Patton. It is curious seeing the old man perplexed. Whatever Howard is explaining disturbs him.

“Yes, sir,” says Howard. Hap chimes in his displeasure with the whole scenario.

“What makes you think this isn’t some trap? They could have armed it already and are waiting to blow everyone to kingdom come!”

“We intercepted their uranium without a core. It's nothing more than a big firecracker, the last prototype they developed. Our scientists tried to make one but couldn't. We could use it against the Japanese.”

Patton puffs on his cigar and circles the table like a predator analyzing his prey, sizing it up for the kill.

“This is all too convenient. They'll not let us walk in and take the damned thing.

Why else would they transfer all those crack troops? I won't waste my boys' lives on some science project!” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 179

“Sir, you have the orders from Eisenhower himself,” says Howard.

“I’ll get my job done. I’ve never disobeyed an order in my life, but you're going in first so we know where to look. We hit that Redoubt with full force and destroy the enemy, and you'll make sure the blessed thing is harmless before we do. Is that understood, Commander?"

Howard backs down after the thorough dressing down. A junior officer comes in with a message. He hands it to Hap.

“Sir, we have received word that Colonel White has escaped. That nurse aided him.”

“We have to find him. There's no telling what kind of information he'll leak to the Germans,” says Howard.

“I liked that boy. I would never have dreamed he was a traitor,” says Patton.

There is a hint of regret in his voice.

“Should we use extreme prejudice in his apprehension?” asks Hap.

“Shoot to kill,” says Patton.

Howard grins.

“What about the nurse? She’s an accomplice, after all.”

“She may be innocent. Take her alive if you can,” says Patton. Howard looks pleased. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 180

Marshall feels the grip of anger welling in him. It must have been Howard speaking English with Kammler and Speer rather than an Englishman, but why?

Was he trying to gain the bomb for the Americans? Could he be a double agent?

He wants to rush into the tent and proclaim his innocence, but without proof that would only get him arrested. He has to figure out where the V-2 rockets are. He's certain Howard doesn’t know about their existence or he would have mentioned it.

Or would he? There is something in the diary that links everything. He has to have it deciphered. As he is readying to leave, he hears one more piece of information.

"We've intercepted a German transmission, but it was so garbled we only got one phrase out of it: 'dropping the peppermint,'" says Hap.

As he makes his way back to Lachelle, it occurs to Marshall that the V-2s may yet be unarmed. It could be that the uranium Howard mentioned is what the

Werewolves need and did not know where it went. Perhaps they need fuel for the rockets' flight. A picture is forming in his head. The dead scientists he discovered were not killed by accident; they hid the diagrams on how to arm the devices in the diary using coded language and committed suicide. He came across the book before the Werewolf militia could retrieve it.

The mission is now two-fold. Once he finds the uranium and secures it, he can see how the bombs work and destroy the V-2 rockets. He knows he should try to Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 181 salvage them, but the blueprints are enough. He is marked for death, but he must carry on.

Marshall finds his way to the back entrance of the Hizer shop. He stops behind a tree to check his position. There is an open area of about twenty feet he has to cross. If he sprints fast, he may get there before the sentries return. He prepares to but is thrown to the ground. He looks up and sees the grimy face of Wittenauer.

“Shit fire I am glad it's you,” says Marshall.

“Keep your voice down, chief.”

“Where have you been?” Marshall asks as he stands up.

"It was getting too hot around the castle,” says Wittenauer.

“More than you realize. I can't explain, but I need to get into that building.

There are people there who can help us.”

Wittenauer takes the lead. Marshall feels safe for the first time in a while.

They traverse the short distance and sidle against the side of the building.

Wittenauer leans and looks through the window next to the back door. The bakery is clean, ready for the next day's work. There's no one in sight. He nods. Marshall expects no trouble from the Hizers, but coming in unannounced after dark could startle them. Wittenauer turns the knob on the door.

"It's unlocked?" he says.

"Unusual?" Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 182

"I should say so. Best be careful."

They ease inside carefully as thieves. Marshall points to the stairway towards the front of the bakery, opposite the large storefront window overlooking the square. Armed MPs are smoking outside, patrolling the streets. A host of soldiers are gathered near tanks in the town square. It looks to be a quiet evening. Marshall and Wittenauer negotiate their way around the furnishings, avoiding the ambient light drifting through the window. They head up the steps, the old wood planks creaking under their weight. Try as they might, the noise is unavoidable.

"It's too quiet," Wittenauer says.

He pulls his 45 and cocks it. At the top of the steps, light emanates from the bedroom. They move towards it, but there are no voices. Are they even home?

There's a strict curfew. All citizens of Allied-occupied territory have to be indoors after dark. No exceptions.

Wittenauer keeps his gun at the ready and uses it to nudge the bedroom door open. At first, the two men see Helena sitting on the bed. She stares at them. As they move in Karl is standing to one side, blank. Marshall pushes past Wittenauer.

Todd is there, using Lachelle as a shield, holding a pistol to her head. She is shaking. Wittenauer assumes an offensive stance, aiming his weapon at Todd.

Todd does not flinch and presses the barrel into her temple.

"What is going on here?” Marshall says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 183

“Don’t you know, Colonel?" Todd says. "I’m apprehending the escaped prisoner who killed Doctor Bailey. He's wanted dead or alive. Dead is the operative word here, though. You're not getting away.”

“Bailey was working with you, wasn't he, you and Howard?”

“You win a prize, sir, but the good doctor was playing both sides. He'd give the weapon to whoever would pay more. He'd been in contact with someone named Intrepid. Howard is an idiot and believed Bailey would keep his word. You have the one thing we need: the diary. Bailey was hoping to talk it out of you for the sake of the sick men. He guessed he could play on your emotions and convince you the cure was somewhere in its pages. He was stupid, and you figured it out, killing him before he killed you."

"You traitorous bastard..."

“Per instructions, I was supposed to retrieve the diary from that hole in the ground when I found you there Colonel. I should have killed you, but I wasn’t sure. You were seen leaving by Howard, anyway, so I couldn’t return without you.”

Lionel was telling the truth in hopes to keep the book from them, knowing I would escape with it. But Todd isn’t working with Howard and has deduced incorrectly that I killed Bailey.

“So you figured it out?” says Marshall, playing along. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 184

“I’m willing to let you go if you hand it over.”

“You think I’m fool enough to carry it around with me?” He glances over at

Wittenauer, hoping the sergeant will get his drift. Wittenauer blinks twice.

“You're one of the Ver Wolfen, then?” says Marshall.

“Naw, Colonel, I’m a just an old boy from Texas trying to make a buck, but I understand those guys. My Maw and Paw are from Germany. They got a raw deal from Roosevelt. He took their land and turned it into a farm cooperative, said it was good for everybody except for my folks! Hitler has the right idea killing off all the money-grubbing Jews.”

Marshall narrows his eyes.

“Take me to your boss, Todd, Heir Kammler.”

Todd’s expression changes to suspicion.

“You could have gotten that name from the diary. I am no fool.”

“You're a damned fool. I’m Intrepid! Who the hell do you think has been pulling all the strings? Bailey was an idiot. He didn't even know how to arm the weapon. I do. The bomb's worthless unless you have the uranium,” says Marshall.

Todd starts sweating.

“I got the uranium! All I need from you is that fucking diary!” says Todd with deadly earnestness. He pushes the barrel harder into Lachelle’s temple. He twists her arm and she winces. The situation will go bad if he doesn’t satisfy Todd, but Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 185 there's someone else in the mix. The boy couldn’t be working alone. It is clear now that Howard wants the bomb for the US government. Marshall has to continue his charade so he can find out who the other person is. He tries to act nonchalant.

“Okay, you want convincing. Here it is in two parts. One, if I’m not who I say I am, why did I kill Bailey? An American colonel who understood nothing wouldn’t risk something like that.”

“But a good spy would never get caught!” says Todd.

“Kid, even the best spies have bad days. I took on that identity and pretended to love that stupid broad you're holding hostage to deflect any attention away from myself. I saw that if I allowed myself to be apprehended it would add to my cover.

I seduced the girl into aiding my escape. I’m just stringing her along. She thinks I love her. I planned to get caught!”

Lachelle looks hurt, but that can’t be helped now.

“Also, would an American Colonel have these?” He reaches into his coat. Todd points the gun at him.

“Easy now, slow down.”

Marshall pulls out the blueprints for the weapons and hands them to Todd. He flips through the pages, glancing over the designs of the V-2 and the bomber. He relaxes and lowers the gun. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 186

“I designed those. I killed the others because they didn’t have the nerve to go through with it," Marshall says. He pauses, putting on another act.

"I'm part of the inner circle. I destroyed the diary, fearing it would fall into the wrong hands. It was of no consequence because the designs and formulas on its pages were from me.”

Todd hands the plans back to him.

“Okay, Colonel, but I still don’t trust you. We're all going for a little ride.”

Helena and Karl are scared and confused. Todd takes out a silencer and attaches it to his weapon, then points it at the two.

“We mustn't have any witnesses," he says.

“God, you are stupid aren’t you! You can’t do that. Who do you think was my contact to get the information? Helena and her sister in the castle! The Sergeant here works for me. He's SS Gruppenführer Hans Dietrich.”

“Sieg heil! Das teure Vaterland Hat Gottes wise Hand Für uns ersehen.

That’s God loves the Fatherland, stupid,” says Wittenauer.

Todd is wary but convinced. To add to the deception, Karl and Helena stand and give the Nazi salute. Todd keeps a firm grip on Lachelle.

“The truck is around the corner to the side. We leave out the back. Don’t try anything funny or she's dead.”

“Whatever kid,” says Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 187

Marshall isn't sure what the next move is. At least being in the open they have a better chance to getaway.

CHAPTER 21

Wittenauer drives the large vehicle with the Marshall, Lachelle, and Todd in the rear. Todd keeps his gun pressed against Lachelle's rib cage. There is an oblong box about a two-foot square tied down to the bed of the truck. It is lead-lined and will require all the men to lift it.

“How much do have you have in there?” asks Marshall.

“Not enough to be missed by Howard. I’m not greedy.”

Marshall realizes he hasn’t got all of it, but it is possibly a sufficient amount to arm the weapons.

“What about rocket fuel?”

“Would you shut the hell up? It's handled, all right? You just fix the damn warhead.”

“Dropping the peppermint is a big deal isn’t it?” Marshall says.

Todd glares at him and yells to Wittenauer over the roar of the engine.

“Turn left at the crossroad and don't try anything.”

Wittenauer keeps up his pretense.

“Why would I do that, mein Heir?” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 188

The bumpy road jostles the truck. Todd almost loses his grip on the gun.

Todd brags to Marshall and Lachelle.

