Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Yes,” Hans answered. “She got a letter from him on Wednesday. He made it home all right. Says the whole family came out to be there when he arrived. It was a joyous homecoming for him.”

  “And how is Lisa handling all of that now?”

  “Happily.” Hans blew out his breath. “I’m sorry, Alemann. I know we agreed not to tell the girls any of our plans yet, but Lisa was so crushed when she learned that Benji wouldn’t be coming to Munich. It was one more bitter disappointment in a long string of bitter disappointments for her. So I told her. We haven’t told Jo, just Lisa, and—”

  “No need to apologize, Hans. I have no concerns about Lisa knowing. So how are you going to let the Westlands know they will have eleven people descend on them at Christmastime?”

  “Well, they know we’re coming for Christmas on holiday. We’ve talked freely about that in our letters back and forth. But one day, about two weeks ago, Emilee and I had this sudden urge to see the principality of Liechtenstein.” He grinned impishly. “The weather was lovely, and it’s only about a hundred and fifty miles from Munich.”

  “And you just happened to have a letter to the Westlands with you in the car, which you conveniently dropped off at a post office in Liechtenstein, which is far away from the prying eyes of the Nazi Party snoops. Right?”

  “How did you ever guess?” Hans chuckled. “So while we mention our coming holiday in our other letters, there is nothing more. Very general information. In fact, since we have applied for exit visas to visit there, it might seem a little suspicious if we were not talking about it.”

  “That’s great. And makes a good segue into why I asked you to come.”

  Hans sat back again. “I’m ready. What’s happening? Were you satisfied with the quality of the documents that you acquired?”

  “Ja, ja. Did you look at them?”

  Hans shook his head. “I never opened the bottom of the briefcase once I got them in there. I was very happy to pass them off to you.”

  “They are top-notch quality. In fact, we know for sure that they will pass muster.”

  “Oh? Have you used them already? I thought you wanted—”

  “No, we won’t use them until we leave.” Alemann hesitated. “But my friend, the ‘source,’ as you call him, did use his. He and his wife left last week. Went down through Austria, into Liechtenstein, then through Switzerland down into Italy. They finally sailed from the port of Genoa.”

  “To America?”

  “He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. I’m guessing they may be headed for Argentina. They have a large expatriate German community down there. But he left because he’s much more vulnerable than we are.” He hesitated, then added, “Because he was part of a plot to assassinate Hitler.”

  Hans’s jaw dropped. “Really? When?”

  “I know only the barest of details, but it was while Chamberlain was here for the Sudetenland negotiations. Some of the generals decided that the only way they could save Germany from war was to kill Hitler. They planned to do it in one of the meetings. One of the private secretaries to Hitler had a pistol inside his uniform jacket. But when Mussolini intervened at the last minute and abandoned the Czechs, Hitler pulled back from the brink, war was averted, and they called off the attempt.”

  Hans was amazed. “They were that close? That’s encouraging, in a way. To know that not everyone is fanatically loyal to our glorious leader.”

  “Agreed. But my friend felt the noose closing in on him and felt he could stay on no longer. He has taken many risks. Some of the most damning leaks to the foreign press were his. So he and his wife—they have no children—decided to leave immediately. I did receive a cryptic note from him before they set sail, letting me know that his documents were not questioned even once, and that’s going through four separate border crossings.”

  “That is good news. And I’m glad for him. He has done my family a great service too. Oh, and I have some good news. I went to the visa office today.”

  “And? Did you get your papers?”

  “No, but the clerk checked and said they have been approved. We should get them in the mail in the next few days.”

  Alemann slapped his knees. “Wunderbar, Hans! That is good news. And did she say anything about why it took so long?”

  “Just that they’re very busy right now.”

  “And tell me again what you put as your departure date?”

  “Sunday, December 4. Which puts us in Utah on the sixteenth.”

