Читать книгу: «Blue Flame», страница 7
8
You never can tell whether bad luck may not after all turn out to be good luck
Silence fell over the capacity crowd at the Sheffield arena, where minutes earlier the raucous sound of cheering and yelling coursed through the stadium. Two boxers had stood toe-to-toe in the centre of a ring, slugging it out for the European middleweight crown.
The popular boxer from Sheffield had dominated the first few rounds of the fight and the crowd cheered him on. Now in the sixth round, he knew by looking at his bruised opponent that he could finish the fight after feeling less power coming from his punches. Although an earlier clash of heads left a minor cut on his eyebrow that the last punch opened but he ignored it and thundered a shot into the fighter ribs. He grinned as the fighter winced, dropped his hands, and left the way open for a clean left hook to the jaw which he knew would end the fight with a knockout. He was about to deliver the haymaker when his body juddered and with a shocked expression, collapsed to the floor.
The cheering stopped, and the audience looked stunned as the referee pointed and the other fighter went to stand in his corner, shrugging and shaking his head. The referee knelt and checked the fighter.
“It’s a bloody fix. He never touched him,” yelled someone in the audience, followed by jeering and booing that echoed around the arena.
The referee stood up and looked shocked as he beckoned the ring doctor.
With their hometown hero now lying motionless in the centre of the ring, the crowd went silent watching the ring doctor examined the fallen fighter.
Pandemonium ensued as the doctor ordered the ring cleared. Corner men and the other fighter who looked shaken left the ring. Everyone in attendance knew the situation was dire, and the fallen fighter now had another fight to win, the fight for his life. The ring announcer reassured the audience while the doctor and the fighter’s trainer performed CPR on the splayed-out boxer.
Paramedics arrived on the scene and went into the ring with their portable monitors and lifesaving equipment. A paramedic set up an Ambu-bag and intubated the boxer, then squeezed the bag to get air into his lungs. Another paramedic charged up a portable defibrillator, and when the gauges reached 100 joules, he shouted, “Charged.”
The doctor placed paddles on the man’s chest. “Clear,” instructed the doctor as he pressed the button, sending a powerful surge of electricity coursing through the boxer’s body, arching it off the canvas floor.
They watched the portable monitor showing the man’s heart rhythm as a flat line, so the doctor increased the voltage to the maximum 300 joules and shocked him again. The paramedic handed the doctor a syringe containing Epinephrine, which he then injected into the boxer’s chest.
The medics continued CPR several for minutes until the doctor checked the boxer’s pupils and confirmed the information on the monitor.
“Fixed and dilated,” said the doctor. “And it’s reading flat line on the monitor.” He looked at his watch and said, “Time of death, 19:05.”
The medical team lifted the boxer out of the ring, put him on a gurney, and wheeled him out of the arena, with the sound of crying and mourning filling the stadium. They put the body in the ambulance and covered it with a sheet.
The ambulance drove away, heading to the Hallamshire hospital. The doctor, a medic, and the boxer’s trainer sat in the back, along with the body.
Gus, the trainer, held his head in his hands, and after several minutes, mumbled, “I don’t know what happened. One minute he was winning, the next he…”
A loud belch emanated from the corpse, making them jump.
“It’s just a reflex,” said the doctor as the boxer sat bolt upright and the sheet slipped off.
“What round is it Gus?” asked the boxer.
“Round six,” stuttered the shocked trainer taken aback.
“Did I win?” asked the boxer.
With his mouth agape, Gus nodded, and the boxer lay back down.
Although taken by surprise the medic’s reflexes kicked in and he placed monitors and re-sited the lifesaving equipment onto the sleeping boxer.
“Arrhythmia… sinus rhythm and respirations are normal,” he told the doctor.
The bemused doctor looked at his watch and exclaimed, “That’s impossible. He’s been dead for nineteen minutes!”
The ambulance pulled up to the front of the accident and emergency department. The dazed doctor, paramedics, and trainer went inside, while the hospital staff wheeled the sleeping boxer to the Intensive Care Unit.
PATH RC389: 2011
.
* * *
Vibrant sights and sounds of nature filled the woodland around the cottage, with the trees, foliage and flowers in full bloom, the quaint old cottage looked picturesque. Church and Pinky spent most of their time outside walking among the hedgerows. Church had set up a website www.PATH.com, which now provided him and Pinky with a useful tool for the first contact in finding relatives of lost soul’s location, using Google maps.
