Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

  They were silent for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts. When Hans spoke, it was with a question. “So what’s coming next?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “January thirtieth was the first anniversary of Adolf becoming chancellor. Remember how stunned we were at how rapidly the changes started rolling out once he came to power? It was one major announcement after another. This new law and that new law. This new program, that new program. Another lightning-fast seizure of additional political power. So what’s next?”

  “That’s easy,” Alemann said, settling back in his chair. “Further consolidate his power so that he can further expand the National Socialist agenda.”

  “What are you thinking of in particular?”

  “Well, making all other political parties illegal, for one thing. That was kind of a neat way to finally get a ‘majority’ in the Reichstag.”

  “Right, and sending those who were foolish enough to object to this blatant violation of our constitution to Dachau to cool their heels for three or four years also helped. But here’s the irony for me,” Hans said. “What does our party call itself? The National Socialist German Workers’ Party, right? Yet what is Adolf doing? In January he passes the Charter of Labor, giving all power to make wage and labor decisions back to the business and factory owners. Wages are now set by ‘labor trustees,’ who are supposed to be impartial, but everyone knows they’re in the pockets of the business owners.”

  “Ja, ja!” Alemann agreed. “Then he has the gall to stage the largest May Day celebration in the nation’s history. May Day! The day honoring the contribution of the working classes. And one day later, what does he do? Send storm troopers and SS troops to occupy trade union headquarters throughout the Fatherland and seize all union funds. The union leaders were arrested, beaten, and thrown into concentration camps. But that’s the story of human history, Hans. The politicians climb into bed with the rich and powerful while the poor make it all possible with the sweat of their brow.”

  “But they’re too blind to see it,” Hans cried. “They turned out by the millions for the May Day celebrations, completely unaware of what he is doing to the workers.”

  Alemann went on. “Here’s another example of what Hitler’s doing. One of my former staff members told me this. Recently Joseph Goebbels sent a letter out to all newspaper publishers in the Reich, complaining that their readership is down dramatically because their papers are all so boring. So Goebbels asked the publishers to strive to make their papers more interesting. One foolish publisher thought he was actually serious, and he started running articles questioning some of the government’s latest policies. His paper is now shut down and he’s cooling his heels in Dachau.”

  Hans let out a long, slow breath. “I am so glad I am out of it, Alemann. I shall be forever in your debt.”

  “And where will it end, Hans? Where will it end? That’s actually why I came over,” Alemann said dejectedly. “I was up in Berlin again this week, starting research on my new book.”

  Hans looked up, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Is this from that mysterious source of yours again? What is he telling you?”

  “This is all very hush-hush, but according to my source, Hitler met with all of his top generals in a private meeting a few weeks ago. He reminded them that everyone knows that President von Hindenburg is failing fast. His doctors are saying that he’ll be lucky to last a few months.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

  “Well, this you didn’t hear. In that secret meeting, Hitler offered the high command two things that they very much want—if, when Hindenburg dies, they will support Hitler to fill the office of president as well as that of chancellor.”

  Hans fell back. “President and chancellor! That puts all the marbles in one bag. And what is he offering them in return?”

  “Are you ready for this?” Alemann asked. “First, he promises to drastically cut back the Sturmabteilung.”

  Hans gasped. “He’s selling out the storm troopers? Does Ernst Roehm know that?”

  “No! Of course not. That’s why Hitler wants to be sure that he’s got the army behind him before he starts pushing back against him.”

  Hans was deeply shaken. “Ernst still holds his commission in the army. If Hitler tries to dump him, Roehm may get some of the army to back him. Add that to the number of storm troopers who are fiercely loyal to Roehm, and I’m not sure Hitler’s got the power to reel the SA in.” Hans felt sick. “I’m not sure we can survive another civil war. This is bad news.”

  “With the army backing him, Hitler can pull it off. They hate the SA and they fear the power that Roehm controls. Yes, Roehm has more men than they do, but the storm troopers are not armed with tanks, artillery, and other heavy weapons. That’s why this move to woo the generals is a brilliant move on the Führer’s part.”

  “What else did he have to promise them?”

  Alemann’s voice was grave. “He promised the generals that starting immediately, the government is going to ignore the stipulations of the Versailles Treaty and begin rebuilding our armed forces again.”

  “What!” Hans nearly came up out of his chair. “No! The Allied countries will never stand for that.”

  “Those paper tigers?” Alemann snorted. “Are you kidding? They are so awed by Hitler that if he so much as frowns at them, they nearly wet their pants.”

  Hans was shaking his head. “And the people will see it that way too. This is vintage Adolf,” he said with grudging admiration. “Always thinking. Always three steps ahead of his enemies. I’ll bet the generals are ecstatic.”

  Alemann nodded but said nothing more. After a moment, he reached inside his vest and took out his pocket watch. “It’s getting late, Hans. I’d better let you get back to your family.”

  Chapter Notes

  The events Alemann describes are heavily based on William Shirer’s observations. He was living in Berlin at the time as a correspondent for the Chicago Tribune (see Rise and Fall, 200).

