The Tin Hat

Image Credit: il.ign.com/call-of-duty-ww2

It had been sitting in the shop window for months, but this was the first time that Jeremy had noticed it. Of course, he had seen it there on the dusty shelf before, but now it looked different. Mister Perry must have cleaned because the olive green army hat was now facing towards the window, its military markings staring out towards the street as if waiting for the right eye to catch a glimpse of it. Jeremy got down on his haunches in front of the shopfront and inspected the hat. “Captain J. Proctor, 141st Battalion”, he read out loud. He smiled and looked at the shelf that the helmet was sitting on. Mister Perry has definitely cleaned, which meant that he was probably in a good mood. Shopping at The Treasure Chest was always best when Mister Perry was in a good mood. Jeremy got up and opened the door. A copper bell suspended above the door announced his arrival and the sweet-smelling aroma of cigar smoke and polished wood met him on the other side. The little shop was always over-stocked. His eyes casually browsed through the multitude of second-hand junk that was cluttering every corner of this old shop. On the countertop, an old rusty fan rhythmically clacking away gave the only relief against the heat of the day.

Jeremy carefully made his way through the overstocked shelves towards the old army hat. He lifted it from the shelf. From the looks of it, this was definitely an authentic army helmet, olive green, solid and heavy. He turned it over. A brown leather harness, neatly attached to four adjustable buckles comprised the inner of the helmet. He pushed the straps aside. On the inside underneath the leather straps, there was an inscription that was hand-carved into the metal.

#

Freedom comes from following the heart, and at the right time doing the right thing, until you realize that all that is left right in front of you, is the one thing you have had with you all the time. One must become four.

#

He stared at the inscription for a while, slowly mouthing the words. It sounded very philosophical, but yet it did not make any sense, or at least not to him. He took one philosophy class in college, but that was only because Carol Jenkins was taking it. No, Jeremy Proctor was a realist. He called it as it is. He flipped the hat right side up and studied the identification markings on the front of it.

“That hat was waiting for you Jerry”, a croaky voice said from right behind him.

Jeremy felt his heart skip a beat. He abruptly turned towards the short old man that was standing behind him.

“Mister Perry!”

“Are you ok son? You look all flushed.”

“Yes, I’m- You just startled me, that’s all.”

“Ah, nonsense! A big strong young man such as yourself doesn’t scare that easily.” He fist-bumped Jeremy’s shoulder and then took the hat from his hands. “They don’t make them like this anymore”, he said, peeking over his half-round glasses at the tin hat.

“Maybe it’s because the Second World War ended 72 years ago?” Jeremy replied.

“No young man, listen carefully”, Mister Perry said, tapping his knuckles to the metal. “Can you hear that?”

Jeremy pushed his ear closer to the helmet. Again the old man tapped his knuckles on the metal. Besides for the load clang that reverberated through the shop, Jeremy could hear nothing. He looked at the wrinkly old face smiling up at him and shook his head.

“It’s calling your name!”

“It is?”

“Of course it is. Look, look here on the front of it. It even has your name printed on it. Maybe it belonged to your grandfather hey?” He handed the hat back to Jeremy, and with a crooked old finger pointed out the identification markings.”

Jeremy looked at the print, “That’s my name alright. Where did you get this? “

“A homeless guy brought it in a few months ago. Said he got it from a dying old man dressed in army uniform. A shameful thing I tell you. Must have been a war veteran. Said the old fellow mumbled something about a gate and kept repeating a name before he died. What was it again…Barney or maybe Bailey… Argh, I can’t remember.”

“Still, I doubt that this belonged to my grandfather”, Jeremy said.

“How could you tell for sure? Did you not say you were named after him?”

“Yes, I have my granps’ names, but I never actually met him. Apparently, he never returned back from the war, and his body was never found.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that. So what is the interest in this particular item then?” Mister Perry asked, wobbling his way back towards the shop counter.

“A guy from work is organizing this Halloween party at his place up on Fifth Avenue. Since at work I am busy on a new war-themed video game, I figured I would go as a soldier. And this helmet would be perfect since it already has my name printed on it”, Jeremy said, wiping his thumb over the white identification marks.

“And the uniform? I have some very authentic looking costumes in the back.”

“That’s all right, really Mister Perry, I am going to use my father’s old military uniform. He was about the same size as me.”

“Interesting! A family of soldiers”, the old man said removing his glasses and leaning his elbows on the countertop. “And you never had any interest in joining the military?”

Jeremy shook his head, “My father would have liked that, but I think I might lack the discipline. So I ended up becoming a military game developer. Besides, I look terrible in uniform.”

“Ugh, I don’t believe that! Come put on the hat, let me see you.” Mister Perry stood back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Right now?”

“Yes, put it on your head. Let us see”, Mister Perry insisted.

Reluctantly Jeremy lifted the hat above his head and paused for a moment. “If you laugh at me-“

He lowered the green battle helmet onto his head. It was a perfect fit. He pulled the leather straps around his chin and started fastening the brass buckle.

“It’s perfect! You look like a military man. Come, come and have a look in the — .”

Instantly everything around Jeremy went quiet. He blinked hard several times, but his vision kept blurring as streaks of green and grey imagery started flashing before his eyes. Mister Perry’s last words got drowned out by the deep roar of an approaching diesel engine. At once a volley of gunfire erupted.

“Signal the second platoon to advance from the southeast! We have a sniper in the church-building pinning us down!”

Jeremy turned his head from side to side trying to determine where the voice was coming from. Slowly his eyes started to regain focus. The heavy smell of gunpowder and wet canvas filled his nostrils and he gasped for air as a sudden splash of ice cold water hit him in the face, ripping him back to reality. A fit of coughing brought up what went down his throat. He was now staring at the ceiling of the shop from his back. He sat up. The olive green tin hat was now lying a few feet behind him.

“Are you ok?” the voice of Mister Perry asked as if from a distance. He looked up at the old man standing over him holding an empty water jug. Jeremy wiped his face and coughed again.

“What happened?”

“Well, the one moment you were standing there like a proud soldier and the next you were on the floor”, Mister Perry said pulling Jeremy to his feet. “Are you sure you are ok Jerry?”

Jeremy wasn’t sure. He still felt dizzy and the strong smell of gunpowder was lingering in his nose.

“Yes, I am fine. I just need a moment to catch my breath.”

The old man took a step closer, examining Jeremy’s face. “You look pale. You should have your blood pressure taken. You could be suffering from low blood pressure, like me. Terrible thing that blood pressure I tell you.”

Jeremy cupped his hands in his face. “I need to get home, how much do I owe you for the hat?”

“No please take it, it is yours”, Mister Perry said picking it up off the floor, dusting it off before handing it to Jeremy.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure”, the old man said, tapping his knuckles to the metal again. “Can’t you hear? It’s calling your name.”

Jeremy looked at the scrawny figure smiling at him, sporting two rows of cigar-stained teeth. “Thank you, Mister Perry”, he said and headed towards the door.

“Don’t forget to have that blood pressure checked young man!”

“Will do so Mister Perry!”

Jeremy hastily made his way down the road towards the apartment building on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Duncan Boulevard. He rushed up the stairs leading to his second-floor apartment, closed the door behind him and placed the helmet on the dining room table. For several minutes he stood there, studying it. Whatever happened in the shop was just too real to be ascribed to low blood pressure.

He pulled up a chair and stared intently at the piece of green headgear in front of him. Maybe it was due to the fact that he skipped breakfast this morning. In fact, he hasn’t eaten all day. Blood sugar, of course, that must be it. What else could it be? It had to be low blood sugar. Jeremy got up and walked over to the bedroom where his father’s old army uniform was hanging. He got undressed and slipped into the green soldier’s attire. Like a veteran, he laced up the boots and fastened the web-belt around his waist. Even after washing this uniform twice it still smelled like mothballs and damp leather.

Jeremy turned around to see himself in the mirror.

Mister Perry had a point. He does look good in uniform. His eyes lifted looking over the mirror to where the tin hat was sitting on the dining room table. A strange chill ran down the length of his spine.

“This is just ridiculous”, he said out loud, “it’s just an old army hat.”

Jeremy walked over to the table and paused for a second. Did the hat just move? He poked it with his forefinger. The hat rocked from side to side. Jeremy shrugged, then confidently lifted the hat, placed it on his head and waited.

Nothing happened this time.

He reached for the thick leather straps and fastened the brass buckle around his chin. Like a pillar of salt, he stood in one spot for a few minutes, looking from side to side and smelling the air for traces of gunpowder. Maybe it really was just because he skipped breakfast this morning, and any chance at lunchtime was taken up chasing a ridiculous work-deadline that was dumped on him early morning.

