Survivors: A Novel of the Coming Collapse

14. Clerks and Jerks

Andy was ready to turn in his green active-duty ID card, but there was some confusion and a day’s delay while some red Army Reserve card blanks were couriered down from the Garmisch Garrison. Technically, after leaving active duty, Andy still had a two-year obligation in the Individual Ready Reserve (IRR) control group, but he wouldn’t be expected to be in a local Army Reserve unit.

A GS-12 civilian clerk-a jovial and rotund retired chief warrant officer-prepared his Form DD-214. Handing Laine a draft copy to check for errors, the clerk said, “Here are your walking papers, but I’m afraid they really are walking papers!” Andy groaned. The clerk added, “I guess you heard about the groundings.”

“Yeah,” Andy replied glumly. There had been two recent Islamic terrorist incidents in the three days since Laine had returned to Bavaria. The first was a bombing of a train station that adjoined the airport in Nurnberg, and the next day a 9/11-style hijacking in France had ended tragically in a fiery crash just short of the Parliament building in London, killing 242 people. These events had prompted a grounding of all civilian aircraft for at least a week. Most trains except for some local U-Bahns and Strassenbahns had also been stopped. Even long-distance bus lines had been halted.

With the drama of the economic news, riots, and the terrorist attacks, the newscasters had plenty to talk about. In Europe, the focus seemed to be on the terror attacks, while in the United States, the emphasis was on the galloping inflation and the riots. The volume of news was so overwhelming that the day-to-day clerical bureaucracy at the post slowed to a crawl. Several times in the past two days, Andy had to nearly shout, “Hel-looo! Can you please get this outprocessing finished for me?” to get the various “clerks and jerks” to turn their attention away from their laptops, computer monitors, televisions, and text screens on their cell phones.

Andy and the clerk next turned their attention to his quarters clearing papers, making sure that he had all the proper clearance stamps. They were variously stamped in blue and black: “CIF,” “Cleared Finance,” “S2 Outbrief,” “No Mess Charges,” and “PMO.”

“Where’s your ‘YOYO’ stamp?” the clerk asked.

“YOYO?” Laine asked suspiciously.

“That stands for ‘You’re on Your Own,’ pal.”

“Very funny.”

That afternoon Andy went off post to go to the local Raiffeisenbank branch. He got in a long queue in front of the counter with a sign above it that read: “Geldwechsel/Change/Cambio.” After twenty minutes he came to the front of the line and began to pull out his remaining afghanis, U.S. dollars, his few remaining U.S.-dollar-denominated traveler’s checks, and Iraqi dinars that were left over from his previous deployment. They made a fairly large pile on the counter. The teller seemed unfazed. Obviously, in recent weeks he had seen much larger piles of cash.

“Euros, bitte,” Andy asked quietly.

As the teller began counting the stacks of afghanis, Laine countersigned all of his traveler’s checks. He then pulled out his passport and his military ID card and set them on the counter, knowing that they’d be needed next.

The teller clucked a “Tsk, tsk” after he did the Wechselkurs calculation.

“The exchange of dollars rate, I am afraid, sir, is very poor.”

“That’s understandable,” Laine replied.

After clearing the counter and handing Andy back his ID, the clerk said matter-of-factly, “Five hundred and eighty euros.” Then he asked Andy, “Cash or EC card?”

“Cash-Bargeld, bitte.”

Andy already had another forty-five euros in his wallet. Together, those notes totaling 625 euros would barely cover the cost of a two-hundred-mile bus ride or a dinner at a decent restaurant. Such were the ravages of the recent inflation.

Next, Andy walked across the bank lobby to the indoor Geldautomat ATM machine. He tried both of his credit cards, with the same result: the message “Credit Card Transactions Suspended” flashed on the screen. “Oh, joy,” Andy muttered.

Back at Rose Barracks, Andy Laine was told that there would be no scheduled military flights for at least a week, possibly longer. At the rate things were deteriorating, he dared not just wait and hope that flights would be resumed. Even if flights were resumed, active-duty personnel might have higher priority than someone traveling on an Army Reserve ID card. Or, worse yet, civil order could collapse in Germany, just as it had in the States, and flights might not resume for months or years. Andy wondered how he’d get back to the States and, once he did, how he’d be able to travel to New Mexico.