“Old Patton doesn't know what he’s in for. There are no troops at the

National Redoubt in Pilsen, only an armed bomb. A suicide squad's there to set it off the moment the Third and Fifteenth Armies move into the area. One of the rockets is aimed at the outskirts of Berlin to destroy Zhukov. Seems these Nazis don’t care about Hitler. But the rumor is he's not even on the continent anymore, and that he escaped to Argentina. The other will hit London. Then we have this super bomber...oh hell, you know all this.”

Marshall sits back, stunned. His initial assumption could be wrong. Where are all those soldiers? How is he going to thwart this massive conspiracy?

Somehow he has to relay what he knows to Wittenauer and find a radio. He must get a message to the high command. A bombing mission is needed to destroy the rockets before they are fired. Think, where would they have taken them for the fuel they need, and where is the best place to launch? Wishing he’d studied the terrain more, he recalls an old report of a V-2 site secured by the British a week earlier at a location in the forest to the south of Mittelbau-Dora. They also acquired nine hundred tons of liquid oxygen left behind by the fleeing Nazis. That, combined with the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 189

Allies' ammunition dump nearby, would give both the weapons adequate gas to reach their targets. Kammler has moved his troops to retake those sites. The order from Hitler to move to Pilsen was half false. Damn, how could the intelligence community be so blind as to allow that? The small British contingent holding the camp will be overrun. It is not that far from where they are and he feels he can call in a strike once he has a visual on the place. The main aim now is to stop the vehicle and get rid of Todd.

“Pull over, Wittenauer. I got to piss and Mittelbau-Dora is another twenty minutes away,” says Marshall.

“Hold it,” says Todd.

“How's it going to look to your boss if I show up stinking like a bum? It would not be very too professional; Todd and you wouldn't want that. They'd laugh you out of the place.”

"I need to go, too," says Lachelle.

"You buncha..."

Todd raps cab wall behind Wittenauer in the driver's seat.

“Go ahead. Make a pit stop.”

"You're a real pal, Todd," Marshall says.

"You watch yourself, White. I am not afraid of putting' you out of your misery." Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 190

The truck's gears grind into second as Wittenauer guides it to the side of the road. Todd hangs on to Lachelle with the gun at the ready. He folds the flap back on the rear of the truck and hops out. Marshall follows her and as he rounds the truck he bumps into Wittenauer.

“Kill the son of a bitch," Marshall whispers. He disappears into the woods.

As Wittenauer comes towards Lachelle and Todd, she tries to pull away.

“Let me go, you asshole. Do you want me to go right here in front of you?”

Todd scowls.

“Stay in sight.” She stomps towards the nearest tree. Wittenauer takes out a cigarette and stops to think, looking in his jacket pockets for a possible weapon. He touches the cord that secures the hood sewed into the collar, then rips it open and pulls out the cotton drawstring. He wraps an end around each hand, making a handheld ligature. Lachelle goes into the foliage and bends over. Todd tilts his head as he looks at her. Wittenauer whips the cord around Todd's throat and tightens it. Todd pushes back against Wittenauer's chest, trying to free himself.

Marshall comes around the truck and tries to wrestle the pistol away from Todd.

During the struggle, the gun goes off striking Todd in the head and killing him.

"Move, Sergeant!" says Marshall

Wittenauer throws Todd to the ground and steps aside. Lachelle emerges from the trees. Todd's blood is spattered over the dirt, and his eyes are empty. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 191

“That was easy,”

“Not that difficult when they're the enemy,” says Wittenauer, not giving it a second thought. Lachelle looks down at Todd's corpse.

"I don't guess there's much point in my checking for his pulse."

"Is that a joke?" Marshall says.

"Hardly, it's my job, Marshall. You didn’t have to kill him.”

Wittenauer ignores her. He grabs Todd under the armpits.

"Grab his legs, Colonel. Let's get him into the woods.”

The men drag him into the brush. A few feet in they dump the body and pile leaves on it. No sooner do they emerge from the woods when a voice calls out.

“Halten Wer bist du!”

Two SS Militia emerge from the trees. One is about Marshall's age and a full colonel. He points a Luger towards them. The other is younger, about nineteen.

The officer eyes them scanning each person with scrutiny. Wittenauer goes into his act.

“Ich bin ein Kommando Ver Wolfen.”

“Ich gefangen ein Spion mit Tagebuch.”

The SS step towards them, their guns gleaming in the headlights of the truck

“Ich habe das Uran,” says Wittenauer. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 192

Did he just tell them about the uranium? Wittenauer is so convincing

Marshall begins to wonder about him. Wittenauer makes a sudden move to take off his jacket. The Germans cock their weapons readying to shoot.

“Ich werde beweisen, wer ich bin,” says Wittnauer. He removes his field coat, dropping it to the ground. He turns in a circle with his arms raised so they can see he’s unarmed. Facing them again, he rolls up his sleeve, revealing the underside of his left arm and the pentangle tattoo with the SS Ruhn, the mark of the Werewolf Militia. Marshall chokes back vomit. The German officer steps closer. The other soldier remains a few feet behind. Marshall glances back up from dry heaving and sees the red dot on the younger Nazi's scalp. The bullet spits through the air and cracks into the boy's skull. The officer turns around and

Wittenauer strikes. He grabs the Nazi's head and breaks his neck. The man slumps and falls to the dirt. Wittenauer shows Marshall and Lachelle the tattoo.

“Only temporary, I figured it might come in handy at some point.”

There is a stirring in the trees.

“It’s the 'I' want to know about,” says Lionel as he emerges. He is holding a

Vampyre sniper rifle.

“Let’s say you need me and leave it at that,” says Wittenauer.

“We haven't got time to figure out who’s who," says Lionel. "We have to get to the launch site. We can use the uniforms for cover.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 193

“I suppose you speak German as well?” Wittenauer asks with contempt in his voice. Lionel smirks.

“Ich spreche fließend Deutsch. Fluent, old boy.”

Marshall stoops and picks up the dead Nazi's Luger. He aims it at Lionel, then walks over and takes the Vampyre. He checks the chamber for bullets and, satisfied with what he sees, hands it to Lachelle.

“If he tries anything, shoot him,” Marshall says.

“You're making a mistake,” Lionel says.

“Maybe, we’ll take these uniforms and sneak into the camp, but we’re destroying the rockets. Understood? Now, get dressed.”

Wittenauer and Lionel strip down and put on the German clothes. Somehow they look natural. Lachelle handles the weapon well, pushing Lionel into the bed of the truck. Wittenauer resumes driving duty and Marshall takes the passenger side, keeping the gun trained on him.

“Sir, it’s unnecessary to keep pointing that thing at me,”Wittenauer says as he

cranks the truck.

“We'll see,” says Marshall. “Come on, let's go."

If the men are part of the Werewolf Militia he is taking a terrible risk returning them to their camp. If he is wrong, not only will they kill him, but hundreds of thousands of others. Germany could win the war. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 194

CHAPTER 22

Mittelbau-Dora was a German Nazi concentration camp near Nordhausen in Thuringia, Germany, established in late summer 1943 as a subcamp of

Buchenwald to supply labor for extending nearby tunnels in the Kohnstein and for manufacturing V-2s and the V-1 flying bomb. Later that year it became an independent facility with numerous subcamps of its own. In March, most of the surviving inmates were evacuated by the Germans. On April 11, 1945, US troops freed the remaining prisoners and gained access to all fuel supplies and plans.

If Marshall has guessed right the few soldiers who remain to guard

Mittelbau-Dora are soon to be overrun with a large force of SS grenadiers and

Kriege marines. The bulk of the Werewolf Militia is now swinging around to rendezvous outside Pilsen and wait for Patton’s annihilation so they can regain a foothold in the east. He can’t help but admire the singular complexity of the nightmare he finds himself in. Three bombs are poised to change the entire outcome of the war in a single day. Hitler boasted about a wonder weapon that would save them and most had thought it was talk, including him. How was he to know that a group working was working on such technology?

Rounding a bend in the mountain pass they hear sporadic gunfire. The road travels down the mountainside. In the valley below, the gunfire grows louder, more Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 195 rapid. Americans cry out in agony as they are slaughtered by the overwhelming force attacking them. Germans bark orders. As quickly as it begins, the blitz ends.

The confusion allows the truck to Mittelbau-Dora unnoticed.

Kammler is expecting Todd and the cargo of American uranium to complete the mission. More than likely, the truck will not be fired upon. The road is curvy but affords a clear view as they get nearer. The Germans have captured the facility and are putting up large Klieg lights, carbon-arc lamps that turn night into day, and are used in filmmaking. In any other circumstance, it would be reckless to light the area as it is would make it a target for aerial bombardment, but the Allies believe the camp is still in their control. Marshall suspects they need only enough time to fuel and arm the weapons. The Third Army will reach Pilsen sometime tomorrow and he has to get word to them not to approach the town. They must secure these rockets and find a transmitter to notify Eisenhower and Patton. They haven’t been spotted yet but that will change around the next bend in the road. The spires of the

V-2s rise over the Meillerwagen transporting them. A platoon of men removes the rocket's camouflage cover and rudder protection. They use clamping collars to secure the rockets to the firing stand, and the transport is withdrawn. The rocket is turned a quarter turn for the fuel hose connections. The set-up usually takes 30-45 minutes, but these elite soldiers get the rocket set in but a few minutes. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 196

Marshall motions for Wittenauer to slow down as the truck approaches the visual range of the front watchtower and the perimeter guards.

“Here’s where we part ways," Marshall says. "Don't screw me, Wittenauer.”

Wittenauer rolls up his sleeve, licks his thumb, and smudges it across the

Werewolf insignia. It smears.

“I told you, we're on the same side,” says Wittenauer.

“Watch out for Lionel and give us a good distraction, then. It'll take time to sabotage those rockets.”

“Da moy drug, Tovarisch, comrade.” Marshall finally realizes that

Wittenauer is his Soviet counterpart.

Marshall checks that the diary is still tucked away in his coat. He lied to the others about the diary. His eidetic memory would allow him to recall the equations and diagrams, but not what anything meant or how it worked.

The vehicle stops and he speaks once again to Wittenauer.

“I hope we can be friends after the war, comrade."

They shake hands.

“Da, uh, yes, my friend, we are in the same business, looking for the same thing, although I did not know the extent of what we were up against until we encountered the blast zone. My compatriots in the politburo knew of your government's huge investment in the atomic bomb program and your Manhattan Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 197 project. I was sent in to see how far the Germans progressed, but I, like you, was late getting into the game. Perhaps we all were. The Brit even surprised me. I guess he’s the grandmaster at this,” Wittenauer says.

“Don’t be so sure. We'll prevail for the sake of humanity. We must.”

