The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

The City of Wiesbaden, Germany, sat north of the Rhine River in the western edge of the country about 100 miles east of Luxembourg. It had been one of the cities fortunate enough to be of little strategic significance during the WWII bombing campaigns by the Allies. Some may feel the word fortunate is not appropriate since almost 20% of the homes in Wiesbaden were destroyed by aerial bombs, but nevertheless a large majority of the buildings in the city survived the war. The central business district was elegant. Known as the Palace Square, it contained several high-spired churches, the former Summer Palace of the King of Prussia and an extravagant hotel and ornate spa known as the Kurhaus built around one of the natural hot springs which dotted the area. All in all, a wonderfully romantic place for Lucy Smith and Mike Jenson to visit for their meeting with Hans Gutlang, the German soldier who had reportedly lifted the front end of a 3-ton half-track off one of his fellow soldiers.

The flight to the Frankfurt military base controlled by the U.S. Army had taken a couple of days. Thankfully, the road trip from the airfield in Frankfurt to Wiesbaden had only required around 45 minutes as both Smith and Jenson were fed up with hours listening to loud engine noise. Everywhere they looked during the drive, the devastation of the war was evident. Hollow shells of buildings, piles of destroyed vehicles and deep holes blasted in the earth seemed to go on for miles. Mike knew what to expect from his training at West Point, but Lucy had enjoyed a protected life in academia, safe in her studies of animals and plants behind the brightly lit walls of university libraries and laboratories. She couldn’t take her eyes off the destruction lining every road.

Jenson knew she was deeply troubled by what she saw. She kept her gloved hands clasped in her lap, her eyes wide and seldom blinking, face emotionless, as they drove through the war-torn countryside. She only relaxed as they arrived in the central plaza of Wiesbaden where the damages from the war were less visible.

It was about 1730 hours when their army green sedan pulled up to the main entrance of the Kurhaus in the cobblestoned central plaza. Gazing about the plaza and entryway, they saw two beautiful, carved stone fountains shooting jets of water into the air. Ornate street lamps created a warm glow. Some children were playing around the nearest fountain, splashing water on each other. A few pigeons pecked around the cobblestones, searching for one last bit of food before it got too dark.

Exiting their car at the hotel entrance, they were greeted by a liveried concierge sporting a gold-ringed monocle. He officiously welcomed them to the hotel. Peering at them with his chin raised so he was looking down his nose, his eyebrow above the monocle highly arched, the concierge said “Willkommen Herr und junge Dame zum Hotel. Ich vertraue Ihrer Reise hier war ohne Schwierigkeiten.” Translated to English, he said, “Welcome, Sir and young lady, to the hotel. I trust your journey here was without difficulties.”

Without skipping a beat, Mike replied, “Ich danke Ihnen sehr. Bitte sammeln unser Gepäck und führen uns an der Rezeption. Wir sind beide müde von unserer langen Reise, und die Dame, bevor unser Abendessen ausruhen möchte.” Translated, he said in perfect German, “Thank you very much. Please gather our luggage and lead us to the front desk. We are both tired from our long trip, and the lady wishes to rest before our evening meal.”

The arch in the concierge’s eyebrow lifted even higher, threatening to disappear into his hairline. He hadn’t expected the American to reply like a native German.

Lucy, amazed by the exchange, looked at Mike with narrow eyes, a sly smile curling up the corners of her lips. She purred, “Well now, aren’t we full of surprises.”

Glancing at her with a sheepish smile, Mike replied, “Kind of a required language course at the academy. These days you never know when you’re going to need it.”

Gathering their luggage, the more respectful concierge preceded them up the wide entry steps and into the grand lobby towards the reception desk. Mike extended his arm to Lucy, and smiling, she took it.

As they entered the hotel arm-in-arm, Mike thought about how pretty Lucy looked. She had changed the style of her dark-black hair to a nice side swing with dramatic curls. He remembered their first meeting when he thought her hairdo reminded him of his mother. There was nothing motherly about her now. She’d even changed her horn-rimmed glasses to a thin wire frame that attracted less attention to her coke bottle thick lenses. He had to admit she was a real looker.

Lucy felt like she was on a date with the most handsome, debonair man she had ever met. The straight-laced graduate of West Point was relaxing a bit, and she liked that very much. Thinking about their trip and its purpose, she mused, “Granted we’re on a top-secret mission funded by the U.S. Government, and granted the mission is of vital importance to the future of the Earth, but damn it why can’t a girl have some fun!”

