Fire and Steel, Volume 3

by Gerald N. Lund

  They had been meeting for more than an hour and a half now. He was glad he had come. This had been significant. Very significant. But another two and half hours? He groaned inwardly, took one last deep breath and went back down the steps into the cellar of the great hall that towered above him.

  It looked as though Adolf had not moved even a fraction of an inch in the time Hans had been gone. He was still staring moodily at the paper before him. He didn’t stir even after everyone was seated again. Finally, Ernst Roehm, spoke. “So, what’s next?” he asked.

  “Colors,” Adolf replied without raising his head.

  The men exchanged glances. Was that a joke? A couple of them smiled, but no one laughed.

  Finally his head lifted. “Colors matter. If you don’t believe me, ask the Communists. We find their flag highly repulsive, but that’s only because of who they are and what they represent. But as a symbol, their choice is quite dramatic. Red is not only a color that is vivid and striking and draws the eye to itself like a magnet; it is also the perfect symbol for revolution. Why? Because the old order of the Czars had to be overthrown by blood. Sometimes blood is the only way to bring about drastic change. Oh, yes, and what else did they do? They placed a hammer and sickle on that field of red. Why are those significant?”

  Maurice answered first. “The hammer symbolizes the industrial working classes. The sickle represents the agricultural workers. One is on top of the other to signify that these two classes are united in the revolution. I agree with you. It is a powerful banner.”

  Hitler was pleased with his answer. “Precisely. But we don’t want anything that even hints that we are like the Communists.” He sat back. “Personally, I’ve always thought that red and gold and black go nicely together, and I thought about using those for our colors. But I rejected them. Because those were the colors used on the flag of the Austrian Empire, an empire that was highly decadent and that recently came to an ignominious end.”

  Roehm raised a hand, as though this were a classroom, causing others to smile.

  “Yes, Ernst?”

  “Are you saying that you think we should have a party flag?”

  “No, I am saying that we must have a flag that represents our party to the people.” Adolf stood up and walked to a small table behind them where a flat cardboard box was sitting. He picked it up, opened one end of it, and reached in with his hand. But he returned to the group without withdrawing his hand. “Would you all stand up, please?” he said. “And step back from the table, bitte.”

  They did so, moving back two steps. He looked at each one of them in turn, smiling broadly now. “After much experimentation, numerous sketches, and some excellent suggestions from some of you, I would present the following for your examination.”

  He withdrew a piece of fabric from the box and tossed the box aside. The cloth was folded into a square about two feet wide on each side and about two inches thick. It was a pale red, but there was no discernible pattern to it. They inched closer.

  “Stand back, please,” he said again. Then, grasping one edge of the cloth, he snapped his arms up. The cloth billowed outward, nearly covering the length of the two tables, and settled onto the tabletops. He made a couple of quick adjustments so that the cloth lay squarely on the two tables, and then he stepped back. “My friends, this is my second proposal to you. I am recommending that this become the flag of the National Socialist Party, the Nazi flag.”

  There was a collective gasp as the men stared at the stunning sight before them. In the drabness of the room, which was mostly various shades of browns and greys, the fabric was suddenly the thing that seized the eye and held the gaze in a grip like a vice. Hans could not pull his eyes away from it.

  It was a full-size flag, about six feet long and not quite three feet wide. Most of the fabric had been dyed a brilliant red that blazed in the room like a crimson torch. In the center was a circular white disk about a foot in diameter, the white as brilliant as a snowfield in sunshine. And in the center of the circle, tipped at a forty-five degree angle from vertical, was a black hakenkreuz, or “hooked cross,” more commonly known as the swastika. The overall effect was mesmerizing. No, stunning. And highly pleasing to the eye.

  The committee members were in awe as they moved closer and slowly circled the table. So was Hans. The flag dominated the entire room. He looked up as Adolf came over and put his arm around his shoulder. “So, my friend,” he said somberly. “What do you think?”

  “Brilliant,” Hans said softly. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  Chapter Notes

  In the spring of 1920, at a meeting (or various meetings) of the German Workers’ Party, Hitler launched a series of what he described as propaganda initiatives, which he hoped would catapult the German Workers’ Party into the spotlight of public attention. It was on April 1st of that same year that Hitler proposed that the name of the party be changed. He seems also to be the one who suggested abbreviating the name into a short but powerful word that was to be burned into the minds of millions of people and that still carries much emotional power today (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 42).

  In Mein Kampf, Hitler says the flag, which even now has an amazing visual impact on the eye and the mind, first appeared in public in midsummer 1920. He says that “the effect at the time was somewhat akin to a blazing torch” (211). He discusses at great length his contemplation of colors, symbols, and designs as he sought to create a flag for the party. He studied many flags and crests and openly admits that other people made suggestions.

