The Communists had to be shown that I was a power within my own right and they messed with me and mine at their own dire risk.
I would fly into Wolfsburg, Germany, and then walk the one hundred miles to Potsdam. Leaving tomorrow morning I would arrive at Potsdam on Saturday, get the lay of the land on Sunday, and take my shot on Monday morning.
Herr Konig was about to have a very bad start to his week.
Trying to avoid any flags Mr. Hamilton chartered a light aircraft to fly me to Leipzig. I would have the flight plan changed en route. By doing this no one in Germany would know I was there until I had to show my passport.
This should give me enough time to get out of the area.
I should have known that Mum wouldn’t let the plan stand that way. She presented me with a Spanish passport with a different name, Jose Hernandez, it had my picture, the same as my other passports.
“Don’t get in trouble, it will only stand up to so much scrutiny. The Germans should never know you have entered the country until it is time to leave. Then use your diplomatic one.”
“Yes Ma’am, no littering.
“Smartass.”
I then thanked her profusely, gave her and Dad a hug. The kids were off playing somewhere and we didn’t want to alarm them.
I had packed my Trapper Nelson backpack with basic gear. There was a more complete first aid kit. flashlight, compass, map, fire starters, flint, five pairs of dry socks, and a pair of tennis shoes, two pairs of pants and two shirts, two tee shirts, a waterproof poncho, and a jacket.
Dried camping food for a week, two canteens of water, and a ground cloth along with a sleeping bag and ten power binoculars. I also included a hunting knife and a hand hatchet and a new Hasselblad camera with a telephoto lens.
These along with my six-foot war bow and yard-long arrows came to forty pounds. Not the lightest weight but very doable for me.
I flew to London where my charter was waiting. The pilot was completely uncurious about what I was up to. I don’t know if he didn’t care or had been warned off.
We arrived at Wolfsburg in the late afternoon, I would have two hours to find shelter in the woods. Customs was no problem, I only spoke Spanish. They had to call another official over to talk to me.
He took one look at my passport, stamped it, and said, “Buenas Noches.”
I thank him and left, I took a cab to a park just outside of town. The cabbie as very talkative. It didn’t help him because I was still in Spanish only mode while he only spoke German, or at least that was the only language he used.
I gave him a modest tip, trying not to be remembered. As a last-minute thought as I got out of the cab, I pointed towards France and said, “Paris?”
“Ja.”
That was my big effort at misdirection. When the cab was out of sight I followed a trail into the woods.
I estimated that I was only a couple of miles from East Germany and that I wouldn’t get much more distance tonight so I bedded down under one of the many fir trees, staying safely in West Germany.
In the morning after my morning ritual, I made a cup of instant coffee, ate some dry cereal, and headed out due east.
I kept off the paths and have no idea when I crossed the border. It is surprising how good of a time you can make when you aren’t tired, hungry, wet, and wounded.
My plan was to follow a railroad mainline to Stendal then cut southeast to Premntz. I found the mainline with no problem.
When I came to the top of a small hill I saw a wonderful sight, a slow freight going uphill on its way through Stendal.
Any kid from Bellefontaine, Ohio, knows how to hop a freight car. They may call them wagon-lits here but a boxcar is a boxcar.
If there was a caboose with a conductor on board it was out of sight around a bend. I slid down the hill as fast as I could, hopped a car with an open door, and had a nice ride for the next three hours.
I jumped off as the train started to slow as it came into Stendal. I made certain to check for any watchers before getting off. The doors on both sides of the car were open so I was able to get out on the south side and book it over to the woods.
I was now over a day ahead of schedule and still had half a day left. The only downside to the trip had been the smell. It was like a load of cabbage had gone bad.
That must have been why the doors were open. The Europeans closed the car doors all the time, whereas in America if they were empty they were open. I wondered if that was a legacy of the Great Depression?
All those thoughts aside I checked my compass and headed toward Premnbtz. I had 70 miles down on my 100-mile trip and almost half a day to go.
I had a couple of close encounters with other hikers in the woods. I heard the first group before I could see them so I was able to move further away and never did see them.
I stayed off the marked trail from then on. The next group I met when I topped a rise. We came face to face.
It was a family, mother, father, and two children, a boy, and a girl, both under six. They had backpacks, even the little ones. We stopped and checked each other out.
On a hunch, I got