They got adjoining suites, each with a large sitting area, canopied bed and balconies overlooking the central plaza. Lucy thought her bathroom was large enough to hold her entire apartment back in Washington. Later that evening as she drifted into a dreamless sleep, she couldn’t imagine experiencing a more pleasant day. It was a good thing she wasn’t clairvoyant. If she could have seen what was going to happen the next day, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep a wink.

The next morning over a light breakfast and some of the strongest coffee they had ever tasted, Mike and Lucy planned their meeting with Hans Gutlang.

“You’re sure you have the time and place pinned down?” Lucy asked as she munched on a buttery, brown pastry that melted in her mouth.

Looking up from his notepad, Mike replied, “Yes. The guy I worked through is the US Liaison for German Affairs. I know him personally. If Ben Tippering tells you something, you can count on it.”

Lucy was still unhappy. “But if we run into any trouble, we’re sort of in enemy territory. I feel like we’re on the German’s home field with no protection.”

Reaching over to cover her hand with his, Mike said, “Lucy, stop worrying. I speak the language fluently, and I’ve studied the maps.” Then he smirked and said, “Besides that, remember I’m a highly trained product of the US Military Academy. There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Lucy smiled and shot back, “Yea, Mr. Advertising Exec. If they’re armed with a typewriter and harsh words, I’ll feel real safe.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, Mike retorted, “Hey. Words hurt you know. I’ll give them a tongue-lashing they’ll never forget.”

Lucy laughed because she liked his cute smile and easy humor, but she just couldn’t get rid of a feeling that danger lurked in the war torn back alleys of Wiesbaden.

Forty minutes later they were driving to the agreed rendezvous to meet the alleged German strongman. Lucy marveled at the quaint, narrow streets lined with two and three-story buildings combining markets, cafes, clothing, hardware stores and residences, all mixed together. The architecture was a jumble of Roman and Bavarian influences both charming and foreign all at the same time. Every building suffered from advancing age as well as a greasy layer of smoke and explosion damage from the war. There were cracks in walls and foundations. As they neared the Rhine riverfront and industrial area, everything seemed to get dirtier. Even the sunshine seemed to lose its brightness, and they felt oddly depressed the closer they got to the river.

At last they turned a corner and entered the riverfront roadway known as Biebricher Straße. The righthand side of the road toward the river was lined with a combination of fuel storage facilities, small warehouses and docks where river barges could be loaded and unloaded. The left-hand side of the road was lined with larger storage and manufacturing buildings. Pointing ahead, Mike indicated a long railroad bridge that once spanned the river but was now just a destroyed heap of twisted steel beams and broken stone foundations.

Speaking like a tour guide, he said, “See the big stone building there on the bank of the river? That used to be a 10-story stone castle gate where the railroad left this side and crossed over. The bridge was destroyed when the German army retreated from the Allies. It was called the Emperor Bridge.”

Lucy felt her hands tightening in her lap as she stared at the derelict structure. It was hard for her to grasp the thought processes driving men to commit such horrible acts of destruction.

At that moment, Jim turned left off the road through an open gate into a large, graveled parking lot. A high, wood plank fence bordered three sides of the lot, serving to protect the squat warehouse’s doors and windows from the prying eyes of passersby. Piles of waste metal and wood lined the western side of the fence. A line of rusted, useless cars and large steel pipe casings arranged along the eastern wall spoke silently to the industrial downfall of Germany. Weeds grew everywhere they could get purchase in the gravel, soot and grease covering the lot. Every surface on the building was layered with greasy, black soot. The smell of rotting fish stung their noses.

Exiting the sedan, they stared at the quiet warehouse as they leaned against the hood. Most of the windows were boarded up, giving them the feeling it had been abandoned for a long time. Other than a forlorn tugboat horn blaring in the distance, not a sound could be heard. They hadn’t seen a dog or cat prowling around the lot and not even a pigeon strutted along the roof edges of the warehouse. It was too silent.

A scuff in the small rocks behind them broke the silence. Three men walked through the gate. The man in the center was the largest; fully six and a half feet tall with his open shirt and rolled up sleeves revealing the big chest and arms of a weight lifter. The other two men flanking him were smaller. The one on the right appeared to be about four inches shorter than the leader and the one to the left the shortest at five feet. All of them had the same blond hair with close cropped military-style cuts. Their hands were empty, but they strode with a confidence indicating they had little fear of the man and woman standing near the car.

