Chameleon Bravo

By Bill Walters

Its 1943 and the British and American intelligence agencies meet in Washington DC. They cant kill Hitler, God knows they tried, so they come up with Chameleon Bravo, a long shot contrivance. IF, they can locate the right man, they will switch him with the real Adolph Hitler. His job, will be to slowly, run the Third Reich into the ground by making emotional laden decisions. Unbeknown to the allies, Stalins security forces inadvertently locate a peasant girl who is the spitting image of Hitlers girlfriend, Eva Braun. They coerce her into submitting to be swapped with the assignment of killing Hitler, when she receives a code word. The two, impostors meet, fall in love and know they can never be with the other. He cant tell her he is not the monster she has to kill someday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524616724

Bill Walters

Bill Walters is a veteran of the US Army Security Agency, holding a top secret security clearance and years of law enforcement investigative experience. He was part of a social unit that travelled through Bavaria and documented areas of interest from WWII. His military travel took him to Taiwan, Laos, Vietnam, Germany, and other European countries. Bill once said, “In Germany, in the ’60s, one could still feel the enormity of what had been the Nazi influence.” He is a corporate executive and occasionally instructs as an adjunct professor in Battle Creek, Michigan, and resides in Jackson, Michigan.

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CHAPTER ONE

T he torrential rain, from a quickly passing cold front, smashed into the pavement so hard it bounced up in front of motorists, intent upon their destinations. A black, four-door Buick roared through the intersection, sending thousands of raindrops towards the awaiting curbs and drainage system of Washington, D.C.

The Office of Strategic Services, or OSS, had invited some of the brass from the Special Operations Executive of Great Britain to be involved in a think-tank operation, and Major Charlton M. Reeves was to present the briefing for the operation. Reeves stared out the right rear window of the automobile, watching the drops of water falling through the air. For a moment, he thought of the bombs descending on England and wondered about the similarity between warfare and nature’s fury. The driver, a uniformed MP Sergeant, had to slam on the brakes to avoid a taxicab that had pulled in front of them. This maneuver sent the rain in an entirely different direction, including striking the feet of some unhappy pedestrians who waited at a crosswalk.

World War II was in full swing and the United States of America found herself in the dubious position of waging a two-front war against the Japanese in the Pacific and the Germans in Europe. Anyone who had ever attended West Point Military Academy or Annapolis or various other military schools, knew that conducting a two-front war was nearly an impossible feat. Even Hitler, in Mein Kampf, had spoken of the futility of a two-front war. Yet, the United States was defending herself oceans apart against foes who despised America. They really didn’t hate the American people; it was their land, their might and their natural resources they so badly wanted.

Major Reeves had decided this assignment was going to be a royal pain in the keester. The Brits never listened to anything the Americans said when it came to advice on how to fight the war. He thought maybe he wouldn’t listen either if he lived on an island a stone’s throw from Hitler and his evil Third Reich killing machine. The British and Americans knew that England would be in dire straits when Hitler and his boys figured out how to propel that killing machine across the English Channel. A friend of Reeves had told him just yesterday, If Hitler gets across, then the English people had better be studying the German language, as it will be around for quite a while. No one had laughed at the anecdote in the officers’ club, and it had initiated a somber reaction from those within earshot.

Major Reeves knew about the officers who would be attending the briefing, though he had not previously met them all in person. His boss, Brigadier General Stephen Baker, US Army, OSS, would be the host. England’s Brigadier General Oliver M. Boswell II, HMS SOE, would be the guest, along with his entourage. Reeves’ assistant, Captain Benjamin Anderson, U.S. Army OSS, would assist with introductions, since he had just returned from Great Britain and had met all of the players. Reeves had a high admiration for his assistant, Captain Anderson. They were exactly the same age, but Reeves had been in the army three years longer, having graduated from the Point four years before Anderson had finished college in Indiana. They were becoming good friends, and there was a high level of trust and admiration shared by both. Reeves knew that Anderson had invited a lieutenant by the name of Jamie Feldon to attend the meeting. Feldon held a Ph.D. from the University of Southern California. He had been given a commission to assist the war department with strategy. His expertise was in strategic planning and operations, and he had been twice published. In fact, his last book had become required reading for seniors at West Point.

Feldon was unknown to the others, except by way of his writings dealing with psychology and the psychological aspects of war and leadership. Most were unaware he was in his early 30s, single and good looking, but a book worm through and through. His mother had recently reminded him, You are not getting any younger and I would like to be a grandmother before I turn 90. His mother and father had known from his early toddler years that he was well developed and had superb motor skills. Yet they didn’t find out until his 12th birthday that his IQ mirrored that of Albert Einstein. Calculus, physics and Latin were like eating cake to the young Feldon. His love was psychology: the figuring out of why people did certain things and how to induce change and anticipated results. He had toyed with the idea of medical school, but dismissed it when they told him he would have to slice people apart in anatomy and physiology. Titles did not impress him, but the dream of someday being involved in a great endeavor drove him into research and earned him a Ph.D. at 25 years of age.