He pocketed his cell phone and headed back to the bedroom. Jeremy saluted himself in the mirror, adjusted the helmet slightly, then headed towards the front door. The party was at Joe Silva’s place two blocks up the road, well within walking distance. It shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes to cover the distance. He closed the door of his apartment and turned the key in the lock…

“Incoming!” an unfamiliar voice suddenly shouted right next to him.

Taken aback, Jeremy dropped his keys and stumbled a few steps to the side. A massive explosion tore through the cold air sending dust and little rock fragments flying in every direction. He covered his ears and dove to the ground, his elbows connecting the concrete rubble that was littering the area.

“Captain you’re back!” another voice shouted.

Jeremy looked up at the face of the dirty soldier lying in the rubble next to him.

“What happened? Where am I?” he asked, turning onto his side. There were at least thirty other men all taking cover behind the broken walls that comprised the remains of an old building. The dirty-faced soldier next to him stared at him with a perplexed look on his face.

“You are with the One Hundred and Forty-First Battalion, first platoon. Are you sure you are okay Captain?” he asked before he started patting Jeremy down, searching for signs of injury.

“What the hell are you doing? And would you please tell me who you are and where I am?” Jeremy asked again.

“It’s me, Captain. It’s Sergeant Bailey, your platoon’s second in command.”

Jeremy looked at the soldier lying next to him in the dust and rubble. He was young, about 22 years of age. His face was unshaved like someone who hasn’t been around a razor or a bathroom for days and his green uniform was stained with dust, dry blood and grease. One of his callused hands was pulling on a silver locket that was hanging from his neck. His thumb nervously flicked the locket open and shut, revealing a small black and white picture of a young bride holding an infant in her arms.

“How did I get here?” Jeremy asked.

Another explosion thundered through the air, followed by a volley of gunfire. The loud roar of the approaching diesel motor became almost deafening as a German tank turned the corner of the narrow street and started heading their way. Sergeant Bailey hesitated for a moment, and then took a small pair of binoculars from his jacket pocket.

“I believe you were dropped here by Lieutenant Green Sir.” He pushed his face closer to Jeremy’s and whispered, “Was your mission a success Captain?”

Another loud explosion rocked the foundations of the surrounding buildings, kicking up clouds of white dust. The roar of the diesel motor was now silent. The young soldier tuned onto his elbows, carefully bringing the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the area where the tank has now come to a halt.

“We should change position, Sir. That Panzer isn’t going to stay there forever and if that damn sniper changes position, we will be sitting ducks.”

Jeremy turned his gaze to the ground in front of him. Just moments ago he could have easily convinced himself that this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a bad dream. But the small trickle of blood running from a tiny cut in his palm was telling him otherwise. He wasn’t sure exactly how he got here, but this was no dream, this was real and if he wanted to get out of here alive, he would have to act fast.

“I have to get back, ” he finally said.

Bailey nodded in affirmation. He turned towards the rest of the platoon that laid spread out amongst the rubble.

“Captain says to fall back! Everybody fall back!”

Immediately the men started retreating. Sergeant Bailey got to his haunches and offered a hand to Jeremy. “Are you coming, Captain?”

A few hundred feet away the German Panzer had started moving again. Clouds of black diesel smoke rose up into the blue skies as the cringing sound of the approaching iron treads increased in volume. Jeremy still had no idea where here was, but one thing that he knew was that for now, he had to follow these men to safety. Once they were safe he would be able to start putting the pieces of this bizarre puzzle together. He got up and followed closely behind Bailey making his way through the remains of an old apartment block. From both sides, young men in the same olive green uniforms were joining up with them. Jeremy caught a glimpse of the uniform on a soldier next to him.

This was a Herringbone Twill style uniform, last worn by US soldiers during World War Two. Jeremy was no military expert, but his father was a military man with high hopes for his son to follow in his footsteps. Countless nights were spent paging through books and photos depicting military equipment, firearms and uniforms. He hated it. He hated it so much; it deterred him from ever giving the military a second thought. But it made his father happy. He endured it, pretending that every new picture of a Sherman, every shiny regiment badge and the long discussions about military strategy brought a sparkle to his eye. His father passed before having to witness his son head off on a completely different career path. Maybe that was a good thing, although right now he wished that he had paid more attention to what his old man was trying to teach him.

Up ahead was the town limits.

Beyond lay fifty yards of open field that bordered a dense Pine forest. The platoon stopped and took cover against a wall. Several of the men opened their canteens and passed the water around. The soldier to the right of Jeremy gave him a nudge and handed him the canvas covered bottle. He was an older man, perhaps in his late thirties, and by the looks of it the senior of the platoon in years at least. From under his helmet traces of grey lined the raven black hair along the sides of his head. The lines on his face were a testimony of a life of hardship, even before the war came. He looked at Jeremy with discontent.

“Thank you, uh-”, Jeremy leaned forward slightly to read the man’s nametag, “Simmons.”

Private Simmons grunted something, then took the canteen from Jeremy’s hands and replaced the cap.

“I don’t know who you are Captain, but you ain’t our Captain Proctor”, he said looking Jeremy square in the eye.

“Awaiting further orders Captain!” the voice of Sergeant Bailey came from a few feet away. Jeremy looked up at the two and a half dozen faces all staring back at him. If he gets exposed as a fraud now, these men will have no problem leaving him behind or even executing him right here. There would be no rational way to explain to them how he got here without being ridiculed and accused of being an enemy spy. If Simmons was already doubting him, how many other men were there in the platoon that shared this suspicion? At least it looked like Sergeant Bailey had no doubts in his mind that he was indeed Captain Proctor. For the moment he would have to fit the role. He would have to be Captain J. Proctor of the 141st Battalion if he was to survive his ordeal.

He got to his knees and carefully peeked over the top of the wall. To the front, all seemed clear. Behind them, the rushing feet of the enemy approaching through the rubble told him that he had to act fast. The last thing he wanted was to be mowed down from behind by enemy fire while they were crossing an open field.

“We head for the cover of the forest! Move out, move out!” Jeremy shouted slightly surprised at himself.

Without hesitation, the soldiers reacted. One by one the men scaled the small wall, making a beeline for the trees. The loud crash of a brick wall being pushed over by a German tank made Jeremy look back over his shoulder. The Panzer had positioned itself in a four o’clock position behind them. Slowly its turret turned towards the fleeing platoon. The long barrel lifted slightly and then locked into position.

Then a thunderous bang followed. The air above their heads split open as the large projectile passed overhead and exploded in a fireball of smoke and shrapnel about twenty feet in front of them. Like one man the soldiers instinctively dove to the ground. There was no cover here. Another bang followed that tore a huge hole in the ground. Jeremy looked up from the ground where he was lying face down. The trees were still about thirty yards away. To the back, German soldiers were setting up some sort of Gatling gun. His eye caught Sergeant Bailey a few feet ahead, raising his arm straight up into the air. Seconds ticked by painfully slow before their eyes met.

“Can I suggest we split into two smaller groups, Captain? I will take half the men around the east, you go the other way and we meet up at the bunker!”

Jeremy nodded and then turned to the one dozen men lying around him. “You heard the Sergeant. On my count, we move out towards the west. Head for that fallen tree over there!”

He pointed to a large tree that was laying forty yards ahead and slightly to the right of their position.

Again the Panzer fired. This time it was closer. A blood-curdling cry sounded out above the massive impact of the projectile as a fragment of shrapnel tore through the leg of one of the soldiers.

“It’s Miller, sir”, a soldier reported from a few feet away. “He has been hit.”

The scurrying of boots and commands shouted out in German caused Jeremy to look back once more. “The Germans are advancing. Quick Simmons, you lead the men to the fallen tree, I will bring Private Miller.”

“I don’t take orders from yellow-bellied traitors and spies”, Simmons replied spitting into the loose sand.

“Dammit Simmons, this is not the time! You will obey my order or I will have you court-marshalled!”

Jeremy swallowed hard, again taken by surprise by the unexpected authority in his own voice. Where did that come from? It was almost like someone else was saying it. As if he was a bystander hovering somewhere outside of his own body. Simmons stared at Jeremy for a few seconds. His face wore an expression of utter disapproval. He got up to his haunches.

“Towards the trees, follow me!”

Jeremy watched the men jump up from their crouched positions and follow Private Simmons over the open field and towards the toppled tree just as another explosion left a crater-sized hole in the ground in front of them. Jeremy crawled towards the injured soldier.

“Can you get up?”

“I think I can manage to get to my feet Captain. But I doubt I would be able to run.”

“It is okay, you can lean on me. I will help you.”

Private Miller nodded. Jeremy looked down at the young man’s leg. It was bleeding profusely. His pants were ripped at the point of entry and were soaked through, the shreds of cloth sticking to his leg. He would have to get medical attention soon, or he would definitely bleed out.

