Harriet

This is a work of fiction. It is not a reflection of the views of the author and should not be treated as a source of historical information

At the end of a hallway sat a brass bell. Beneath it, a slip of paper had been nailed to the wall. Nobody knew exactly who had put it up--The owner of the building or the residents of the hall--But it had remained there for almost four years. In bold letters it read:

"If you hear bombers, don't panic! Instead, ring and run!"

The sirens roared in their mournful choir, and the searchlights scanned the midnight sky. In the streets below, the citizens of Runberg went about their lives, blocking out the sounds and sights of the planes.

Some people had managed to stay asleep; The woman in the room down the hallway from the bell turned over in her bed.

"This is only a drill," the voice echoed over every loudspeaker in the city. "I repeat: This is only a drill. We are currently under a Code Orange Danger. Remain calm.

“Residents of the following areas are advised to remain in place until the 'All-Clear' Signal is given: Runberg Districts C-through-H, Kleiner München, Kleiner Hamburg, Kleiner Köln, Brückenbaum-Alfa, and Taschenplatz."

As soon as the last name faded into silence, every speaker in the city began to play a song. The woman’s eyes shot open at the sound of the first note from a piano.

The woman threw off her blanket and sat up. She looked around the room.

Above her, the pendant light swung back and forth as planes continued to pass overhead, illuminating her living space. The apartment had little more than the bare necessities: An air conditioner mounted on the window, a small wooden table for dining, and a bare-bulb light hanging from the ceiling.

A pre-made plate of pancakes cloaked in aluminum foil sat on the table. Across from it, laid across the table from one side to the other, was an old rifle.

There was a knock on the door, and the woman jumped.

Without making a sound, she reached across the gap between her bed and the table and picked up her rifle. She leveled her gun and pulled back the bolt, causing a sharp 'click’ to echo through the room. Immediately, her visitors made themselves known.

“Harriet!” the voice of another woman scolded from the door. “You had better not be thinking of firing inside!"

"I admire the cautious gun-use," said a man. "Besides, I think it’s better to let her work out her emotions on a burglar instead of waiting for her to snap and frag an officer."

"That's still no reason to fire a gun inside the apartment. Something could get broken."

"Poor little Dewey probably got scared and had to sleep with her gun," cooed Finch.

"I did not!" Harriet defended herself, momentarily forgetting her grip on the weapon. "It was just nearby!"

"She's always had bad nightmares..." the woman whispered.

"Chin up, Dew-Com!" laughed the man. "It was just a nightmare."

"I told you, I didn't have a nightmare!"

"Go back to sleep," the woman ordered. "Just turn on your radio."

"I can't!" Harriet resisted. "I have to know what’s going on."

“It’s a drill,” said the man. “No live rounds or nothing. Skeleton crews for the planes, too.”

A shell from an anti-aircraft gun burst somewhere over the neighborhood. The report of the autocannon shook the room. Guided by the brief flash of light, Harriet ran to open the apartment door for her friends. Lieutenant Finch entered and took a seat at the table without a word, while Augustus bowed and shut the door behind her.

“A drill, huh?” asked Augustus. “Then what was that?”

“Testing anti-air.” Finch rolled his eyes. “Fighting back is just as important as knowing what to do.”

"What time is it now?" Harriet asked.

"1:49 AM," Finch read off of his watch. "I imagine they’re about to wave off any minute now."

The apartment shuddered as one of the bombers flew too close to the ground.

“Why are you awake anyways?”

“The planes woke me up.” Augustus shrugged. “I was going to write, but decided to check on you instead. I bumped into this jackoff on the stairs.”

Harriet chuckled quietly. Just as quickly, she stopped and her serious expression returned. She turned and looked at the man in the room.

“And why are you up?"

“Paperwork,” grumbled Finch. “They’re trying to assign me a new round of fresh faces. I’ve already got three discharge requests and an incident report.”

“Conscripts?” Augustus asked cautiously.

“Oh God no. Just a bunch of kids who thought that joining the army would be a ‘fun adventure’.”

“The poor babes. What are you gonna do about all the recruits that are washing out?”

“Nothing.” Finch shrugged. “I’ll probably just request a bonus increase for everyone who sticks around.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Duncan.”

“God, I hope not,” the man scoffed. “There’s a six-millimeter Bachmann 03 hidden in the floorboards under my bedroom rug. If I ever go soft on anyone--and that includes you, honey--I want you to find that gun and put a bullet in the back of my head.”

“What the hell…?”

“Wait.” Harriet held up a finger. “Listen.”

Augustus was quiet. The room started to shake again. The whine of a propeller engine steadily grew along with the intensity of the apartment’s vibrations. Harriet shut her eyes.

“Watch this,” whispered Finch.

“It’s a Stahlwerk,” Harriet finally reported. “Sounds like a B-90.”

“What does that mean?” asked Augustus.

“B-90's a heavy one--Needs the slipstream from the others just to keep her up.”

“And what does that mean?”

“They’re waving off.”

"Well then," yawned Finch, "it's about time I head back to sleep."

"Ditto. Bis bald, Harriet."

Augustus waved while Finch saluted. Harriet copied the latter gesture perfectly, even while half-asleep.

"Bis bald, Augustus. Bis bald, Finch."

The lieutenant and his friend dismissed themselves. The door slammed and Harriet let herself fall onto her bed. Her rifle bounced slightly as her body hit the mattress. As soon as she shut her eyes, the telephone rang.

Harriet groaned and sat back up. She picked up the handset and brought it to her mouth and ear as she studied the room's decorations.

"Doolittle, Guten Tag. Who is this?"

"This is Secretary Bauer, from the office of Doctor Black."

"Is that right?” Harriet rubbed her eyes. “What does he want now?"

"Your presence is requested in the Military Department Building at 0600 hours."

Harriet thought for a moment before answering. She looked around the room. Doctor Black’s professional painting hung on the wall; between a more casual photograph of Augustus and Finch, and a professionally-made portrait of Harriet herself.

"Understood. I'll be there in the morning, then."

"He specifically requested for you to come as soon as possible."
Harriet looked around the room for an excuse. The pancakes stared back at her.

"Let him know that I'll be there after breakfast."

Before Bauer could reply, Harriet had hung up the phone. It began ringing as soon as she set the receiver in its cradle. Reluctantly, she answered it once more.

Harriet was immediately brought to attention by the baritone voice of the Doctor himself.

"Hang up on my secretary again, and I'll have you court-martialed for insubordination. You are to be here, before me, or you will be removed from all operations until further notice. Verstehst du?”

"Yes, Sir!" Doolittle answered. "I'll be there at 0600!"