Feldon had been intently observing Adolph Hitler since the first newsreels had appeared. Most Americans had immediately dismissed Hitler as a Charlie Chaplin look-alike who would disappear rapidly from the news media. Feldon thought from the get go that Hitler was exceedingly dangerous and extremely focused. He was able to glean much from Hitler’s body language and his tight-set eyes. Feldon was absolutely fascinated with Hitler; not his rhetoric or his politics, but his potential for evil. He immediately recognized Hitler as a world menace who was an expert in mesmerizing people. The German people were ripe for a power-hungry leader and Hitler was a perfect fit. Feldon knew that Hitler would have to go or World War II could be realized and many would perish. Although his thoughts and statements to colleagues were barely noted, their lack of acceptance did not dissuade him; he continued his observations and research into the German Fuhrer.

By 1942 Feldon was considered an expert in both psychology and in Hitler. He had utilized his superior intellect to learn German to the point of being 100 percent fluent. He accomplished this for one reason: to dissect Hitler psychologically. Feldon wasn’t sure why he was so enthralled with this preoccupation of Hitler, but he had a feeling that someone had to do it. He nearly daily questioned his own motives and ambitions. Feldon was mildly surprised when the military approached him and gave him a commission in the U.S. Army. He had never been in the military, didn’t know how to march and had never been in the same room with a gun, let alone fire one. However, the Army had no intentions of Feldon becoming a combat officer; they had a specific job for him and had made it abundantly clear. He was intrigued, excited and fearful of failure. If the plan were to be carried out, its success could mean the saving of a couple of million American and allied lives. If it were a failure, it could mean that many graves.

Major Reeves was admitted to the Pentagon through various security gates, guarded by stern appearing MPs and then guided through the labyrinth of halls exhibiting highly polished floors and buzzing overhead lights. Employees had long gone home and the hour approached 10:00 p.m. Reeves was escorted to a bank of elevators in the Pentagon’s logistics area. An MP stepped into the elevator and removed a key from his pocket on a watch bob chain. He looked around, pushed the button for the door to close and said, Hang on, sir. He pushed a small silver key into an opening and turned it to the right. The key clicked and was turned to the left rapidly. The elevator made a small jerk and rapidly descended. Reeves was used to flying but this fall was sickening and he had to concentrate on keeping his senses. Within a few moments the elevator slid to a stop and there was a pause. The MP pushed a lever, the door opened silently, and Reeves stood in a well lit but deserted hallway. Large oak double doors stood directly in front of him. He walked forward, took a long deep breath and opened the double doors. Inside were several men, many whom he recognized, a few he didn’t. The center of the room sported a large rectangular table, highly polished and ready for a meeting. In front of each spot located in front of a chair were a pad of paper, two pens and two empty glasses turned upside down, with little covers on the tops to maintain sanitation. A large triple incandescent light hummed above the center of the table. A few small groups of attendees shared discussion, and Reeves decided to make the rounds before the meeting began.

Brigadier Oliver M. Boswell, HMS, was involved in a seemingly lively discussion with Reeves’ boss, Brigadier General Stephen Baker of the USCIC. Various aides stood close by, some appearing interested, the others, marking time. Reeves walked up to his friend Captain Benjamin Anderson, who was standing beside a lieutenant. The introductions were swift and Reeves shook hands with Lieutenant Feldon for the very first time. Except for some of the low ranking aides, Reeves recognized everyone except two. One man had the chevrons of a U.S. Army doctor and the other was a major who was obviously a paratrooper, as his boots were bloused and highly polished. Feldon would later learn that the doctor was Phillip Boyd, M.D., a renowned plastic surgeon, and the major was, in fact, Robert Benton of the 101st Airborne Division.

As Reeves sized up the room the double doors again opened and in walked a vision of beauty. Dr. Margaret Newman entered with one aide, both of them laden with brief cases. All males in the room eyed the blonde Dr. Newman momentarily, then, reluctantly returned to their various conversations. Dr. Newman was tall, slim, and had near shoulder length straight blonde hair.

An aide of General Baker announced that the meeting would begin in three minutes. Everyone began to move towards a seat at the table. Deciding who would sit where was easy because there was an engraved name placard sitting in front of each chair. Unexpectedly, the room’s only doors again opened and in the doorway stood three MPs. A lieutenant said, Aides out. The aides did not appear happy but immediately complied with the stern looking military police. The aides left and the MPs waited. The lieutenant walked up to General Baker and said, Sir, the room is secure. He saluted, received his return salute from the general and turned on his heel and closed both double doors. A very audible click occurred and the change in the air could be felt by most in the room. They were sealed inside, of that, they were all sure.

Baker called the meeting to order and those still standing took seats immediately. The meeting had been meticulously planned, from the fruit in the baskets, to who sat where and beside whom. Dr. Margaret Newman had been previously consulted by Major Reeves, who had requested she study the group, and place people beside the others in an effort to maximize the efficiency and lower any animosities that could interfere with progress of the agenda. In short, he had wanted every control he could muster in an effort to accomplish the task he had been assigned. Actually, he was originally opposed to the cockamamie idea about to be presented, but was ordered to meet this challenge. Being a professional, he decided to make the best of it and to get it over with.

