Part of me wanted to go. I wanted to see Germany again, but we are more fearless when we are Mia’s age. We also see the moment, the uniqueness in people. We can find value in one life. As we grow older, we realize the scale of it all, and the insignificance of everything and everyone. I would kill von Braun and those around him at the first sign of trouble. I would not hesitate. We gave them the knowledge, we can give it again. We are the Ninety-Nine but we will be the One Hundred, and the Hundred and One. Mia… Mia will not spend her life retracing my footsteps if she can make her own. She is at that age when we see ourselves as special, unique. She still believes she is not us and she will not give that up easily. She will take risks. She will be scared, but our instincts will take over. I hope.
Preserve the knowledge. That is why I sent Mia. I followed one rule, only to break another: survive at all costs. I risked everything, all that we have worked and died for. I put us in harm’s way. Was it wrong of me? Perhaps the question is meaningless. If there is such a thing as right and wrong, I doubt it was meant for us. We are the Kibsu. We are the path.
I cannot tell if these are rational thoughts, or the weakness of a mother fearing for her child. I question everything, every choice. I question the life I have made for ourselves, moving to Washington to join the OSS. Every time we step into the light, we make it easier for the Tracker to find us. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Another rule I broke or bent. I told myself it was worth the risk, that we were saving lives. I hope it does not mean the end of ours.
Part of me wishes I were there with Mia. Part of me wishes I were Mia. We arrived in America the same year Buck Rogers hit the airwaves. For years, those fifteen minutes I spent with my ear glued to the radio were the highlight of my day. I did not want to be the Kibsu. I certainly did not want to be my mother. I wanted to be Buck Rogers and go on a myriad of adventures.
I met my next hero when I joined the OSS. The Gestapo called Virginia Hall the most dangerous of Allied spies. I called her… I called her Virginia, but I… I envied her. I wanted to be her. She was in Paris when the war started. She joined the ambulance service there before France fell and ended up in Nazi-controlled territory. She got out, went to London, and volunteered to work for the British SOE. She went back to Vichy and, for over a year, helped coordinate the French underground while posing as a reporter.
When the Nazis seized all of France, Virginia escaped to Spain, by herself, over the Pyrenees mountains. She did that on foot, singular. Virginia was missing a leg. She used a prosthetic she nicknamed Cuthbert. If I ever remarry, I shall name my husband Cuthbert.
In hindsight, I did not particularly like Virginia, not as a person. We trained together only briefly. She was not very close to me, or anyone else for that matter. I liked… the idea of her.
Now my daughter is on a secret mission in Germany. As much as I fear for our safety, part of me is glad we are on this adventure. We are Buck Rogers now. We are Virginia Hall.
5
Crawlin’ King Snake
We saw the river first. A refreshing punctuation after five hours of spruce trees. It’s been one of those soupy days where the rain refuses to rain and everything is its own shade of gray. We were still on the bridge when their silhouettes appeared through the mist. I see them clearly now. All of them.
—Zeig mir deine Papiere.
Skull and bones on the hat. Four pips on the collar. He took his raincoat off before coming over to make sure we noticed. This one is a Sturmbannführer, a major, maybe. Someone important for about two hundred feet, like the store manager at the local Woolworth’s. Blotchy eyes and a day-old beard. They must have painted the night in the village across. That’s where the trains will meet up with us. If we make it. These guys are Waffen-SS, and they are all over us.
—ZEIG MIR DEINE PAPIERE!
Von Braun is out there handing him our orders. I just realized these two hold the same rank. Easy to forget I’m bowling along with a ranking SS officer. Von Braun asked for the major’s name but I couldn’t hear over the dog’s barks. It sounded like Asshat. Whatever his name is, he’s not too impressed with our letterhead. Everyone is louder now. Asshat wants to confirm our orders. You can’t, Asshat. We’re the VzBV! That’s more or less what’s coming out of von Braun’s mouth.
I’ll roll down the window. It’s getting hot in here. The dog is barking up a storm, tugging at his leash and—oh shit!—Asshat’s pistol is out of its holster. It’s pointing at the ground but the two behind him just pulled the bolts on their submachine guns. They’re not scared, they’re itching for it. It’s not about rules or orders. This is all territory, pissing on lampposts. VzBV may be above Asshat’s head, but if you reduce the world to a small enough size, this road or this bridge, Asshat is king. He won’t bow to anyone, least of all Wernher von Braun in his fancy suit. Why is it so hot in this car?
I shouldn’t be here. I don’t have the moxie for this. There’s no way out if this escalates. I’m stuck in the car on the passenger side. I don’t have a gun because I’m Lili the fucking niece.
SOMEONE SHUT THIS STUPID DOG UP!
I’m burning hot. It’s not the car, it’s me. I must be coming down with something. Everything feels… slower. Crisper. I can see…
I can see everything. Thirty, forty men in front. Three are messing with von Braun. The rest are sitting by the road, making crude jokes and rolling cigarettes. They’ll shoot us all if it gets to that, but for now we barely register. Fucking with people is what these guys do. This is their normal. The light truck to my right is empty, but the one Asshat came in on has a Flak 38 on top. One man at the wheel, one in the back, smoking. Elevated position. That’s where I need to go.
What on earth is happening to me? I can see it go down. Clear as day. Everyone dead in thirty seconds flat.
I get out of the car. The SS holding the dog leash turns and yells at me: “Get back in the car.” I smile and keep walking. Five seconds. I lean inside the truck window and snap the driver’s neck while he checks the inside of my blouse. I reach down and take his sidearm. Ten seconds. Now I’m a girl with a weapon.
I saunter to the back of the truck. The man up there smiles. I wink. He throws his cigarette on the ground before stepping down. It’s still burning when I raise the gun to his chin. Bam. Fifteen.
This fever. I must be losing my mind. I can’t end a platoon of Waffen-SS on my own.
But I can. The gunshot gets everyone’s attention. A handful of SS start aiming everywhere. Most just lie on the ground when they hear gunfire. I climb up the back of the truck—twenty seconds—and mow through the crowd with the Flak 38. No one shoots back through the pandemonium. I can’t hear them if they do. The only sound is the roar of the gun. I throb and pulsate two hundred times a minute while two-centimeter projectiles dig into the ground, halving people along the way. The world turns red when the incendiary heads ignite. The heat wave hits me like a brick and I let go of the gun. I cover my seared skin with my hands while pentaerythritol tetranitrate consumes what’s left of everyone.