As they came nearer, Lucy noticed they all had the same gray-blue eyes. “Brothers,” she thought.

The burly leader walked to within six feet of Mike, completely ignoring Lucy. The other two men stationed themselves on each side of the car where they could thwart any attempt at escape. Crossing their arms, they stood like silent statues.

Although the ensuing conversations were spoken in German, I will translate all conversations into English for the convenience of the reader.

“What are you doing here?” the big man asked in a tone indicating he was in no mood for trivialities.

“My companion and I are supposed to meet someone here,” Mike responded.

“You are American,” the big man declared. “I can tell from your clothes and accent and because you are standing in a very poor, very dangerous part of the city where good Germans would never dare visit.”

Lucy nervously glanced at Mike, but he seemed reassuringly calm. Not even a frown line creased his forehead.

“And just who are you?” Mike asked.

Looking first to his right and then to his left at the men standing near him, the big German moved a step closer and replied, “I am Hans Gutlang.” Jerking his thumb back in the direction of the other two men, he said, “The guy over there is my older brother, Manfred. The little one is my brother, Ernst.”

Upon hearing the name, Hans Gutlang, Lucy expelled the breath she had been holding in a loud whoosh. She hadn’t understood a word the men had said, but a person’s name usually stands out in any language. Relief was plain on her face, and the ghost of a smile crept onto her lips.

Slowly raising his hand to his jacket pocket so not to alarm the men, Mike pulled out a piece of paper. It was the German newspaper article describing how a soldier named Hans Gutlang had lifted a massive 3-ton half-track off a fellow soldier who had been run over on a muddy road in France. Handing the article to Gutlang, he said, “This is why we have come so far to meet you. Please read it.”

Glancing at the paper, Gutlang handed it back and said dismissively, “It is true. So what. My friend was sure to die. I did what was necessary. Nothing more.”

Mike knew his next words would spell the difference between the success or failure of this trip. Without Whatsit here to show the man physical evidence of the coming alien invasion, he had to rely on his wits to convince Gutlang to give them a DNA sample. He was sure a physical confrontation with the man would only result in his own hospitalization.

“Mr. Gutlang, the United States Government has determined you are the best example of natural Human muscular strength it has ever found. I have been ordered to retrieve a sample of your genetics to preserve as the best example of the muscular, male body.”

As the last syllable of the sentence left his lips, the big man swiveled his head to the right and left, looking at each of his brothers in turn. All of them began laughing, and Gutlang declared, “What a pile of horse shit!”

At that moment, more men walked through the open gate. There were seven of them. They acted like they owned the place, confidently taking positions blocking exit from the fenced lot. Five of them held either a length of steel pipe or a thick wooden pole resembling a baseball bat. The remaining two held wicked looking knives with 7-inch blades.

A man with large tattoos on his neck who seemed to be the leader shouted, “Traitors working with American swine are what lost us the war!”

Every newcomer nodded, their faces grim death-masks. Lucy had never been so terrified in her life. She couldn’t understand a word of German, but she could hear anger in the voices and the menacing weapons were unmistakable. Seven armed men against four. She knew she was of no use in a fight and poor Mike was a desk jockey, not a fighting soldier. Feeling faint, she grabbed the hood of the car to steady herself.

Without warning, the gang of seven advanced. Two men went after each of the Gutlang brothers, Manfred and Ernst. The remaining three, two with knives and one with a metal pipe, went for the bigger brother, Hans. Lucy felt Mike grab her right arm and pull. Glancing toward him, she saw one of the Chrysallaman ray pistols. Her eyes wide and her lips forming an O, she allowed herself to be pulled back toward the warehouse wall as Mike kept the pistol trained on the men.

The middle sized Gutlang brother, Manfred, sidestepped the swing of a bat towards his head and swung his arm in a clothesline swipe across the adam’s apple of his first assailant. There was a muffled thump, and the bat swinger’s head snapped backwards. The blow was so hard the guy flipped in a backwards somersault and landed in a heap in the gravel. The second man took advantage of the distraction of the bat swinger and clubbed the back of Manfred’s knee as hard as he could with his steel pipe. The knee buckled, and Manfred let out a groan as he dropped and rolled away from his attacker.

Lucy watched Manfred get hit by the pipe, and her eyes darted around the lot desperately seeking a way to escape the confines of the fenced trap. “Everything is happening so fast!” she thought.