Marshall jumps from the cab and runs to the rear, he stands on the bumper and beckons for Lachelle.

“We need to go.”

Lionel shifts in his seat.

“Don’t try to stop me. I think you're on our side,” says Marshall.

“You're going to give the bloody uranium to them?" Lionel says. "You're an idiot!"

“Hang on tight, old boy, and we’ll get through this.”

Lachelle hands Marshall the rifle and he helps her down. The outer perimeter is just ahead. There is no defense as it was taken down during the camp's liberation to allow first aid and Red Cross trucks to come and go.

Keeping to the shadows in the nearby woods they angle towards what appears to be a fueling truck. It is a typical V2 battery, but where it should comprise five platoons he counts only one platoon of twenty men. Most carry the usual weapons of a field unit and the normal equipment associated with their duties. Walking amongst these obedient, efficient drones of the once-mighty Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 198

Wehrmacht is a commanding, taller figure. He is a dark presence, both foreboding and unforgiving as if the reaper had taken on human flesh. He is dressed in the black paramilitary uniform of the Schutzstaffel, the SS. His pleated riding crop pants are sharply pressed and the polished jackboots shine to mirror perfection. His collar patches and shoulder boards denote the rank of Obergruppenführer, the highest position possible in the Nazi hierarchy, answerable not even to Himmler.

"Kammler," Marshall says to Lachelle.

Kammler wears the high-brimmed cap or Schirmmützen featuring a death's head. He wears it like a crown. The night is his royal shroud. If ever there was a dark heart at the center of the universe, it beats in this man’s chest, the mastermind of all that is unfolding. A rumbling rises in the distance. A peal of thunder reverberates through the hillsides. Kammler parades in front of his men, watching as they work to finish their tasks. Without uttering an order, he commands the utmost obedience, a god of war cast out of Valhalla to wage merciless butchery on the masses of what he deems subhuman peoples of the earth. His lifeless eyes are pitiless.

Marshall watches Kammler. He shakes his head. "A wolf, like that, he would have planned for everything," he says to Lachelle. "Even Lionel couldn't have fooled him. He wouldn't rely on the core needed to arm the devices to come from us." Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 199

"What do you mean, Marshall?"

"Don't you see? The rockets are operational! All they need is fueling. We don't have much time."

"Marshall, please, I don't..."

"The plane is in the air or at least being prepared for take-off, just awaiting the word. From what I saw, the engines were a design called 'jets.' If it gets in the air, nothing the Allies have can catch it. New York or Washington could be in ruins by morning."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but the odds of our surviving are worse than a minute ago.

Come on."

Marshall grabs her by the hand. They stay low as they move from cover to cover.

CHAPTER 23

“Halt, wer du bist!” exclaims a fierce German voice. From their new hiding spot, Marshall and Lachelle can see the truck with Wittenauer, and Lionel stopped at what was the front gate. The pylons and watchtower were wiped out by

American demolition teams when the compound was liberated. It’s regretful they hadn’t kept them up as it would have afforded better protection and prevented the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 200

Nazis from reclaiming the facility. The only structures remaining are the concrete bunkers containing what Marshall believes are the firing controls and another hardened structure he gathers is the engineering department. Within its walls, there is wireless control of some kind and perhaps the escape program for the

Amerikabomber. He knows from experience that there has to be a radar tracking system inside as well to guide the mission. That station will be manned and there is a guard posted outside. The launch crews are soldiers, but to carry out their duty they have to leave their ammo belts and guns behind. He views a belt with several of the Stielhandgranate, German for "stalk grenade," a unique design that's a regular issue for Nazi Germany's armed units. The distinctive appearance led to it being referred to as a "stick" or "potato masher" in slang by the British and

Americans. Along with them is an MP 40, a submachine gun chambered for the

9×19 mm Parabellum cartridge developed only by Germany’s top generals for their

Blitzkrieg war. A soldier has parted with them and left the weapons in the back of an open armored field car.

Marshall uses hand gestures to Lachelle on what he will do. She dips her head understanding. A small hop from the crates and Marshall crouches behind the vehicle, holding the grenades and the machine gun. He reaches over, grabs them, and for the first time sees the two mighty rockets in their full glory. Several technicians hover around the giant machines. Fuel lines pump liquid hydrogen and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 201 petrol into their bellies, filling the tanks so they may thrust the huge projectiles skyward. Fumes from the cold rocket accelerant form a low-hanging fog.

Something about the V2s radiates energy as if they are living, breathing entities.

The rocket to the right is larger, painted black from tip to tail, and adorned with a swastika on the fin. Marshall takes out one of his surveillance photographs to compare. The images are small, but it's clear that the larger rocket is not in the picture. He thinks back fast to the thousands of reports he had gotten on the V2s and their capabilities. Knowledge was scarce because the damned things exploded before anyone could see them. Nevertheless, one had fallen into the Thames River and was salvaged by the RAF. Ballistic experts had doubted whether Germany could have ever achieved building such a device until it landed on their front doorstep. Theoreticians realized that if the Nazis could lob the rocket to London, there was no telling how far they would take the technology. The Allies apprehended a Lieutenant-General Erich Schneider, a proponent of these vengeance weapons. He believed they had gone as far as they could with the development of the V1 and V2 but speculated some elements entertained the possibility of an even larger delivery system called the V3. This was stipulated as being in the realm of fantasy. In this, he was correct. In the initial tests on the devices, the payload and fuel were so heavy that when they were fired they tended to flip over in flight. However, he said this did not stop Speer from pushing Hitler Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 202 to continue his support for the project. A huge emplacement was built at

Mimoyecques using slave laborers, POWs, and German workers. Such activity attracted the attention of the French Resistance, who fed reports back to England.

Schneider reported that Speer had gotten it into his head that the V3 was to be what would bring the world to its knees and those vast sums of money were thrown in to fund it, so much so it hindered the Russian campaign. It became the weapon that had overriding priority within Germany. Schneider was later accused of never being associated with any of the knowledge he purported to give to the Allies, and thus his information was discounted. Marshall realizes now that it was accurate and their intelligence community had to lead them astray. This is, in fact, one of the

V3s. Returning to his hiding place. He checks the chamber and clips. The gun is loaded with about thirty-five rounds of ammunition. Surveying their options, he sees they can sprint to several boxes of supplies that have been lined up next to the work building. There is a radar rotator-modulator antenna anchored to the roof of the structure, and SCR-584 microwave system built by the MIT Laboratories but later enhanced by the Würzburg in 1941. The Germans expanded on it much further and added an automatic tracking mechanism. Once an object had been detected and was within range, the machine would keep the beams pointed at the target, driven by motors mounted on the antenna's base. For detection, as opposed to hunting, it also included a helical scanning means that allowed it to search for Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 203 aircraft. This mode had its own dedicated PPI display for easy interpretation. When used the aerial was spun at 4 rpm while it was nudged up and down to scan. In the event of capture, Marshall could adjust it to send out a distress beacon, the only problem being that everyone, including the enemy, might home in on the signal.

The device would be attached to a radio, too. But the hard part will get through the guards. He has killed no one before and now he sees no alternative.

Marshall watches as Wittenauer steps out of the truck and approaches the soldiers. The rain continues to come down, turning into a torrent. The weather may help the situation. With all the static electricity in the air, guidance systems can malfunction. Marshall is only guessing at this having never seen the working of operational controls of a V-2 rocket. He surmises it is very similar to the navigational array of a Flying Fortress bomber, geared to the magnetic north pole which goes haywire during thunderstorms. Lachelle is getting soaked. She shivers under the relentless downpour.

“I think this is it," Marshall says. "When the action starts, stay here. I'm going for that radar shack. With any luck, I can contact the Third Army and warn them.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” says Lachelle, her eyes tinted with regret. Marshall doesn’t comprehend the odd statement but does not have time to argue. As he looks towards Wittenauer, he sees him grab the guard slit the man’s Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 204 throat. The attack goes unnoticed by the rest of the soldiers, who are still too busy to notice. The storm gives good cover masking any sound. Lionel jumps from the truck and head to one of the V2s. Now it’s his turn to spring into action. He tucks the grenades in his belt loop and cocks the machine gun and slings it over his shoulder. He draws his knife from its sheath around his shin. Marshall tenses as the drops of water streak down his face. The truck is twenty feet away. If he can lob a grenade under it, perhaps the gas tanks will explode. The ensuing roar might draw the guard off. He puts the knife back in the scabbard and retrieves one of the potato mashers. He crouches and inches his way forward. He pulls the pin and tosses it.

The small bomb flips and tumbles unseen into the mud underneath the rear axle.

Marshall rushes back to his hiding spot as the device explodes. The hot shrapnel pierces the metal gasoline tank. The heavy vehicle is lifted into the air, propelled by the mighty blast from the fuel tank. The fireball consumes several troops around it. They run screaming into the night. Just as he planned, the soldier in front of the shack runs to help. Automatic gunfire bursts crack throughout the camp.

Wittenauer and Lionel join in the fight somewhere nearby. The confusion caused by the sudden chaos gives him the opportunity he needs. He dashes from his hiding place and to the radar facility. Marshall crashes through the door and the technician stands and grabs for his pistol. Marshall mows the technician down with the assault machine gun. The bullets pepper the man's torso and he falls to the ground. The Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 205 adrenalin helps him not to suffer any remorse this is the first time he’s taken a life.

The split moment between life and death triggers a recollection. Marshall stops in the middle of the action. A veil has been lifted from his memory. He suddenly realizes there was more to his mission. Everything is clearer and more focused.

Now he can move forward with a purpose. He dashes inside.

As he figured, there is a radio with the radar guidance system. He jumps into the chair and takes the headset. Marshall adjusts the dials to the frequency of

00021 megahertz. He turns the amplitude knob. There is a hum followed by a high pitched whine.

“This is Signalman One calling base, Signalman One to base, over.”

There is more of the static then a squelch. “This is the base. Who is this and why are you transmitting over a German wave?”

“I haven’t got time to explain. Get me, General Howard.”

The radar beeps, pinpointing the source of the reception. The barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of Marshall's head. A sinister voice emanates from behind him.

“We did not have enough uranium for four bombs. Your government reneged on its promise of supplying more. The facility in Oak Ridge, Tennessee is working and has produced sufficient material to help that traitor Oppenheimer. He is close to developing a weapon against the Japanese and forwent our offer. It’s a Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 206 pity. We could have made a better world together. You Americans are a lot like us.

You understand the white peoples of the earth must rule, but your country has no delivery system. We do, and now we must turn it loose onto London. The bomber can then fly unimpeded to Washington. The other is set for Berlin. With Hitler and the Russians out of the way, Patton will have no choice but to surrender. The bomb in Pilsen contains nothing. Howard thinks he can arm it, but I doubt that. ”

Kammler examines him with a contemptuous look. Marshall removes the headset and sets it back on the radio. He stands up, making sure not to make a sudden move.