One evening, while Church sat at his desk updating the website, the familiar smell of Brussels sprouts filled the room.
He smiled and looked at the portal as Granny Pearl appeared.
“Hi Gran,” said Church, “Have you got another assignment for us?” He asked, hoping it would be lucrative, like the last one.
Church pressed a button on his newly installed intercom.
“Pinky, Granny Pearl’s here.”
“Church, I have another assignment for you both. We have a problem, and with the upheaval and damage repair still going on within the spirit world after the Diabolus encounter, we hoped you would help. The location was close,” Granny Pearl told him.
Pinky came in the portal room.
“Hello, Sharon, I hope you are well.”
“Hi, Granny Pearl,” said Sharon, facing the portal. “Yes, I am okay. Have you got another assignment for us?”
Pinky sat at Church’s desk while Granny Pearl explained, “A psychic surge emitted from a split in the fabric of our world, hitting the mortal world. Although extremely rare and usually harmless, it was the first time that a surge hit someone who was injured. Because of this, the mortal died, entering our world before his time. We returned the soul but he now has the gift and unprepared. We sent a Spirit Guide to make contact, but a mortal intervention’s needed, as the newly gifted one doesn’t seem to get on with the Guide we sent.”
Church nodded at Pinky, who smiled.
“Yeah, it sounds simple enough. No problem Gran, give me the details.”
* * *
People inundated the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital wanting to see the wonder patient. Journalists waited for the story from the man who had been clinically dead for almost 20 minutes and came back. The head of the hospital restricted the number of visitors, only allowing close friends and relatives.
The boxer settled into a private ward. Although still attached to monitors, he was free of the tubes and drips, so he could move around the room.
‘I’m bored,’ he thought, ‘I hope I’m not here long, and the voices in my head stop annoying me.’ His thoughts interrupted by the odour of onions filling the room and he sighed, ‘Oh, not again’ he thought.
“Hello, laddie,” said a Scottish voice.
“Piss off, Hamish,” shouted the boxer.
“Now laddie, dunae be like that,” said the voice. “I have something important to tell yee.”
“Don’t you always…Spirits, Guides, the gift; always important, but only a load of bollocks. Anyway, you are only my imagination because I may have brain damage, the doctor told me,” said the fighter and yelled. “Now bugger off.”
“Ach, jest listen to me fer one last time, and then I’ll be oot of your life forever,” said Hamish’s spirit.
“Good, because I used to like onions until your stink turned up.”
Hamish, the Spirit Guide, spoke to the boxer for several minutes and gave him some instructions. The boxer wanting to get rid of the annoying voice in his head and get back to enjoying onions.
Twilight eased out the sun to take over its night shift. The boxer sat at the window of his private hospital room watching this daily cosmic battle unfold. He had never noticed before, the wonderful, simple things that happen daily on our little blue planet. Because of his near-death experience, he did not intend to let anything, however insignificant, pass unnoticed.
A nurse came into his room to tell him that he had two visitors and asked if they could come in.
“They said you were expecting them,” said the nurse.
“Yes, I am,” he said, “Let them in please.”
A middle-aged man and a young woman entered the room and went over to the fighter. Ryan felt confused; he had seen people bathed in white lights but put that down to his head injury. Now he wasn’t so sure and gaped as the pair approached. He saw the girl had a crimson aura radiating around her, while the man’s looked like a rainbow.
“Hello, my name is Church, and this is Pinky. You must be Ryan… and a tad bit confused,” said Church.
Ryan nodded his head and turning pale, said, “Am I going crazy, as all this sounds unbelievable,” He looked at the pair and mumbled, “but I suppose you two being here like Hamish said you would be made it credible. Although, a tad bit confused, was a bloody understatement.” He pointed at Pinky and continued, “You are the same colour as me. He then pointed at Church, “apart from me and you two, everyone else has a white glow.”
Pinky looked gooey-eyed at Ryan’s muscular figure. ‘He’s a bit of alright.’ She thought as Church said, “We are special.” He smiled at Ryan and his tone soothed and reassured him as Church continued, “I’ll explain things to you and know you have a lot of questions.”
Church explained about the spirit world, the gift, Guides, and Keepers, along with their role as Paranormal Assisted Treasure Hunters.
