The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  Her look of happiness was more reward than anything he could have asked for. He looked around for a place to put the end, but there was nothing obvious, so he shoved it into his pocket. “So, how do you like America?”

  “I think it’s great!” Joanna placed such an odd emphasis on great that he had to laugh. “Can we stay?”

  “I’d like that. But I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your mother doesn’t want to.”

  “But if we stay here, she’ll have to stay!”

  He had discussed this with Zosia extensively, but she had been adamant. He was welcome to stay wherever he wanted, she had said, quite magnanimously, but she was going back. And that meant, of course, that Joanna was going back as well.

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, honey,” he explained. “You have to go where your mother goes, and she’s going back. Anyway, wouldn’t you miss the mountains and the forest? Wouldn’t you miss your grandmother and Olek and all your friends?”

  Joanna nodded. “Yes, I suppose I would.”

  “I would, too. Look, we have a few more weeks here. I’ve got to do a bit of traveling and some more interviews, and then I’ll be done. We’ll go home and I’ll get to spend lots of time with you. Not like here. Would you like that? We can go into town, visit the zoo. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” He indicated the park across the street.

  “Sure!”

  “Okay, go tell your mother where we’re going.” He watched as she ran happily back up the steps and inside the building. She emerged a moment later, and theyset off across the Avenue and into Central Park. At the first rubbish bin they located, he not only threw away the cigarette end but discarded the rest of the pack.

  Joanna skittered around happily. “You’re really going to do it?”

  “Of course, I said I would.” He realized he had at that point absolutely no option of backing out. A little girl, a five-year-old little girl, had broken the habit of a lifetime. What power her smile had!

  1

  EVERYONE NOTICED how the Führer’s frown deepened as he listened to the whispered message, and the conversation in the room quickly died away to an expectant silence. The propaganda minister continued his worried, intense whispering as he handed the Führer an American magazine, already opened to an article.

  “Another one?” the Führer exploded. “Who the hell is this man!”

  There was a whispered answer.

  “I know that! But who is he? Is he a fake? Why don’t we have a file on him?”

  “Presumably, during his alleged reeducation and forced labor, everything on him was refiled by number. Perhaps Security can explain to you why their files are not cross-referenced by name,” the minister explained, looking pointedly at a number of the guests in the room.

  The Führer sat up and put his drink down on a side table. “Enough of this, already! We’re going to sort this out now!” He stood and scanned the room. “Everyone in Security, into the library. Now! You, too,” he added, indicating the propaganda minister. “Everyone else, continue with the party!” The Führer walked toward the door followed by an obedient group of men, their heads hanging like dogs who had just had their noses smacked. The Führer stopped at the door and looked around. “Traugutt, bring your daughter along, we’ll need a secretary.”

  That last comment caused a number of the guests to throw surprised glances at the various secretaries in attendance, and there was intense interest in the young, dark-haired woman who walked confidently through the parting crowd to the door. Once they were in the library, Stefi sat demurely at the Führer’s side at the head of the conference table.

  “You can take notes?” he asked quietly as he handed her a notepad and pen.

  She nodded shyly, then, once the Führer’s attention was elsewhere, she threw an inscrutable glance at her father.

  “Gentlemen,” the Führer began, “I think all of you are, to some extent, awarethat there has been an intensive American propaganda effort directed against us this past month. Most of you, however, have not been apprised of the extent of the damage done to us.” He paused and looked at the article in front of him, then sighing, added, “I don’t understand where this is coming from. We were right on track for talks, I had the personal guarantee of some of their most senior politicians that things would be kept quiet—”

  “You had the word of Jews and gangsters,” Schindler interjected, “and it was worth exactly what I told you it would be!”

  There were a few murmurs of agreement, and someone began, “These Americans—”

  “These Americans,” Richard interrupted, “have a different system. One which few, if any, of us truly understand. They are not able to control their own people. It leads to chaos, crime, and corruption, but it is clear that the politicians who gave their word to our Führer have not violated it. This is not a political initiative, it comes from below.”

  The Führer nodded gratefully. “It comes from this man. Can anyone tell me who he is?” He pushed the magazine toward the nearest seat. The occupant shook his head and passed it on. As the magazine was passed from one to the other, the Führer motioned toward the propaganda minister. “Tell them what’s been going on.”

  The minister shifted uneasily in his seat. “It seems to have started about a month ago with an interview on American television. This man did nothing more than describe what he called his life story . . .”

  As the magazine reached Richard, he looked at the photograph in the article. It was small but clearly focused, and the features of his sister’s husband were unmistakable. It had been a difficult decision, but they had opted for not cloaking Peter in anonymity, as they feared it would lessen the impact of his story. Alex had hoped Peter and Zosia would remain in the NAU, but Zosia had been adamant that she would return, and Peter had wanted to stay with her, whatever the cost. So, he had returned, trusting to the seclusion of the mountains and the anonymity afforded by the Reich’s multitudes, bound by the chains of love more securely than he had ever been by any other chains. Richard shook his head at the picture and passed it on.