  June 6, 1934, 8:45 p.m.—Eckhardt Home, Munich

  Lisa looked up when Jolanda slipped through the door and shut it. “Is Oma in her room?”

  Jo nodded. “Her light is still on, so she’s probably reading. I’m sure she’s settled in for the night.”

  Lisa went to her sister, took her hand, and pulled her close. “Not a sound, Jo.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “If they know we’re listening, Papa will be furious.”

  “They’re not going to know.” She leaned in closer. “There’s barely room enough under the stairs for both of us, so be careful you don’t bump anything.”

  Carefully opening the door, Lisa peeked out. “Okay, tiptoe. Not a sound.”

  8:49 p.m.

  Hans and Alemann waited as Emilee and Richelle discussed going shopping the next day. When they finished, Hans motioned everyone toward the sofa and side chairs. “Tell us what you have decided about your girls and Hitler Youth Camp.”

  Alemann waited until they were settled and then began eagerly. “All right. I think Richelle and I have come up with a solution to our problem. And maybe a way to help you as well.”

  “That’s good,” Hans said. “But help us in what way?”

  “With Jo’s camp situation.”

  Hans frowned. “Jo is all set. She will go to camp when it opens in two weeks. They’ve agreed to assign her to Lisa’s tent, so—”

  “Just listen, Hans. Okay? It’s complicated, so just hear us out.”

  Hans shrugged and then took Emilee’s hand and sat back, trying hard not to smile. He had never seen the the Zeidners quite so earnest.

  “So here goes,” Alemann began. “First of all, as you may know, Richelle and I are great believers in having our girls learn about other cultures by traveling to other countries. It’s something they can’t learn any other
way. Since Erika was eight, every other year we’ve taken an extended summer vacation somewhere abroad.”

  “In fact,” Richelle said, “we had just been home for a couple of weeks from our trip to Palestine, Jordan, and Egypt when Lisa intervened with those two horrible boys and brought our two families together.”

  Hans’s mind was racing. What must that have cost? From the very beginning of their friendship, Hans and Emilee had recognized that the Zeidners were much better off financially than were the Eckhardts, though they did not flaunt their wealth at all. Richelle had once told Emilee that she was the only child of an aristocratic family but that both of her parents were gone now—which probably meant she had inherited their full estate. Their house was half again the size of the Eckhardts’ previous home—and twice as big as their current home—and expensively elegant. At first that had bothered Hans a little, but he had quickly learned that they didn’t act wealthy. The Zeidners had none of the usual airs of the upper-crust families. Now, after nearly two years of close association, Hans rarely thought about the differences between them.

  “Originally,” Alemann was saying, “we were thinking of taking our fifth excursion this summer. But then I started a new book project several months ago. It’s a huge project.” Alemann smiled briefly. “I want to do a study of the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia in 1917 and the political, cultural, and economic impact on Europe, and especially on Germany. So,” he continued, “at first we decided that we would have to postpone our family vacation for this year because I will have to spend several weeks in the Soviet Union gathering research.”

  “It’s a powerful concept,” Hans said.

  “I am very excited about it,” Richelle said, reaching over to pat her husband’s hand. “Though it does mean that the girls and I will see much less of Alemann until it is finished.”

  Alemann’s expression darkened. “Which brings us to the question of Erika and Leyna and Hitler Youth.” He looked at Emilee. “Hans told you how the dean of my college was grilling me about it?”

  “He did,” Emilee said. “Believe me, we understand the dilemma that creates for you.”

  “Not just for the girls,” Hans added, speaking to Alemann. “If you’re not careful, it could cost you your standing at the university.”

  Richelle’s expression turned grim. “That’s not the half of it. I told Alemann that if we can’t keep Erika and Leyna out of Hitlerjugend, then I would divorce him.”

  Both Hans and Emilee inhaled sharply. “What? No!” Emilee cried.

  Richelle laughed softly. “Oh, he knew I was just spouting off. I would never divorce the love of my life. But I wanted him to know just how strongly I feel about this.”

  Alemann lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “And then, just minutes after saying that, Richelle had a brilliant idea. At least, we think it is. We came right over because we wanted to see what you think and have you tell us if we are absolutely crazy or not.” Alemann took a deep breath and then went on. “As I said, at some point in my research, I need to go to Russia, and some of the other countries that were directly affected by the Revolution—Belarus, Estonia, Latvia, and so on. I want to talk to people who experienced the upheaval firsthand, in addition to getting into some of their state archives.”

  “And you think they’ll let you do that?” Hans asked.

  “It will be difficult, but I’ve already made some preliminary inquiries. My academic credentials are helpful, and I have assured them that this is a neutral book when it comes to politics. My focus is not on why it happened, or even how it happened, but only on the impact it has had on Europe. The Kremlin will probably insist on clearing my manuscript, which I’ll fight, of course. But eventually, I’ll give in. Like I say, it’s not going to be a political book.”

  Hans understood. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re taking Richelle and the girls with you?”

  “Yes!” Richelle exclaimed. “What do you think?”