The conversation went on for over an hour, with Church explaining and Ryan asking question after question. Ryan told him that Hamish had given him the same information, but it sounded ludicrous coming from a voice in his head called Hamish. Ryan now felt guilty about the times he had been rude to Hamish.
“You’re bloody lucky,” Pinky told him, “We had to go through far worse. You had one spirit Guide; normally we have many voices trying to get through at the start, not to mention the blinding headaches. It felt like a flock of birds pecking my head until my guardian angel explained things and helped me.” She smiled at Church and told Ryan, “My Spirit Guide auntie sent Church to rescue me three years ago and he’s here to help you too, Ryan Clark.”
Church felt Ryan’s emotion change from fear and confusion to comfort and reassurance. He sensed that he was still unconvinced, so said, “I know you’re still confused and have a lot more questions. I also know you are hungry and want a cheese sandwich, so we will continue this conversation tomorrow morning.”
Ryan, although taken aback about the sandwich, it confirmed he was dealing with someone special but felt weary and ask them to come the next day.
A nurse came into the room with Ryan’s medication and noticed Church and Pinky getting ready to leave.
“We’ll see you in the morning Ryan” Said Church. Pinky mumbled under her breath about him being a sexy man, as she followed Church outside, closing the door behind her.
Ryan felt contented as he swallowed his medication.
“Any chance of a sandwich?” he asked.
The nurse smiled. “I’m sure the kitchen will make an exception for the ‘wonder’ patient,” she chuckled and asked, “What would you like in it?”
Ryan paused, smiled, and said, “Cheese and Hamish.”
“What?”
“Sorry, I meant cheese and onion,” said Ryan, grinning.
* * *
Church and Pinky stepped into the warm summer night and checked into a local bed and breakfast.
The next morning, Church, Pinky, and Ryan reconvened in the hospital room.
Church sensed Ryan’s anxiety.
After a long discussion, Ryan fell silent. He’d had the answers to most of his concerns, except for one, so he asked,
“What can I do with this power, and how do I use it to make a living? Do I work as some sort of fortune-teller at the local fair? What use is it? My boxing career is finished. I would never pass another medical.”
There was silence as Church considered Ryan’s quandary. He was older than others who had received the gift, so Church wondered if he could accept this new power.
Pinky broke the awkward silence,
“Why doesn’t he come and work with us Church?” she asked.
Church thought for a moment and decided that they could certainly use some muscle, as some of his initial contacts had not gone as expected.
Church nodded, smiled, and said, “What do you think Ryan? Do you want to come and work with us at PATH, now that you know what we do?”
Ryan rubbed his chin.
“What’s the pay like?” he asked.
Pinky chuckled and said, “What pay?”
Church smiled and shrugged, “I have never considered pay.” He said, “We live well, and if either of us wanted anything, we went out and bought it.”
“Live well, does that mean plenty of food?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” said Pink, adding, “Church is a great cook.”
Ryan smiled and Church sensed another emotion coming from him, as he chuckled and said, “It sounded more like a family.”
Pinky and Church nodded as they smiled at him.
Ryan was 29 years old. A boxer from an early age, he spent most of his time with trainers and other boxers. He had been lodging with Gus above the boxing gym for four years and had no contact with his family for some time
“Hmm, I get discharged today. Can I think about your offer and let you know later?” Ryan asked.
“Of course Ryan, take your time… it’s a big decision,” said Church, but he already knew the answer.
* * *
Ryan put away his clothes that he had earlier collected from the gym. When they first arrived at the quaint old cottage, Ryan expected Lurch Adams to answer the door and fight off cobwebs, but felt pleasantly surprised by its plush, modern interior. Ryan liked his room, with a large T.V. and music system, an en-suite bathroom and Jacuzzi, he felt at home. He looked out of the window at the large tree and bushes surrounding the cottage. ‘This place was well hidden, I wonder where little red riding hood hangs out?’ he chuckled.
Church told Ryan to settle in, while he cooked them all something to eat. Ryan unpacked his belongings and caught a whiff of pleasing aromas.
‘Yummy.’ he thought, ‘Church must be cooking a roast dinner.’
He sniffed the air, trying to distinguish the smells. ‘Hmm… Brussels sprouts and onions, I hope there’s a roast chicken to go with that.’ he thought.
There came a knock on his door. Pinky popped her head in and said, “One of the family’s here to meet you, and she’s brought a friend of yours along to say hello.”