Baker began by stating, Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here today. All of you are aware that this meeting is of great importance to the war effort. Not that other meetings are not, but please understand, this meeting has been assigned the highest of Top Secret Orders and is being conducted under the auspices of the President of the United States of America and the Prime Minister of Great Britain. The results of this meeting could be the definitive action to end the war eventually in Europe.

With that statement, he certainly had commandeered their full attention. They were now led to task and aware that this was not a battle plan sort of a meeting and some small strike at the Third Reich. Baker then went around the room clockwise, wisely beginning the introductions with Brigadier Boswell of Great Britain. Boswell’s posture didn’t move a fraction, but a faint smile, indicating gratitude for the courtesy shown his rank, twitched at the corners of his upper lip with its handle bar moustache.

Baker continued, "I would like to now introduce Major Charlton M. Reeves. Some of you had the pleasure to meet him and his staff in London a year ago. Major Reeves will give this briefing. Please address your questions to him. I will remain, just as a tool for clarification if that is required. Major Reeves.

Reeves walked to the front area of the table where a small slide projector had been poised.

My boss, General Baker, has struck the proverbial nail on the head with his opening comments. In a nutshell, here it is. The U.S.A., Great Britain, the Russians and others, even those within the Third Reich, have tried to kill Hitler, to no avail. Our proposal to strongly consider is to replace him instead. An audible sigh could be heard immediately from at least two in attendance. The entire group, both those that had known what was to be proposed, and those who had not been privy, appeared to be frozen in time.

Dr. Boyd blurted, Are you mad?

Reeves replied, I sincerely hope not, doctor. This was not my idea, but I have been given the task to carry this project to fruition.

Other than the lone question from the imminent plastic surgeon, no one offered any further commentary, which was uncharacteristic of such a group of leaders. They sat, rather spellbound, yet Reeves could see the understanding hitting each of their faces, as to why they had been invited.

Dr. Boyd again spoke and said, I wondered why just one doctor was invited. Am I to assume that you want me to construct some man’s face to resemble Adolph Hitler’s?

Reeves answered, No doctor, not resemble, but rather, the spitting image.

Boyd appeared nearly terror stricken. Well, this will take time. General Boswell of England spoke for the first time. Good doctor, we don’t have a lot of time, we are losing the war to this maniac German corporal. We must try every avenue to rid ourselves of this menace to humanity.

Captain Anderson spoke for the first time. We have been searching for a double in our own ranks of service. We have four people in mind. Two are very close, one is near perfect, and one is perfect. This ‘perfect’ one is the exact height, 173 millimeters, the same weight and speaks nearly perfect German.

Lieutenant Feldon interjected, Near perfect will get this poor man killed. Hitler is possibly the greatest German orator of all time, he must be perfect.

With that, Dr. Newman turned her blond hair to the side and said, Oh, he will be perfect when we are done with him.

Feldon said, Oh really, how do you propose that, doctor?

She said, Intense training, schooling, and hypnotic suggestions.

Just what we need, parlor tricks, Feldon said. Dr. Newman was enraged internally, but overlooked the insult and stated, No parlor tricks, but precise, planned hypnotic suggestions.

Boswell asked, But why hypnotize him? Why not just tell him what to do?

Newman responded, I will tell you why, general. He will not be receiving just suggestions, but vast quantities of detailed information that a conscious person would have trouble processing. Hypnotic suggestions, orders, if you will, will make it second nature, not an academic project. He will not have to ‘think’ his way through the difficult parts, but merely do what he thinks is natural.

Captain Anderson asked, Will the replacement think he is Hitler or know he is acting?

Dr. Newman answered, "That is the only thing we have not determined, we feel it may depend on our final selection.

General Boswell said, This perfect man, is he being ordered or asked to volunteer and what is his current status?

Newman replied, He doesn’t have a clue yet, and it is definitely a volunteer mission. At present he is a clerk typist in New Jersey’s Fort Dix.

A clerk typist? yelled Feldon.

Well, yes. After all, Hitler was just a corporal.

Touché, muttered Feldon. A valid point.

Major Reeves resumed control of the meeting and further explained the plan. Once the subject had been selected and volunteered, he would begin exhaustive training on Adolph Hitler, including acting lessons and condensed German lessons morning, noon, and night. He would be hopefully operated on by Dr. Boyd and made to look exactly like Hitler. Reeves assured them the clerk typist already looked very similar at this point. They were concerned about his hair line, and the doctor responded that the hair line was the easiest of procedures the volunteer would face. Reeves continued that the dental records of Hitler had been obtained by the Brits.