  “. . . backlash against isolationism and against our interests, which we have not adequately addressed,” the propaganda minister was saying.

  “What do we care what they think?” Schindler asked sharply as he picked up the magazine.

  “It has already had real consequences,” a representative from the border police explained. “We’ve had a significant increase in the number of arms we’ve detected being smuggled into the country. We can only assume that there has been a concomitant increase in the supply.”

  “There has been a Reich-wide increase in terrorism.”

  “And there have been riots!”

  “And an upsurge in union activity.”

  Schindler ignored the comments. He looked up and smiled at the Führer. “I know this man.”

  “You do? Who is he? Is his story real?”

  “I don’t know how real it is, I don’t know what he’s been saying, but look in Vogel’s file. Karl Vogel.”

  “Vogel? What does he have to do with it?”

  “Vogel owned him,” Schindler laughed. “And I warned him, from day one, that boy was trouble. He should have beat the shit out of him when he had the chance.”

  “We’ll make amends for lost time when we get our hands on him,” the Führer promised.“He’s going to wish he had never seen the light of day.”

  “There’s no guarantee he’s within our reach, is there?” someone asked.

  “Our agents lost him in Mexico City. They ended up following someone to California, but they think it was the wrong man. They lost the double in Los Angeles, so they can’t be sure.”

  “Morons!”

  There was a generally noisy and rancorous discussion of the ineffectiveness of various subdivisions of Security until the Führer was driven to slam the table with his hand
. “Enough! Enough.”

  There was a moment’s silence, and then the propaganda minister ventured to ask, “What sort of security measures have been taken so far?”

  “So far, nothing organized,” Schindler answered, throwing an accusatory glance at the Führer. “While we’ve been awaiting our orders, we have managed to crack down on illegal publications, border patrols have been enhanced, smuggling rings broken up. I think it’s time for a retaliatory strike. This man is English, isn’t he? We should have started executing hostages in England ages ago.”

  “He claims to be sponsored by a coalition, and his handler is from the Polish government,” someone pointed out.

  “Then hang a couple of thousand of them as well!” Schindler demanded. “Burn a hundred villages and their inhabitants. We must teach them that they can’t play these sorts of games with us!”

  The Führer leaned back in his chair and smirked at his challenger. “Perhaps it will interest you, Günter, to know that an executive order was signed today for massive retaliations to begin on the morrow. And this, this traitor, he claimed to work in London, so we’re going to sweep London clean of every terrorist suspect. Within the week, they’ll have their trials and will be fertilizing Green Park shortly afterwards.”

  “Ah,” Schindler stammered. “Good, that’s good. We don’t want to look weak.”

  “We aren’t weak,” the Führer reminded him. “Nevertheless, retaliations aside, there is still much to deal with from this mess.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It’s late, and none of us are thinking clearly. I’ll be assigning task forces to dealwith the various problems raised tonight: riots, increased arms, terrorism . . . uh, what else?”

  “Unions.”

  “Yes, unions, and of course our official protests to their government about all this, and whatever. Anyway, I’ll expect you all to work in close concert with each other since all the problems stem from the same root. My office will be handling overall coordination, and you are all to report to it and cooperate with each other. Is that understood?”

  They all agreed it was.

  “Good, go out and rejoin the party. We’ll pick up on this tomorrow.” As the men rose and turned to leave, the Führer called out, “Traugutt, stay behind.” He turned and smiled at Stefi. “You too, Schatz.”

  Richard waited patiently until the last of the others had left and the door was shut, then he turned to the Führer expectantly.

  The Führer waved his hand toward the chair next to him. “Come sit here, I want your advice on some things. You always seem to have a good eye for what’s going to happen. Maybe you can give me some ideas about how to handle our answer to the Americans.”

  “Of course, mein Führer,” Richard answered obsequiously. “But first, I think it’s important that we consider this retaliation order you have signed.”

  “Why?”

  “I worked out East, remember? I know who you’re dealing with there, and I believe there’s a good reason that the coalition that supported this Englishman chose the handler they did. If he’s a representative of the Polish government in exile, then he has ties to the Home Army.”

  “So?”

  “They have the most efficient assassination unit of all the terrorist organizations. We have only been able to keep them in check through a complicated series of protocols established over decades of negotiations. If we strike at anyone within the Reich for an action of one of their government spokesmen in the NAU, then we have violated the protocols.”

  “So what?”

  “If we violate the protocols, they will strike back in proportion to the violation—that’s part of the deal. None of your officials in the East will be safe. Even the majority of us in Berlin will have to fear for our lives. Though you personally have sufficient protection, the rest of the officials don’t, and as they are knocked off, one by one, they may believe that it was a deliberate action on your part to remove them. Especially Schindler. It could provoke a coup.”

  “Oh! But wouldn’t it be clear that it was not my doing?”

  “By violating the protocols, it would be your doing,” Richard explained.

  “Oh! What should I do?”