Ryan looked puzzled and said, “I didn’t hear anyone knocking at the front door.”
Pinky chuckled as she and Ryan headed for the portal room. The PATH team was now complete.
PATH RC389: Gift for the dead: 2011: Case Closed.
9
Life doesn’t forgive weakness.
What remained of the German population felt terrified. The war had been over for several months, and the conquering Allies were dividing the country. The Soviet Bloc carved a sizable chunk for itself, with America and its European counterparts splitting up the rest. Berlin was a city in ruins. Brick and stone carcasses were all that remained of the once-splendid metropolis. The vile stench of decaying corpses and stagnant sewerage hung over the city like noxious smog. The people and their lands were now in a tug-of-war between the victorious powers. Many stories of atrocities filtered through about maltreatment of the German citizens. The Allies pillaged what they could get their hands on and the Russians mercilessly raped and murdered German women in revenge for the mistreatment of Russian women and the atrocities caused by the German army upon their people.
The shabby overcrowded hospital ward bustled with activity. American soldiers and medics brought in wounded from the sporadic skirmishes around the city, with German patients shoved out to make room for them.
The Berlin hospital had been more fortunate than most, as it was only partially destroyed in the blitz bombings, leaving certain sections functional. It bustled with activity 24 hours a day.
Martina suckled her infant and, along with her husband Stefan, observed all the activity. They wondered how long it would be before they would also be thrown out, having already been there for almost a month. Doctor Rudolf Flanman had been protecting them since he discovered their infant son had a mild case of asthma, although the infant always seemed healthy to his parents. The doctor fended off any attempts to remove them as he and the medical staff referred to their child as the ‘miracle’ baby. This situation was ideal for Martina and Stefan, with their home destroyed in the blitz. Stefan had slept on a thin mattress under Martina’s bed, sharing her meagre rations. Dr Rudolf Flanman was a rotund, bespectacled man, with patches of grey hair on either side of his otherwise bald head. He had a large grey beard and protruding uneven teeth, which made him look a cross between the Nutty Professor and Santa Claus. Flanman looked to be in his mid-sixties, and his jovial demeanour made it easy for him to gain his patients’ confidence. Martina and Stefan liked and trusted this dependable medical man and his judgment.
The couple had a black-and-white photograph taped to Martina’s headboard that showed Martina smiling as she held their baby son, who now looked content as he suckled on his mother’s breast.
Two-armed American G.I.’s and a civilian came into the ward and went to Martina’s bed. The officer, dressed in a beige and brown dress uniform, and the civilian in a grey suit, went over to Martina’s bedside, while the N.C.O. in combat fatigues, closed the privacy curtain around the bed and stayed outside to stand guard.
“What do you want?” stammered Stefan, putting his hand on his wife’s leg.
The officer took a folder from a leather briefcase while the man in the suit told the couple, “This is Lieutenant Sykes, and my name is Max. I am an interpreter.” He said and looked at Stefan and asked, “Are you, Professor Stefan Adolf Schuler?”
“Yes, I am,” replied Stefan.
“Do you speak English professor?” lieutenant Sykes asked.
Stefan looked at the large American officer and replied, “Yes, a little.”
“Good, that’ll make it easier,” said the lieutenant and smiled at the brilliant young engineering professor.
Martina, feeling embarrassed, covered herself, removed the infant from her breast and wrapped the baby in a blanket.
Lieutenant Sykes opened the folder marked ‘Operation Paperclip,’ he took out a document, showed it to Stefan, and asked, “Is this the project that you were involved with?”
Stefan studied the document.
“Yes, I worked on that project,” he said, and with a quake in his voice, asked, “Why?”
Sykes ignored the question and ordered, “You and your family have to come with us now, professor.”
A commotion outside the curtain interrupted them.
“What’s happening Sergeant?” yelled Sykes.
“Sir, a nurse is insisting she comes in to attend to the baby. He needs his treatment.”
“Tell her to wait,” ordered Sykes, and after putting the folder back in his case, called back to the sergeant, “Okay, tell her to come in.”
A nurse came behind the curtain and glared at Sykes. ‘Wow!’ thought Sykes ‘She’s a sight for sore eyes.’ he smiled at the nurse who frowned at him and spoke to a now relieved looking Martina and Stefan in German.
She then snapped at Sykes in English, “What is happening? What do you want with my patient?”
