This is a 1st person excerpt taken from a larger work I am working on, a military action/adventure story called "Destination:Berlin."
East Germany, 1988
Damn the rain! During the German summer you could always count on it. Big fat, humid drops splashed in my face as I clutched my briefcase, and ran as hard as I could down the muddy, narrow dirt path. Sharp bushes brushed alongside my clothes, causing little abrasions against my exposed arms. My ankles barely held me steady.
“Hurry, Sharon!” Dimitri yelled.
I ran as hard as I could, but I was hampered by severe pain coming from my right side. Seems I bruised a rib when the Berlin Duty Train derailed. It’s a good thing I was in shape before all this happened. I don’t think I’d have the strength or stamina to race through East Germany with the Stasi hot on my heels.
I looked up, only to discover Dimitri had found an old church hidden off the beaten path. It appeared to be abandoned. In the distance, I could hear the loud German shouts of my pursuers. I never thought my trip to Berlin would end up like this.
I jumped over a water-soaked log and slid a little before getting my balance. Dimitri leapt forward and grabbed my arm. My class ‘B’ uniform, a green short-sleeved shirt and skirt were soaked.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I think we can hide in here,” he proposed, opening the door to the church. It wasn’t big – not like the European cathedrals you see in the postcards. It was small, humble, with one front entrance and a crumbling baroque façade.
“You think they wouldn’t come in here because their atheists?” I asked, not quite understanding what made Dimitri think they wouldn’t hunt us down in a church. The only building in the middle of these God-forsaken German woods. After all, it would be the first place I’d look if I was chasing after us.
“Have faith,” he replied, as we ran down the center aisle toward the altar.
“That’s funny, coming from a Soviet soldier,” I muttered. My nose twitched from the pungent odor of mildew in the air.
He turned and glared at me. “Just because I am Russian does not make an atheist,” he
barked. “Look.”
Touché. My eyes cut to where he pointed. There, on the side of the altar, was an iron gate. I rushed forward. Water dripped from my bangs into my face. It was like an inner vestibule. Inside were gold candlesticks, chalices, wine, and other various accruements used in a Catholic mass. It was a perfect hiding place – if we could get inside.
I put the briefcase down at my feet and bent over, brushing my pain aside. We couldn’t spare a second. Inside, I found a ballpoint pen, took it apart and jammed the inner mechanism into the brass lock. It didn’t pop. Forcing myself to go slow, I wiggled the inner workings of the lock until finally it snapped.
Dimitri and I looked at each other and smiled. He opened the door, we went inside and I reached through the bars, snapping the lock shut on the outer side, so that if our pursers did come into the church and they found this gate, they would think twice about looking in here. We may be locked in, but it was a chance I was willing to take. I had to safeguard the documents in my briefcase at all costs. They couldn’t fall into the hands of the Stasi.
Dimitri found a shelf that could be moved away from the wall which contained various religion items – unleavened bread, flour, and wine. We ducked behind it, breathing deeply, trying desperately to still our bodies. I had to think of something that would calm me down. But what?
I never thought in a million years I’d be traipsing through the heart of East Germany with a Soviet Soldier. Sure, I joined the Army for action, adventure, a chance to see the world at eighteen, but I never expected this.
Why did I join the Army? I don’t know, I guess I thought it would bring me closer to my father, a man I could barely remember. He was drafted for the Vietnam War and because he had a degree, they sent him to Officer Candidate School. He became a lieutenant in the infantry and died defending a hospital that was under attack. The army wasn’t prepared for the Viet Cong’s type of guerilla warfare. After years of fighting, America finally had to cut their losses and run. It was a hard time for the military and the nation to accept such a defeat. I was just a kid then. Two years after my father’s death my family traveled to Washington D.C. where President Carter presented me with my father’s posthumous Medal of Honor. It was at the tender age of ten I decided I wanted to join the military to experience it – to know my father better.
The front door to the church slammed open and shut. Dimitri looked at me. There wasn’t much light in our hiding spot, but I could see his eyes, laced with worry. Until now, I didn’t realize he could feel more vulnerable emotions.
