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In the Shadow of the Iron Cross

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jackellis1.jpg

Part Ten​

September 2nd 1938, Dunmow, near London, England

Bradley crept into the corridor that separated his room from his father’s office. He had never been in there, but he had to know now. His father was keeping secrets from him, and he was sure the answer was in the office.

Bradley opened the door as silently as he could. It still made a creaking sound that was amplified by the silence of midnight. He tiptoed in, and turned on the light. His father’s office was small and cramped, much like Bradley’s. The most noticeable difference was the walls, which were plastered with pictures of people Bradley had never seen.

A figure sat hunched in the chair. The desk itself was home to hastily scribbled notes, a typewriter, and endless empty alcohol bottles. The figure stirred, and spoke in a voice that commanded respect, despite being clearly that of someone drunk.

“Bradley? Is that you?” his father asked.

Bradley took a step back. Jack Ellis continued talking.

“Of course it’s you. I knew that this day was coming the moment you marched off to training. Although I must admit, I expected Colin to be the first to consciously wander in here. He always was the curious one”.

Bradley reversed his step back, and walked toward his father.

“You knew I’d come?” he asked. His father simply downed more alcohol.

“Dad, I asked you a question”.

Jack stared at the wall. Bradley traced his line of sight to a lone picture of his father and a man in German uniform. It was dated on March 3rd 1921. The man was the same age as Jack and both had the same, solemn, smile.

“Who is that dad?” Bradley asked.

“Ehrlichmann, Manfred Ehrlichmann”.

“Why are you shaking hands with a German dad?”

Jack seemed to realize what he was talking about, as he quickly took on a much colder demeanour.

“Bradley. Go back to your room. Now”.

“Dad...”

“Go and spend time with Miss Roosevelt or something. Just get out of my office. I’ve told you time and time again you’re not allowed to come in here. Get out”.

Bradley began backing out of the room when he realized what his father had just said.

“Roosevelt?” He asked incredulously.

“Get out!”
 
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LeCare said:
Interesting. The roosevelts in a small english town. Things are getting ever more intertwined.

This would make a good TV series: In the Shadow of the Iron cross - Mondays on HBO :)
Click to expand...

They are indeed.

Being a fan of anything HBO's Spielberg/Hanks duo produces, that compliment means a lot to me. Thank you. :)
 
Nice style. Now I have to start to follow this AAR too.
 
CptEasy said:
Nice style. Now I have to start to follow this AAR too.
Click to expand...

Thank you.

Darn the abundance of good AARs. :D

PS. I think I'll update again tomorrow. This is what you get when the WritAAR has way too much free time, and no clear update schedule. :p
 
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Part Eleven​

September 3rd 1938, Dunmow, near London, England

Bradley walked into the Winchester, and immediately headed for Mr. Robinson. He stopped at the counter, leaning over the cashier. Mr. Robinson moved to place himself between Bradley and the liquors.

“I thought I told you that I don’t want you to end up like Jack Ellis”.

Bradley smiled.

“I’m not here for drink. I’d like to know which room the Roosevelts are staying in”.

“The Roosevelts? You mean the Yanks?”

“Yes. The Yanks”.

Mr. Robinson smiled the same mischievous smile Bradley had seen the other day.

“Well look at little Bradley Ellis. I remember when you were still afraid of catching cooties from the girls over at Notley Primary. The Yanks are in the third room to the left”.

Bradley gave Mr. Robinson one of his last pounds, and headed up the stairs. His steps seemed surprisingly loud. He arrived at the third door, and listened to a steady clicking coming from inside. He stood there for a while, fist in the air, preparing to knock, until he recognized the sound as coming from a typewriter.

He gave the door three good knocks, feeling fairly confident. He waited impatiently for the sound of feet, but none came. Bradley was about to leave when a voice called from inside.

“Come in! I may not walk, but I can still hear!”

Bradley, encouraged by the friendly voice, tried the doorknob. It clicked in place, and he stepped in. There was a small coatroom, from which it was easy to see the desk and typewriter. A man sat at the typewriter that Bradley, having been taught by his father to always know what was going on in the “Industrial Heaven of America”, knew more than well. It was Franklin D. Roosevelt, President of the United States.

“Mr. President, I’m honoured to meet you”, Bradley began, taking off his hat.

“Please. At the very most, call me Mr. Roosevelt. I’m not your president. I trust you’re here to either talk for Chamberlain, or ask if you can take my niece on a date”.
“I’m here on the latter business, Mr. Roosevelt”.

“Yes. Her father insisted I bring her over here on my visit. He seems convinced that the British will treat her better than any American boy”.

Bradley felt his heart miss a beat. Was he to take Roosevelt’s answer as a no? His fears were finally assuaged when Roosevelt began smiling widely.

“Not that I don’t believe Brits are less capable of treating girls well. I’m in charge of this business for now, so go ahead young Mr...”