  “Cancel the retaliations. All of them,” Richard advised.

  “Oh.” The Führer rubbed his chin. “What about the arrests in London? Wecan still do the sweep, can’t we? Those will be genuine terrorist suspects, after all.”

  Richard shook his head. “Not worth it. They’ll know why there was a crackdown. They’ll know it was retaliation, and when your own people start dropping dead, Schindler won’t hesitate to point a finger at you.”

  The Führer groaned slightly. “But then the populace will think they can get away with this sort of thing.”

  “Since we have absolute control of the media, the populace is completely unaware of what has been happening in America. All they know is that there is some level of disruption within the Reich. That is all we must deal with.”

  “What about Schindler, and the others? They’ll think I’m being weak.”

  “You only show weakness by worrying about them. You are, after all, the Führer. You are our leader, and we have all pledged undying loyalty to you. All of us!”

  The Führer nodded his head wearily. “So is there no way to punish this criminal for his actions?”

  Richard took a deep breath, then explained reluctantly, “Halifax himself is not a member of the government in exile, so he is still bound by our laws and you could charge him with crimes against the state if he were ever to return.”

  “We’ll do that! We’ll scour London, we’ll scour England! We’ll find that bastard!”

  “You can do that, but you know, he’ll never come back.”

  “We’ll kidnap him!” the Führer suggested excitedly. “As soon as he shows his face again.”

  “That would set a dangerous international precedent.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re right,” the Führer sighed. “Well, I’ll tell you this, my friend. If he is ever foolish enough to come back, he’ll regret it! How long did he talk about us, stabbing us in the back, twisting the knife? A month? It was a month, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “One month. That’s how long I’ll make sure he stays alive. A month before we’ll let him die. Thirty-one days! And for each and every one of those days, he’ll beg us to kill him!” The Führer was sitting bolt upright, his eyes gleaming with excitement, but then he threw himself wearily back into his chair. “It still won’t be enough though. He’s hurt us. Like a thankless child he has spurned his own Fatherland. It will take ages to undo the damage he’s done to us.” The Führer sighed heavily. “You’re a father, Richard. You understand what it would feel like to have a child who behaves so cruelly, so unfairly . . .”

  Richard and Stefi remained respectfully silent as the Führer struggled to cope with his grief. Gathering his courage, the Führer collected himself and appealed to Richard, “I need to know how to handle these Americans. You seem to know a lot about them, what do you think?”

  Richard considered for a moment. The Reich had responded to the Halifaxaffair by protesting directly to the American government. Not only had the protests been ineffective, but the lack of a public-oriented response had been interpreted as guilt and had only enhanced Peter’s story. Now, though, with Peter’s tour finished, the best thing to do would be to stir things up a bit, so Richard advised, “The Propaganda Ministry needs to strengthen its response. I think it has been a mistake to remain quiet for so long. It is interpreted as guilt.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’re right. Why don’t you handle that end of things? You seem to understand these Americans.”

  Richard shook his head. “No, no, not me. I wouldn’t know what to say at all. Americans confuse me, they are corrupt and immoral and chaotic. I would never know what to say.”

  “Who then?”

  “Give Propaganda their head. They’re trained in this stuff. See what they come up with. A
nd if, after a time, they aren’t handling it right, I’m sure by then a candidate will suggest himself.”

  The Führer nodded wearily. “All right, I’ll try that. Now, why don’t you go back to the party.”

  “Yes, mein Führer.” Richard stood, gave a slight bow, and motioned to Stefi to join him.

  “No, no, you stay here for a few minutes, Schatz.” The Führer motioned to Stefi to remain seated. “I need to go over these notes with you.”

  Richard studied the Führer, quickly weighing up his very limited options. Then Richard looked at Stefi and realized that his intervention would, in any case, be unwelcome. They had both been angling for this sort of access for months—what business did he have fouling up her plans at this stage? She was thoroughly professional and completely dedicated, and at that moment he recognized that he not only trusted her with his life, he trusted her with her own.

  “We won’t be more than a few minutes,” the Führer assured him, as he waggled his fingers in the direction of the door.

  Richard grit his teeth, bowed slightly again, then quickly turned and left before he could change his mind.

  As the door shut behind her father, Stefi set the notebook down and, moving to stand behind the Führer, began massaging his back and neck.

  “Oh, that does feel good,” he moaned in response.

  “I’ll type up these notes and submit them to your office tomorrow.”

  “Naw, just burn them.” He slid into a more comfortable position. “Ah, yes, right there, that’s good!”

  “You feel so tense! You’ve made so many command decisions,” she soothed. “I’m very glad you’re not going to carry out those retaliations.”

  “I don’t know, maybe I will. I could use a few additions to my tape library.” He gestured to a bookshelf laden with videotapes. “Some of those are getting quite old. I’d like a few new ones. We could view them together. Just you and me.”

  Stefi walked over to the shelf and picked up one of the tapes. There was a single-word label on it. It was either a person’s name or perhaps the name of a village. “What are they?” she asked.