“Put your arm around my neck.” Jeremy sat on his haunches next to the wounded soldier. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Jeremy noticed the round badge on the soldier’s chest. He had seen this type of badge before. His father was an intelligence officer and wore the same badge. Above their heads, tracer bullets were drawing lines against the grey sky, setting fire to grass where they hit the ground.

Jeremy ground his teeth as the pair rose to their feet with an effort. Private Miller let out a scream of agony and collapsed back to the ground.

“I can’t, — I can’t do this Captain. You must leave without me.”

“There is no way that I’m leaving — “A loud thud-thud-thud cracked through the crisp air. Dust sprung up like tiny fountains only Inches from the two soldiers. Jeremy grabbed the young man by the scruff of his uniform, lifted him clear off the ground and ducked his own body underneath him. He positioned the soldier across his shoulders and started running towards the fallen tree. The wounded man screamed in agony, but his cries were drowned out by the repeated thuds from the Gatling gun on the other side of the field. Dust and gravel sprung up all around them as bullets flew past, impacting the ground. The tree was only about fifteen feet away now. A large exploding projectile coming from the German tank rocked the earth right behind the fleeing pair. Jeremy fell to the ground, the flying stone and sand fragments feeling like tiny bee stings in his neck and back. The fall took the wind out of him. He briefly looked back to where the enemy troops were loading another ammo belt into the big machine gun. To the right of the gun, several German troops were starting to make their way across the field.

With the last bit of strength left in his aching legs, Jeremy pushed himself back onto his feet. The tree-line was now just a few feet away. He felt a warm sensation running down his left leg and into his boot.

The rest of the men emerged from out the shadows of the Pine trees and took Private Miller from his shoulders. Several of the men took position behind the trunk of the fallen tree and opened fire on the approaching German troops.

“Captain you have been hit”, a soldier remarked from behind Jeremy. He looked down at the rip in his pants, just below his knee and parted the cloth slightly to reveal a flesh wound where a bullet has grazed his leg.

“I’m fine; it’s only a flesh wound. We need to move. We cannot stay here. Sergeant Bailey said something about a bunker.”

The men looked at each other then back to Jeremy.

“Yes, Captain, the bunker.”

Jeremy looked at the group of faces looking back at him as if questioning his sanity. Private Simmons approached from the back wearing a smirk across his face.

“It seems our Captain here has forgotten where the bunker is.” He stepped closer and pushed the tip of his rifle into Jeremy’s shoulder. “Now I don’t know about you fellas but I find that rather interesting. Especially considering the amount of time we spent there.” Again he poked his rifle into Jeremy’s shoulder. “I think it would be safe to say that we have ourselves a spy in our midst. An intruder!”

“No”, Jeremy said suddenly pushing the rifle tip off his shoulder, “I know where the bunker is. Follow me.”

Somehow he knew where this bunker was. He wasn’t quite sure how, but he had a clear picture in his mind of the layout and position of it. Almost like a memory. And the more he thought about it the clearer and more detailed it became.

“This way, follow me!” he said parting the undergrowth.

#

Sergeant Bailey pulled the camouflage netting aside and opened the trapdoor to the underground bunker. He kept a lookout scanning the horizon between the trees as one by one the soldiers climbed down the steep ladder and lit the kerosene lanterns down below. Then he closed the hatch and walked towards a marked tree to the north of the bunker entrance. Pacing his steps, he counted each one out loud. He stopped halfway to the tree. Again he carefully scanned the area. He scrapped the surface of the ground with his boot, then hesitated for a moment. Quickly he got down on his knees and parted the topsoil. Once more he looked around. Everything seemed safe. Frantically he started digging, throwing fistfuls of dirt into the air. He reached into the hole and took a small wooden box, with a painted symbol on the lid out. Reaching into his backpack, he removed his two-way radio. Again he looked around, resting his eyes on the bunker entrance for a second before unscrewing the aerial and mouthpiece from the radio. He turned the wooden box over and plugged both the aerial and mouthpiece into holes on the back of it. Sergeant Bailey reached under his shirt and removed the locket from around his neck. Carefully, he opened the tiny lid and peeled back the photograph inside of it. A small key was neatly fitted to the inside of the locket with two turning clips.

He balanced the wooden box on his knee, inserted the small silver key into the keyhole on the lid and turned it. The inside of the box revealed a much more sophisticated radio than the one he carried in his pack. Bailey took another scan around him, then flipped the main switch. The crackling of static came to life on the radio speaker as he turned the frequency selector.

Slowly he brought the mouthpiece to his face.

“Dies ist Agent 444, mit einem Bericht.”

#

The men have increased their pace to a steady dogtrot. Using saplings and an army-issued raincoat they have constructed a makeshift stretcher for Private Miller, who was by now slipping in and out of consciousness. Jeremy knelt down next to a large rock formation. He raised a balled fist into the air above his head. The soldiers came to an immediate halt and got to their haunches. Besides for a small herd of Deer grazing on the fern leaves amongst the trees, everything else seemed quiet. He fixated his gaze on a group of white-barked trees perpendicular to the direction they were heading in. Strangely, he knew that this was the way to go. It was like two opposing factions within his psyche were having a tug of war. His rational mind was telling him that he was not supposed to know where the bunker is, let alone know how to fill the shoes of an infantry captain.

Yet he was doing it. It was almost as if he was accessing the memories of someone else. Could it be that by putting the tin hat on his head, he somehow transported into the body of a World War Two captain?

He got up from his knees and signalled the soldiers to follow him. Running close-by to his left, he could not help but notice the ever suspicious eyes of Private Simmons, who have barely let him out of his sight since they have met.

On the other side of the whitebarks, they made a right turn passing a big marked tree. Jeremy stopped and waited for the men to catch up. Then he slowly lifted his rifle to his shoulder and backed up against the tree.

“Go, go, go!” he commanded.

Simmons pulled the camouflage netting to the side and opened the hatch to the bunker. One by one the men assisted each other down the ladder. Jeremy waited of the stretcher to disappear into the bunker before slowly heading for the opening himself.

Down on the bunker floor, the men have removed their rifles and heavy kit. In the one corner, the platoon medic was tending to Miller’s injuries while in the other a few men were busy brewing coffee on a portable kerosene stove. Another group was sitting against the wall on the far end of the bunker. Amongst them was Private Simmons with his eyes still fixated on Jeremy’s every move. It was only a matter of time before the others will catch on to Simmons’ notion that he wasn’t who he pretended to be.

“Captain, I’m glad you made it safe”, Sergeant Bailey said from behind him.

Jeremy turned and faced the young sergeant. The absence of his battle hat from his head now revealed a much balder man. Jeremy took him by the arm and led him a few feet away from the other men.

“Sergeant Bailey, I need to ask you something. And I know this might seem strange, but I am expecting you to give me your honest opinion.”

Bailey squinted suspiciously in anticipation. “Certainly Sir.”

“Have you noticed anything different about me?” Jeremy asked.

“You mean besides the fact that you aren’t calling me Neville when we are in private?”

“Yes… Yes, I suppose that as well, but is there anything else you have picked up on?”

Neville turned his eyes floor wards and sighed. “There are some of the men that think that you are not our Captain Proctor. That you are an imposter.”

“Simmons?”

“Yes, amongst a few others.”

Jeremy turned his eyes towards the men against the far side wall. “There are others?”

“A few, but they are not all as outspoken as Simmons with their suspicions.”

“But how will I know who to trust if I can’t trust the men in my own damn platoon?” Jeremy asked through his teeth, trying to suppress the urge to shout.

“You can trust me, Sir. And I suppose after what you have done for him, you can also trust Private Miller.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Was there something you wanted to share with me, Captain?” the Sergeant asked.

There was a strange urge in his voice, almost as if he was trying to persuade Jeremy to confess to something. Neville leaned forward into him, his face expressionless.

“No, it’s fine, thank you, uh — Neville.”

Jeremy turned and strolled over to his bunk bed next to the injured Private Miller. He glanced back over his shoulder as he sat down. Sergeant Bailey was still staring at him. Something did not seem right. Besides the fact that he somehow got transported back in time, there was something peculiar about these men. He knew that Simmons definitely considered him an imposter, but what was up with Neville Bailey? Could he even risk closing his eyes to sleep tonight? Somehow he didn’t feel like an imposter, but instead, it felt like he belonged here.

Jeremy removed the Battle helmet from his head and placed it on the floor next to the bed. His eyes met those belonging to Private Miller.

“I am glad to see that you are awake!” Jeremy said. “How are you feeling?”

“I guess as good as a man can feel with a hole in his leg. But the throbbing in my leg pretty much kept me, awake Captain.”

Jeremy looked at the wounded soldier. If he was indeed awake just now, he would have definitely heard the conversation with Bailey. “So, I guess you overheard my conversation with the Sergeant?”

“I did not mean to eavesdrop Captain, but yes, I could not help overhearing it.”