“Ellis, Bradley Ellis. Thank you Mr. Roosevelt. Where would I find Lillian around this time?”

“London I believe, probably in Leicester Square, but I’d like to ask you something Bradley”.

“What is it Mr. Roosevelt?”

“What branch of the military are you in?”

Bradley was surprised. He wasn’t even wearing his uniform at the moment. All he had was the clothes he wore to church, yet Roosevelt had known he was military.

“Secret Intelligence Service, Mr. Roosevelt”.

“Excellent. I’d like to talk to you now, but I understand if you’re in a hurry. When you have the time, come talk to me. I’m here all month on diplomatic matters”.

Roosevelt smiled widely and waved as Bradley put his hat back on and left. The moment the door closed, Bradley could hear the sound of the typewriter resume.
 
Why would he be allowed to meet PotUS alone in some British hotel?
Unofficial state visit? The 'Yanks' standing for the president and his niece? Dear lord... :p
 
Enewald said:
Why would he be allowed to meet PotUS alone in some British hotel?
Unofficial state visit? The 'Yanks' standing for the president and his niece? Dear lord... :p
Click to expand...

I'm going to pretend I wasn't completely baffled by this. :D
 
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Part Twelve​

September 3rd 1938, London, England

Bradley stepped of the train, surveying Leicester Square for any sign of Lillian. He soon realized what an impossible task awaited him. The square was jam packed with people, all rushing in and out of shops. He sat down on a nearby bench, wondering how he was going to go about finding her.

While sitting, it dawned on him that Lillian had told Bradley that he’d have to talk to her father, but Roosevelt had just called her his niece. He sank deeper into thought, but was interrupted by a pat on the shoulder. He looked up to see Colin, who was accompanied by Lillian.

“Colin? What are you doing here?” He asked, utterly bewildered.

“Lil asked if I could show her around London and, being a gentleman, I accepted”.

“She asked you? You don’t even know London”.

“Hey! I know the places that matter!”

The brewing argument was cooled by Lillian butting in.

“Boys, there’s no need to fight. I think Bradley can take it from here Colin”.

Colin looked at her with the look of a wounded puppy. Bradley got up from the bench, and smiled victoriously at Colin. Colin sighed, muttering something about Yanks, and started counting his money.

“Well, I’ve got enough money for the train home. See you some other time Lil, and Bradley, I won’t forget this”, he said, pointing meaningfully at Bradley and Lillian, before walking toward the train station at a brisk pace.

Bradley turned to Lillian.

“You asked Colin to show you around London? He comes here once a month, if he’s lucky. I on the other hand…”

He was interrupted by Lillian putting her index finger on his lips.

“I didn’t ask him to show me around. We happened to catch the same train, and I didn’t have the heart to say no”.

Bradley nodded a few times, before remembering the question that he had been asking himself when Colin interrupted him.

“Why did you say I had to ask your father? I was at the Winchester a while ago, and the only American there was the President, who called you his niece”.

Bradley stood there silently. Lillian had a look on her face that seemed to promise an answer that would leave him more confused than before.

“I’m sorry about that Bradley. My father and uncle are so similar, that even I have trouble recognizing which is which. Don’t worry about it too much, you spoke to my uncle. The telltale sign is the obsessive writing, and polio”.

Bradley took a moment to digest the information. He was still confused, but at least he had some sort of idea as to what was going on. He then smiled, offering his arm. Lillian took it, and they began walking down Station Road.

“So, can I call you Lil?”

“Only if I get to call you Brad”.

“Deal”.
 
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LeCare said:
I already have about 12*10^9 conspiracy theories in waiting again, but for the time being I will not bother you with them.

So keep on going :)
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Please, bother me. I need to something to plagiarize. :p

Enewald said:
Now that is fishy. Same train.
Probably full of foreign spies.
Click to expand...

There is something rotten in the state of Britain. :D
 
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Part Thirteen​

September 3rd 1938, Dunmow, near London, England

The train screeched as it stopped at Dunmow. Bradley got up, offering his hand to Lillian, who took it. They stepped onto the platform just in time, as the train blew its whistle and began moving again.

“Where’s the train’s final stop?” Lillian asked.

It dawned on Bradley that he didn’t actually know. He had never gone farther than Dunmow. Unwilling to show his lack of knowledge, Bradley decided to create an answer.

“Oh well… It goes all the way up to Little Notley, and then it… it… turns back. It’s on a constant circuit”.

Lillian gave him a disapproving look. He smiled back awkwardly.

“I guess it’s time to go home. After all, it is 9 PM”.

Bradley looked at his watch. It was indeed 9 O’clock in the evening.

“Let me escort you home”, he said, offering his arm once more.

They walked down the street with a spring in their step. Bradley couldn’t help but notice Mrs. Aldershot narrowing her eyes to slits when they passed. He was pretty sure the old lady had never forgiven him for trampling on her prize begonia when he was seven, even though Bradley had done so for good reason. Mrs. Aldershot had clearly violated his rights when she took his little wooden gun.

