Graham 007: Chapter 2


Holy smokes. Holy smokes. Holy smokes.

I forced my features into a solemn face, but anxiety was eating away at my insides. I had made it into the training camp for the Nazis. I fidgeted in my athletic uniform; I had to punch out a soldier and stuff his unconscious body into a closet in order to get the uniform, so complaining about how it was too snug on my body was out of the question.

Right now, I was waiting in line for a skill assessment. Each soldier had to run one 400 yards around the track at top speed. People stationed around the lap wrote down each person's strengths, and determined what training sector he should further be placed in.

Soon I was in the front of the line, and I got down on my knee to begin running. At the shot of the gun, my knee sprung up and I began pumping hard down the lane. I tried to forget that multiple pairs of eyes were poring into me. What if, by the way I ran or something ridiculous, they could determine that I was American? I grimaced slightly as I blanched at the thought. I needed to block those ideas from my brain.

To propel myself down the last leg of the track, I imagined that all the Nazis staring at me were instead chasing after me. They were right behind me - reaching, grasping...and -

I tore past the finish line and slowed down. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I wasn't sure that it was just because of the run. I put my arms above my head as I breathed heavily. I looked up to see what division I had to report to next.

The man with the watch timer was staring at it incredulously. He glanced up at me and then back at the clock suspiciously, as if I had somehow cheated and altered the time without his notice. Finally, he turned to the man who was recording times,

"This boy just ran four hundred meters in 49 seconds flat."

The man looked up and removed his glasses, walking towards me. "Really," he said in an curious tone. He felt my arms. "Do you run in school?"

"No," I responded, silently cursing for drawing attention to myself. Damn my pride.

"I find that difficult to believe," the man responded. "You just ran a lap three seconds short of the world record."

All of the running soldiers had stopped at this point. It was beginning to draw the attention of some higher rank officials, and they began to walk over. My fingernails cut into my palms.

I was able to speak throughout this time and answer all his questions up to this point. But something caught the corner of my eye. I could see a man making his way over to me, surrounded by guards. He had a distinguishing mustache. He was the embodiment of evil himself. The very thing that the United States had spent so much time fighting against. He wasn't even a man in my eyes.

Hitler stuck out his hand. "So this is the boy with the fast finish," he said.

I wanted nothing more than to strangle him. But I knew that this would do nothing but get me killed and put the entire operation in jeopardy. I shook his hand back.

The man who had originally recorded my score stepped into view. "What is your name?"

"Hermann Adler." I quickly recited the name on the nametag that I found in my athletic shorts, praying that no one knew him personally.

He gave a curt nod, and then ordered the next person to step onto the starting line. Hitler and his guards made their way back up to the observation deck. I heaved a huge gasp of relief, and my back curved as I rested my hands on my knees.

My reassurance was short-lived. An officer was racing out of the locker rooms into the camp, searching wildly for anyone who would listen. While I was still within earshot, I heard him bend down to the man with the stopwatch.

"We found a knocked-soldier just now in the right wing closet."

"Quickly, you must fetch the hospital staff. Had he fallen ill?"

"No, sir, you misunderstand me. He was stripped of his clothes. Someone is here, in his uniform."

The man was intrigued. "These allegations must go to the Fuhrer. If these allegations are true, you will be rewarded for your observation. But, you must be absolutely positive. If you are mistaken in any way, you most certainly be punished."

"We've identified the senseless boy. Hermann Adler, eighteen."

I watched carefully as the other man registered that he had heard the name before. Very slowly, he turned. His furrowed brow turned from that of anger, into one of triumph as he located me in the line.

I felt like a mouse, like a mouse backed into a corner with the cat who hadn't eaten for days.

This was no time to talk my way out of things. I didn't pause to wait what he did after I saw him step onto the track closer to me. I high tailed it toward the nearest exit.

It got slightly louder as more people registered that I was heading for the door. They didn't know what I was doing, as most of them didn't know about my impersonation yet, but my hasty departure was enough to raise their voices and point in my direction. I could hear someone yelling for a rifle.