“This was all designed to get me here...” says Marshall, his voice cracking the slightest bit. The door opens behind Kammler. “Wasn’t it, Lachelle?”

CHAPTER 24

Lachelle steps from behind Kammler. Her eyes were dark. She was no longer the innocent nurse caught up in all the intrigue, but a fierce, fanatical Nazi.

She even replaced her blouse to the standard white attire with a black tie and the red arm patch with the swastika. Her auburn hair, a wig, is gone. Her blonde hair is neat and slicked over her head. Her eyes are blue instead of dark green. She must have had contact lenses on them. She looks at him with a measure of sorrow. “How long did you know?” she asks. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 207

“I knew you were lying before we left the castle. There was never any message for you to pick up. When I went to retrieve my briefcase and stepped into my little hideaway I got in touch with New York. My contact told me there was no one by that name living at your address. That was made up of my photo at the OSS training school. You came into the office and saw the address and names and remembered it. Then when I confronted you, it was the first thing that popped into your head. From then on I was sure you were lying. I didn’t know why. You were the woman in London that night weren’t you? Is Lachelle your real name, or is that a cover too?”

“I was there as an observer. We needed technical data on our guidance systems. The V2 was a dud and carried no explosives."

"The name?"

"Yes, Lachelle, but not Keating, dear, my last is Kammler.”

Marshall takes a breath.

“You're his daughter? And the diary is yours? I thought the handwriting was a little feminine for a man's. What about Bailey? How did he get in with you?”

“I was educated at Berlin University, and that's where I met the doctor. His parents were from Germany. We were lovers. We graduated just before the Nazis came to power. I knew then that Hitler's band of thugs would interfere with the research and make it impossible to get anything done. We wanted a strong country, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 208 but not with him, so we went underground to develop the weapon. The delivery system remained outside of our purview and we had to wait on Wernher Von

Braun to perfect it. He was lured in by the riches and prestige of being a Nazi party official, so development progressed on that segment of the project. Then General

Howard approached us about brokering a deal. The West isn’t too keen on the

Soviets; they're unstable and unpredictable. We did not have enough uranium to carry out the scale of what we wished to accomplish. Oppenheimer was having difficulty getting your apparatus to function, so we offered to give you what we had in exchange for the nuclear material from Oak Ridge. We would annihilate the

Bolsheviks, and you would have your device to eliminate the Japanese. We could then broker an armistice. The United States would control Asia, and we would have Europe. Both sides would have the bomb, so an era of detente would be born.

This was all handled under the table and Washington and London were kept out of the loop. Howard believed he could convince Patton that Russia was the real enemy and to join our side.”

“You lied. You never intended to give up when you could have it all,” says

Marshall.

“After we realized that Patton couldn’t be swayed, we focused on ourselves, telling the General it was still a go so he would relinquish the material we needed to complete the mission.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 209

“There is something else or you would have killed me a long time ago. It’s the diary isn’t it?”

Kammler's eye twitches.

“You don't know the precise arming procedure, do you?” Marshall says.

“The book was dictation I took for Clyde. He was a real genius. We were there to study the effects of radiation poisoning, but he was killed. We believed it was you. I was the lead assistant to the other scientists working on the project and had left the document with them. It was their research and analysis notes. I didn't realize they would kill themselves. I learned through Todd that he had found you in the bunker. When he went back to find the diary, it was gone, so we assumed you had it, but we did not know where. Without it, we can’t calculate the exact yield mixture for a controlled explosion. There is a plug of explosive that has to be inserted next to the core. We have to be precise to achieve critical mass.”

“Do you believe that? Your father had the scientists killed, Dr. Bailey, too.

His henchmen, Todd and Lionel, took care of it.”

Lachelle stares coldly at Kammler.

“We could not keep them alive, dearest. Think about what would have happened if they had been captured by the Russians. The doctor was in danger of being turned by the Americans.”

“How could you?” she says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 210

“That’s right, my friend. Lionel is a double agent,” says Marshall.

Kammler levels the pistol at Marshall's head.

“Give us the diary now, you American scum.”

“Did it mean anything?” Marshall asks Lachelle.

“Yes, my love. Bailey and I were finished a long time ago. His work came first. I was a poor second. You offered me a chance to see a world of possibilities, but my country is everything. Right or wrong, I could not witness the Fatherland occupied by outsiders and mongrel races. Humanity would not understand what we did, nor why. We did not like Hitler, but he is all we had, until today. It is too bad the assassination attempt on him in 1944 failed or we would not find ourselves in this situation. We will wipe the slate clean and wiser men can guide the Fatherland forward, build a Germany and an empire the likes of which the planet has never seen.”

She is hypnotized by her own words. Then he notices the puncture marks on her forearms. He has seen these before on some of the captured SS troops. To pump them up for battle, the Wehrmacht issued methamphetamines. Soldiers on meth are dangerous and fearless albeit paranoid and delusional. He guesses that

Bailey was not only a lover but a supplier.

“The medications in the lab you took with you are methamphetamines, aren’t they?” says Marshall. Lachelle tries to hide her arms. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 211

“Your father turned you into an addict. Is that what you want for your children's futures?”

He is not getting through to her. The drugs and years of propaganda have left her a mindless pawn. She is bordering on insanity. Kammler is an evil manipulator.

There is no bargaining with him or her. Marshall reaches into his pocket for the diary and gives it to Kammler, who hands it to Lachelle. She is looking terrible.

Withdrawal symptoms are setting in. She opens it so she can make the calculations.

As she opens the diary, her jaw drops.

“It’s blank!” she cries. Kammler grabs the book to see for himself. Marshall smiles, Kammler comes unglued and strikes Marshall with the butt of the pistol.

Marshall tumbles to the floor. His lip is bloodied. He struggles to get back up.

Kammler cocks the gun and holds the barrel at Marshall's head.

“Where is the diary, American scum?!”

Marshall is firm in his silence. Kammler hits him again, but he remains on his feet, unflinching. Sporadic gunfire cracks outside. The diversion Marshall planned is fizzling. He worries that Wittenauer has been killed. He’s still uncertain about Lionel.

“Give us the book!” demands Kammler, his finger pressed on the trigger.

“He will not tell you, and he doesn’t have too. Marshall has a keen mind and photographic memory," says another voice. Lionel is accompanied by several Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 212 guards. He is holding a gun and a briefcase. With his German uniform, he acts and appears just like one of them, a traitor. He speaks with the confidence of a man who has all the answers.

“Marshall could tell you the mixture and ratio to arm the weapons, but again, why should he? It doesn’t matter. I can help in that respect. Before Bailey died he showed me the trigger mechanism.”

He produces two metal canisters called plugs.

“The bombs use a fusing process designed to detonate at the most destructive height. The resultant fuse design is a three-part, interlocking system. A timer ensures that the weapon will not explode until at least thirty minutes after release, the approximate flight time to its destination. It is activated when the electrical pull-out plugs connecting the rocket to the ground are pulled loose when the missile rises from the launch pad, switching it to internal battery power and starting the clock. At the end of that period, the altimeters are powered up and responsibility is passed to the barometric stage. The purpose of this step is to delay activating the radar altimeter firing command circuit until near detonation altitude.”

Lionel sits the briefcase on the table and opens it. Inside are four cylindrical containers made of cotton. They are the standard munitions pouches that hold gunpowder used in large naval guns. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 213

“These are bags of cordite powder, two pounds each. I'll insert them into the firing breach below the fissile material. When the rockets reach the prescribed altitude, they'll ignite and fire the uranium bullet into the cylinder, creating a critical mass. The resulting explosion should be about fifteen kilotons.” Marshall remembers all this from the book. Hearing someone say it aloud chills his spine.

Lionel has been involved in this far longer and done more research and intelligence work. Lionel proceeds to the radar system to adjust the trajectory of the missiles.

He sets the latitude and longitude, 52.5200° N, 13.4050° E, the precise coordinates of Berlin. He then sets the coordinates for the second bomb, using Marshall's radio signal to pinpoint the Third Army's location. Marshall is helpless to do anything.

Kammler smiles, his plan is coming together. With everything set, they proceed outside. The rain ceases and the thunder is dying off overhead, but there is another sound, a mechanical humming or the droning noise of an engine. It gets louder as it approaches. Kammler looks up as it flies over. The ground reverberates under the heaviness of the vibration. Lightning flashes again and Marshall notices a shadow moving across them. Darkness falls. Marshall looks up and gasps. The Amerika

Bomber flies over. The schematics and blueprints did not do relate to its gargantuan scale. It seems the designers and builders took liberties with their outward appearance. It is one giant wing with four precision Kirkendall jet engines attached to its undercarriage. The nose is painted to resemble the head of an eagle. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 214

The body is black with indications of feather tips. The retracted landing gear appears like an eagle’s talons.

“We call it the Valkyrie,” says Kammler.

“Figures," says Marshall.

The Nazi glares at him.

“When Washington is leveled you will not be so quick to laugh. The

Amerika Bomber is the Horten H.XVIII, the world’s first intercontinental airplane.

It has an operational range of 6,500 nautical miles. The third of our bombs are already on board. We did not need the arming mechanism for it as it was not part of the missile program. However, we needed fuel from your army. For all your planning you Americans can be foolish.”

Marshall hears the plane throttling back as it comes in for a landing at the huge runway. The gas trucks are already pulling out of camp and heading for the airfield. The soldiers push him forward through the mud. He stumbles beside

Lionel.

“What does it take to betray your country?” Marshall says. Lionel does not turn around.

“You do not know me well,” he says.

“Our Joes understand."

The Englishman smiles. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 215

“But I have many friends who will join my cause.”

A mobile lift system has been positioned by the first rocket. Lionel steps onto the metal platform and a hydraulic conveyor lifts him upwards to the top of the missile. He sets the briefcase down and opens it. It holds the explosive rounds and a set of tools. He grasps a ratchet wrench and loosens the bolts holding the side panels cover. In the interior is the projectile, a tungsten carbide disc with a steel end. At ignition, the slug is pushed into the uranium rings, causing critical mass and the explosion. He disconnects the primer cords and removes the breach, setting it next to the charge. The four bags are paired off together. Two of them have a large X marked on the exterior, the others a zero. He picks up the ones with the X’s and places them within the assembly chamber, then puts the plug on the charges.

Lionel’s breathing is shallow and sweat drips from his nose. He has to pause for a moment. His hands are shaking. Once he reconnects the wires, the weapon is live.