Jeremy frowned. “And what is your opinion? Do you think I am an imposter?”

The Private shifted himself into a more seated position with some effort and pulled a half crushed packet of cigarettes from his inner pocket. “Do you smoke?”

Jeremy shook his head and watched as Private Miller lit up.

“After I got hit, you picked me up off the ground, carried me to safety and still managed to return fire. It was then that I noticed that you are right-handed.” He took two deep drags of his cigarette and casually blew the smoke into rings. “You see Sir, Captain Proctor was a lefty.”

Jeremy felt his blood turn to ice. Miller started at him for a few seconds as if waiting for a response before continuing.

“Nevertheless Captain, I owe you my life. Whatever your secret is, if it is no threat to the platoon, it is safe with me. But if it is, I am the intelligence officer, and well you know…”

He turned onto his side, briefly looked over to where the others were sitting and then moved his head closer to Jeremy.

“So tell me, are you an MP? You know the men have been talking, saying that we have a traitor inside the platoon. That someone has been leaking Intel to the German’s from inside our midst. And you know it kinda makes sense. No matter what our offensive, the enemy always seems to be one step ahead.”

Jeremy shook his head.

“No, that’s not it. I am not from the Military Police. In fact… I am not even a soldier.”

He watched Miller’s face, waiting for a reaction, but the man just stared at him while taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose you must be CIA then Sir?”

“No, no it is nothing like that. I am not CIA either.”

“Then who are you?”

“Well, my name really is Jeremy Proctor, but I am just a normal guy who somehow landed up in the middle of a war.”

Miller frowned, snuffed the cigarette and nodded. “We are all just normal men Sir. I mean before this I was a clerk in a bank, never even held a gun before. But the war has turned us into — .”

“You don’t understand”, Jeremy interrupted, “I am from the future. I came here from the year 2017.”

This got a reaction from the Private, but it was not the one Jeremy was expecting. Private Miller let out a chuckle. “You really aren’t our Captain Proctor, are you? Although I have to admit you do look like him.”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you, I somehow time travelled here.”

Miller turned onto his back and stared up at the bunker’s ceiling. “Captain, can you tell me what the date is?”

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Uh, I just told you I am from the future; I have no idea what year this even is.”

Miller turned his head back towards Jeremy. “Today is April 7th, 2017, Sir. You did not travel through time; you travelled to the Dimension of the Third Reich.”

“Wait a second”, Jeremy said, sitting up, “the Second World War has been over for 72 years. Hitler is dead. There is no Third Reich anymore.”

Miller shook his head. “No Sir, Hitler did not die. He created another dimension, one where he could regroup without being touched. A place from where he could finish what he started. Unfortunately, while creating this place he also sucked through an entire Allied battalion. Most of the men you see here have been fighting this war, holding Hitler back for over 72 years.”

Jeremy moved over to the bunk bed Private Miller was lying on. “The Lost Battalion… of course! You are the 141st Battalion, also known as the Lost Battalion.”

Miller coughed and smiled, “So they named us! The Lost Battalion, I kinda like that, although we are not lost, just stuck here for three-quarters of a damn century.”

Jeremy’s eyes briefly scanned the room full of soldiers, most that didn’t look a day older than 25. “These men, they didn’t seem to have aged at all.”

“None of us did. We are still as feisty as the day we got here, but unfortunately so are the enemy. But most of the men in this room are nearing their hundredth birthdays.”

“Incredible!”

“If I may ask Captain Proctor, how did you land up here?”

Jeremy reached down and picked the tin hat up from the floor. “Well, I got this helmet from a second-hand store on the block where I live — “

“Can I see the hat?” Miller said cutting in. He reached out, took the hat from Jeremy’s hands and turned it over to inspect the inside.

“Oh my God!” he said in a loud whisper, his eyes darting about the room. “You have the hat!”

“That’s what I said”, Jeremy replied.

“You don’t understand Captain, this is the key. You hold the key!”

A shiver of hope ran up Jeremy’s spine. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow the enthusiasm in Miller’s voice gave him hope. Could the very thing that got him here also be the way out?

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

Miller turned the inside of the hat towards Jeremy and pulled the leather straps aside. “We baited this helmet from Hitler’s stronghold. See, it has the riddle carved into the metal. And we are certain that somehow this riddle holds the secret to escaping this dimension.”

Miller handed the helmet back to Jeremy, who inspected the inscription on the inside and then turned it over to look at his name printed on the front of it. “So you got this Allied hat from Hitler?”

The Private reached into his pocket and took another cigarette out. He patted himself down looking for his box of matches. Jeremy picked it up from next to the bed, handed it to the soldier, and watched as he lit his crooked cigarette.

“We launched an offensive on Hitler’s fortress about forty-six years ago. Two of our men got as far as the Atomic-door, but they could not open the lock. There was a German inscription on the door and this battle-hat was sitting on a short pillar next to it.”

“What did the inscription say?”

Miller reached over, turned the hat upside down again and tapped his thick dirty finger on the inside. “That is what it said. But the resistance from the Nazi troops was getting stronger so we all had to retreat. The men knew that somehow the inscription held the key to the opening that atomic door, so the captain grabbed the helmet, Simmons translated it, and later the Captain carved it into the bottom of the hat. This hat went missing from this very bunker a few months ago.”

Jeremy shook his head. “But I got it from a used goods dealer in Brooklyn.”

“You got what from Brooklyn?” Simmons asked from right behind them.

Jeremy felt Miller’s hand squeezing tightly around his wrist.

“Uh, that would be my FM radio. I bought it from a second-hand dealer back home, in Brooklyn.”

“Oh did you now? And does it catch German or American broadcasts?”

“Simmons!” Miller cried out, “You are out of line!”

“Am I? Am I really?”

Jeremy knew that he had to take control of the situation. He got up and took a step closer to Simmons. He could feel his insides shake, but he knew that he had to take control of the situation. Exert authority or get roasted alive. He pushed his face right up to Private Simmons.

“I do not care what your opinion of me is Simmons, but for the moment I am your superior officer, and I expect you to acknowledge that!”

Simmons opened his mouth to speak, but Jeremy spoke first. “You will perform bunker duty for the next twenty-four hours!”

“Bunker duty?”

“Yes, you heard me right”, Jeremy replied. “Sergeant Bailey!”

Bailey came walking from the far side of the bunker. “Captain?”

“Would you see to it that Private Simmons tends to the cleaning of the bunker? And that includes the cleaning of all the rifles and equipment.”

“Yes Sir”, Bailey replied, taking Simmons by the arm.

“There is something that ain’t right about you Captain Proctor, and I’m gonna find out what that is”, Simmons said as Sergeant Bailey led him away.

Jeremy turned towards the injured soldier.

“Close one”, Miller said, “But you stood your ground well.”

“I had to say something before the situation got out of hand”, Jeremy replied.

Miller grabbed Jeremy by the wrist and forcefully pulled him closer. “Don’t just say something, do something! We have the hat with the riddle back. We need to launch an offensive, Sir! This will win you the men’s trust. We can finally end this all.”

Jeremy looked at the man holding onto his arm. “I cannot lead a platoon of battle-hardened men. I told you before I am not a soldier!”

The private tightened his grip. “I saw a soldier on the battlefield that carried me when I was down. One with a quality I have not seen in many men. You are our best chance of bringing The Reich down. Rally the men, bring us together and we can hit The Reich at daybreak!”

Jeremy pulled his arm free. “And I am telling you that you got the wrong guy! I’m not qualified to lead men into battle.”

With effort, the wounded soldier pulled himself from his bunker bed and came to his feet. The bandage around his leg was blood-stained and shreds of his uniform pants were dangling over it where the shrapnel has ripped through. He bent over, picked up the tin hat from the floor and climbed onto his bed. Standing on the bed he held the helmet in the air.

“Captain Proctor has the helmet!” he shouted out raising his voice above the noise of soldiers preparing meals, having a drink and playing cards.

The bunker went silent as every pair of eyes was now focused on the hat in Miller’s hands. One by one the men got up and came closer. Private Miller displayed the inside of the hat to the platoon. He looked down at Jeremy. “Either you tell them or I will, Captain Proctor.”

Thirty pairs of eyes were staring him down, each pair more anticipating than the next. Sergeant Bailey made his way through the men.

“What’s the meaning of this Miller?” he asked.

“You best ask the good Captain over here”, Miller replied handing the helmet over to Neville Bailey. The sergeant turned the tin hat over, pulled the straps aside and read the inscription out loud. A loud cheer erupted amongst the platoon, but Bailey silenced them.

“This helmet disappeared from this very bunker a few weeks ago. Captain Proctor set out on a solo mission to infiltrate The Reich’s stronghold and retrieve it. Why did you not tell me that you have it …Sir?” He handed the helmet back to Miller and turned to face Jeremy.