As soon as he uttered the word, Reeves turned to General Boswell and said, Sir, I am so very sorry. Boswell good naturedly responded, Major, no offense taken, we call you guys Yanks, among other things. Everyone at the table laughed, except Feldon. He was psychologically mulling over this ridiculous idea, searching rapidly for pitfalls. He wanted to help, but what a plan to concoct. He was nearly in shock over the entire meeting so far. He honestly wondered if he were dreaming. Then it dawned on him, HE was the expert on Hitler. He realized what he was doing there, and probably what he would be called upon to do in the future.

Reeves said, "This volunteer is a PFC; we will promote him to staff sergeant for all of his training. We have decided after great discussion that upon assignment, he will be given a commission as a second lieutenant. He will be told that he will receive a special benefit package for this work. In the event of his demise, his family will receive a tax exempt check for $100,000. If he should survive, he will receive a promotion to captain, and be retired with full pension for his entire life. Any medals and or honors will not be a possibility as there is a very strong chance we will never wish anyone to know what transpired.

This man cannot waltz into the high command of the Third Reich and immediately change all they are currently involved in. Most sadly, he cannot just stop the Jewish slaughter. He cannot just end the fighting. What we propose is that he systematically, slowly interacts with his generals and other leaders in an increasingly vile onslaught of temper tantrums and seemingly emotional decisions. The entire premise is for him to ruin and shut down the Third Reich from within. From within the highest position the Germans have, Der Fuhrer

All in attendance took this time, this lull in the action, to voice comments and concerns to each other. A question had settled over this leadership group of, how can we possibly accomplish this? Feldon was the only one still thinking, How can I possibly dissuade these lunatics from this asinine mission?

Major Reeves cleared his throat, and pointed to the projector, Captain Anderson, if you please. With that he sat down and Anderson arose. He turned off the single light switch and they were all bathed in darkness momentarily until the projector flared on and pointed its white glare at the small screen directly in front of it. Anderson began his slide presentation.

Anderson said, "Dr. Newman and gentlemen, The Third Reich: born November 8, 1923 after the infamous Beer Hall Putsch, which catapulted the young disgruntled Hitler to public notice. He met with his cronies at the Burgerbraukeller in Munich and was arrested on the second day. He was charged, tried and convicted for high treason. The sentence was five years, yet, after preferential treatment allowing hundreds of visitors, he was released after serving just over one year at Landsberg prison. While in Landsberg he wrote his manifesto for the new Reich, Mein Kampf, originally entitled Four and a Half Years of Struggle Against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice.

"I’m sure you all know the general history of Adolph Hitler. What is known and unknown seem to be equal in amounts available for consumption. Some say he is a genius while others tout his foibles and silly appearing antics. Few however, doubt his oratorical skills. His speeches create emotional hysteria unseen for generations. The German people are beaten, both on the battlefield and in the economics of defeat. They are tired, hungry and thirsty for some resemblance of hope. Hitler has supplied the hope and the excuse. The excuse, the Juden, are responsible for the economic ruin, and the world for not realizing the rightful station of the Germanic people. The mass’s thirst has been quenched by an orator of the highest caliber. Adolph Hitler’s speeches are fine tuned, and his mannerisms fit his words superbly. He has provided hope to the hopeless, and in turn, received undying loyalty.

"Hitler has carefully selected his mentors of agreement. Heinrich Himmler, the Reichsfuhrer of the SS, is also minister of the interior, and oversees all internal and external police, security forces and the dreaded Gestapo. He also heads up the concentration camps, the extermination camps, and the ‘Einstazgruppen,’ or killing squads. This man is the second in command only to Der Fuhrer himself. He is considered the architect of the ‘Final Solution.’ Himmler is clever, conniving and possibly the most dangerous man of the Third Reich. He is not to be underestimated or dismissed as an understudy. He has Hitler’s ear at all times and has untold discretionary powers. Himmler takes the job of security very seriously, and is like a gargoyle, guarding his Fuhrer at all times. He is dauntless, insightful, and a focused man of objectivity. He trusts no one, and is manipulated by none. Our new ‘Hitler’ will have to give him no reason to doubt or question his identify. Since fear is a popular Third Reich motivator, our detailed plan includes placing Himmler on notice and taking the offense rather than the safe sounding route of defense.