With all the static electricity floating around in the air from the recent thunderstorm, one wrong move could cause a spark and cause premature detonation. Taking a deep breath he steels himself and reconnects the cables. The device is armed. He reassembles the housing and closes up the warhead. He goes to the smaller V2 and repeats the operation. Marshall notices it does not take him as long to do the job as on the larger V3 rocket. With everything completed, Lionel descends and the two mobile platforms are wheeled away. Several technicians Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 216 hover about the giant machines. Fuel lines pump liquid hydrogen and petrol into its belly. Fumes from the frigid accelerant form a low-hanging fog. Marshall can’t help but marvel at the deadly magnificent technical achievement. Kammler and the other soldiers wonder at the majesty of the rocket. Lachelle walks up to her father's side. She too is mesmerized by the sight, awestruck by the sheer terror that pulses from the glistening black metal. It makes Marshall sick to watch them.

The truck tops off the tanks. A klaxon sounds, warning everyone to stand clear and take their positions. Like rats scurrying from a sinking ship, they flee the vicinity of the rocket and return to the radar shack. Kammler takes his position over the firing control. His finger hovers over a large red switch. Outside, soldiers, scientists, and other personnel piles into a deep trench. Over a loudspeaker, a technician counts down. At "ten," Kammler presses the launch button. The ground shudders as the engines ignite. They are shielded in the shack as a wall of flames spreads from underneath the rockets, blazing out and scorching the earth. The motors shift to full throttle and more fire spews from the undercarriage, spraying over the heads of those cowering in the ditch, almost singing their hair. The two beasts rise inches at first. Everyone holds their breath as the rocket starts skyward, up by a foot, five, fifteen, gaining momentum till over the trees. Then, as if carried by the gods themselves, they soar into the heavens graceful as birds. They loft then Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 217 arc, towards their destinations, zipping through the early evening sky. There are gasps and applause.

Marshall looks at the blips on the screen heading in two different directions.

Suddenly, gunfire erupts as the camp comes under attack. For the first time,

Kammler seems surprised. He runs to the window.

“You never figured on your countrymen," Marshall says. "Helga and her sister were part of the German resistance, operating right under your nose. Some do not wish to see the Nazis remain in power, not if it will cost them their humanity. They lost a loved one to this awful weapon. Maybe this is their way of making up for their past sins.”

Kammler's men are being overwhelmed by a band of partisan fighters, extremists as militant as the SS. These poet warriors are bent on a holy rampage to rid themselves of the evil they have allowed to live amongst them. There is a religious fervor in their eyes as they press the attack. Helena, dressed in black with soot smudging her face to obscure her white skin and brandishing a machine gun, leads the fighters. Nothing seems to touch her, neither explosions nor the constant gunfire. Marshall is absorbed in the spectacle when out of the corner of his eye he spies a glint. A sniper is aiming Helga; calmly making sure his target is clean and in the clear. Marshall is helpless to watch her meet her fate. Blood suddenly spurts Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 218 from a dozen holes in the sniper's body. Wittenauer stands behind the sniper wielding a machine gun. Kammler lowers his weapon.

“My life does not matter now that we have accomplished our mission. Soon the Americans and Russians will be dead and the Amerika Bomber can proceed to

Washington.”

There is a crackle over the radio. The microphone has been open the whole time. A frantic German voice comes over the intercom. "Rakete herauskommen!

The V3 is coming straight for us!

CHAPTER 25

Kammler does an about-face, turning his attention to the intercom. In the confusion, Lionel steps backward to the door and reaches into his pocket.

“Achtung, Achtung! Die Rakete wird treffen unsere!”

“Beantworten Sie uns!”

“Hilf uns!”

Marshall raises his head.

“Help us, the weapon is going to hit our position,” he says, translating.

The gunfire is sputtering out as the partisan fighters defeat the Nazi soldiers.

Lachelle looks at Marshall.

"Everything, everything is falling apart," she says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 219

Lionel draws a switchblade and flips it open. Lionel nods to Marshall to keep talking.

“We call them 'Joes,' radio signalmen in the field unattached to any unit. I had a feeling back at the castle that this all felt wrong. So when I checked my source in New York, Lachelle, I had part of our network fan out ahead of Patton’s

Third Army. What we discovered was surprising: there's a National Redoubt, but not where we originally placed it. Six brigades of the SS Fifteenth are positioned twenty miles from Pilsen, waiting for Patton to walk into their trap. We found them. The 'Joe' set up his station near their camp. I radioed him and he answered then left the com system on and got out of there. Your missile is homing in on their signal. Instead of annihilating the Americans, you’ll be destroying your own,” says

Marshall.

Kammler clenches his jaw and raises his pistol at Marshall, but before he can shoot, Lionel strikes, thrusting the switchblade into a guard's throat. As the man falls, he scoops up his machine gun and levels it at Kammler and Lachelle.

“All right, that will be enough out of all of you.”

Marshall steps forward Lionel waves the weapon making sure he is covering all his targets. Strained anticipation fills the air. The alarm increases as the V3 rocket homes in on the Americans' radio transmitter. The pulsing noise of an electromagnetic wave from the rocket comes through the receiver. Marshall can Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 220 only imagine the frantic commotion as vehicles and men try to flee the area. He watches the radar and the tiny dot of the missile zeroing in. The dial compass spins, keeping rhythm with the device. No amount of prayers will stop it from reaching its target now. Without warning, the Doppler frequency tone stops. The center of the screen begins to glow and they are plunged into darkness. A low reverberation and the ground trembles. There is a loud boom and the ground shakes. The room fills with a dazzling luminescence so overwhelming that

Marshall sees the figures of the others through his hand. Their skeletal features blaze across the inside of his eyelids and sear themselves onto the back of his cornea causing an afterimage on his brainstem. The light fades to a dull red hue and the hideous apparition of a strange, boiling and rolling mushroom cloud fills the sky. It churns up into the heavens, climbing ever higher. What's left of the mighty Nazi war machine has been obliterated. The atoms that make up their bodies have been vaporized, consumed, and ripped apart by a fireball that is ten times hotter than the sun. In a flash, the fifteenth SS battalions and thousands of soldiers are gone. Everyone blinks, blinded by the intense burst energy caused by the blast effect, but Kammler regains his composure quickly and grabs Lachelle’s arm and darts out the door. They run unimpeded to the nearest truck and climb in.

Kammler jumps into the driver's seat and attempts to crank the ignition. At first, Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 221 the engine won’t turn over, but it soon catches up. He steps on the gas and they speed away. The recouping partisans fire their guns blindly to try to stop them.

Marshall slams into Lionel, knocking him down and taking his gun.

“How do we stop that thing from hitting the Russians and Berlin?” screams

Marshall.

“You can't, old boy. It’s headed for London, not Berlin. I changed the settings."

“You’d destroy your city?”

“It's a dud, Colonel; I didn't put the charges in. It will hit the Thames and sink just as the first one did. Our people can retrieve the hull and use it for study.”

Marshall remembers the Lamb and Flag pub and the smoke-filled haze in the room, witnessing the man in the corner twirling the ring on his finger. He sees their chess game. Lionel is doing the same with his wedding band. He told Marshall it helped his concentration. Marshall sees the Burberry trench coat with the upturned collar, the same as Lionel's. Marshall remarked that he always wanted one. Lionel is the man Marshall encountered in London, and the girl was Lachelle. He recalls the slight hint of her face as she turned. He'd caught a glance through the crowd in the pub. Yes, they were working together. Marshall returns. Lionel explains more.

“Two of the four charges I marked with zero, signifying they wouldn’t do Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 222 anything. They were nothing more than sawdust. A British sub is to pick up the device in the Thames."

They scramble outside and a resistance fighter grabs Lionel.

"I should kill you, you bastard!"

Marshall jumps in front of Lionel.

“Wait! He's with us!”

The man doesn't believe Marshall and tries to shove him out of the way.

Helga runs up.

"Großmann, halt!" she says.

She locks eyes with Lionel.

“Let them go!” she demands. Marshall doesn’t have time to thank her. He grabs the Großmann's gun and he and Lionel seize a nearby jeep and speed down the road.

Kammler has a strong lead. The wind rushes by them in the open cab. Marshall, still struggling with his vision, gropes to find the gear shift. Lionel guides him.

“To the right a little, old boy.”

With the directions, Marshall's hand finds the knob. Shifting back and to the left, he slips it into third, presses down the clutch, and grinds into fourth. The gears lock in place and the wheels get their grip and find the speed. Marshall mashes the gas to the floor and the jeep takes off. The jeep is lighter and more maneuverable Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 223 giving them an advantage over the truck Kammler is driving. Lionel suddenly shouts out to Marshall.

“You’re working for Donovan aren’t you?”

"What?" Marshall says.

“That’s right, you’d have to be. He's been sending you intelligence. How else would you know about the SS waiting for Patton?” Marshall stays focused on the road as he speaks.

“It wasn't hard. There was no way the old man was going to miss the last big battle. I wasn't aware of Howard's involvement until much later, although I suspected him. I was here to make sure Patton didn't pick a fight with the Russians.

We assumed the Germans were developing the bomb but couldn't find the proof. It never crossed Donovan’s mind nor is anyone else that there was another faction in the background preparing one.”

“So you were looking for the technical schematics?”

“The more I uncovered the more I realized that this went deeper. I did not know of the brokered deal between Howard and the Germans. He was a fool to believe the Nazis would honor a commitment. That's why I hid the uranium. Our other team got into the city to recover the other bomb. We did not want Patton to get his hands on it to throw against the Soviets. We needed it to use in Japan. But we found nothing that is when I knew Kammler would try something else. They Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 224 had flown the Amerika Bomber to the airport at Pilsen. Our guys saw them load it onto the plane, but before they took off we snuck on board and killed the pilots.

We flew it here for refueling. The Third Army will discover the armaments factory and design plants. We wanted him to get there before the Russians did. There's still a wealth of information we need.”

Marshall hides some of his memory lapses from Lionel. He's only recalling bits and pieces of his actions and mission. “Wait a minute, you mean we were both here to steal a missile?!”

“Looks that way, old boy, your cover was great. We would have made a superb team. From what I understand our scientists couldn’t make the uranium bomb work and it has the best chance of success. Hell, the Germans have already tested it for us. Our plutonium device is faring better. We’re close to testing it, but we needed one that was good to go,” says Marshall.

“The Amerika Bomber?"

“That’s right. It has an American pilot on board and the bomb from Pilsen.

The Krauts loaded it. There was no apparatus for Patton to retrieve. Kammler told

Howard that to direct him into a kill zone. I figured that was what would happen.