The shorter brother, Ernst, crouched down and widened his stance. His head moved back and forth as he tried to keep an eye on both his attackers. The thugs coming at him bore a resemblance to brutish gorillas. Each man had oversized arm and shoulder muscles and inch-long, curly hair covered their arms all the way up to their shoulders and poked out from under their collars. The ugly smiles and the confident looks were clear indications they were bullies who enjoyed preying on smaller men. They spread out to his right and left, trying to position for a simultaneous attack. They edged closer. Ernst crouched down and shuffled backwards against the car trying to use it to protect his back. As he did so, the height of the car hid him making it impossible to see what was happening.

Manfred managed to roll away from his attacker and reach his feet, but it was plain he was unable to put any weight on his right leg. He limped toward the side of the lot where the scrap wood and metal were piled. His attacker leisurely followed him, whacking the pipe he held against his palm.

Hans was suffering the worst of the attacks. The two men with knives slashed at him, sometimes separately, sometimes together. The one with the pipe would jab towards Hans’ body, then swing at his head. The tactic forced Hans to defend himself against all three attackers at the same time. Savage, deep cuts appeared on his forearms. One of the blades cut deep into his thigh, causing him to stagger. It was obvious from their coordinated attack, the men had worked together in the past against a victim.

Lucy felt a shiver of fear run down her spine as she realized the constant fighting and loss of blood had weakened Hans to the point he was unable to fend off a swing of the metal pipe. With a sickening crunch, the pipe bashed the back of his skull. Hans tumbled to the ground and lay still. The three attackers looked at each other, evil grins spreading across their faces.

The leader with the tattooed neck had been holding his knife so he could slash and cut upwards. Now he casually flipped the knife into the air and grabbed it in a stabbing hold. Kneeling down next to Hans, he raised the blade to stab and complete the kill.

A beam of silvery light, about the width of a good cigar, sliced across the forearm of the hand holding the knife. With a sharp sizzle, the hand, knife and about 5 inches of the forearm dropped to the stony ground. No blood gushed from the arm since the beam cauterized the wound, but the wild scream from the mouth of the tattooed man was loud and shrill. The second man holding a knife swung toward the source of the silvery light, knife at the ready, but another beam sliced into his arm above the elbow. With an oddly soft thump, the second arm and knife joined the tattooed man’s in the gravel, and both men began screaming in unison. The thug going after Manfred whirled at the sound of the screams with a puzzled look as he tried to fathom what was happening to his cohorts.

At that instant, a big, hairy body flew over the car as if it had been launched from a catapult. Lucy watched in amazement as the flying torso arched through the air in a graceful curve and crashed into Manfred’s attacker some 20 feet past the car. The body bowled him over, as if he had been hit with a battering ram, and knocked him senseless. Then a second body flew up into the air, held by one arm as if it was a rag doll. It smashed down on the roof of the car with such force the metal dented. Around the car stormed Ernst with a startling look of pure hatred. The third man standing over Hans with the metal pipe raised it to batter Ernst’s head. With all his might, the thug swung the pipe, but the smaller man was faster. His left hand darted up, grabbed the descending hand holding the pipe and squeezed. A piercing wail bubbled from the lips of the poor devil as his hand was crushed, flattened against the metal, bones turned to mush under the inexorable force of the grip. The man fell to his knees in agony, his left hand holding his right wrist, blood flowing from the stump where his right hand used to be. The pipe fell with a clank, its bloody end showing distinct finger-like impressions where Ernst’s hand had squeezed.

The attack was over. Breathing hard, Lucy tried to calm herself. Glancing at Mike, she noticed he’d hidden the ray pistol under his coat. Eyes still wide from a mixture of fear and shock, she whispered to him as they moved towards the car, “You and I need to have a serious talk about sharing information.”

Kneeling beside his unconscious brother, Ernst shifted the big man’s body until it lay flat on the rocky surface. Manfred limped over and dragged the still mewling attackers off to one side. Lucy took off her jacket, folded it and arranged it under Hans’ head, receiving an appreciative nod from Ernst.

Peering at Lucy and Mike, the man called Ernst said, “I guess you figured out I’m Hans, not Ernst.”

Mike smiled and replied, “I began to get that impression when the first body flew over the car.”

“I think I was really convinced when you crushed the asshole’s hand and left your fingerprints in the pipe,” nodding at the bloodstained tube lying in the gravel.