  Because of its association with Hitler and the horrors of Nazi Germany, today the swastika still carries enormous negative connotations, even though Hitler has been dead now for seventy years. But that was not the connotation when Hitler chose it. The word swastika is not a German word—it actually comes from the ancient Sanskrit svastika and means “good fortune” or “well-being.” It is an ancient symbol, dating back as far as 5,000 years, and is found in many cultures and religions because it has very positive connotations. It can even be seen on Navajo blankets today. It became a popular symbol in Germany in the late nineteenth century after an archeologist found a hooked cross at the ancient site of Troy. Hitler would have seen it many times and probably chose it specifically because it was instantly recognizable by the people (see “History of the Swastika,” Holocaust Encyclopedia, http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007453).

  None of the elements of the flag Hitler created were either original or unique to him. But it is clear that it was he who brought all of the elements together and created the flag that quickly became a world-renowned iconic symbol of his party, his country, his life, and his impact on the history of the world.

  April 1, 1920, 11:05 a.m.—EDW Ranch, Monticello, San Juan County, Utah

  At the same precise moment that Hans Eckhardt was congratulating Adolf Hitler on his design for a new flag, eight time zones to the west—five thousand, four hundred, seventy-­three miles, to be exact—Mitch Westland’s thoughts were not on Germany or anything evenly faintly related to it.

  It was a beautiful spring morning in the Red Rock country of southeastern Utah. Mitch had left before sunup to check on his cattle grazing in the foothills below Horsehead Peak. It was calving time, and he wanted to make sure that none of the new additions to the herd were in trouble. None were, so now he was back. His horse was unsaddled and in the corral and he was bringing it a bucket of oats. But as he dumped the oats into the small trough, a movement at the front of the ranch house caught his eye. He stopped, squinting a little in the bright sunlight. “What in the world?” he murmured.

  Gathered in a tight half-circle in front of the main door to the house were five children. Tina, at twelve, was the oldest and tallest and lankiest, just starting into the transition from girlhood to womanhood. The rest were about half her size. They consisted of Mitch’s twins, Benjamin, or Benji, and Abigail, or Abby, who would
turn five next month. Noah, Mitch’s oldest grandson, was six and about an inch taller than the twins. Though technically the twins were his aunt and uncle, for practical reasons, everyone always referred to them as cousins. And finally, there was Edna June, younger sister to Noah, and Mitch and Edie’s only granddaughter. She would turn four in September, and with her blonde hair, large blue eyes, and tiny frame, she looked like one of the pixies from a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Mitch adored her and she him.

  But what he couldn’t figure is what in the heck they were doing. It looked as though they had some kind of willow switches and were trying to hit something on the screen door. Curious, and knowing their ability to get into trouble, Mitch set down the bucket of oats and turned and headed for the house. About twenty feet from the porch he stopped. Their backs were to him and they were chattering away with each other, so they didn’t hear his approach. Mitch saw several things at once. First, he saw that Edna June was seated on the porch in front of the others and was carefully picking something up with her thumb and forefinger and dropping it into an empty mason jar. Second, he saw that what the others held in their hands were not willow switches but fly swatters. Third, he saw that Tina did not have anything in her hand but was directing the younger ones like a drill sergeant. “There’s one!” she’d bark. And one of the three would swat at the screen or at something in mid-air. “Benji! There on the window!” And Benji took a step and swung his weapon. There was a soft thunk on the window and an instant cry of triumph. “Got ’im,” he crowed. And immediately Edna June, down on her hands and knees, scooted over and picked something up and put it in the quart-sized glass jar that was half-filled with something dark, almost black.

  Guessing what was going on, but not sure why it was such an organized, cooperative effort, Mitch stepped up on the porch. Momentarily startled, they all turned around. “Hi, Daddy,” Abby said with her usual perky smile.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asked.

  “Killing flies,” Noah said. He pointed just behind where Edna June had been kneeling. There were three other quart bottles, all of them filled with dead flies.

  “My goodness,” Mitch said soberly.

  “We need more,” Benji declared, searching the air in front of the screen door.

  “Need more?” Mitch exclaimed. “And just what do you need four quarts of dead flies for?”

  “For the movie,” Tina said. “Didn’t MJ tell you?”

  “Uh . . . I guess not.” MJ was Mitch’s oldest son and the father of Noah and Edna June.

  “We get into the movie free if we bring in a quart of dead flies.”

  “Oh, come on,” Mitch snorted. “He’s just pulling your leg, Tina. That’s your brother, and while that may work on these younger kids, surely you’re not falling for it.”

  Noah, following the conversation closely, came over. “It’s true, Grandpa. Daddy said so.”

  Mitch went down on one knee and took Noah by the shoulders. “Your daddy’s just playing a joke on you, Noah. Can’t you see that? They don’t give movie tickets for dead flies.”

  The four young ones looked at each other, a look of panic on their faces. Then Edna June scrambled to her feet. She came over and planted her feet directly in front of Mitch. She tipped her head way back, put her hands on her hips, and with an expression that looked so much like her mother it almost made him laugh, she said, “My daddy don’t lie, Grandpa!”

  Mitch scooped her up in his arms. “I know he doesn’t lie, Edna June, but he does tease you sometimes.”