A loud mutter erupted amongst the men. Jeremy wiped his sweaty palms and felt the blood draining from his face. His eyes met those belonging to Private Simmons who was making his way from the back of the crowd. Bailey raised his hand and the men quieted down.

“Captain Proctor Sir, when were you going to tell us that you have retrieved the hat?” Sergeant Bailey asked.

“He wasn’t”, Simmons remarked, “He wasn’t going to tell us because he didn’t know he had it.”

Again the men started muttering.

“He did not know he had the hat because he is not Captain Proctor!” Simmons continued.

The mutter escalated to loud shouting.

Private Simmons grabbed a handful of Jeremy’s shirt. “I say we take this imposter outside and hang him from the nearest tree!”

Jeremy looked over to Sergeant Bailey who strangely did not seem opposed to the idea.

“Quiet! Silence!” a voice shouted above the ramble. Everyone turned their eyes towards the injured Private Miller.

“You men have all come to know each other through our many years together. You have come to know me and trust me because I have given you good and precise Intel. I have spoken to this man, and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, that this man is Captain Jeremy Proctor!” Miller let out a cry of agony as he climbed down from the bed and took a stand next to Jeremy. “This is the only man that can lead us to victory. Now unless there are any of you that would like to take his place, I say we listen to what the Captain has to say!”

An indescribable dryness took hold of Jeremy’s throat as thirty pairs of eyes stared him down. He knew he had to take control of the situation, say something, but the smirk on the young Sergeant’s face and the presence of the intimidating Private Simmons so close to him deterred him from opening his mouth.

Jeremy turned his gaze to Miller and gently took the helmet from his hands. He carefully straightened the leather straps and put the tin hat on his head.

“I know you don’t trust me. “

“You have that damn right,” Simmons remarked. Miller stepped forward and grabbed Private Simmons by the sleeve. Without saying another word the outspoken soldier took two steps back. Miller glanced up at Jeremy and nodded.

“My name is Jeremy Proctor. Whoever you perceive me to do not really matter. I don’t have all the answers for you, but what I can tell you, is that this has gone far enough. We are all stuck here, and unless we work as a team we will eventually die here.”

“So what you sayin? You going to rescue us?” Simmons asked laughingly. Again this stirred up a muttering amongst the men.

Jeremy raised his voice, “No you have it wrong! I am not trying to play hero. In fact, if you knew more about me, you would probably not listen to anything I have to say at all, but isn’t there just a tiny bit inside you that wants to be reunited with your families back on the other side?”

There was a long silence before Miller spoke. “Most of our families are dead Sir, and we have made our peace with the fact. It has been 72 years. This here has been our lives. The only family we have is each other.” The men all nodded in agreement.

“Then do it to free each other” Jeremy said. “How much longer are you prepared to fight this battle?”

“We doing this to keep the Nazi’s from crossing over from the dimension into the real world!” a voice said from somewhere in the back of the crowd.

“Then let’s end it now. Let’s end this dimension. I say we launch an offensive on The Reich’s stronghold by first light. One as they have never seen before!”

A roar of cheering erupted inside the bunker. Simmons stepped closer to Jeremy, stared him down for a few seconds, then turned around and disappeared amongst the men. Jeremy’s eyes followed him but got distracted by a movement on the far side of the room. The bunker-door was open. Someone must have left. His eye briefly caught the face of Neville Bailey as the door slammed shut again.

#

Jeremy could barely sleep that night. After Sergeant Bailey left, he had called the men together. No-one seemed too concerned with Neville’s absence, saying that he often disappeared into the dark of night by himself. He could not figure out why Bailey would be so opposed to his plans that he would leave the room. Was there something more sinister behind Neville Bailey’s two-hour absence from the bunker? Surely if the man had a problem with his command he would have to discuss it with him first. When the Sergeant eventually returned, he acted strangely, avoiding eye contact.

A small flashlight on the bunk next to Jeremy came on.

“Are you awake Captain?” Miller asked.

“Yes I am, in fact, I barely slept”, Jeremy replied.

“Its time Sir. I’ll wake the men.”

#

White smoke rose from the chimney of the brick fortress on the hill. The bunker was five miles behind them now. It had started to snow and Jeremy had decided to split the men into two groups. He had taken command of the first while the second group was under command of Sergeant Bailey, who seemed more than eager to participate this morning. Miller was up and running as if he was never injured, and on Jeremy’s request he fell in with the second group. Jeremy needed someone to keep watch Bailey, and Miller was the only one he could trust. Simmons was in the first group, where Jeremy could keep an eye on him.

Before they left the bunker, they held a short briefing to make sure that everyone was familiar with the plan. Although very suspicious of him, Jeremy made use of this opportunity to bring Sergeant Bailey up to speed.

There were three ways into the building, one being the front door and then a second vehicle entrance on the opposite side of the fortress. The third way in was through the sewer system. This was controlled from a small but heavily guarded pump house just outside the walls. Going through the sewer meant blowing up one of the massive pump motors and then entering one of the two pipes running through the wall. Although they were carrying two sets of explosives, they had only one chance to blow the massive pipe clear off its motor. This task was assigned to Bailey’s team, whom would be responsible for blowing the pump motor, while Jeremy’s group use the remaining set of explosives to blow the Atomic-door, once everyone has passed through.

If Miller’s Intel was correct, progressing about a hundred yards up these pipes should bring them to a reservoir on the inside of the fortress. From there a small cat-ladder would lead to a hatch opening on the other side of the vehicle entrance.

This wasn’t the easiest way in but offered the least resistance until the platoon was inside the walls. Jeremy raised a balled fist into the air calling the platoon to a halt. Up ahead was the pump station. He signalled for his team to take position along a small ridge. Bailey’s team had already moved to the far right and were now within striking distance from the station.

Bailey raised five fingers into the air, signalling the start of the countdown. Both teams got to their haunches.

“Five…Four…Three…” Jeremy counted while peeking over the ridge. Something wasn’t right. He caught a glimpse of Sergeant Bailey looking briefly in his direction and then quickly over to the pump station. Jeremy’s eyes followed. Something was wrong. He blinked hard to focus his eyes on the figures thought the station windows.

“It’s an ambush!” he shouted out loud enough for both teams to hear. “Abort, abort!”

Simmons raised a red rag tied to a long stick into the air and waved it about. The men reacted and fell back behind the rocky ridge. Jeremy raised himself to his elbows and up the embankment.

“What’s going on?” Simmons asked.

“I’m not sure. Have you got binoculars?”

Simmons fiddled with the front pouch of his battle jacket and handed over a pair of small binoculars. Jeremy who crawled higher up the ridge. He scanned the windows of the small pump house.

“Four, five, six additional guards inside the building”, he said sliding the binocular view slightly to the right and then adjusting the focus. “Four men behind the pump-motors, two with Gatling guns.”

Jeremy scanned the top of the wall. “And we have a sniper, up on the wall next to the flag post.” He slid back down the embankment and handed the binoculars back.

“They knew we were coming.”

“How could they have possibly known?” Simmons asked.

“The same way the hat went missing.” Jeremy looked over to where Sergeant Bailey was regrouping his team. “We have a leak.”

#

Neville Bailey looked nervous. He was clearly upset and it showed. The platoon had since gathered in the remains of an old farmhouse. Jeremy had called the platoon together to discuss their options, but Bailey kept insisting that they stick to the original plan. Although Jeremy had strong suspicions about Sergeant Bailey being the leak, it seemed that most of the men didn’t share his suspicion.

However, the men all agreed that a direct attack on either of the Fort entrances would be suicide. They were vastly outnumbered and outgunned by the Nazis. Time was running out and Jeremy knew that he had to come up with a different strategy before sunset, or all confidence in his ability to lead would be broken. Miller seemed to be the only one that he could trust, although it certainly looked like Simmons was also starting to warm up to him. Whatever he came up with would have to include these two soldiers in a major way. He briefly looked over to where Bailey was sitting with his back turned.

“Simmons, I need you to get Private Miller for me. The two of you meet me outside in two minutes. Make sure that Sergeant Bailey doesn’t see you.”

“What is this?” Simmons responded.

“I need you to trust me, just this once!” Jeremy insisted.

Simmons nodded and started making his way over to where Miller was sitting. Jeremy got up and casually strolled to the outside of the old house. He looked around. With the other men inside, the coast seemed clear for now. Miller appeared around the corner followed by Simmons.

“Truth be told, I still ain’t trusting you one bit. Now, what’s this about, because I won’t be caught conspiring with-“

“Shush, I need you to listen”, Jeremy said cutting him short. “I have come up with a plan, but it is going to involve both of you in a major way.”

“Why not bring in Bailey? He’s the platoon Sergeant after all”, Simmons said.

“We can’t. I suspect he might be the leak.”