He had the vague idea of heading west through Germany to the coast of France to see if he could find a ship of any description heading to the U.S., or perhaps even to Mexico or Canada. Just before close of business at the post headquarters, he made arrangements to get a flight back to Ramstein. There, in the U.S. military’s largest complex in Germany, he’d have the best chance of getting transport out of Europe.

Two more frustrating days of hurry-up-and-wait landed Andy at Ramstein. The BOQ there was full, so he was sent to the nearby Sembach Annex. Seeing Laine’s red Army Reserve ID card, the desk clerk asked him for a copy of his orders. “I don’t have any orders,” he said. “I’ve just been released from active duty and I’m trying to get home.” Even after seeing Laine’s DD-214, the clerk was belligerent. “No rooms without orders for reservists.” It was only after threatening to call the clerk’s manager that Andy was finally given a room.

Shepherding his rapidly dwindling cash, Andy bought food for dinner entirely from vending machines. Because the inflation was so rapid, the vending machine prices had not yet been raised to match the store counter prices. The news on television was all bad. Flights were all still grounded and most trains and buses were not running. Some runs on grocery stores had begun in Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic. There were also some large street protests and riots building up in the larger cities throughout the European Union. Reserve police and military forces were being mobilized throughout the EU and in the UK. There had been a widespread power blackout in Greece caused by a labor union dispute. It was also reported that no long-distance calls were getting through to the United States except, oddly, to Hawaii.

Andy turned off the television and called a couple of acquaintances stationed in K-Town, begging favors. One of them phoned an hour later to say that they had found him a ride.

Early the next morning, Andy got on a five-ton supply truck that was headed to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. Following the end of U.S. military presence in France, this was the westernmost Army installation in USAEUR, the U.S. Army’s European command. Beyond there, he truly would be in YOYO territory.

The next morning was depressingly foggy. Laine did not feel his best, since he had slept so poorly the night before. The Specialist E-4 driving the truck to Landstuhl was envious that Laine had ended his service and was headed home. “Sir, I still got 112 days and a wake-up,” he said forlornly. “I don’t know what things’ll be like by then. My family all lives in Atlanta. You’ve seen it on the TV, right? There’s big dang riots there. They say half the city is on fire.” Laine decided that it wouldn’t be helpful to mention that this was the second time that Atlanta had burned, so he made no reply.

The truck, he learned, was mainly filled with MREs. It was just one of many truckloads of MREs from as far away as Wiesbaden that were being sent to the Army hospital, since local transport of food for patients and staff had become intermittently disrupted. Even more MREs were being sent to various Air Force bases and to U.S. embassies. The big MRE shuffle was part of a “contingency stock leveling” measure, just in case food supplies and grid power were to suffer more severe disruption. “It’s like some kinda siege mentality, sir,” the Specialist commented.

At just after ten a.m., Laine was dropped off at a Strassenbahn stop not far from the hospital complex, and the driver left with a wave.

Andy stood alone at the tram stop, feeling overwhelmed. The fog was beginning to lift, and he could begin to see hills of the Palatinate Forest in the distance, stretching to the south. After a few chilly minutes, a streetcar approached on Eisenbahnstrasse. Andy put on his duffel bag using both shoulder straps. Then he picked up his flight bag in his left hand and his overseas bag in his right hand. He waddled to the streetcar. The weight of the duffel bag pressed the holstered SIG uncomfortably into his lower back. When the door opened, he asked the driver, “In Richtung Landstuhler Stadtzentrum?”

“Ja, klar, klar,” the driver answered, gesturing him in.

Laine stepped up into the streetcar, which was nearly empty. He thumbed in his fare card and then awkwardly sat down, placing two of his bags in front of him and hunching out of his main duffel bag.

An elderly German woman was sitting across the aisle from him with the seat beside her piled with string shopping bags. A long-haired Dachshund sat in her lap. The streetcar lurched and picked up speed.

The woman recognized Laine’s bags and asked, “You are away going on leave?”

“No, I am going home to America permanently-standig-if I can find a way.”

“The luft flights are all aground und die Zuge fahren nicht.”

“Yes, I know about the trains.” After a moment Laine added, “Are there any Omnibusse still running to Frankreich or to the Low Countries? Das Benelux?”

“Nein. Alles eingestellt.”

Andy shook his head. “These are crazy times.”

“Ja, and the money, it is no good. This is like the Weimar time again, I think.”