  Emilee was slowly shaking her head. “Won’t the Nazi Party see right through that, and if so, will your dean approve you going?”

  “Emilee,” Alemann said, “there’s something you need to understand about us academics. Especially academics who are deans of colleges. Dean Eberhardt is not a fanatically loyal Nazi. In fact, I think he secretly detests them. He only joined the party last year when the National Socialists came to power and started putting pressure on the universities. I’m guessing that whoever talked to him promised him the deanship if he would cooperate with them. The former dean was retiring, so the timing was good. And Eberhardt was not considered to be the top candidate. But he got it. So what’s driving Eberhardt now is not Nazi ideology but a desire to keep his position for many years to come.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Hans said slowly. “But that does explain a lot.”

  Alemann turned back to Emilee. “Also, a project like this, if I do it right, will bring a lot of prestige to Ludwig Maximillian University. And where it will be apolitical in nature, it shouldn’t draw the ire of our government. In fact, the dean already has spoken informally with the Ministry of Education, and they have raised no objections to the project.”

  “Really?” Hans interrupted. “That’s a huge thing.”

  “They’ll insist on screening it before publication, but that’s usual. The most important thing, in my opinion, is that this gives the dean a good reason not to press the issue of Hitler Youth Camp. If anyone ever asks, he has the Ministry of Education behind him, and that will keep him safe.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Emilee said to Richelle. “Have you told the girls yet?”

  “Nein,” Richelle said. “This all just came together late this afternoon.”

  The Zeidners exchanged looks again and they both smiled. Something passed between them, and Richelle nodded for Alemann to go on. To Emilee and Hans’s surprise, Alemann got to his feet, walked over to the fireplace, and looked up at the painting that hung over the mantelpiece. He examined it for several seconds and then turned to Emilee. “Tell me about this painting.”

  “Well, it’s actually of a place in Southern Utah called Zion Canyon. It’s part of a national park. We bought it the day before we left to return home.”

  Richelle nodded. “Jo still talks a lot about how incredibly beautiful Southern Utah was and what a remarkable experience you all had there.”

  “There’s nothing like it in Germany,” Emilee agreed. “Not even close.”

  Alemann and Richelle returned to the couch and sat down. He took her hand. “Well, Schatzi, I see that we have their attention. Let’s tell them what we are proposing.”

  “You have our full attention,” Hans said with a smile.

  “Gut. Let me begin with this. It’s not just this year that we have to worry about the youth program. Erika will be sixteen in September, which means she is eligible for youth camp for two more years. Leyna just turned twelve. So even if we keep her out this year, she still has five more summers to go. So we were looking for a long-range strategy, not just a solution for this summer.”

  “We have the same concerns,” Emilee said, “only we have five children to worry about.”

  Richelle looked at her husband. He nodded his encouragement, so she leaned forward, eyes dancing with excitement. “Yesterday morning, as I was pondering over all of this, an idea came. Strangely enough it was not about Hitler Youth. It was about Alemann’s project. The idea popped into my head that Alemann needed to broaden the scope of his project.”

  “Broaden it how?” Hans asked. “It seems like a huge project as it is.”

  There was a slow, mysterious smile. “Obviously the creation of the Soviet Union has profoundly affected Europe,” she went on. “But it suddenly occurred to me that it’s much broader than that. A while back, I saw an article in the Berliner Morgenpost written by an American journalist. His point was that even across the Atlantic, the influ
ence of Communism and the Soviet Empire is being felt. He said that American diplomacy in Europe now has to take into account the reality of Joseph Stalin and the Soviet Union.”

  Alemann jumped in. “Richelle is right. I can’t just focus on Europe.”

  Emilee’s eyes widened. “And so you’re thinking you might need to go to America too?”

  “Exactly what I told Alemann!” Richelle exclaimed.

  “Several years ago,” Alemann began, “early on in my career at the university, I had an American graduate student in my classes. He was of German origin and had come here to get a doctoral degree in history and political science. He was very bright, and I eventually became the chairman of his doctoral committee. He is now a professor of German history and literature at Harvard University in Boston.”

  That brought Hans’s head up. “Harvard!”

  “Yes.” Alemann was obviously enjoying this. “So I called him a couple of days ago. We had a long talk. I told him about my project and told him that Richelle and I were thinking about coming to America this summer. I asked if I might do a lecture or two while there doing research.”

  “And, of course,” Emilee exclaimed, delighted now, “that would mean you’d have to limit your visit to Russia.”

  “Precisely,” Alemann chortled. “No more than six weeks at most. Then we would go directly to America from Moscow, staying until just before school starts.”

  Hans slapped his knee. “Which takes you away from Germany the entire summer. And what did your friend say to that?” Hans said, marveling at what he was hearing.

  “He wired me this morning. Because the time is so short, they can only put one lecture opportunity together. But, knowing the extent of the project, I can only scratch the surface in the two weeks that we will be in Boston, so his dean proposed that I return again next summer as a visiting professor and stay all summer.”

  Emilee clapped her hands. “Oh my goodness. So next year too?”