“That’s ludicrous! What you basing this on?” Simmons protested.

“It’s a hunch ok? Much like the hunch you have about me”, Jeremy replied forcefully. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“Now we haven’t got much time so I need you to listen carefully.”

The two men took a step closer.

“Miller you aren’t as mobile as you would like us to believe, so you will be with me. Simmons, I need you to join the rest of the men with Bailey’s team, and keep a close eye on him.”

“So what’s the plan?” Miller asked.

#

It was almost nightfall and the silhouettes of the guards were barely visible through the dense undergrowth where the two men were sitting. The snow had since stopped and was replaced by a light downpour of rain which had soaked them to the bone. Jeremy knew that this wasn’t the ideal route to the massive pump motors. There was a better approach closer to the fort wall but it was riskier. The top approach would have left the two men with a clear shot of the soldier guarding the pipeline, but if they were to be spotted first, there would be no way to retaliate. This was their best shot.

The rest of the platoon under command of Sergeant Bailey was to work their way into a narrow canyon on the supply route to the fort’s vehicle entrance. Simmons was instructed to keep a close eye on Bailey. The platoon would lay ambush to a scheduled military supply vehicle and drive the hijacked vehicle into the receiving bay at the fort with the men hiding under the canvas on the back.

Jeremy and Miller were to penetrate the fortress through the sewer system, along the originally planned route and that involved getting rid of the guard at the pump motors, blowing a hole in the pipe and making their way to the rendezvous point inside the walls from where they would open the inside gate for the others. The two men were now just a few feet away from the guard. Miller carefully raised his weapon, but Jeremy pushed the barrel down. “It won’t work. The gunshot will draw the rest of the guards here before we have time to set the explosives.”

“What do you suggest we do Captain?”

Jeremy tightened the straps on his hat. “I will sneak up from behind and try to take him out as quietly as possible. You need to make sure that the explosives are planted on the pipe. I will meet you back here in two minutes.”

Miller nodded and the two men moved out. Minutes later the pair was monitoring the guard who was slowly pacing up and down the concrete slab next to the pump motor. Jeremy knew that there was no chance of being heard above the loud noise of the pumps. If his presence was to become known, he would have to be seen. To his right, Miller was getting into position. The soldier made a turn, pacing his way towards Jeremy. From where Miller was positioned he could not see the guard and would have to wait for his Captains signal. The soldier approached, paused for a brief moment and then turned. Jeremy felt a jolt of lightning coming from the hat. He leapt forward and grabbed the guard from behind, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. His other hand grabbed the guard’s helmet by the back of his head. With a nauseating crack, he snapped the guard’s neck. He dragged the body back to the bush and whistled in bird-like fashion.

Then he counted down one minute. He looked up through the branches just in time to see Miller appearing from behind the motors, and moments later sliding in next to him. The private held the remote detonator in his hand and nodded. Jeremy removed his sidearm from its holster, cocked it and fired a shot into the air. Then they waited.

From where they were sitting they had a partial view of the guard house. If all went according to plan, the gunshot would draw remaining three guards react to come and inspect. When the enemy were all in close enough proximity to the explosives, they would blow the charge. The men watched as the guards stormed out of the small guard house and down a steep set of metal stairs.

“One… Two…” Jeremy’s eyes were fixed on the guard house door for several moments before focusing on the silhouette in the window. “One stayed behind.”

“What do mean?” Miller asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“The guards. We only have two heading this way.”

The shouting of the approaching guards was now audible above the machine noise.

“What’s the plan Captain?” Miller asked. The detonator seemed almost unstable in his shaking hands.

“We will have to blow the charge and head straight for the hole.”

“And what if he follows us into the pipe? What happens if he throws a grenade after us?”

“We will just have to take our chances. There are only thirty minutes left before we have to rendezvous with the team.” Jeremy looked at the two approaching German soldiers. They were now only a few feet away from the explosives.

“Now!”

A massive explosion tore through the air and echoed off the fort walls. Smouldering pieces of debris flew through the air before raining down.

Inside the guardhouse, the remaining guard was running around frantically trying to get eyes on the enemy.

“We have to move quickly”, Jeremy said getting up. “Follow me!”

The two made their way past the burning rubble. The hole in the pipe was smaller than they had anticipated. Jeremy’s eye caught the guard lifting his weapon and taking aim.

“Quick, you get in I will keep the guard — “

A gunshot followed by a high pitched whistle screamed through the air as a bullet ricochets off the thick metal pipe.

“That was too close! Hurry, we might not be as lucky with the next one.”

The two men fell to their knees crawling into the pipe just as another bullet hit the edge of the metal tube. Miller took a small battery powered flashlight from his webbing and shone it into the dark. About forty feet ahead, the pipe made a sharp turn to the right.

“If we can make it past the bend he won’t have a clear shot of us.”

Jeremy nodded. Outside the sound of the guard’s footsteps were getting closer.

“Go, go!” Jeremy said, cocking his weapon. The ankle deep water sloshed over their boots as the pair started running towards the bend. A sudden deafening bang followed by a loud clang-clang noise made both men cover their ears.

“He is firing into the pipe!” Miller shouted.

Another shot tore through the air, this time from Jeremy’s rifle.

“Did you hit him?”

But there was no reason for Jeremy to answer, as the guard who had positioned himself strategically outside the opening of the pipe fired another shot. Jeremy felt a heavy blow against his head as the bullet ricocheted off his helmet, causing the tin hat to ring like a bell. He touched his hand to the helmet but instead of subsiding, the ringing got louder. Tiny bolts of lightning ran across its surface as the battle hat lit up in a green glow. The guard fired again.

Jeremy looked up in the direction of the shot and then back at Miller who was crouching, his head covered with both hands.

Everything started to blur out of focus. He watched as the world around them flickered like a strobe light, flashing strange images past him; then for a moment, they were somewhere else. It was as if for a brief few seconds they flipped dimensions. To his back, Miller was still shielding himself from the gunshot.

On the far side of the pipe, the guard had just recovered from the recoil of his rifle and was trying to make sense of the newly added scenery around him. Then the green glow on the helmet started fading. Another second passed as the world flicked around them. They were back in the pipe and they Jeremy knew he had to act fast. He kept his head down as he rushed through the pipe towards the unsuspecting German soldier.

He stretched his final steps and wrapped his fingers around the enemy’s rifle as the last of the glow from his helmet faded away.

The man cried out in surprise, then fell flat on his back. Jeremy looked at the soldier down the barrel of the rifle. The guard slowly reached into his pocket and produced a faded black and white photo of a woman with a set of twins sitting on her lap. The man babbled something in German pointing at the picture. Miller has since also come closer, his weapon pointed at the soldier.

Jeremy took the rifle he was holding by the barrel and smashed it against the wall. “Tie him up”, he commanded, “and make it quick. We have now less than twenty minutes to meet the rest of the platoon at the rendezvous point.”

#

On the ground above the tunnel, the gunshots have died down. Jeremy grabbed onto the steel ladder and started ascending towards the hatch with Miller following close behind. There was a small stone platform about four feet below the hatch. Both men took a moment to find their footing before pushing on the rusty hatch. Light streamed in through the opening and it took a second for their eyes to adjust.

“Captain!” The voice of Simmons came from behind a big metal gate.

The grounds inside the fort was littered with bodies. Several fires were burning sending a column of thick black smoke up in the air.

“Open the gate!” Simmons urged.

Private Miller rushed past and pulled down on a massive leaver sending a series of gears into motion. Slowly the gate lifted and one by one the men entered into the square.

“Any casualties?” Jeremy asked.

“We lost two captain, three more wounded and one missing in action. Caught the Nazis completely off guard. They never knew what hit them until it was too late.”

“What about Bailey? Any problems?”

“He is the man that went missing Captain. Was right behind me one moment and the next he was gone.”

“I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of him.”

Jeremy looked at the crowd of dirty, sweaty faces surrounding him. On the far side of the square, the scurrying of approaching feet was coming from a passageway, half hidden from view by a stack of wooden crates. It would be only moments before the enemy soldiers appeared through the doorway and opened fire. Jeremy took another scan of the area. Except for the passageway, the only way out of the square would be the way they came in.

“Take cover behind the crates!”

The men immediately obeyed, diving in behind the wooden boxes. Through a small opening between two crates, Jeremy could see the soldiers approaching.

“How are we for ammo?”

“Several of the men have already run out Captain. We have laid bait to the enemy’s rifles as we made our way in, but even those are now running low”, Simmons replied.

“How far to the gate from here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean you not sure?”

“Well, only two of our men have ever seen it.”

“Who?”

“One is Sergeant Bailey…”

“And the other? Come on, who’s the other?”

Simmons paused for a moment before answering.

“You. The other person was you, Captain.”