As they neared the center of Landstuhl, the Strassenbahn stops got closer together, and Laine began to eye the shop signs: “Apotheke,” “Deli,” “Backerei,” “Optometrist,” “Moden,” “Eisenwaren,” “Schallplatten,” “Kaufhaus.” The many buildings with whitewashed walls, exposed beams, and red-tiled roofs looked nineteenth-century vintage or earlier. Andy wondered if the city had been spared any damage in the Second World War. The old buildings looked remarkably intact.

“Is there a Fahrrad shop in Landstuhl?” he asked the old woman.

“Ja, at Adolph-Kolping-Platz. I tell you when you are getting off.”

After another three stops, the woman said, “Here it is you are!” and pointed to a sign that read, “Gebruder Becker, Fahrrader.”

The bicycle shop was smaller than Laine had expected, but then he realized that this might be a good thing. One of the big stores wouldn’t have the flexibility to make the deal that he had in mind.

Andy lugged his bags through the front door of the shop and glanced at some price tags on the bicycles as he walked toward the store counter. He set all three of his bags down in a pile. He felt like he already had the aura of a vagabond.

Since it was not yet the noon hour, there were no other customers. The store was in an older, poorly lit building, but most of the selection looked new and state-of-the-art. There was a fairly large inventory, with a mix of children’s bikes, mountain bikes, and high-end racing bikes. It was much like a bike shop that he had visited in Germany before his tour in Afghanistan. The difference was the inflated price tags. Two years ago, a typisch mountain bike was about 300 euros, but now they ranged from 800 to 3,000 euros.

Andy introduced himself, and the store owner did likewise. His name was Kurt Becker, a slim, muscular man in his forties who spoke good English. Judging by his physique, Andy concluded that he must be a daily cyclist. An older mustachioed man wearing a heavy leather apron sat at a bench in the back of the store. He was balancing a bicycle wheel, adjusting the spokes by hand.

Laine explained that he had just left the Army and was looking for a bicycle and trailer for a cross-country road trip.

The store owner sighed and said, “Yes, I have heard about the planes and the trains. Not even the buses are running on the long lines.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes looking at Kurt’s inventory of mountain and road bikes. Then they discussed panniers and trailers and how much cargo they could carry. Laine settled on a nearly new Giant brand mountain bike that already had a headlamp, a blinking LED taillight, and both a small tool kit and a tire pump clipped to the frame. Next he picked out some sturdy racks, a pair of Ortlieb waterproof black nylon panniers and matching handlebar bag, and a well-used trailer. The trailer had a scuffed frame and road-tar-stained yellow nylon sides, but it looked sturdy and serviceable. It had a clear plastic front, since it was originally designed for hauling toddlers.

During this time, another customer came in, but occupied the shop owner only for a few minutes to buy some optic yellow rain pants and a pair of trouser leg clips. After he had left, Laine picked out a similar pair of pants-except in forest green-and a matching jacket with hood. He bought the jacket slightly oversize, knowing that in cold weather he would want to wear a sweater beneath. He also didn’t want the bulge of the holstered SIG printing through the jacket. So looser was better. Andy knew that he was in for a series of long, cold, wet rides.

Next he asked for two spare inner tubes and a bottle of Slime tire sealant, in case of punctures.

Gesturing to his pile of selected merchandise, Laine said: “Die Rechnung, bitte.”

Kurt pulled out a notepad and started listing and totaling with a fat pencil. Finally he said, “With VAT, 3,315 euros-so let’s just call it 3,300, okay?”

Andy let out deep breath.

“I don’t have that in Papiergeld. But I have it in geld coin, echte Geldstucke-you know, Goldmunzen. Are you familiar with the franzosische Goldmunzen from early in the last century, the ‘Rooster’—‘Der Hahn’-zwei Franc Goldmunzen?”

Kurt’s eyes brightened and he exclaimed “Ja!”

Andy pulled out his wallet and from an inner Velcro flap pocket he withdrew two French two-franc Rooster gold coins in a plastic flip. The coins were dated 1905 and 1907. Handing the coin sleeve to the shop owner, he declared, “Diese ist nicht gefalscht-the genuine article.”

Kurt took the coins, closely examined them under a desk lamp, and said, “I am not an expert of coins, but I do want to accept these for you to pay. Can you please come with me while I go and ask a guarantee of a Goldmunzenhandler-a dealer of coins-to test their value? He has a shop just five doors away, and he is a friend.”

Andy replied, “Freilich! Kein Problem.”

“My father will watch the store and your baggages.”