"Next is Hermann Goring. Goring is the ‘designated’ successor to Hitler and commander of the Luftwaffe. To many he is the ‘joke’ of the Reich, but don’t be fooled, he has tremendous clout with Hitler. The German people remember him and revere him as an air force ace during World War I, as a recipient of the coveted Pour le Merite, or the Blue Max. He was the very last commander of the infamous Jagdgeschwader 1, the air squadron of Manfred von Richthofen, ‘The Red Baron.’ Further, to demonstrate his allegiance to Der Fuhrer, on November 9, 1923, he literally marched beside Hitler at the head of the SA and was seriously injured by gunfire in the groin. Hitler trusts him, and feels they have come up through the struggle together. His serious injury ultimately resulted in his addiction to morphine, which continues. Goring, while in Rome in 1924, met Benito Mussolini. Mussolini actually made some reference to wishing to meet Hitler. In 1925, Goring was examined by a psychiatrist and the report claimed him to be weak in character, a hysteric and possessed of an unstable personality. The report maintained that he is sentimental, yet callous and violent when afraid. You will all remember the Chancellery fire? Well, at a luncheon for the birthday of Hitler last year, Goring said, ‘The only one who really knows about the Chancellery is I, because I set it on fire.’ In 1933, when Hitler was named chancellor of Germany, Goring was appointed as minister without portfolio. He was one of only two Nazis named to the Cabinet, the other being Wilhelm Frick. Do not forget that Goring, through ‘gleichschaltung’ or forcible coordination, set up the Nazi dictatorship. He banned all Roman Catholic newspapers in Germany. On April 20, 1934, Himmler and Goring began to develop a relationship. Goring transferred the Gestapo to Himmler. Goring is right now, amassing a large personal fortune by seizing properties belonging to Jews, as well as accepting bribes to give others Jewish properties. He is involved up to his eyeballs in foreign policies, and is totally loyal to Hitler. He is complicit in the ‘final solution’ and has communicated regularly with Reinhard Heydrich in the organization of administrative, financial and material measures necessary for enacting the final solution of the Jews.

"The Luftwaffe, however, is Goring’s baby. He has led decisive victories by destroying the Polish air force within two short weeks, seized airfields in Norway and served as the flying artillery of the Panzer troops in the blitzkrieg attack upon France.

"Lastly, is Dr. Paul Joseph Goebbels, Ph.D., the Reich Minister of Propaganda. His zealous oratory and anti-Semitic remarks gave birth to the eventual final solution. His Ph.D. was conferred from Heidelberg University in 1921 and he became an ardent Nazi in 1924. After Hitler came to power, Goebbels was made the ‘Propaganda Minister.’ In 1933, he conducted the burning of the books, which resonated around the world, even if the symbolism was lost on millions who saw those newsreels. He is also the father of the propaganda mainstay, ‘The Big Lie,’ simplistically noting that the bigger the lie, the better, and the easier it will work. He has proved that theory over and over again. His radio speeches and announcements have pounded the German populous into believing they are the new world order, the Third Reich, which will reign for a thousand years. Goebbels isn’t as close to Hitler as Goring and Himmler, but he is part of the inner circle and should not be ignored. He is continually vying for Hitler’s ear. Hitler enjoys Goebbels’ wife, Magda, and their several children. He is a guest at the Bergdorf often.

Well, there you have it, a summary of who and what our volunteer will be dealing with. The leaders of the Third Reich may seem comical to the American public from their appearance, but do not be fooled, they are clever, blood-thirsty and out to win. The Gestapo and the SS are quite resourceful and efficient; we must see that our volunteer is protected beyond any realm of suspicion.

Captain Anderson’s briefing ended and he turned off the slide projector and switched on the overhead light, which went back to its secretive buzzing. The room remained very quiet. Dr. Newman rose and slowly walked to the front of the room, which had just been vacated by Anderson.

Gentlemen, these are serious reminders of what we and our volunteer are dealing with, she began. I’m sure I could hear some of your minds whirling, ‘can it be done?’. . . I say, yes, it can. In theory, our volunteer could induce enough disruption over a moderate period of time to cause great pain to the enemy. Maybe he won’t see the mission to the end, but in even a small time frame we feel he can be effective, he can wage a deadly attack upon the high command of the Third Reich.

Newman knew instinctively that this was question and answer time, as well as an attack from Lieutenant Feldon, who had been shaking his head the entire time that Captain Anderson had spoken.

He, Feldon, was the first to speak.

What is the reason that this volunteer will do it? No one immediately answered, as he had not actually aimed his question at Dr. Newman, but looked around the room to them all as he spoke.

Finally, Dr. Newman said, Patriotism.

Oh please, doctor, Feldon replied. That is quite a stretch for patriotism, isn’t it?

With that, Major Robert Benton spoke for the first time.

Lieutenant…. have you been in combat?

Why, no sir, Feldon admitted.

Have you been shot at or shot anyone in defense of this country? Benton asked.

No, sir, but…

Major Benton cut him off and said, Lieutenant, I suggest that you not question a soldier’s patriotism until you have been overseas, out of your snuggly pajamas and faced an enemy who wishes to kill you.

Our volunteer has not been in combat either, snapped Feldon.

Dr. Newman said, Yes, that is true. But he enlisted and was not drafted. His interviews denoted that he wished to make a difference and that he had relatives who have been gobbled up by the Nazis and he is angry. Soldiers, good soldiers, use anger to sustain them and fight the enemy many times more than not, she pointed out.

General Baker had not spoken since his opening remarks nearly 90 minutes previously. But he slowly arose and walked to the area by the doors. He turned, having drawn everyone’s attention and said,

You all have been selected to conduct this project and to make it successful. Dr. Feldon, it is time you either got on the train, or pack your bags and disembark. The plan is not up for any of your approval, it has been approved, and it will happen. Now, either give us and this plan your best, or I will accept your resignation from the group.