“And you are?” asked Sykes, gazing into the nurse’s blue eyes.
“I’m staff nurse Steffi Beike, and this is my patient,” she curtly replied and put down a tray containing medicines and ointments.
“My name is Lieutenant Sykes ma’am. I need to take the professor’s family with me. American doctors will now take care of them.”
The angry nurse gave Martina a small glass of dark brown medicine to drink while she checked the baby’s vital signs. She then rubbed ointment on the now wailing infant’s chest, and while Martina tried to settle her baby, nurse Steffi glared at Sykes and stormed out.
* * *
* * *
General Andy ‘Bash’ Brownlow stood in front of the thirty-five people in the room in the bombed offices of the Reichstag. The audience comprised of men, women, children, and one sleeping baby. General Brownlow, having lost many of his soldiers in battle, loathed the Germans.
With Max translating, the abrupt General told them they would relocate to the United States. He explained how, as they were the top specialists in their respected fields, their talents and expertise would now work for Uncle Sam under the top-secret operation known as ‘Operation Paperclip.’
The small crowd mumbled and fidgeted as they listened to Bash as he told them what would be expected of them, although he explained little else, appearing irritated having to wait for Max to translate.
After twenty minutes he said, “You will leave tomorrow morning and taken to the port of Lubek. From there you will sail to the U.S. to start new lives.”
The audience gasped as Max translated and then the General gave them a stark warning,
“Until you land on U.S soil, you are persona non-grata. We want you to help us, but we do not need you, so if have any thoughts about being invaluable…don’t. You’re all expendable.”
The audience became confused, frightened, and sceptical, but they sat and listened whilst Max translated.
While Stefan kept his arm around his wife and son to comfort them, he looked around the room and saw a few of his colleagues. Amongst them were Weirner Von Braun and Wilheim Jungert, both rocket scientists who had worked on the V2 rocket programme alongside him.
General Brownlow ordered the officers to take care of the details before he stormed out of the room.
Lieutenant Sykes, came over to the family, smiled, and said, “I am your liaison officer and assigned to handle your paperwork. Please follow me.”
Sykes accompanied the Schuler’s through the various departments. An American army doctor examined the baby, but after finding no sign of asthma, he told them that their infant was a normal, healthy baby. This made Martina and Stefan angry although they said nothing to the American doctor or Sykes.
They spoke to each other in German, “These Americans neither know nor care about the German people. Our son has asthma and they know it,” said Martina as she smiled at the doctor.
They knew that they had no other option but to accept the fact they were now of a second-class, hated race.
Other families and single men kept arriving at different times throughout the day.
The men issued old black suits, with grey skirts and white blouses for the women. Shorts, blazers, and blouses for the children.
After being ushered through different departments throughout the day, by mid-afternoon, Lieutenant Sykes, Martina, and Stefan now sat in an office around a small desk.
Sykes took a folder from his leather case with ‘Joseph & Jane Wolffe’ written on the front. Sykes decided Stefan knew enough English that he did not need a translator. He opened the folder containing papers and documents relating to the couple, telling them, “You will no longer be known as Martina and Stefan Schuler.” He slid papers and documents to the couple and said, “You are now Joseph and Jane Wolffe.”
The Schuler’s looked at their new identity papers. Sykes was about to explain a little about what work Joseph would do in the USA and where they would live; when he looked at the baby.
“Goddamn!” he exclaimed, then read the folder again, and noticed something amiss. He looked at the couple and smiled. “There is nothing in mentioned in here about the baby,” he said, feeling stupid over how he could have overlooked this.
Sykes sighed and thought for a moment. He knew with all the turmoil in Germany, paperwork was the last thing on any Germans mind, but the U.S. government had made exceptions for anyone under Operation Paperclip.
“That won’t be too much of a problem.” he said, “I’ll just make him a U.S birth certificate.”
Sykes left the office and returned a few minutes later with a blank document. He sat and with his pen in hand asked,
“Okay, “What do you call him?”
The couple had not considered the baby’s name with all the chaos going on around them. They looked at each other, then at Sykes.
Stefan shrugged and said, “We haven’t yet chosen a name”
After an awkward silence as the three smiled at one another, Stefan broke the silence and asked, “What is your first name, Lieutenant Sykes?”
Lieutenant Sykes, looking confused, said, “George… George Sykes.”