A sudden barrage of gunfire erupted before Jeremy could respond. “Switch to single shot! We need to preserve ammo!” he shouted above the noise.

On the other side of the crates, a never-ending stream of German soldiers was pouring out from the stone passage. Simmons took aim through one of the gaps between the crates and fired, while Jeremy took position next to him. All around them bullets were ripping through the wood, tearing the crates to pieces and littering the ground with splinters.

“I’m out”, one of the men announced, raising his rifle above his head. A loud clacking sounded from the crate next to Jeremy.

“That’s it for me to”, Simmons said.

One after the other the men ran out, desperately trying to take cover behind the remains of the cargo crates.

“We are sitting ducks Captain!”

Jeremy turned on his side facing Private Simmons. From the passage entrance, a flurry of machine gun fire erupted splitting the majority of crates in half.

“Over here Captain”, the familiar voice of Miller came from behind four unscathed crates at the far end of the stack near the fort wall.

For a moment the machinegun fire stopped. Carefully Jeremy peeked over the remains of his crate. They were reloading the belt on the gun.

“Everyone move position! We are taking cover with Private Miller!”

Keeping their profiles as low as possible, the men made their way over to the crates bordering the stone wall.

Again the machinegun fire rattled the air inside the square accompanied by the whistle of bullets ricocheting off the walls. Jeremy took position next to Miller just as a dozen projectiles connected the crate right above his head. Instinctively he looked up.

There were no bullet holes. In fact, there was no sign at all that this wooden crate had been hit with high calibre bullets at all. The entire crate seemed to be constructed out of some strange synthetic material and was completely intact in spite of the relentless gunfire. Suddenly the machinegun fire intensified.

“Captain, they have added a second gun and are advancing!” a soldier said from the edge of the far crate.

“How much ammo have you got left, soldier?”

“I’m on my last clip Captain.”

Jeremy realised that as soon as the last of their ammo runs out, there would be nothing preventing the enemy soldiers from coming around the crates and mowing them down. He turned facing Simmons.

“We are pinned down and I’m out of options Simmons, so if you have any — “

Jeremy’s eye caught the edge of a metal lid, barely visible under the crate. Simmons’ eyes followed. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s a hatch”, Jeremy replied. “Help me move these crates.”

The two men started pushing and the other soldiers joined in. The crates were a lot heavier than they seemed. Slowly the massive crate moved, revealing a steel hatch with a warning written in German.

The rusty hinges creaked as it opened to a set of poorly lit stairs. From the passageway commands shouted in German announced the enemy’s advance.

“I only have two shots left Captain!” the soldier from earlier’s voice came barely audible above the noise.

Jeremy knew he had to do something to buy a few seconds. There was no other way the entire platoon was going to make it down the staircase before the German soldiers were upon them. He tapped his knuckles on the hat, in the hope that it would provide another miracle. But this time the hat was just a hat. This time a possible outcome came from somewhere completely different. A light vibration accompanied by the tinkle of bells from inside his jacket had him reach inside the inner pocket.

He had completely forgotten about his cellphone, the miracle that reminded him was his low battery warning. He pulled the phone out and quickly worked his way through the menu. Jeremy selected the large display countdown timer and set the time to one minute.

“Is that a — “ Simmons asked, swallowing the last word of his sentence in amazement.

“No, it’s actually just a phone. But I want them to think that it is an explosive device.”

“Ain’t never seen me a phone like that. Where does the wire plugin?”

“It’s a cellular phone, it has no… You know what, never mind. See that everyone gets down the stairs.”

Simmons obeyed without any further questions. Jeremy crawled over to the soldier at the edge of the crates. “Do you still have ammo Private?”

“Yes, two shots Captain.”

“I need you to cover me for a second.”

“Sure thing Sir!” The soldier pushed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and curled his finger around the trigger. Jeremy took a deep breath and pressed the countdown start button on his phone. The Private fired the first shot as his Captain darted out from behind the crate. Like a baseball player diving for homebase, he made for the opposite side of the crates, facing the passageway entrance. He placed the phone in an upright position so the counting numbers would be clearly visible to the enemy. A movement out the corner of his eye caused him to look up momentarily as a German officer pointed his sidearm at Jeremy’s head.

A loud bang that made his ears ring tore through the air. The officer’s knees buckled as he dropped to the ground. Jeremy looked back at the smoke coming from his comrade’s rifle.

“Run for the hatch!”

The soldier reacted without hesitation with Jeremy following behind. By the passage entrance, German soldiers were heading in the opposite direction at the sight of the phone lazily beeping away as it was counting down the seconds. Jeremy closed the hatch behind him as the counter hit zero and the phone sounded a drawn-out beep.

On the inside, the men quickly secured the hatch by pushing one of their empty rifles through the handle.

“We will need to hurry, this won’t hold them back for long.”

Quickly Jeremy made his way down the stairs and started leading the way. The narrow and poorly lit corridor was filled with a strange green mist that drifted and moved almost like it was alive. The mist grew thicker as the men progressed deeper along the tunnel. In the background, the violent banging of the German troops attempting to open the hatch echoed off the stone walls. The realisation started dawning that this was a one-way mission. There would be no coming back from it, should they fail.

The green fog has by now become so thick that Jeremy had to feel his way ahead like a blind man, their progress slowed to a snail’s pace.

A sudden explosion shuddered the walls around them as the enemy finally blew the hatch open.

Then at once, the air was clear. There was no fog and no dim lights. Instead, Jeremy found himself standing in front of a large, round metal door engraved with German writing in the centre of a big Swastika. About ten feet in front of the door was a control panel with colourful blinking lights and to the left of that was a four foot stone pillar with the image of an Allied soldier engraved into the stone. The top of the pillar was hollowed out like a small round basin with an outlet at the bottom thereof.

One by one the men entered from out the green fog. Jeremy took a step closer to the steel door. There were four keyholes, one at each of the tips of the Swastika’s arms.

“Four keyholes requires four keys.”

“And we ain’t got one”, Simmons remarked bluntly turning away and looking about the floor as if the keys might be found laying around somewhere.

Jeremy approached the control panel. All the switches and levers were marked in German. On the top right was a flip-switch with a green light marked “Start Knopf”. Hesitantly Jeremy flipped the switch.

There was a sudden rush of electricity coming from the hat that nearly knocked him off his feet and had the rest of the platoon utter a sound of amazement.

“Your hat Captain, it’s glowing,” Miller said, but Jeremy was barely paying attention. With each passing second, the electric stream from the hat grew in intensity. Jeremy pulled at the buckles, releasing the chinstrap and yanking the helmet from his head. The tin hat made a loud clang as it hit the floor, the glowing fading away as it came to rest.

Down the corridor, the rushing footsteps of the approaching German troop were getting louder. Jeremy rubbed the sides of his head looking down at the hat on the floor. The glowing was gone except around the inscription carved on the inside. He knelt down, picked up the hat and read the riddle out loud.

#

Freedom comes from following the heart, and at the right time doing the right thing, until you realize that all that is left right in front of you, is the one thing you have had with you all the time. One must become four.

#

He looked up at the puzzled faces of his men. “Does anyone know what this means?” There was a short silence as the men shook their heads, looking at each other.

“I do!” a familiar voice came from the back of the group. “I know the answer to the riddle.”

The men turned their attention to where Sergeant Bailey was standing holding a loaded machine gun.

“You yellow-bellied traitor”, Simmons shouted, pointing his finger at Bailey.

“Traitor? Now that is a matter of opinion I would say. But why don’t all of you get down on the floor surrender your weapons, and then we can discuss this further?”

One by one the soldiers obliged, passing their empty rifles forward and getting down on their knees. Jeremy followed the platoon’s example.

“No, no not you dear Captain Proctor. I am going to need you to stand up”, Bailey said. “Now if I can have everyone’s attention. Since we were on the subject of traitors, let’s reveal who your Captain really is.” Bailey pushed his face right up to Jeremy’s. “Are you going to tell them or will I, Captain Proctor? Or should I just call you Jeremy?” He shoved Jeremy forward towards the men.

Except for the approaching footsteps of the German soldiers making their way through the fog, the room was dead quiet.

Jeremy cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s true. I am not Captain Jeremy Proctor. I am just Jeremy Proctor, a guy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I have been honest about my intentions. I have the best interest of every man here at heart. I am no traitor.”

Bailey burst out laughing. “You have done nothing but lead these men on a one-way mission to their deaths!” He bent down and picked up the helmet from the floor. “But the Fuhrer thanks you for delivering this. You know we have been looking for this for some time.” He stepped over to the pillar with the round basin and placed the hat neatly inside. It fitted perfectly in the hollow of the stone.