Now Lachelle and Kammler are heading into my trap. It’s too bad I was falling in love with her. I never suspected her for a killer.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 225

“Let me prepare you, old boy. She’s not what she seems. She's working on our side. Back in London she made contact and told us of the dreadful scenario and what her father was planning. She was the person who placed the fake charge I fixed into the rocket. She killed Bailey. They were never lovers. She also deposited the diary in the vault where you found the other dead scientists. They did not kill themselves. They were attempting to flee like all the other SS, disguising themselves as concentration camp victims. She lured them there then poisoned them with cyanide in their wine. She sealed the bunker, never dreaming anybody would find it, but Todd did and was on his way to recovering it until you got there first. She has been keeping close to you this whole time, trying to retrieve it. She had to be certain Kammler's henchmen didn’t get a hold of it. The Nazis have a vast underground network in place to get key officers and officials out of

Germany. We are worried they may set up shop somewhere else and try and conquer the world again. A Fourth Reich, so to speak. We’re not even sure Hitler is in Berlin. We need to save her. She has more information. There is another weapon in development one that uses and nuclear explosion to trigger it. It has to do with hydrogen and heavy water. It's twenty times more powerful than these bombs.”

“We can’t be positive about her. My guess is her father found out about all that and has been controlling her with drugs. You saw her arm." Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 226

"Right."

"Then there's Kammler's uniform."

"What has that got to do with anything, White?"

"There was a Luftwaffe insignia on it. He can fly the aircraft and perform the bombing run on Washington."

The jeep speeds towards the runway.

CHAPTER 26

Kammler grips the steering wheel. His eyes blink rapidly, still trying to adjust from the after-effects of the explosion. Lachelle is hushed. The grade steepens as the truck climbs the road. It slows and Kammler shifts down to fourth.

The traction increases and the heavy vehicle maneuvers up the rough, rocky terrain. The glare of headlights in the rearview mirror sweeps across Kammler's face and the interior of the cab. The jeep with Marshall and Lionel is coming up fast. Kammler beats the wheel.

“Geh Schneller ver dammit LKW!” he screams. Lachelle cowers away from him.

“Do not worry my dear," Kammler says. "Soon we will be out of here and I can get what you need.”

He removes his gun from its holster and offers it to her. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 227

“Here, you must stop them." Lachelle eyes the pistol. She doesn’t want to take it, but her resolve is gone. Her hand trembles as she reaches to take it. She does not grab it. Kammler pushes it into her hand.

“Take the gun! We’ll never make it if you don’t!”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t, Papa!” He comes unhinged and backhands her. The blow knocks her into the door handle and the force knocks the door open. Lachelle grapples for the side panel before tumbling out. Her feet drag the road and she tries to maintain grip. She looks down over the canyon below. There is no guard rail.

One wrong move will mean certain death.

The jeep's headlights catch her. Marshall sits up seeing her swinging from

the exterior hanging on the door for dear life.

Marshall stares at her and jerks the steering wheel.

“Take it easy!" Lionel says. "It won’t do either of us any good if we wreck.”

His warning goes unheeded as Marshall continues the pursuit. If their vehicle bounces into one unforeseen bump or pothole they will go careening over the edge.

“Here take the wheel!” he shouts. Lionel takes the wheel in a huff. Marshall stands and jumps on the hood of the jeep. He almost falls but grabs the top of the windshield and steadies himself. He assumes a crouched position. The jeep approaches the rear of the speeding truck. He keeps his eyes on his landing spot. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 228

He has to get it right the first time. He glances over the edge. The thousand-foot drop causes the pit of his stomach to seize. He gulps and leaps but is a little short of the mark. Marshall grabs the tailgate as Kammler speeds up. Marshall swings his leg up and over into the bed of the truck. He takes a moment to rest on his hands and knees.

Kammler struggles to reach for Lachelle while keeping the truck steady. She looks at him reaching for her then at his rugged face. Kammler turns to the side and their eyes lock with one another. In an instant, she knows he'll never stop and that she will be under his foot forever.

“Take my hand!” Kammler yells over the roar of the engine. She gazes at the black-gloved hand, the instrument of death. Damnation awaits if she grabs hold.

"Lachelle," Kammler says.

“Its okay, Papa,” she says. She closes her eyes and let’s go.

“No!” Kammler screams as she disappears from view.

Unseen by him another hand has grabbed her before she fell away. From the back of the truck, Marshall has bent over the side and holds onto the dangling

Lachelle. Her feet bump and drag the ground as he strains to lift her. She tries to climb and Marshall pulls. She throws her leg up and he lifts her into the truck bed.

Marshall and Lachelle embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 229

He wipes the tears from her eyes.

“We have to stop your father.”

Marshall moves to the rear of the truck and pulls the flap open. He gives a thumbs up to Lionel that everything is okay. He uses hand signals to tell Lionel to keep up the pursuit but not to overtake Kammler. Lionel speeds the jeep up to keep pace with the truck.

Marshall returns to a shivering Lachelle. Her knees and shins are bleeding from cuts and scrapes. He examines her, checking for signs of any other trauma.

He takes a handkerchief and wipes some of the blood away.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything broken.”

“Men like my father are bent on destruction, Marshall. With these weapons, there's no stopping him.”

“We've already thwarted two attempts. What makes you believe we can’t stop this?”

“Others such as him will rise. The world is not safe and won't be for some time. No matter what you've done or planned, my father has prepared for any contingency. There's at least a platoon of SS soldiers waiting.”

"I pray the troops are ready for them." The truck summits a hill and begins its descent into the valley. The sun rises over the mountaintops. The Amerika

Bomber is parked in the center of the large runway on the valley floor. The truck is Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 230 still too far away for Marshall to discern how many friendlies may be around.

Kammler races for the plane and as the road levels off at the bottom, gunfire erupts in the distance. It is just as Marshall dreaded, the Germans have formed a perimeter to protect the aircraft. No grenades are to be used in taking it, at least not by the Nazis, who hope to keep the craft intact. No one knows what the atomic bomb will do if it is hit.

Reaching the straightaway, Kammler floors it, but Lionel is in hot pursuit.

He increases the speed of the jeep and passes them. Marshall can see Lionel is on a walkie-talkie giving instructions and a warning to the fighters. Kammler swerves towards the jeep. Kammler aims his pistol and shoots until he seems to hit the mark. The jeep veers out of control, lurches, and flips, throwing Lionel out. He rolls out of the way just in time as the jeep crashes down as the truck speeds on.

Lionel, holding a bloody arm, gets to his knees and stands.

Marshall readies himself to dismount, calculating when it will be safe to jump. He has to be quick and keep out of sight to avoid getting shot. The wind whips through his hair as the huge Amerika Bomber draws nearer. He sees that the

Soviets and resistance fighters are coordinating their efforts but are holding back.

This has the strange effect of pulling the Werewolves out of cover. They have the advantage and are pressing the attack. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 231

The disgruntled Kammler curses them as the truck screeches up to the

Bomber's loading ramp. It is covered by an SS lieutenant. He lays covering fire for

Kammler to jump from the vehicle. Marshall and Lachelle keep low, watching

Kammler bark orders.

“Fall back, you fools! Secure the runway! We're making an immediate departure.” The Werewolf soldiers fan out, continuing to shoot and hold their attackers at bay. Kammler walks up the ramp into the Bomber. His men are distracted holding off the Soviets and Marshall takes the opportunity. He pulls away from Lachelle, but she hangs on to his hand.“I'm coming with you,” says

Lachelle. They run towards the loading ramp.

“Next stop America," says Marshall.

CHAPTER 27

Marshall and Lachelle jump from the truck, unnoticed by the SS troops.

They cross the small space to the ramp and scurry up as it closes, the hydraulic lift whining as it recedes and latches.

Inside the plane a scared American voice cries out.

“No, wait, who are you?”

A gunshot silences him forever. The pilot was expecting Marshall but instead was greeted with a bullet from Kammler. Marshall winces at the sound of the gunshot reverberating through the ship. He and Lachelle creep through the Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 232 fuselage and come across the ten-foot-long bomb. A roaring noise vibrates around them as the engines shift from idle to full throttle. The plane moves forward with a lurch then streaks down the tarmac. Marshall and Lachelle are thrown to the rear by the tremendous G-forces as the plane picks up speed. The craft lifts like a graceful eagle. The Amerika Bomber punches a hole in the heavens, pulling at least three hundred miles an hour. It pins Marshall and Lachelle flat on their backs, immobilizing them because the sheer rapid acceleration upward causes their weight to increase five times. After several moments the Bomber levels off and they rag doll to the cabin floor. Marshall shakes it off and takes a moment to get his legs working. He turns to help Lachelle up. She struggles more because of the effects of the methamphetamine but is otherwise okay.

Marshall looks over the fixed bomb rack into the cockpit and sees the dead

American pilot slumped over the co-pilot's seat with a bullet wound to the head. A puddle forms on the floor. Kammler is piloting the Bomber.

With Kammler occupied, Marshall turns to the weapon. He should have enough time to disable the mechanism. It will take several hours to reach the coast of the United States. The stationary bomb differs from the missiles.

"This doesn't look like it works like the V-2," he says to Lachelle.

“It's the same basic system as the V-2 only this one already has the explosive charges in place," Lachelle says. "You must disconnect the arming wire.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 233

He searches for a tool to undo the panel but the Bomber suddenly dives and bullets pepper the outside canopy. The plane zigs and zags, swerving to avoid being shot down. Kammler curses.

“You’ll never stop me!” he screams from the cockpit. Kammler puts the plane into overdrive and it careens forward at unbelievable speed. Marshall is tossed and hits his head on the Bomber's steel ribbing. He is knocked unconscious.

He sees the blinding white light of the nuclear explosion replaying in his mind. Lachelle’s face, happy and smiling, Donovan giving him orders. Marshall examines the different codes and keys. As he regains consciousness, he recalls everything.

Lachelle holds his bleeding head in her lap. His vision is blurred but clearing. He tries to speak but the words do not come. There is a strange sense of lost time.

“How... how long?” he struggles to get up.

“It’s been hours,” she says.

“Long enough for you to witness the destruction of Washington,” says

Kammler. Marshall's eyesight clears and he sees the Nazi hovering over him with a pistol. A sudden blast of wind rushes over him and he shivers. He realizes Lachelle isn’t even there. His head is resting on a bag. The cabin door is open to the sky and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 234 he can see the Atlantic below them. He attempts to sit up and hears the cock of a gun. He understands Kammler is real.

“It seems my daughter could not take it anymore. She jumped,” he says, remorseless. Tears well in Marshall's eyes, he wants to strike but is too dizzy.

“I wouldn’t try to move. I suspect you have a concussion. That will not prevent you from witnessing your beloved capital destroyed.”

Marshall looks back out the window and sees the approaching coast of the

United States. They are only fifteen minutes away from D.C. Marshall Inches forward but everything continues to spin. The whole cabin rolls, a nightmarish, disjointed apparition that doesn’t seem real.