I turned away, glancing at my briefcase. It was insensitive of me to think that of him. Dimitri had proved over the course of the last few days – he was a man – human, just like me. It didn’t matter his uniform was different from mine. We both shared the same basic human emotions.
Loud German voices filled the air. There were two pursuers. One was a Stasi agent, one was KGB. I could tell they were speaking in German but I didn’t have enough command of the language to be fluent. Dimitri, on the other hand, was fluent in German, Russian, and English. He was assigned to the Soviet embassy in London and spoke English with a distinctive British accent. It was actually quite appealing. What did he do? Translate documents. What did I do? I worked at a NATO nuclear ammunitions weapons site in the West German town of Osnabrueck.
My breathing quieted. Dimitri’s did as well. It grew silent. I could hear the pitter patter of rain fiercely dropping against the roof as the agents explored the church. Then I heard them jiggle the lock. Dimitri put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He was just as nervous and scared as I was.
I needed to distract myself so I tried to focus on what being in the military meant to me. See, I didn’t wait to get my college degree. Instead, at eighteen, I joined as an enlisted soldier and went to basic and Military Police Advanced Training. Then I was assigned to my company in Osnabrueck. My mission? To guard short-range nuclear warheads which could be launched from field artillery cannons. I’d been there now for over four years. Because of my experience and training, I’d just recently been promoted to corporal, a junior non-commissioned officer. Oh, I was a model soldier at Osnabrueck. I scored high on my PT tests, had a slew of good counseling statements behind me, and basically, what nailed my promotion, was winning Soldier of the Quarter for my Battalion. Not only was I promoted, but I was selected to attend the Berlin Orientation Tour. The train left from Bremerhaven, a German port city, three days ago. That’s when this whole mess started.
Dimitri leaned over and whispered in my ear. “They are getting frustrated. They want to pick the lock, but don’t have the tools to do it.”
I nodded my head. The rain thundered in my ears. This moment seemed suspended in time. What would the agents do?
Dimitri lowered his head and rested it against my shoulder, whispering words in Russian I didn’t understand. Was he praying?
I grew up believing that the Soviet Union was the uncontested enemy of the United States. Who didn’t? When I got on the Duty Train in Bremerhaven I was surprised to discover the four allies of World War II rode on it – the Americans, French, British, and Soviets. Dimitri and I were in the restaurant car when it derailed in the middle of the night. To our luck we were thrown free, but that’s when I bruised my ribs. He went to get a medic, only when he returned, he was empty handed. He yelled at me, calling me a spy, rattling on about how I had top-secret documents in my briefcase and that’s why the Stasi blew up the train. When I went through my briefcase I discovered it was true . I had the launch codes to the ammunition at the site. He told me he overheard the Stasi talking about the documents. They wanted to take them from my dead body. It was then we faced off – ideology vs. truth. After all, he had an option, a very viable option – he could have turned me in. I had no idea these documents were in my briefcase. In that moment, he was the stronger of us, I, the weaker.
“They are leaving,” Dimitri whispered. “The Stasi agent is hurt. Bleeding from mouth.”
“I didn’t think I popped him that hard,” I replied.
Dimitri smiled. “I guess you have a mean ‘right hook.’”
I just nodded my head as I listened to the sounds in the air. The enemy’s footfalls became more distant, reminding me of that fateful night. To give the Stasi what they wanted would have broken the delicate balance of power between our countries. Dimitri insisted the right thing to do was safeguard the documents on a ninety-kilometer trip to Berlin – on foot. I agreed. Oh, it would have been so easy for him to have turned me over, to have ruined my life. I learned then that the Soviets weren’t as “evil” as they were portrayed to be in American society. Dimitri Nagory was a man – human – as human as me.
The front door shut. The rain echoed against the roof. We’d made it through another day, clinging to our freedom, now half way between Burg and Berlin in the middle of the German woods. The documents were still in our hands, but both of us knew this wasn’t the last of the Stasi.
Jack Brennan is hired by a group of ultra rich English aristocrats to kidnap four top IRA terrorists. The contract is time limited but do the financial rewards justify the risk?