“You see”, he said while walking over to the control panel, “I doubt any of you would have figured this out anyway.” Bailey flipped a series of switches, then pressed the same start button Jeremy engaged earlier. In an instant, the tin hat lit up. But this time it grew increasingly brighter until it got too bright to look at directly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy could see the metal starting to melt. He could feel the heat radiating from the glowing tin hat against his skin as gradually, the molten metal started running down the basin’s outlet. He watched helplessly as the last of the drops disappeared down the hole.

Bailey turned his attention back to Jeremy. “Now that you have witnessed that, I don’t think I have any reason to keep you around, and I think these men would agree. Afterall you did lead them all to their demise. Get down on your knees.”

Jeremy obeyed and lifted his eyes towards his men.

“We all know that traitors usually die by firing squad, but since I am the only one with a working rifle, I will have to execute the sentence myself.” Bailey lifted the barrel of the gun and pressed it to the back of Jeremy’s head.

“Goodbye, Jeremy Proctor!”

As lightning Simmons jumped up from his knees charging forward and tackling the legs from under the machinegun-wielding aggressor. Bailey responded by flipping Simmons over onto his back, both men wrestling for control of the rifle. Jeremy and several other men rushed Simmons’ aid, but not before a series of gunshots went off deafening everyone in the room.

Both Simmons and Bailey laid motionless on the floor. Then Private Simmons started moving, pushing the lifeless body of Neville Bailey off of him.

“You got him”, Miller shouted.

Simmons pushed himself up to his elbows, then fell back again. “Got me little bit as well”, he said coughing up blood.

“Let me have a look”, Miller said as he and Jeremy each took Simmons by an arm helping him into a sitting position.

“Get your paws off me”, Simmons snapped, pulling his arms free. He took a deep breath, grabbed onto the control panel and pulled himself to his feet. “It’s nothing but a flesh wound!”

Jeremy moved closer again, putting his hand on Simmons’ shoulder “You just saved my life. Now I know the wound is probably not serious, but can we just take a closer — “

“Halt!” came the sudden command from behind them, immediately followed by gunfire. Without hesitation, the men ducked to the ground. Again shots were fired. Jeremy looked up at the Nazi soldiers at the entrance of the room trying to push themselves through something that appeared to be a forcefield generated by the atomic door.

“We need to hurry and figure out how this darn thing works before them Nazi’s get through there, and I am the only one who can read a bit of German”, Simmons said pulling himself in front of the control panel.

“Are you sure that you are okay?” Jeremy asked.

“I’m fine, darn it! Now would you focus on getting this thing working so we can get the hell out of here?”

Miller looked down the hole where the helmet disappeared in. “Well, I don’t think that without that helmet we going anywhere.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it”, Jeremy said, “I think it has more to do with the riddle.”

Simmons spat some blood on the floor before speaking. “I’m not one for riddles and fairy tales but the verse clearly said that the answer is in front of us all the time.”

“What has been with us all the time?” Miller asked and then continued answering his own question, “The helmet!”

“Well that ain’t gonna help anyone now, the thing went down the tube”, Simmons responded.

“No it’s not”, Jeremy said positioning himself in front of the stone pillar. “One becomes four…”

He took a step back, eyeing the pillar from bottom to top. “The gun, hand me the machinegun.”

One of the soldiers secured the safety on the rifle and passed it along to his Captain. Jeremy took another step back and switched the gun to automatic fire. “Everyone get down!” He squeezed the trigger firing two dozen high-velocity projectiles at the stone pillar sending stone fragments flying in every direction. He waited a moment for the dust to settle before taking the butt of the gun to the remains of the pillar until all that was left was a dusty heap of rubble. Frantically he started wiping the dust away, scouring through the pieces of stone and cement.

“What are you looking for Captain?” Miller asked.

Jeremy picked up a stone and smashed it in half. He separated the pieces, picked up a metal object from the floor and held it in the air.

“A key. I was looking for a key, and I am looking for three more of these. I think the metal from the hat got moulded into the four keys we need for the door.”

Quickly the men that were previously spectating got to their knees splitting rocks, searching through the remaining rubble and one by one the three keys emerged. A loud noise similar to a base speaker distorting vibrated through the air.

“It’s the Germans Captain, they have started a magnetic generator.”

Jeremy looked around to where the Nazi soldiers were fueling a large motorised device. “We must hurry. It won’t be long before they break the force field. Quick, hand me the keys!”

Jeremy gathered the keys and rushed over to the steel door, inserting one key into each keyhole and turning them. He stood back and waited, but the door remained still. From the other side of the room, another magnetic pulse vibrated through the air, causing the lights to flicker.

“Simmons is there anything you can make out on the control panel? Maybe a button of some sort?”

“Nada Captain”, Simmons said, “Everything’s switched to the ‘ON’ position. But…”

“What? But what?”

“There’s one switch that ain’t marked.” Simmons pressed his thumb to the switch and flipped the toggle. A small panel door slid open revealing a smaller scale model of the atomic door with illuminated writing indicating the position of the keys. At the bottom of the model was a set of instructions.

“Captain it says here that all keys oughta be turned at the exact same time.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says right here, Sir.”

Before Jeremy could speak, Miller, Simmons and another soldier stepped forward and took their position at the four keys.

“At the count of three”, Jeremy said. “One, two, three!”

As one, the men turned the keys. Something sounding like a turn-timer started ticking, then the door made three distinct clicking sounds. Everyone waited in anticipation, but just as before nothing happened. Simmons stumbled back to the panel.

“The top and two side keys have lit up on the model Captain, but the bottom ain’t coming on.”

“Do you think that the problem is with the door or the panel?” Jeremy asked.

“Not sure, but what I do know is that I am getting tired of Nazis, riddles and German technology!” Simmons said slamming his fist down on the miniature model, then coughing and spitting more blood onto the floor.

At once the round centre of the scale model slid open. A loud magnetic pulse vibrated through the room again, this time disrupting the panel significantly for a few seconds.

“Darn”, Simmons exclaimed at the top of his voice.

“I know, we have one more shot at this before the enemy breaks through the field!” Jeremy said.

“No, it ain’t that Captain. There is another keyhole here. Was hidden underneath the centre of the smaller model.”

“Do you think we need another key?” Jeremy asked.

“No, the bottom key on that door is a decoy, Sir. The fourth key oughta be inserted into this keyhole over here.”

Jeremy plucked the bottom key from the atomic door and passed it to Simmons.

“Same rule applies Captain, all four keys be turned at the same time.”

At the back of the room, the magnetic generator released another pulse. Again the panel flickered, this time cutting off long enough for two soldiers to make their way into the room discharging their weapons before being overpowered by the Allied troops.

“Tie them up, we have only one more chance to get this right”, Jeremy ordered.

The men scrambled, leaving the bound enemy soldiers at the back of the room and taking their positions at the steel door.

Jeremy turned his gaze to Simmons behind the control panel. “As before, on the count of three!”

“Wait! Captain, allow me the honour of the countdown”, Simmons said.

Jeremy nodded.

“Three, two, one, now!”

As one the keys turned, clicking into place. The door opened slowly, moving apart in the four quadrants of the Swastika. A blinding light shone through the open door into the room.

“You have to enter through the door Captain. It won’t stay open for long.”

From the back of the room the generator pulsed. A deep vibration sounded through the room as the forcefield started shutting down.

“Come on Simmons! What are you waiting for?”

Simmons lifted his shirt revealing a stream of black blood running from a wound in his side. “For me, this mission was one-way. Someone gotta to stay behind and destroy this panel Captain.”

“Simmons, we can destroy this door from the other side, we still have the second load of explosives. Now get yourself over here and that’s an order!”

“That be one order I cannot obey Captain. This realm here can only be ended by destroying this panel.”

The shouting voices of German soldiers approaching from the room’s entrance became audible above the loud humming of the atomic door.

“Simmons!”

The wounded soldier brought his feet together and saluted. “It’s been an honour serving with you Captain Jeremy Proctor.”

Jeremy watched as Simmons lifted the empty machinegun high above his head before bringing it down onto the control panel. A brilliant flash of light burned that image into Jeremy’s vision for several seconds before all went dark. He felt himself spinning, the faces of his men passing by him like strangers in the night. He watched curiously as an old platoon photo appeared in the darkness in front of him, slowly coming into focus. One by one the men started ageing on the picture until everyone looked like old men. Jeremy took the picture in his hand. His eyes moved to the front centre row of the picture. Captain Proctor’s face was a blurry blank spot. To the right of the captain was Private Simmons, the only soldier on the photo who had retained his youthful appearance.

There was a tremendous crash as the last of the Reich’s dimension imploded.

Then all went quiet. All was dark.

#

The six o’clock alarm rang relentlessly. Outside, the morning traffic was buzzing their way through the city streets. Jeremy opened his eyes. He was on the floor of his apartment, dressed in vintage military uniform. By the front door just out of his reach was a military helmet; a tin hat, and inside was an old black and white platoon photo.

END