Feldon hung his head, as he truly didn’t wish to seem anti-American, he was just anti-this project. He decided he would submit his resignation to the general the next day; from both the U.S. Army and this stupid group of do-gooders. They didn’t stand a snow ball’s chance in hell of pulling it off, he knew it. He would bide his time until tomorrow, so he decided to nod and shut up. He did both.

Dr. Newman continued her presentation. She outlined the training and the surgeries and the hypnotic suggestion plan in general. When she finished she abruptly sat down and immediately Major Reeves rose and stood behind his chair.

Thank you for today and your patience, he said. We ask that you all understand this information today is covered by the official secrets act and you must curb your tongues from any discussion outside of this group. Please think over the operation, possibly make notes, and we will re-convene tomorrow evening at 2000 hours, good evening.

Everybody stood and shook hands and spoke for a few moments. No one approached Lieutenant Feldon, as he seemed to be ostracized due to his comments and his posture. He didn’t belong with career officers and he knew it. This treatment made him more certain than ever that he had to bow out of this craziness. As he arrived at the double doors, they magically opened by two MPs and he felt a hand on his right shoulder squeeze quite hard. He turned and looked into the eyes of General Boswell of Great Britain.

Too bad on your resignation; you could have been most important to this project, he said.

The statement startled Feldon; he knew no one was reading his mind, but possibly his actions had laid hint to his feelings. Just when he stepped through the door and began to enter the elevator, yet another shoulder grab, but much more gentle, once again made him turn, and there stood Dr. Newman.

She said, A pity, we needed you, but not that attitude of defeatism. Maybe someday you will actually live, more so than observe and study.

Before he could comment the jet elevator had them at the ground level and she was exiting the double doors. He watched as her umbrella popped open as she stepped into the continuing night thunderstorm. She never turned to look at him, and he thought, what a bunch of Joe College bunk, I don’t need any of this. With that, he sauntered out into the dark night air, and the half-dollar size rain droplets. He decided to walk the nine blocks to the apartment the Army had arranged for him.

By the time he arrived at his apartment, Feldon’s shoes were soaked, as were his gray-striped suit pants, from just below the knee down to his socks. He was worried about contracting a cold from the night air and changed his clothes. He showered, put on a blue coarse robe and slippers and poured himself some cheap red rose wine. He sat on his small sofa, with his legs under him, thinking was I wrong … could it actually be done? He thought for a long time, then it came home to him, it can’t be done without my help. He thought further, I will contact Dr. Newman and see if I can sit in on talking to this volunteer and attempt to ascertain whether he, it can be done. He drank two medium-sized tumblers of the cheapest brew he had ever purchased and fell soundly asleep. In the wee hours of the morning he awoke and dragged himself off to the bedroom. As he climbed into the sack he said out loud, I have to help, even if I don’t want to.

Feldon awoke bright and early and went to General Baker’s command office. As he was led into the medal-adorned office by a sergeant, he thought, here we go. The general greeted him with, Good morning, lieutenant, I knew you would be in. Where is the resignation letter?

Feldon said, Don’t any of you think I can do it?

The general said, Of course we knew you could do it, the question was, would you do it? You pretty much let the cat out of the bag on your stance.

No, sir, said Feldon, I have come to ask for one bit of help.

Well, what is it, young man? snapped Baker.

I want permission to meet the volunteer, to feel it as Dr. Newman has, is it possible? asked Feldon.

I don’t know, lieutenant. I will speak with Dr. Newman soon and we will advise you, dismissed.

Feldon left the offices and hoofed it back to his small apartment. He rethought how the general had spoken to him and felt his chances were probably over, for being involved with the special assignment. He wondered what would be done with him now. Still tired from the long previous night, he removed his brown uniform shoes and lay down on his couch and fell into a deep sleep. He was dreaming about Alice Pemberly, whom he had kissed in the back of his father’s Ford on high school graduation night, when he was rudely awakened by a knock on the apartment’s heavy maple door.

Yes he said, but no one answered. He went to the door, opened it and there stood Dr. Margaret Newman, who looked both radiant and angry at the same time. She barged into the apartment, not hearing Feldon say, Won’t you please come in? She had come in. She turned on her heels and said,

What is wrong with you?

Before he could answer, she said, I don’t have time for your elementary crap. He stared at her and said, I agree, I just want to see the volunteer to judge for myself.

Okay, sport, in for a pound. With that, she turned to the door and walked out. Feldon attempted to walk with her. She stopped and asked, Don’t you want to wear your shoes? He turned red, retrieved his shoes, and ran down the stairs to catch up.

When they got to the street level, he was surprised to see two cars, with an open door awaiting her. Standing beside the door was a very large man, a very large MP who did not appear to be happy being alive or on this detail. He saluted the doctor and she stopped and said, Stop doing that.

He actually almost smiled and said, Yes, ma’am, and saluted her again. She mumbled and slid into the back seat of the Plymouth four-door government vehicle. Feldon could see that the second car was filled with four or five more MPs watching intently. Feldon slid in to the back seat and both cars sped off.

