“Then Germany will win,” Ritter observed in a tone that was matter-of-fact rather than in any way triumphant or proud. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“I think they will in Europe, yes,” The Australian’s answer was equally direct. “That in itself isn’t so much of a problem…” The statement was completely correct in a longer-term strategic sense, but it also elicited exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
“‘Not a problem’…?” Ritter repeated angrily, finding the remark utterly unacceptable. “Six million people will die, and the exterminations only stopped because we lose the war? How many more millions will die if… we… win?” He was incensed at the concept of such an incomprehensible loss of life, and was progressively finding it more difficult to identify himself as being part of a nation that could perpetrate such hideous genocide. “I’ve never been a lover of Jews, but I cannot accept this! How can you make such a statement?” He held out an upturned palm in frustrated surrender. “How can anyone allow this…?” He added softly, his tone suddenly filled with shocked despair and disgust.
“‘How can there be ‘honour’ in Germany…?’ You asked that in your diary after the incident at the farmhouse, right?” Thorne continued as Ritter nodded silently. “I meant no indifference when I said the extermination wasn’t a ‘problem’… I don’t for a minute condone what the Nazis are up to in Poland with their ‘final-fucking-solution’. I’ve never loved the Jews either… never thought much about ‘em one way or the other to be honest… but I’ll never get tired of preventing the Nazis from getting their way. One of our team leaders is a Jew and a survivor of the death camps… he’s also one of the men who developed the time machine that got us here… and you can be bloody sure he’s going to do anything he can to stop the bastards as well.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance to hide a moment of dark sadness. “And me… well, for reasons I’m not going to go into here, I just don’t fuckin’ like Nazis…” He almost faltered as he remembered some of the nightmares, but was spared as a new and completely ludicrous memory suddenly replaced more painful ones.
“‘Illinois Nazis… I hate Illinois Nazis…!’” Thorne muttered softly to himself, eliciting a quizzical response from Ritter. “Hmm…? Oh, nothing…” He dismissed his own strange remarks, smiling broadly as he remembered the Blues Brothers movie scene the quote was taken from. He almost laughed then as he went through the scene again in his mind, and those that followed. “Nothing important…” he added, grinning faintly at Ritter.
“I want to be angry,” Ritter said slowly after a long pause, during which he took another large gulp of whisky. “I want to fly into a rage and break something… I want to hurt things… myself… others… until someone tells me none of this is true…”
“No one’s going to,” Thorne shook his head, momentary humour descending once more into sad reality. “All of the things you’ve seen unfortunately do happen… will happen… and probably far worse. Flying into a rage, or hurting yourself won’t change any of it.”
“I need to be alone for a little while,” Ritter croaked, his throat dry as a faint wave of stress-induced nausea swept through him.
“No problem,” Thorne agreed, nodding with complete understanding. “I’ll have the guards take you back so you can rest… we can talk again in the morning…”
Friday
August 23, 1940
Thorne brought breakfast personally to Ritter’s cell the next morning, but the pilot had no appetite after what he’d seen the day before. The German rose from his bed the moment the door opened, and the intensity of his expression stopped Thorne in his tracks just inside the room.
“Yesterday, you said rage won’t change anything,” He said immediately, hands positioned expectantly on his hips. “Tell me what will…?” The question was as sharp and direct as the man’s gaze, and for some inexplicable reason, Thorne almost felt the need to look away.
“What do you mean?” Thorne suspected he knew already, but wanted the pilot to spell it out for him.
“Exactly what I said,” Ritter stated coldly, his eyes bright and piercing. “You didn’t show me those images yesterday without reason, and you’d not have taken me there at all if you thought me a fool. You obviously have some purpose behind all this… what is it you’d have me do?”
“It sometimes slips my memory that you’re on record as being pretty sharp,” Thorne grinned faintly, placing the tray of food on the table as he instantly turned serious. “I think you can help us as perhaps no other person could. I can’t explain why that is right now… you probably wouldn’t believe me, and if you did that might be worse… but the point is, I think you are as you seem — an honourable man, trapped in the service of a dishonourable government.” Thorne took great care to use the term ‘government’ rather than ‘country’, clearly separating the statement from any possibility of a slur against the man’s culture or heritage. “I don’t believe such an honourable man would allow the annihilation of an entire race across an entire continent, were it his choice to make.”
“I’m an officer… I’ve sworn an oath to fight for my country… but is this the country I would want my children to grow up in…?”
“And you now have two children to care for who’ll one day be old enough to serve their country also,” Thorne observed carefully, again drawing on information gleaned from Ritter’s diary. “What kind of country would you have them serve?” He didn’t need to say anything more: the Hitler Youth movement was already consuming the minds of Germany’s children and filling them with propaganda and ideology. There was no way the pilot could ignore the ramifications of that.
“I think I’m hardly in a position to do anything about all this as a prisoner of the British Empire.” The statement was deliberately leading in the same direction as Thorne wanted to go, and he was a little unsettled that the man had so unexpectedly and readily taken them both there so quickly.
“We can change that… if you agree to help us,” Thorne replied, and Ritter made no show of surprise. “The Wehrmacht will invade England… that’s a certainty… and I suspect it’ll be sooner rather than later. My guess is before the end of September, and when they do, I’m prepared to release you close to the front line and have you returned to your own side. We can make it seem as if you’ve somehow managed to evade capture and made your way south into England. Your return will be welcomed at the highest levels, and I think most probably welcomed enough to avoid any difficult questions.”