Lucy couldn’t understand German, but she could tell from their body language and gestures they were talking about the dented pipe. Unable to control her curiosity, she blurted in English, forgetting only Mike could understand her. “Just how strong are you?”

Translating what she asked and receiving a reply from Hans, Jenson said, “He doesn’t know. His strength is simply part of him.”

Lucy stared at Hans and shook her head in disbelief. His strength was utterly amazing yet he appeared ordinary. There was no outward indication of his power. No bulging muscles or brutish appearance.

Jenson looked at Hans and asked, “Why the subterfuge? Why hide who you are?”

“Think about it. An American military officer wants to talk with a German soldier so soon after the war’s end. Why shouldn’t I take some precautions?”

Turning to look at the injured thugs lying everywhere, he said, “When we saw only a man and woman came to meet us, we thought there was little danger. I have to admit we never considered a gang of street toughs would crash the party.”

The brother lying in the gravel began to stir, a sighing groan escaping his lips. Mike asked, “I guess this is Ernst, the younger brother?”

Feeling the man’s forehead, Hans replied with a slight smile, “Ernst is the youngest brother, but his size is intimidating. Yes?”

Jenson laughed. He had to agree he’d been fooled.

Hans’ eyes narrowed, “You saved my brother’s life. Why did you do that?”

Mike met his gaze and replied, “The fight was unfair. Those idiots were going to kill him for no reason except they could. I was not about to let it happen.”

Hans nodded. He liked this American in spite of his GI Joe appearance and English accent. Shifting his eyes towards Lucy and her long, silk stockinged legs, he decided he really liked her. Lucy caught his leer and lifted her chin and crossed her arms, trying her best not to appear to be enjoying his lascivious stare.

Pulling his gaze away from Lucy and back to Mike, Hans said in a conversational tone, “I don’t know anything about the silvery light beam you used to slice up these assholes, but I have learned not to be a curious man. My years in the military taught me not to ask too many questions because I might not like the answers I’m given.”

Manfred took that moment to pull the body of the guy off the dented top of the car and drag it away. His right leg was overcoming the disabling blow from the pipe. Looking back as he worked, he said, “We need to leave this place soon. Some of these guys’ friends may come looking for them.”

Standing, Hans said, “I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving the life of my brother. What do you need of me?”

Mike started to respond to him, but Lucy beat him to the punch. She walked between them, standing so close to Hans her breasts almost touched his right arm, a move that didn’t go unnoticed by Mike. Staring in his gray-blue eyes, she said, “I need a sample of your body for my research.”

Hans gulped like a teenager being propositioned by an older, beautiful woman. He didn’t need to understand English to be swayed by feminine wiles. He was speechless.

Smiling at his reaction, Lucy held up the special swab for DNA sampling and twirled it around in her fingers. Moving a little closer to Hans, she said, “Open your mouth and let me rub this in your cheek.”

Mike couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. He translated her request into German. Hans looked mesmerized and complied without questioning why.

Hans and Manfred lifted Ernst and held him between them, his arms draped over their shoulders. Ernst was becoming more alert and although he was dizzy, he didn’t need to be completely supported.

Hans looked at Mike and said with a smile, “I will remember you, G.I. Joe Mike Jenson. If you ever need to find me again, do not hesitate to search. You probably won’t find me, but that is your problem.”

He then looked at Lucy with a glint in his eyes and said to Mike, “Tell the lady I think she is very beautiful and if she ever returns to Wiesbaden, she is welcome in my home.” With those words, he and Manfred turned around and walked out of the graveled lot, Ernst balanced between them.

Mike turned to Lucy and said, “Hans says you remind him of his sister.”

Turning away and walking toward the car, Mike tried his best to hide his smile.

Mike and Lucy drove back to the hotel. The look on the face of the supercilious concierge when he saw the big dent in the top of their car was hilarious. There was no telling what he now thought about the crazy Americans.

Their spirits lightened by the successful result of their meeting with Hans, Mike and Lucy skipped up the entry stairs into the hotel lobby with big smiles. Without giving it conscious thought, Mike reached out and grasped Lucy’s hand. She in turn drew herself to him and hugged him. After just a moment, she turned her face up to peer into his blue eyes.

Mike looked into her dark eyes and said, “It would be a shame to waste the rest of this gorgeous day with any more sightseeing trips.”

Lucy loved Mike’s penchant for understatement. She boldly moved closer to him and pressing her lips close to his ear, whispered, “Let’s do some sightseeing in my room.”