Kammler is standing next to the hatch. He has changed his uniform to a flight suit complete with a parachute.

“I didn’t know you were onboard until my controls showed a loss in pressure when she opened the door,” says the smiling Nazi.

“Bastard...” utters Marshall in a weak voice. Kammler laughs, but his victory is short lived. A figure leaps from the shadows. Lachelle slams into her father screaming. The force of her impact pushes him out the open hatch. She catches herself before falling. Kammler's parachute opens. He slowly drifts towards the North Atlantic, most likely to freeze to death in the frigid waters off the ridge of Cape Cod. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 235

“He set the controls to fly low," Lachelle says to Marshall. "Fifty miles out it will settle to a fixed altitude, the altitude the bomb is to go off. We have to disarm it now.”

With all the strength he can muster, Marshall rises. The plane buffets in the choppy turbulence. For an instant he hesitates, trying to recall the visions. At any other moment, he could call up memories, but now his thoughts betray him due to the knock on the head. At the time when he needed his powerful photographic memory the most it fails. With the minutes counting down he searches himself and his pockets. He has his keys in his right-hand trouser pocket. He matches the width to the screw threads holding the panel. Underneath is the explosive charge.

Scanning his mind for what he’d read Marshall repeats it to himself and out loud so

Lachelle can check him.

“The bomb employs a fusing system designed to detonate at the most destructive height. Calculations showed that for the largest effect, the device should explode at 1,500 feet. The resultant fuse design is a three-stage interlock mechanism. A timer ensures that the weapon will not go off until at least fifteen seconds after release, but this has been changed. Why?”

“Could be he knew he wouldn’t survive and didn’t want to be captured alive,” says Lachelle. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 236

The Bomber dips, descending through the dense cloud cover breaking into crystal clear blue skies. Lachelle steps to the open door. Looking out she sees them crossing the coastline and heading over Delaware Bay. They are mere minutes away from detonation.

“Hurry Marshall!” she screams.

He bites his lip and sweat beads drip down his forehead. The altimeter clock next to the core is dropping fast. A blue and red cord connected to the battery that supplies the electricity to set off the explosive which in turn causes the chain reaction. He only needs to sever one as the other synchronizes the device. He has to disconnect both in sequence starting with the timer as it stops the countdown to the charge. Disconnecting both at the same time can still result in detonation; this system is a redundancy backup. There is a jumble of wires in the cramped compartment, configured in such a way that he cannot determine which leads to where. He takes out his pocket knife, flips it open, and places the sharp end under the red wire. Just as he's about to cut, he pauses. Maybe the designers wanted anyone tampering with it to assume that is the correct procedure. Looking at the counter, he can’t wait any longer. The Bomber is fast-approaching the spire of the

Washington Monument.

It's now or never. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 237

Marshall places the blade under the blue and cuts it. The altimeter stops and he sighs, then cuts the red wire. He falls back to the bay floor, holding his head with shaking hands.

The feeling is short-lived as anti-aircraft guns begin to fire. Bursts go off all around the Bomber. One hits the engine block and knocking the plane out of automatic pilot. Running to the cockpit Marshall pulls the dead pilot out of the seat and jumps behind the yoke. Lachelle assumes the co-pilot. He looks over the dials trying to figure out what’s what. More cannon fire explodes around them. They are on an undesignated course so command thinks he's the enemy. Marshall puts on the headgear and sets the dial to the emergency frequency given to him.

“This is Vengeance. My clearance number is 0007093. Get Commander

Donovan.”

The Bomber's radio transmits clearly.

“Waiting for code confirmation, what is his designation?”

“Tell Wild Bill I have the Nazis' plane.” The guns stop but the aircraft has been damaged and needs to land. The powerful jet engines are taking them beyond

D.C. airspace and there is no airport big enough to handle this size craft.

“Roger Vengeance. You are cleared to proceed to grid coordinates 105.”

"What does that mean?" Lachelle says.

"White Sands, New Mexico," Marshall says. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 238

"We'll never make it that far, Marshall."

"If I climb, we can use inertia to glide in."

Marshall touches the transmitter.

"Roger, control turning on heading one zeros five.”

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"We've made it this far and accomplished most of the mission, but it’s still not over till the wheels touch the ground."

Settling back he reaches over and takes Lachelle’s hand. She turns on her headset microphone and listens.

“Your engineers did a hell of a job coming up with all this,” says a confident and relieved Marshall.

Lachelle watches America pass below.

“It is a beautiful country, but there are forces out there that we cannot control.”

“The war will be over in a matter of days,” Marshall says.

Lachelle shakes her head. “You don’t understand.”

Marshall sits up.

“We found it in the forest outside of Mittelbraun in 1937. It was not from this planet,” she says.

“What are you talking about?" Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 239

“When word of the crashed disc made its way back to the German High

Command, and the report landed on the Fuhrer’s desk, he ordered elements of the

Luftwaffe and Germany’s top aeronautical experts to sift through the rubble. The damaged saucer was moved into a warehouse under 24-hour guard on the banks of the Rhine, close to the Reichstag, for an initial inspection by Hitler himself. Some parts were also flown to Peenemunde on the Austrian border and the rest to Pilsen, the secret weapons and munitions research facility in Czechoslovakia. The members of the teams were Bailey and me and others from the Ministry of Arms headed by Albert Speer, the formal government council, and the “Reich's

Forschungsrat” composed of university professors and industrial engineers. We were to deconstruct and reverse engineer the advanced alien technology that was salvaged. Among the experts called upon were the Horton brothers, who later designed and tested this revolutionary flying wing aircraft and the world’s first stealth jet fighter-bomber, which cannot show up on radar. Robert Oppenheimer was flown to Germany by express order of the American President, but it was not our scientific studies he or any of the others were coming to see. The occupants were alive, Marshall. We were not the geniuses who created all this we borrowed and used what they taught us. Think Marshall, how could humanity in only sixty years go from the horse and buggy to splitting the atom and placing rockets in Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 240 space? Didn’t that make you wonder, or did you already know? The people you found in the bunker were not men, were they?”

An image of the three dead scientists flashes in his mind. They undergo a metamorphosis from human to humanoid, becoming gray creatures with large bulbous eyes and long spindly limbs. The putrid odor of decaying bugs pervades his olfactory senses. He is walking into the cave at the blast site. There is an underground cavern and a crashed extraterrestrial craft. Marshall walks up a ramp into the craft. There is a hatch leading into the interior. He climbs down a ladder.

The walls are a metal alloy, not rock. The alien beings are lying on the floor. They draw him to them with their minds, reaching out and touching his. They are bleeding from being shot. He tries to turn away, gripped by fear, but can’t; their strength of will is too great. They impart a code to access the wall safe, but it’s only an alien compartment. He waves his hand across it and utters words in another world's tongue. A door slides up and he pulls out an electronic pad, not a diary.

Looking down it has a screen he can read, and he scrolls through a large database with his finger. The creatures have done something to allow him to absorb the function of their technology at a glance. He looks down at them and they are fading fast. Kneeling, one touches his forehead and dies, and then Marshall only sees the dead German scientists. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 241

“They communicate telepathically. Only a few people could understand them, including Bailey and I. What they gave us was dangerous. We did not trust them, so I blocked my thoughts. Father was suspicious and feared they may be the vanguard of an alien invasion and helped me. We were able to kill them.

Now we were armed with nuclear bombs and rockets from technology stolen from another world. Theirs was a vision of conquest with Hitler as a puppet, but that is not what he wanted and went around them starting the war before they were prepared. Then I killed them."

“But what about the paper diary?” asks Marshall?

“It was a fiction you invented. The only notes I kept are locked in my mind.

You left with the pad and we never recovered it,” she says.

“Why me?” asks Marshall.

“You asked to come. When Donovan took you into his office, he knew of your aptitude and photographic memory. He told you some of the details about something being discovered. But he wasn’t sure what. You're like all of us, trying to reap the rewards of science that is not of this world, but you have blocked all of it out, unable to cope with what you saw, either by some false sense of human superiority in this universe or overwhelmed with all the info that is now tucked away in your brain.”

"Why would they come all this way to destroy us?” asks Marshall. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 242

“Ask yourself this. Why was the first thing they helped us develop an atomic bomb, and, secondly, why did they ally themselves with a man like my father and

Hitler? Could it be they wanted his strong military to use as their own? And the methamphetamines, aren’t they used to control soldiers? Nobody had ever done that before.”

Again he remembers London and Donovan’s office, Donovan explaining the mission. He presents Marshall with the envelopes and tells him they intercepted a transmission. There is a tape recorder on a credenza next to his desk. He switches it on and it crackles to life. Otherworldly clicks and hisses coming from the speakers.

On the paper in the packet, Marshall sees a transcript of the message. It is like nothing he’s ever seen, a written language that is similar to a math equation. When he questions Donovan about it, all he gets is a shrug of the shoulders. He orders him to find out more about it then dismisses him. Marshall returns to the present.

“Howard knew some of what was happening. Both of you were working together, but because of your alien contact, your memory was suppressed. He assumed you killed Bailey, and figured you had been compromised by them and had to be eliminated. What he and Patton are going to retrieve at Pilsen is something far more reaching than a mere atomic bomb, there they’ll find Wernher

Von Braun trying to create an exact duplicate of the saucer they found. He sent word to the Americans that all his scientists would cooperate if they are granted Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 243 asylum in the U.S. and given a research facility to continue their work. One has been set up at White Sands and another at a place called Area 51. Again, you were aware of all of this, but after your encounter, you could only remember pieces.

When you bumped your head it triggered something to help you remember. I hope what it brings back doesn’t cause any permanent damage. I find myself slipping off the abyss into insanity.”

The airplane is rocked. A warning light comes on the console. One jet has flamed out, running through the last of its fuel. Marshall has a hard time comprehending what he has heard, but now that he must land the plane, all other concerns are secondary. The nose pitches downward. The plane is leaking fuel fast.

He looks over at Lachelle. She is tapping her ring like so long ago in the pub.

Suddenly Lachelle flips the power to her co-pilot's panel and takes the yoke.

“I can’t let the world have all this! It must be destroyed!”

The aircraft spirals downward. The ground is coming up fast. Marshall is losing consciousness as the steep descent and heavy G-forces magnify his injury.

The concussion is pressing on his brain. He can't move.

“Please Lachelle; we don’t have to do this. The good guys won.”