The rain had tapered overnight to just a mild monsoon and one could actually detect sunlight through the dinosaur-gray overcast day. The small motorcade zipped through D.C. traffic and headed into Virginia farmland. After about one hour they came to a small farm gate, and more MPs appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The MPs checked everyone’s identification, including the other MPs. Feldon thought they don’t even know their own guys. The car he was riding in continued up a two-track, while the serious looking MPs remained in the chase vehicle at the gate. They arrived at a small two-story farmhouse and exited. The rain had finally stopped but they had to slosh their way through mud and a couple of puddles to reach the front door. This led to more MPs, more ID checks, and then the entrance to yet two more MPs. But this time there was a female MP, which Feldon had never seen before. She checked Dr. Newman’s ID very closely, then her purse and her long coat. Feldon had to empty his pockets and was patted down by one of the male MPs. He didn’t notice if the doctor had been patted down or not. He was instructed to have a seat in a small drawing room, and did so.

He waited about 15 minutes and finally the female MP came out and said, Sir, please come with me. He followed her to what appeared to be a bedroom. She opened the flat white door with an audible squeak and he stepped in. This time there were three MPs and a stairway, leading down into darkness. Feldon paused, and the first MP said, Sir, it is okay. The lights come on as you climb down the steps. He began and the lights immediately came on as he descended about 20 steps. He stepped into a brilliantly lit hallway with nearly a dozen doors. He paused, wondering where to go, as there were no obvious numbers or designators of any kind. The third door to the right opened and out stepped General Baker.

Hi, Feldon, the general said, and he walked by him and up the stairs.

Dr. Newman stepped out and said, Come on in, lieutenant, and meet Carter Flemming.

Hello, sir, Flemming said.

Please, just call me Feldon, he said. He turned to Dr. Newman and asked, Where are we at with this process?

Dr. Newman said, We, the general and I, just told Carter what the project truly is all about. We told him everything.

Feldon said, And Flemming, what do you think?

Well, sir, I mean Feldon, I think you are all pretty much nuts. I thought I was volunteering for some translation duties, now this, Flemming replied. He looked pointedly into the lieutenant’s eyes.

Can it be done, Feldon? Flemming asked.

Ask the good doctor, stated Feldon. My opinion is in sync with yours. It is nuts.

Oh my, said Dr. Newman. Did you guys meet and make up a script? She continued, undaunted. Of course it sounds nuts, but so does burning Jewish men, women and children in ovens. So does attacking countries and forcing them to do your bidding, and give up their freedoms and their books.

Feldon asked, "Are you turning it down, Flemming?

Flemming responded, Do I actually have a choice? No one has told me that, just what the assignment is.

Dr. Newman said, You do have a choice. However if you turn it down you will be kept here, in this room and building until at least the war is over. We can’t allow you to leave, I’m sure you must realize that.

What? Flemming yelled.

Feldon said, You can’t do that to him, doctor.

Dr. Newman said, Lieutenant, what do you think will happen to you if you resign? Did you notice the other doors here?

Oh my God, are you actually serious? Feldon asked, his voice noticeably shaken.

Lieutenant, we have no choice, she said. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of lives could be saved if this thing works. We cannot take a chance on failure, so sorry, gentlemen. You will be treated very well, from daily exercise to the best of food, but until Hitler is defeated, you are our guests.

No, this cannot be, Feldon cried.

Oh, yes it can be. During the drive to the farm, a large contingency of military intelligence personnel swept into your apartment and cleared everything out. All your items are already boxed and stored for safe keeping. The apartment has been cleaned and sanitized and all fingerprints and even hairs in the shower drain have been removed. Your apartment is gone, and so are you for now, lieutenant. Sorry, she said.

Sorry, you crazy bitch, I will sue you and the damn government, Feldon sputtered almost hysterically. While he was sputtering, Carter Flemming had walked to his bed and sat down on it, looking at his shoes.

Flemming said, Actually, I want to do this. I can do this, it is a chance to help innocent people.

You’re nuts too, shouted Feldon. You are all nuts. I’m getting out of here once and for all. With that he swung open the door to see that very large MP standing in the doorway.

Sir, I will escort you to your room. Feldon doubled up his right fist and took a swing at the MP’s face. The MP reached out with lightening speed and grabbed Feldon’s fist in mid-air and stopped it, saying, Come on, sir, we are not the enemy, we are doing our job guarding you. Please cooperate with us.

Feldon walked over to where Flemming was sitting on his bed and said, Come on, private, let’s rush him together, we can make it. Flemming said, Sir, you need to look out into the hallway, there are many more. They expected this, we are their guests. . . their prisoners for the duration.

Lieutenant Jamie Feldon was escorted to the first door on the left of the initial entrance. His toiletries and other personal items had already been delivered along with all of his clothes, both military uniforms and civvies. Feldon was stunned. His mind raced from item to item and he wanted to scream, This is America, not Nazi Germany! He lay down to contemplate the day’s events, and how he became incarcerated. Feldon actually began to cry. He hadn’t cried in a long time, and it felt quite foreign to him. After a few moments, he stopped, blew his nose, and fell asleep on the bed that was to be his for the duration.