Before I had entered the training camp, I had drawn a map of the town that surrounded it so I could be better acquainted with the layout. I internally screamed at myself to remember where the nearest safe space was, but in the blur of trying not to get shot, my mental map began to jumble. I made it to the streets of the city, telling myself that I would just have to get to an area populated enough to blend in with passersby.

I rounded the corner, nearly spilling onto the cobblestone street. I took in a million observations at once, filtering out the useless places and trying to focus on places where I could hide.

My eye landed on a girl entering a house down the street. She slipped the key into the lock, and opened the door wide. Without thinking, I sped up and slipped into the house right behind her, slamming the door shut with both of us safely inside the house.

"Oh my - " The girl began, her eyes wild. She looked around desperately, and settling on the broom next to the door, grabbed and attempted to beat me down with it, shouting all the while. I took it from her and placed my hand over her mouth, careful not to hurt her.

With my free hand, I pulled up the window curtain slightly to check to see whether I had been pursued. No uniformed men were in sight. I turned to my new acquaintance.

"If I let go of your mouth, will you promise not to scream?"

She nodded rapidly, her eyes still frightened. I let go of her mouth, and she raced for the door again, clearly about to yell to the neighborhood about my surprise visit.

"No, no, no!" I said frustratingly. I grabbed her again before she could make it to the entryway. "I really don't want to hurt you. This is a matter of life and death. They're after me. Now will you please not scream?"

The girl's eyes widened. I could tell she didn't entirely trust me, but her curiosity got the better of her, and since I wasn't harming her, she relaxed slightly in my arm and nodded.

I let go. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. "Who is the 'they' that's after you?"

I didn't know whose side she was on in the war. Whatever I said, if her alliances were to the other side, could get me caught. "Evil people," I finally decided on.

"It's the Nazis, isn't it?"

She said it as if she were disgusted by them. I was relieved that at least we were on the same side. Maybe this common interest would make her inclined to not send me to prison, as I did sort of barge into her home.

"Yes, it's the Nazis." I conceded.

"What did you do?"

I stiffened. "Nothing."

"Who are you?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?" I snapped. My tone made me instantly feel bad, but my adrenaline was just not ready for any interrogation. I was already discovered at my first assignment, and I didn't want another person to ask so many questions that I faltered and revealed something important.

"I have a right to know who you are," the girl pressed. She sat down on the couch, not taking her eyes off me. "You are in my house, and I am probably committing a serious crime here, harboring you."

I relented. "Rolf Weissberg," I invented. Even though she did not sympathize with the Nazis, there was no way I was giving away my American identity.

The girl stood up, and I fully registered her characteristics. She was a short girl, with wide eyes, red lips, and brown hair tied up into a ribbon. She wore a a long pink skirt that suggested middle class German.

She curtsied sarcastically, "Well, sorry the circumstances of our meeting weren't more ideal, Rolf, but they'll have to do. I don't think I can stand by watching another person getting captured by those Nazis."

She had no idea at how much I appreciated her help. Even though she had curtsied as a joke, I bowed earnestly back.

"I didn't catch your name," I said, peering once more out the curtain.

She stuck her hand out. "Rita Keyes."


A/N: Eeek I'm so glad who Hudson got to meet here! By the way, just pretend that Rita never changed out her maiden name...similar to how Lana Keyes never changed hers to Cole.

Hudson in this chapter was heavily influenced by Louis Zamperini, an Olympic running star. He was an Olympic running ace, and the one who Hitler personally recognized for being speedy. Zamperini fought for the United States during World War Two, and is famous for surviving a huge plane crash and spending 47 days stranded at sea. He was eventually picked up by enemies and taken as a prisoner of war. A movie about him, entitled Unbroken, just came out about him this year, directed by Angelina Jolie. I would recommend it.

Finals are looming, so I hope all of you get plenty of sleep and retain your sanity over the course of the next few weeks. I'll be back to updating after I battle the last few moments of the semester. Good luck to everyone!

Reviews are greatly appreciated :)

X,

DKMV