  “Gut, gut. We leave on the fourteenth. But we’re not going north. With Austrian papers, we’re going to follow that same route as our friend. So we’ll be about five or six days behind you.”

  Hans exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, Alemann. Two months, and then we’re gone.” He gave him a droll smile. “We really have Chamberlain to thank for that, you know. If we were at war with Czechoslovakia right now, traveling could be much more difficult for all of us.”

  “Speaking of Chamberlain,” Alemann replied. “Did you see what Winston Churchill said about him in Parliament yesterday?”

  “Who’s Winston Churchill?”

  “A political leader in the Liberal Party in England. Hold on.” He got up and walked to his briefcase and returned a moment later with a pad of yellow paper. “I took some notes. They replayed it on a BBC broadcast last night.” He sat down again and glanced through his notes, then began. “I’ll skip to what I think is his most impressive comment. This was given to the House of Commons. Speaking of the Munich Agreement, he said this: ‘We have recently suffered a total and unmitigated defeat. We are in the midst of a disaster of the first magnitude. The road down the Danube, the road to the Black Sea has been opened. All the countries of Middle Europe and the Danube valley, one after another, will be drawn in the vast system of Nazi politics radiating from Berlin.’”

  “Whew!” Hans exclaimed. “And he’s speaking of Chamberlain?”

  “Not by name, of course. The Brits are way too proper for that. But there’s no mistaking whom he is talking about.” Alemann continued reading. “‘What we have just seen come to fruition in Munich is only the beginning. The English government’s choice to acquiesce to the outrageous demands of a growingly belligerent German state has restructured the political landscape and history of Europe, forever altering the continent without a single drop of blood being shed.’”

  “My word,” Hans marveled. “Those are pretty harsh words.”

  Alemann scanned quickly. “And listen to this. Talk about a perfect grasp of how history and politics intertwine. ‘It goes without saying that Czechoslovakia, which ended with the worst possible outcome, was done in by her allies. This disaster came not of their own doing, but because of their ties to the West and the League of Nations. They were given only two alternatives—submission or war. The West, including France and our own nation, gave them no third alternative.

  “‘The consequences of the Munich Agreement mean that the smaller nations of Europe have now to answer to Germany. Germany now has access and influence deep into the East—the lands of Poland, Romania, Bulgaria, and Yugoslavia will be future victims of German conquest.’”

  Alemann laid the papers down and sat back. “How perceptive is that?” Then he remembered something else and picked it up again. “Oh, and one more. ‘Mark my words,’ he says. ‘Britain and France will pay the price for what happened in Munich. Germany will demand more land from the democratic nations. And unless the Allies reverse our strategy of appeasement, Hitler will soon turn toward Western Europe in search of land and resources. It will not just be Czechoslovakia who will face the consequences of the Munich Agreement. Britain and France will also feel the aftermath of what happened in Munich.’”

  Hans gave a long, low whistle. “That is sobering.”

  “Sobering indeed,” Alemann replied. “That’s why it’s t
ime to get out of here.”

  Chapter Notes

  The quotations from Winston Churchill’s speech to Parliament are not all verbatim, nor were they necessarily given in the order shown here, but they do contain the essence of his very insightful and prescient words (see “Winston Churchill’s 5th October Speech to the House of Commons,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill%27s_5th_October_Speech_to_the_House_of_Commons).

  October 26, 1938, 4:45 p.m.—

  EDW Ranch, Monticello, Utah

  Mitch Westland lowered the binoculars and turned to his wife. “Yes, that’s him. It’s Benji.”

  “Oh, good,” Edie said. She started to get up. “I’ll start supper.”

  He reached over and took her hand and pulled her gently back down. “Supper can wait, hon. Let’s see whether he wants to talk or just be alone.”

  She sank back down. “You’re right. Oh, Mitch, he seems so. . . . I don’t know, lost.”

  “Lost? I’m not sure that’s the right word.”