The next morning, there was a rap on his door three times. Feldon arose and opened the door to find both Dr. Newman and General Baker standing in the hall way. He turned, without saying anything and went back to his bed and sat on the edge.

May we come in? asked Dr. Newman.

You are my captors, do what you will, replied Feldon.

They entered, looked around and then General Baker grabbed a dining room chair and turned it around bar room style and straddled it. Look, lieutenant, you are here due to national security directives. This isn’t some game, and you had better realize that. This was all your choice.

Feldon said, Oh, give me a break. I never thought my country would lock me up.

Well, we have and you will stay here, Baker retorted.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I know. . . for the duration.

Doesn’t have to be this way, lieutenant, piped Dr. Newman. We really want and need you on our side.

This is a fine way to convince me.

Get over your ego, Feldon, Newman said. "You’re an expert; that is true. But no one is indispensible. You not coming on board sets back our timetable, but it will go forward while you sit on your ass on that bed. Suit yourself."

Feldon, use your head, what would you do to people who have not come aboard, who know the entire scope? asked General Baker.

I wouldn’t lock them up like an animal.

What if you were Carter Flemming? Would you like some people waltzing around who could decide your fate by the mere slip of the tongue? Baker asked.

Well, no sir, I suppose I wouldn’t, Feldon admitted.

General, he isn’t going to change his mind, we are wasting our time when we have no time to spare. Good day, lieutenant, Newman said.

Okay, doctor. With that the general rose and held out his hand and said, Lieutenant, I’m truly sorry, but we all have our orders.

Yes sir, I know and I realize that. Sir, come to think of it, that is the way out.

What is, Feldon?

Sir, I still think the idea is crazy and bound for failure, but you wanted me to volunteer and I refused. Just order me.

What? the general asked, his voice somewhat shocked.

Order me, sir, Feldon replied. I will not disobey an order from my superior officer. I may be against it, but I will obey if you order me to be involved with this project.

Lieutenant, do I have your word you will give it your all? Baker asked.

Yes, sir, my solemn oath, the same as I took when I became a commissioned officer of the United States Army, sir, Feldon vowed.

Well, I’ll be, Baker exclaimed. Lieutenant Feldon. . . stand up, attention.

With that Feldon jerked to his feet and stood ramrod straight at attention. Dr. Newman thought this really appeared hokey until she saw the determination in both men’s eyes.

Lieutenant Feldon, I’m ordering you to join the project described last night, to fully engage, and to do everything in your power to see it successfully through. Do you understand the order?

Yes, sir, absolutely.

Will you comply?

Yes, sir.

Dr. Newman, contact the sergeant of the guard and advise him that the lieutenant is free, Baker said.

Wait a minute, general, are you serious? He can walk and we are out?

Dr. Newman, Lieutenant Feldon is an officer and a gentleman and yes, I trust him. Now, do as I say.

Yes, sir.

With that exchange of questions and orders, Jamie Feldon became an integral part of the new team devised to take an unknown soldier, turn him into Adolph Hitler, deliver him to Germany, make the switch, and observe as he single handedly destroyed the Third Reich.

In Berlin, Germany, Der Fuhrer, Adolph Hitler, sat in a closed-door meeting with Heinrich Himmler, Hermann Goring, and a few aides. Hitler listened as Goring explained how the Luftwaffe was softening up the British RAF planes over the English Channel. Hitler sat behind his desk, twiddling a pencil in his right hand as he half-listened to the stout Goring explain the exploits of his hero Luftwaffe pilots. Hitler thought, he should write fiction for Goebbels to play over the radio in Berlin.

Hitler’s thoughts turned to Blondie, his German shepherd, and his girlfriend, Eva Braun. He thought the world of her, but would not trade the world for her. She was slowly trying to push him into marriage. He felt the Third Reich commanded his total energy and he would feel guilty if he wanted to be amorous towards her. Yet he did miss her at times and certainly enjoyed her attending events with him. Hitler noticed Himmler, who was always perched on the edge of his chair, seemingly prepared to strike like a cobra at any and all who might even think of saying something negative about the Third Reich or about Hitler. Hitler wondered how much was real, this loyalty, and how much was an act, a ploy for increased power. Hitler knew that Himmler was loyal, as long as he had power and the ability to direct it towards the Nazi agenda.

He looked out the window at the light snow falling and thought back to his time in World War I; a much simpler time, but a time of training to be a leader. A few louder words brought Hitler abruptly back to the here and now, as he heard Goring end his long report. Goring was nearly exhausted and he took his seat directly across from Hitler. Everyone waited. They waited for Hitler to do or say something to break the silence. Finally after two long minutes, Hitler stood, adjusted his tunic, and said, Thank you, gentlemen, and with that he walked out the double door that was held open for him by two SS guards.

The doors closed and after another minute, Goring looked at Himmler and said, Der Fuhrer seems thoughtful and inattentive to our reports.

"Der Fuhrer IS attentive; he just has a lot on his mind. He