  “No, Dad,” Tina said, thoroughly disgusted now. “It’s true. MJ and June are taking us to the movies, and if we each have a quart of dead flies, we get in free.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Tina, think! We don’t even have a movie theater in town anymore. Remember? It collapsed two years ago when we had that really big snowstorm.”

  Abby was waving her hand back and forth. “It’s not here, Daddy. We’re going to Blanding.”

  “Tell you what,” he said, “I’m glad to be rid of so many flies, so I’ll pay you ten cents for each bottle and we’ll go down to the store later and you can buy some penny candy. Okay?”

  At that moment, the front door opened and Edie appeared behind the screen. “What’s going on out here?”

  Tina whirled. “Dad says this whole thing about flies is a practical joke. That MJ is lying.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Mitch said as Edie glared at him. “Maybe someone’s playing a joke on MJ. Wherever did he hear a wild story like that?”

  “From me,” Edie said, her voice close to being frigid.

  Just then, Mitch’s mother came into view behind Edie. “And me,” Gwen said.

  “What?”

  “Well, Mr. Know-It-All,” Edie snapped, “if you would like to know, Walt Lyman called from Blanding this morning and said that the town council came up with this idea to reduce the fly population. One quart of dead flies gets them one free child’s ticket.”

  Mitch looked down. The four younger children were nodding vigorously, delighted to be vindicated. Tina was glowering at him, and when he looked at her she gave a toss of her head. “Ha!” she exclaimed.

  He looked back at his wife. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. And when I told MJ and June about it, they decided to take all the kids to the movie today. So thank you for throwing a wet blanket on everything.”

  Five pairs of eyes moved from Edie’s face to Mitch’s, anticipating that this was going to be fun to watch. Mitch looked down into the upturned faces and sparkling eyes. “Okay, I’ll grant you that it is a good idea, but. . . .” His voice was grave. “But are you sure that Blanding will accept Monticello flies?”

  More momentary confusion, but Tina again snorted in derision. “Flies all look the same.”

  “No way. Monticello flies are much uglier than those from Blanding.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Grandpa,” Edie exclaimed. “Stop teasing them. MJ and June want to leave in an hour, so they need to finish up and go get ready.”

  Looking for an acceptable retreat, Mitch looked over at Tina. “So what is the movie?”

  “The Mark of Zorro. It’s a new one.”

  Edna June’s lower lip puckered up. “I’m not going, Gwampa. Mama says I’m too little.”

  Edie gave him a warning look. “Edna June is staying with us. We’re going to make gingersnap cookies after her nap.”

  “But even Gweat-Gwama gets to go, Gwampa,” she wailed.

  “Ah, yes. Great-Grandma Westland loves the movies,” Mitch said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It’s one of her few vices.”

  “I do,” Gwen said, “especially if they star Douglas Fairbanks, the handsomest man in America.”

  “Hey, wait,” Mitch snorted. “You always said I was the handsomest man in America.”

  Edie rolled her eyes, but Gwen shot right back at him. “Yeah, that’s when you were four.”

  Tina clapped her hands. “Way to go, Grandma!”

  Mitch sniffed in disdain and turned to Edna June. “I think it’s smart to take gingersnap cookies over a movie any day. Tell you what, after lunch you and I will go down to the store and I’ll buy you some penny candy. Deal?”

  Edna June lit up like a street lamp. “Weally, Gwampa?”

  “Absolutely.” He glanced quickly at Edie to see if he was winning back any points.

  She shook her head, trying to suppress a smile. “You are incorrigible.” Then to the children, “All right, hurry it up. Get that last bottle filled, then come in and get ready.”

  As she shut the door again, Mitch turned to his posterity. “Last time I looked, there was an old cowhide out behind the barn. I’ll bet it’s black with flies. Seems like a good place to fill up a bottle in a hurry.”

  And that redeemed him. With a whoop they leaped off the porch and headed for the bar
n, Tina in the lead and Edna June trailing the pack.

  3:13 p.m.

  Mitch looked up from his newspaper as Edie came into the kitchen. “Is she still asleep?” he asked.

  “Yes. But I heard her singing to herself for at least half an hour after she went down.” Edie shot him a chiding look. “And that was after it took me ten minutes to convince her that the movie theater won’t turn the kids away for bringing Monticello flies.”

  He chuckled. “That little imp doesn’t miss much, does she?”

  “No, and she thinks the sun rises and sets with you, so you need to be careful what you tell her.” As he grunted something in return, Edie went over to her knitting basket and picked it up. “Do you think you’ve got enough newspapers there to keep you busy?”

  He looked at the four-inch stack that represented a week’s worth of the Deseret News. “With spring roundup, I haven’t read one for a week. Thanks for saving them.”

  She motioned with her head toward the door. “Why don’t you bring them out into the living room? It’s easier for me to knit in the big chair than sitting at the table.”

  “Sure.” Then he wondered if she was hinting at something. “I can read them later if you want to just talk.”

  “No, I just like you with me. Read me anything that you find interesting.”

  Mitch gathered up the papers and followed her into the next room. She sat in the overstuffed chair and spread her things out. He sat on the couch across from her. “As a matter of fact, I was about to read you something when you came in.”