Stefan looked at his wife, who nodded.
“George it is then,” Stefan said and continued, “George Wolffe.”
Lieutenant George Sykes smiled as he wrote the name George Wolffe in the relevant boxes.
Stefan and Martina told him George’s date of birth and as they were due to settle in Pennsylvania once in America, he wrote Newtown as the place of birth. After filling in the form, he left the room and went to another office for it to be typed and authorised.
He returned to the room and told them about Stefan’s new job and their new home until a woman arrived with a typed and stamped U.S. birth certificate.
“That is all we need to do here.” Said Sykes and looking at his watch told them, “I will take you to your sleeping quarters. You need to get some rest, it will be a long day, and you have an early start,” said Sykes.
He stood up and shook Stefan’s hand, smiled at Martina and said, “Please remember professor, from this point on, you are Joseph and Jane Wolffe.” He tickled the sleeping baby’s chin, and added, “And let’s not forget, baby George Wolffe.” He smiled and told them, “Take good care of yourselves and good luck in the U.S.A.”
* * *
George Sykes felt bored. He’d had a tiring day escorting and interviewing people, although he felt good about the new Wolffe family.
‘A little highlight, to make a shitty job and a monotonous day worthwhile,’ he thought while driving his Willy Jeep around the rubble of Berlin’s pot-holed roads. Several streetlights powered by emergency generators illuminated the road. Sykes felt lonely and homesick but did not want to return to the barracks yet, so he stopped at a small café near the Berlin hospital. Seeing lights piercing through the boarded-up building, he thought. ‘I’ll grab a coffee real quick.’ He turned off the engine and went inside the small café.
People were sitting down chatting and drinking. The talking ceased when George entered and an uneasy silence fell upon the café as Sykes walked to a small empty table and took a seat. He appeared to be the focus of attention as the customers glared at him. He tried to catch the waitress’s attention, who he noticed was a little overweight with harsh features.
‘A veritable pig in knickers,’ thought George and chuckled.
Determined to get a cup of coffee, he raised his hand and shouted, “Coffee over here, please.”
The German customers looked on in disgust at this brash Yank. Sykes noticed that most of the customers wore either doctor’s white coats or nurse’s uniforms. Deciding that he’d had enough of rude Germans after his run-in earlier at the hospital with the pushy, but beautiful nurse, and realising a coffee would not be forthcoming, he sighed. He went ignored as the chatter in the café resumed.
‘If my coffee ever arrived, it would taste like bilge water, and one of the Krauts would probably have spat in it,’ thought George, ‘I might as well go back to his barracks to grab a cup of coffee there.’ He got off the chair and walked towards the door.
“Hello Lieutenant,” said a voice behind him.
He swung around to face the nurse from earlier.
“You aren’t leaving already?” she asked and smiled.
“Hello nurse erm …?” said George, embarrassed.
“Steffi,” she said and pointed to a table in the corner where a balding strange-looking doctor sat. “Please, come join us, lieutenant,” she said.
“Please… Call me George, and no, but thanks. I will call it a night and get a coffee at the barracks,” he said, thinking how amazing this woman looked and smelled as he told her. “Besides, the service here isn’t too great.” He looked over at the waitress leant on the counter.
Steffi barked an order at ‘the veritable pig in knickers’ who rushed behind the counter.
“Your coffee is on its way George.” smiled Steffi. She took hold of George’s hand, led him over to her table, and introduced him to Dr Rudolf Flanman.
* * *
A fleet of black saloon cars with a white star painted on each side pulled up at the dockside. It was mid-afternoon and it had taken almost nine hours to drive the ‘Operation Paperclip’ party 320 kilometres to the port of Lubek. They had spent the previous night sleeping on canvas stretchers, cramped together in a large bomb shelter under the demolished remains of the bombed-out Reichstag building. Scientists, engineering specialists, and their families were woken early morning, before being ushered into the fleet of the commandeered German vehicles.
With American military personnel as their drivers and escorts, they drove through the wreckage and shells of the former buildings of Berlin, before getting onto the open roadways heading west. Although the distance should have taken four to five hours, they had to navigate around bombed unusable roads and the many roadblocks and checkpoints set up by the Allies. The noisy old saloons smelled of exhaust fumes. Jane, Joseph, and baby George sat in the rear of the saloon car, with Jane having to waft fumes away from baby Georges face as the infant wailed constantly.