  “Okay, what word would you use? Oh, I know he’s happy to be back home again. Happy to be with the family. Even happy to be working on the ranch. Fall roundup was good for him. Got him back up in the mountains. Kept him busy so he’s not thinking of Lisa every minute of every day. Him and Abby battling in their usual competitive way to see who can bring in the most cows.” Edie’s face softened with remembrance. “I think it surprised him a little how much he had missed it all. I mean, he’s basically been gone for four years.”

  “And some of that was pretty rough time,” Mitch commented.

  “And yet, two days after roundup’s over, he saddles up, takes his bedroll, his rifle, and some food, and heads up into the mountains again. For three days. That’s what I mean by lost, Mitch. He’s looking for something, but I’m not sure he even knows what it is. He’s got some big questions facing him now. Career. Schooling. How he’s going to pay for all of that. Marriage.”

  Mitch smiled. “Oh, I don’t think that last one’s a question in his mind. Once we get Lisa and her family over here, I predict we’ll have a marriage next summer.”

  “Sooner than that. Guess what he told me the other night when we were talking.”

  “What?”

  He said that if it does work out between him and Lisa, he wants to get married on May 13th.”

  That brought Mitch’s head around. “Really? That would be nice.”

  “Yes. Our wedding anniversary. His and Abby’s birthdays. I told him that would please us very much.” Edie looked toward Horsehead Peak. Benji was riding toward them at a steady lope now.

  Mitch stirred. “Come on, Grandma. Wouldn’t want our son thinking we were sitting out here worrying about him.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking that may be exactly what he’s hoping for.”

  5:22 p.m.

  “Well, don’t you two look comfy? What are you doing out here?”

  Edie and Mitch slid apart and she patted a place for him. “Enjoying the fall colors.”

  Benji plopped down between them. “Ah. You should see it up top. Unbelievable. Red. Gold. Orange. Yellow. And the dark green of the pines. After all those years of drought it was good to see the range coming back.”

  “How far up did you go?” Mitch wondered.

  “Elk Mountain.”

  “Really?” Edie asked. “That’s a long ways.”

  “Yeah. Longing for a little taste of Southern Bavaria and Austria again, I guess. And up there, under those massive pines, I found it.”

  “Good.” Edie squeezed his hand. “Did you do any hunting?”

  “Nah. I brought enough food with me.” He turned to his father. “But I did see a cougar up by Maverick Point. She was feeding on a yearling deer. I came out of the trees and there she was, and she was not happy. She crouched down and hissed and spat at me, daring me to come any closer. Which I didn’t.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it.”

  “You said you wanted to get your missionary journal caught up,” Edie said. “Did you?”

  “I did. Those last two or three months were kind of crazy, and yet pretty momentous, when you think about all that’s going on over there.”

  “By the way,” Mitch broke in, “we got a letter from Hans and Emilee. They said that once the Sudetenland crisis passed, the First Presidency gave permission for all missionaries to return to their areas. Emilee said their elders were back last Sunday.”

  “Wunderbar!” Benji exclaimed. “I’m so glad. We had some wonderful people we were working with, and I was sad to leave them.” He hesitated. “Anything from Lisa?”

  His mother laughed softly. “What do you think?”

  “Gut, gut. I wrote her a long letter too. I’ll post it tomorrow.”

  Edie got up. “Dad and I were just talking about starting supper when we saw you coming. You two stay here. I’ll go get something started.”

  “Uh . . . Mom? Could we talk for a minute before you do that?” He patted the cushion.

  Edie sank down again. “Of course.”

  “I did a lot of thinking up there. About life. About what’s next. A lot of praying, too.” A brief smile came and went. “It’s a good place for doing both of those.”

  They both nodded but said nothing.

  “I don’t know. In some ways, I’m even more confused, more unsure of what I should be doing with my life.”