They reached the Winchester, and Lillian let go of Bradley’s arm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

Bradley nodded silently as she turned and went up the stairs. He turned around and headed for home. All the way down the road, Mrs. Aldershot continued to stare at him. It was as if she believed staring long enough would bring back the dead begonia. Bradley stared back, trying to make his eyes as narrow as hers.

He finally reached his home and opened the door. Jack Ellis was standing in the middle of the corridor. He did not look happy.

“What is it dad?”

Bradley’s father stayed silent.

“Dad? Do you want to talk to me?”

“Of course I do!” Jack Ellis shouted, exploding with rage.

Bradley was utterly bewildered. What could have made his father so angry?

“You were out with the American. Weren’t you?”

“Yes. I was. I thought you knew I’d be out with Lillian. You told me to do it”.

“Told you? I told you to do that? When?”

“Last night, when I came into your office”.

“You came into my office last night?”

“Yeah. In the middle of the night. You told me about Hans Ehrlichmann”.

Jack froze up. He took a few steps back and put his palm on his forehead. Finally he looked at Bradley, his expression one of panic.

“I told you about Hans?” He asked Bradley.

“Yeah. You showed me the picture from 1921”.

“I just showed you the picture? Nothing else?”

“Not really. Just the picture”.

Jack stumbled to his chair. He sat down in it and waved his hand in front of his face.

“Got get some food from your mother Bradley”.

Bradley did as told, moving past his father as slowly as he could. He entered the kitchen where his mother was making toast.

“Don’t scare your father like that”.

“Scare him? I just told him the truth. Mom, do you know who Hans Ehrlichmann is?”.

His mother turned back to the toast.

“He is… was a friend of your father’s. I’m not going to say any more”.

She passed him the toast, and left the kitchen. Bradley stared at the toast in his hand. It didn’t have any butter on it.
 
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LeCare said:
Ohh no.
Fast, fetch the conspiracist arithmethics:
Hm...
Old Women+Dead Plants
Hm....
Calculating...
Claculating...
= NKVD!
Click to expand...

:rofl:

I like this kind of math.

Enewald said:
Hans Ehrlichman, aka Hitler? ;)
Click to expand...

:eek:

PS. I noticed that I had made Levinson say the plane leaves at 10 PM when it was supposed to be 10 AM (facepalm), so I fixed that.
 
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Part Fourteen​

September 4th 1938, Dunmow, near London, England

Bradley let Lillian go in the train first. He was trying to be a gentleman by doing this, but couldn’t help looking at her rear as he ascended the stairs. He pulled his eyes away as she turned around. Lillian had a look on her face that seemed to say “I know what you did there”. Bradley blushed, and put his foot on the first step as the train blew its whistle.

They stepped into a carriage occupied by a familiar man. Churchill looked up from his paper and smiled.

“Bradley! Good to see you, and who is this beautiful young lady?”

“Lillian…” Bradley began, but stopped himself just as he was about to say Roosevelt.
The silence seemed to last for a lifetime before Lillian said her surname was Smith. Churchill’s smile grew wider.

“I know who you are Miss Roosevelt”.

Lillian and Bradley were both socked, and exchanged puzzled glances.

“You didn’t notice me on the platform at Dunmow? No. I’d imagine you didn’t. You were so busy staring at each other”.

Bradley and Lillian sat down as Churchill folded up his newspaper.

“Mr. Churchill… Winston…” Bradley began, voicing both his and Lillian’s thoughts.

“Why were you in Dunmow, and how do you know Lillian?”

“I had a meeting with Franklin. I won’t say anymore about why I was in Dunmow. However, I’d imagine that hiding your identity would be easier if you didn’t wear the family crest in your hat Miss Roosevelt”.

Lillian quickly grabbed her hat and ripped off the small brooch attached to the right side. She put it in her handbag. Once she had done his, Lillian looked sheepishly around the carriage.

“So Bradley, when are you leaving for Germany?” Churchill asked, turning the conversation to the same place as the last time he had spoken with Bradley.

“Is this really the time and place to talk about this?” Bradley asked.

Churchill sighed deeply.

“The President of the United States shares certain views of mine, and I’d imagine Miss Roosevelt won’t tell on us to Templewood. Will you?” He said, turning to Lillian. She shook her head.

Bradley felt the same sense of dread engulf him as last time he was on a train with Churchill. He gathered courage as Churchill turned toward him. He was expecting a question when Churchill got up and headed to the carriage door. As he was leaving, Churchill turned to Bradley.

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Which train are you taking?”

Bradley felt the impulse to lie, but told the truth, saying he was going on the 9 AM train. Churchill nodded and left. Bradley slumped in the seat when Churchill stepped onto the platform by the House of Commons.

“I like him less and less every time we talk” he said, mostly to himself, but Lillian still ran her hand down his arm and comforted him.
 
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