Before they left, Andy picked up his overseas bag, which held his most valuable possessions, including the SIG’s extra ammo and accessories. He slung the bag’s strap over his shoulder. “This Gepack goes with me,” he explained.

Kurt nodded and said softly “Ich verstehe” as he took off his oil-stained canvas apron and handed it to his father.

As they prepared to leave the shop, Becker became momentarily flustered. He did not know whether he should hand the coin back to Andy before they left the store or hold it himself. Andy pointed to Becker’s front pants pocket. Kurt obliged.

They walked down the street to a smaller store with barred windows with a sign declaring: “H. Kurtz, Goldmunzenhandler.” A neon sign that read “Silber/Geld Bullionhandler” shone in the window.

They had to first knock on the door and then be buzzed in after a clerk recognized Kurt’s face. The small store was unusually crowded with both buyers and sellers. “We take a number, I guess,” Kurt joked.

They had to wait nearly fifteen minutes while other transactions were completed. Once at the counter, Kurt and the coin dealer exchanged friendly greetings and then, as he handed over the coin flip, some rapid-fire German that Andy didn’t catch much of. The only portions of the exchange that Andy understood were “Ja, ja, alles klar” and the word “Schatzung,” which Andy remembered meant “appraisal.”

Laine watched as the coin dealer examined the coins with a loupe, weighed each of them on his scale, calipered them with a Fisch coin gauge, and finally brushed their edges against a touchstone, but not without first asking, “Wie bitte.” He looked up with a smile and nodded, declaring: “Ja, die sind echt.”

For Andy’s benefit, the coin dealer switched to English: “These coins are, yes, genuine. They weigh, both by the book of coins and by my scale, point one eight six seven troy ounces of the fine gold. That is almost one-fifth of ounce troy for each.” Pointing to some figures on a chalkboard behind him, he said: “Today, spot gold in London is 9,112 euros per ounce. That makes these coins worth both together 3,402 euros.”

Kurt thanked the coin dealer and handed him a fifty-euro note for the appraisal.

As they walked back to the bike shop, Andy marveled at how the gold had held its buying power, while the U.S. dollar had become so worthless. Once back inside, Kurt declared to his father: “Three thousand four hundred euros!” Turning to Laine, he said, “I am still owing you one hundred euros difference, or the same in goods from my shop.”

“But, Kurt, you had to pay for the Schatzung.”

“I am not worried about that, Herr Kapitan, for tomorrow gold bullion it will be higher and the euro will be lower, just as sure as the rising of the sun.”

Back at the store counter, Andy asked: “Haben sie Landkarten?”

“Ja.”

Laine asked, “Fur Frankreich?”

“Ja.” The shop owner pulled out a Michelin large-scale road map of France that had a heavy cardboard cover. “These maps are now twenty euros.” Becker also opened up a similar road map of Germany. Taking it over to the shop’s photocopier, he said, “Also, you will need to have our little corner of Germany. No charge for this.” He made two photocopies of the western end of the map and handed them to Andy, who slipped them inside the cover of the map for France.

Laine said, “Okay, that leaves me eighty euros credit. So I’d like to use that to pay for your time to help me attach the racks and trailer hitch.”

Becker nodded.

“Then we have a deal, for the two gold Hahnmunzen. Klar?”

They shook hands.

Andy left the store an hour and a half later, after the bicycle modifications and packing had been completed. As he was packing, Becker gave Andy a box of heavy black plastic trash bags to use as waterproof liners for the panniers, handlebar bag, and the now half-empty overseas bag. The latter initially went into the almost-full trailer, for fear that Becker might spot the SIG ammo and accessories. Laine would have preferred that his sleeping bag and bivouac bag stuff sacks be strapped to the top of the cargo rack, but the gooseneck of the trailer was in the way. So they, too, went in the trailer.

Kurt and the old man both shook Laine’s hand before he wheeled the bike and trailer out of the store.

The younger Becker waved and said, “Viel Gluck!”

“Thanks, but I’ll need more than luck,” Andy replied. “I’ll need God’s Grace.”

“Well, then… Moge Gott mit Ihnen sein!”

Andy took the Saarbrucker Strasse out of Landstuhl, heading west. Getting accustomed to the feel of the bike and trailer took some adjustment. After the first few uphill grades, he decided that he should carry less food and water. He kept three liters of water but poured out two other one-liter bottles. He decided to gradually reduce by half the amount of food in the packed trailer.