  “That’s not uncommon, son,” Mitch said. “You’ve spent three years of your life as a missionary. Then it comes to an end and suddenly, you’ve got life there before you.”

  “Yeah,” Benji said dejectedly. He took a deep breath. “But I did come to one decision.”

  “Oh?” Edie turned to face him squarely. “Tell us.”

  Another deep breath, then a long, slow exhale. “This is going to . . . um . . . sound absolutely crazy. And if you think it is, then, . . .” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know.”

  Edie spoke softly. “May I guess?”

  He nodded glumly.

  “You want to go to Germany to see Lisa.” Mitch’s head whipped around. She ignored him. “Am I right?”

  Another nod.

  Mitch burst out. “But she’ll be here before Christmas, and they’re going to live here with us for a time. And—”

  “I said it was crazy.” He got to his feet and began to pace back and forth as the words came tumbling out of him in a torrent. “I know it’s insane. I’ve only been home for a month. And I don’t have any money, and neither do you. But I can leave in the morning. If you can give me a ride up to Thompson Springs, I’ll take to the road again, riding the rails. With any luck I can be in New York in three or four days. Remember, I’m an experienced deckhand now. They’re always looking for those. I’ll see if I can hop a freighter headed for Europe and—”

  “My goodness, Benji!” Edie cried. “Take a breath before you faint.”

  He stopped, grinning foolishly. “Sorry, but I can’t get it out of my head.”

  Edie sat back, searching the face of her son, who was no longer her boy but a man now. And she remembered the day he and Abby were born. The miracle twins, as everyone called them. And a rush of love for him filled her heart and brought tears to her eyes. “Oh, Benji, this friendship between you and Lisa has been a little miracle since the day you first met. And now, here you are, all these years later.” Edie suddenly got to her feet. “Stay here.”

  Mitch started to get up, but she shook her head. “I’ll be right back. Just give me a minute.”

  Two minutes later, the front door opened and she came back out to the porch. When Benji saw what she was carrying in her arms, he stared for a moment, then blurted, “No, Mama! Not the Oberammergau Jar.”

  Mitch was not surprised, and he said nothing. She set it on the porch next to the swing, then gently pushed Mitch back down on the
cushion. “I have something to say, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

  She turned to Benji. “As you know, some years ago, by family decree, we emptied this jar of about three thousand dollars and put it in the bank, into what we called the Westland Independence Fund. And that is what it turned out to be. Before the drought finally broke last year, we went through every dime of it. And all hope of returning to Oberammergau in 1934 was dashed. That was a sad day for all of us. Well, when the drought was clearly over and we were starting to rebuild our herd, we dusted off the Oberammergau Jar and put it out in the kitchen again, with the hopes that we might save enough for the 1940 Passion Play.”

  “I can’t take it, Mom. I—”

  “Young man,” she said sternly. “You are not too old for me to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. He saw that his father was trying very hard not to laugh.

  “Anyway,” Edie went on, “some of the kids counted this the other day. We now have $249.66.” Her voice caught. “I wish we had more, Benji. But it’s yours. I know it’s not enough, but with your faith and your determination, you will find a way. So go. She’s waiting for you. Do it. Go get your Lisa. And we’ll see you both at Christmas.”

  October 29, 1938, 1:34 p.m.—

  New York City Port Authority

  As Benji approached the gangplank, the sailor at the bottom straightened and stepped forward to block access to the ramp. “Sorry, no civvies on board.”

  “Not a civilian. The office said you might be lookin’ for another deckhand.”

  The leathered face wrinkled as he squinted at Benji. He was a man in his fifties, and he looked like he’d spent most of that time at sea. “They told me to find Mr. Torgerson, the first mate. Said I should talk to him.”

  “You a landlubber? If so, no point asking.”

  “No,” Benji said easily. “Sailed almost nine months with CMB Shipping out of Long Beach, California.”

  He grunted and stepped aside. “Try the fo’c’sle. Saw him there a bit ago.”