She slams the wheel forward as far as it can go. They are in a straight perpendicular dive pointed at the earth. At this speed, they will disintegrate on impact. Marshall sees the ground approaching. He has only seconds to live. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 244

CHAPTER 28

Marshall wakes with a start, flailing his arms, trying to protect himself from the impact, but the Bomber is safely parked in the middle of the runway at White

Sands. He is still strapped into his chair. Stillness fills the air. The gentle desert wind blows outside. Marshall is perspiring. He glances at the co-pilot's seat. Where

Lachelle had been, Wittenauer is sitting. Wittenauer is dressed in a sharp, gray pinstripe business suit and polished shoes. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine advertisement. His hair is slicked back, and he has a freshly rolled cigarette in his hand. He smiles as he takes another puff, pinching the smoke between his thumb and index finger. Wittenauer studies him the way a man would a bug on the windshield. He exhales. His tongue finds a piece of some tobacco residue. He spits it out. Marshall turns to check on the bomb in the bay, but it's gone.

Is this a dream? Is it heaven? More hell, the heat is stifling! Is Wittenauer the devil himself? Is he hallucinating in an army hospital somewhere, lying on a bed in a coma? He feels himself checking to make sure he is real. He sniffs the air.

He’s heard in dreams there are no odors. There is a hint of bad aftershave and

Vitalis. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 245

“It’s hard to know what is real. Isn’t it my friend?” Wittenauer says in a thick, Slavic accent, perhaps from Czechoslovakia or Hungary. Marshall saw

Wittenauer only a few hours earlier at the launch site. How could he be here now?

How long has he been here? Marshall examines the spot where he hit his head, but there is no injury, not even the slightest hint of a cut or blood. He laughs to keep from crying. Wittenauer keeps his pleasant manner so as not to appear threatening.

Marshall straightens up.

“This is a situation," he says.

“Yes, it is, friend.”

“What is going on? How much of it was real?"

“All of it and none of it.”

“Lachelle told me about aliens, how we got the bomb and all this technology. It sounds crazy, but I remember them,” says Marshall.

“Are you sure? Have you ever heard of 'dropping the peppermint?' It was a secret Allied plan to prevent the Nazis from using the atomic bomb against us.

Donovan sent you in to do just that, but he didn’t know the rest of the story, or maybe he did and reversed their plan, allowing you to continue thinking you were an American soldier. It was a lie within a lie so you could gain access to everything. The enemy believed you were somebody else. Lachelle was a clinical psychologist. Have you ever heard of hypnosis and the power of suggestion? Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 246

Maybe you wanted to accept her story because the truth was too terrible to bear, that she was part of it all along and that they had established their little group here in the US to form a secret government, a shadow empire that the public remains blissfully unaware of. They are using the vast resources of the United States without the government's knowledge, gathering like-minded individuals to establish a new world order, a Fourth Reich.”

Wittenauer reaches in his coat and produces a white, leather-bound book, the kind Marshall remembers from the bunker. Wittenauer hands it to Marshall. He opens it and flips through the pages. Inside are equations and other notes.

“I found this in the hiding place where you left it. There are timetables and theorems, all of the information the Nazis had compiled. There's over a decade of work stored in those pages. All that knowledge belonged to humans, not aliens.

Think back, Marshall. It was Lachelle you saw hovering over the dead men, her blouse undone and naked from the waist down covered in blood, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. She had already seduced you in London and was watching and using you. That instance on the giant landing field, when we returned from patrol, was not the first time you met, was it? The man in the bar who sat with her, who was that?”

Marshall looks down at his wedding band. He is twirling it on his finger like

Lionel. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 247

"It was me..."

He remembers that night in the pub. He is sitting at a table with his collar turned up. Lachelle is right beside him. She is showing him the plans for the atomic bomb. Across the room, he sees Lionel at the bar. To the left, next to the door, he sees Wittenauer.

“You're speaking in riddles, trying to confuse me.”

“Am I sprechen sie Dutch? You are a deep Nazi spy who had the schematics of the ultimate weapon locked away in your mind. The whole plan was to convince you and everyone else that you were American, and Donovan knew that. You killed those men in the bunker. These are designs and plans that you dreamed up.

Yes, you were subconsciously telling Todd the truth back there. You convinced

Lachelle to hypnotize you to make it more realistic, but she fell in love with the innocent Marshall and kept you under, using more and more drugs and therapy.

Donovan knew about this and was aware of your fierce loyalty to whichever flag you were serving under at the time which happened to be America. You honestly believed you were a patriot. Somehow it sunk in and the Nazis couldn’t get the idea out of your head. Your real identity has been held from you, a safeguard to get you and the bomb here, a ploy by the Americans. Lachelle only figured it out at the end and planned her getaway by leaving with you. She couldn’t let the bomb be Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 248 used without blowing her true identity and aided you in disarming it. You're a phantom. Think hard sir, Lachelle was not some random lover, was she?”

Marshall looks at his wedding band again, trying to organize his memory.

"She was your wife, Oppengrupehfurher von Clein, and when you saw what she had done, seducing those scientists then killing them, you broke from reality and she chose to keep you there. You're an SS Officer, born in Kansas to German immigrants who heard the call of the Fatherland and answered it, a deep operative in the Werewolf organization activated when all was going downhill for the Nazis.

You and she dreamed this up long ago, using hypnosis and drugs to keep from blowing your cover but covertly plotting to put you into the highest levels of

American and British espionage so you could carry out your mission then subconsciously arranging events to fly the bombs here. Things don't always go as planned, of course, and you came to believe your righteous cause. Howard had already brokered a deal with Kammler to let the US have the bomb unbeknownst to you or Lachelle. Then it became a matter of who would obtain it first, the secret underground here in America or the government itself. Lachelle had to choose and she went with you, perhaps out of love or remorse or simply not wanting to be caught, allowing you and your associates to retrieve the weapon at Pilsen.

Kammler stepped in with his half thought out plan and she had to kill him or it would undermine everything. She allied herself with Lionel and the British and Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 249 gave them a dud missile, which by the way, the one he dropped in the Thames has no nuclear technology in it. She used the other to destroy Kammler's Fifteenth SS

Army and transported the real device here."

Marshall unbuckles his seatbelt and takes off his jacket. Rolling up his sleeve he sees the telltale needle track marks. Some are bruised, a sign of heavy abuse. He shakes uncontrollably. Wittenauer climbs out of the co-pilot's seat and walks down the length of the bomber. The back ramp is open, and he strolls outside. Marshall follows him, stumbling as he makes his way. The wind whips up, mussing his hair. An Army jeep sits empty in front of the plane.

“That’s it?" Marshall calls after Wittenauer. "You expect me to believe all that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. Perhaps it was Aliens and what

Patton and Howard identified and salvaged was a ship of alien design and what I told you is a lie. A source disclosed to me that they reached Pilsen and entered the munitions works. They were met by Wernher Von Braun and other leading Nazi scientists who had contacted the Americans and offered them their services in exchange for leniency, part of a coordinated effort by your government to round up all the German scientists for your war machine. It was known as Operation

Paperclip. They discovered a large cylindrical craft with a dome housing in the center. It had a swastika painted on its side, a prototype that even your pilots have Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 250 seen. They call them “foo fighters." I am not positive what they observed or if the report is accurate, but something was retrieved, my informant is adamant about that. Or again my friend, this is some elaborate hoax to make you feel better than what you saw was not from this world. That we are not alone and that is what is so scary, that we are not masters of our fate but only a tiny second on the master clock of the universe. All this, everything, you, me, the planet, are nothing more than a speck of dust. Or is it that Hitler escaped our retribution and is planning a resurgence of his evil empire built upon technology we cannot comprehend or control, heading deep undercover to build and plan. No one can say for sure. All we have is the present, Marshall. Relish it.”

"I don’t know if I can."

“I would offer you a ride, but you can't be a part of where I’m going. War conveniently hides things we wish not to see. Don’t search for the answers. You may not like what you find.”

Wittenauer gets into the jeep and cranks it and drives away in a flurry of dust. The particles whip into Marshall's face blinding him, obscuring his view.

Riddled with doubt and unbalanced, he begins to shake. Nobody is coming to greet him and he is alone. He cups his palms over his eyes, shielding them from the bright sun, and looks towards the base. Waves of heat ripple upward from the burning desert floor, distorting the landscape. He imagines a woman walking Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 251 towards him. He blinks to make sure, but it's nothing, only a mirage. He can’t stay out here. The distant buildings offer shelter and perhaps a radio or phone to call for help. But who should he inform? Someone has been here already to retrieve the bomb. They left him. He is of no further use and was spared, but for what? With nowhere else to go, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. He takes one and lights it, inhaling a long drag. Exhaling, he shoves his hands in his trousers and begins to walk.

END REPORT: December 25, 1946

MISSION STATUS: Ongoing

AGENT: Vengeance

Marshall finishes typing his account, takes the paper from the typewriter, and places it in a binder. Clipping the hundred or so pages together, he puts them into a manila folder. Before he seals it up, he stops and puts in another sheet into the machine. He scratches his beard and runs fingers through his long tangled hair, then begins to type again.

"We successfully dropped the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I am confident the first was the one I smuggled out of Germany and the second was more than likely our design. What happened to Lachelle I may never know? Who was she, and who am I, for that matter? I have stayed hidden all these months since the war ended, avoiding any outside contact. I trust no one.” Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 252

Marshall unrolls the paper from the carriage and stands, reading his words.

As he does, a red dot appears on the white paper. His hands shake. Someone knocks at the door. He sets the page down on top of the folder and goes to answer the door. His footsteps creak along the wooden floor. He grabs a hold of the handle and turns. He swings the door wide open. Silhouetted in the headlights of a car is the figure of a woman. She is holding a Luger. “Hello, Marshall,” she says.

CHAPTER 29

Washington, D.C. 1972

The reporter closes the document. He scribbles a few lines of notes and puts the camera into his coat pocket. He leaves the folder on the desk and walks past the nervous officer as he departs. The officer stares at the floor.

The sentry monitoring the front door is the only person in the front lobby.

The reporter takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes one in his lips.

“Got a light?” the reporter asks the sentry. The sentry nods. He reaches into his pants pocket. His eyes wander away from the reporter. The reporter reaches into his coat pulling out a gun with a silencer and shoots the sentry. The reporter walks around behind the sentry’s desk and disconnects the surveillance feeds. The monitors die. The reporter takes the videocassette and logbook. Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 253

The reporters’ footsteps echo on the front steps. A small limousine is parked under a streetlight along the curb. The reporter opens the back door and sits down.

From the darkness in the limousine, a woman speaks. Her raspy German stands the reporter’s hairs on end.

“What did you accomplish?”

She extends her aged hand. The reporter gives her the camera.

“The lighting was poor.”

“Very.”

“But I got it all, Mein Fuehrer.”

The reporter shuts the door and the limousine disappears down the tangled streets of Washington.

Field / Dropping The Peppermint / 254