A Game of Chess

West Berlin, East Germany

October 31, 1950

1:32 AM

The operator's side was blocked off by the metal door between them and the pilot's side. But even then, he could hear the two men talking behind him. And with the hand mirror, he could see them, though it was really hard to.

The gruff man leaned over into the cockpit, pulling a short cigarette from his mouth. "You really sure you want to do this? Who knows what they'll do if they catch you, probably slit your throat." He grumbled holding an umbrella so the pilot's side wouldn't get wet. Alfred clamped his mouth shut as he silently sat there uncomfortably. The cold metal ground was so hard on his spine, the exact reason why he liked sitting in the pilot's seat more. "And this aircraft ain't really the stablelest due to your sudden request," The man continued, slapping the plane, "but she'll fly for a good twenty-five minutes, give or take."

Ludwig tightened the gloves he was given around his wrists, settling into his seat. He didn't once spare the old man a single look. "As long as it can make it into the other side, that's all I'll need." All he did was look on at the rainy sky, almost as if in wonder.

"Suit yourself then." The man replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Have fun over there. Whoever you're meeting sure is one hell of a lucky person to know someone as loyal as you. If anything goes south, use that parachute I gave you."

Ludwig grunted in response as the front of the cockpit was shut by the man, walking away to let the jet move. However, this entire time, Alfred sat directly behind the wall that separated him and the clueless german, confused and with the cryptic conversation he had just overheard, very scared.

'Where the hell is he taking us? They'll slit our throats? Who is they?' He thought to himself, slowly trying to get up. An idea, or rather an answer struck him as he tried to grab for the chair. He turned away from it, his head swerved back, in horror to look back at the German. 'Wait.. Is he going to-'

Before he was given more time to ponder the destination they were headed, the smell of oil filled the American's nostrils, and the plane was shot forward. His body slid across the floor, bumping into multiple amounts of equipment as he did. "Ow.." He quietly mumbled to himself. The plane skidded across the runway, causing him to fall onto his side and slide on the floor yet again, the blow of the impact being much harder than before. He slammed into the control boards along with the pile of equipment. "Shit!" He whispered, doing his best to dig himself out of the pile he was stuck in. He latched his hand onto the small operator chair, pulling himself up. Quickly, he sat in the metal rack, gripping onto its sides for support. He looked back at Ludwig again, the fear in his eyes only being folded upon themselves. His life was in the hands of a pilot who didn't know how to pilot. Well, not necessarily his 'life' but he wasn't a big fan of dying for a bit and then being resurrected in pain with half of his body trying to fix itself.

He sat there nervously, as the plane started to take off. The chair that he was admiring only seconds before really wasn't as cushy or stable for Ludwig's type of flying. It made sense why this design was discontinued so quickly. As they went up higher, Alfred peered over the window, trying to get rid of his nervousness. The lights of West Berlin sparkled beneath them, their upgraded light bulbs making the city shimmer like a glittering snow globe. It was almost breathtaking at this perfect view; He was never given an opportunity to look at the city from such a low angle.

But as they continued to fly, the american couldn't help but notice that the plane was ever so slowly inching its way to the East Berlin side. Unlike West Berlin, its east counterpart still had those dull yellow colored light bulbs, the ones that pop if you used it too long. The part where the two sides divided was all too obvious to the human eye, which was what made the poor American's already terrified heart, plummet.