THE FÜHRER'S DAUGHTER (Episode 1)

by Joshua Graham

  Poor Friedrich! Grace pressed her back against the wall and slid down, her face in her hands. Her stubborn curiosity had ruined his career. If only I could crawl into my closet and...

  And what? This was her fault, all that foolish flirting with him—now he was going to get in such trouble. He might get expelled from his position, his family disgraced.

  Wiping tears from her face, she peered down the hall where Father was talking ostentatiously as he displayed the palace treasures to his guests.

  She had to go somewhere private to process what had just happened. With guests filling the house, there was only one place: the corridor near the forward plaza.

  Catching her breath, she hurried off.

  Situated above an open section of the second floor, the plaza was adorned with white marble, and a spa that yielded a stunning view of the capital. From there, Grace took in every inspiring landmark, especially the Hitler Monument.

  Prior to the German liberation of America during the 1940s, the Washington Monument stood as a symbol of tyranny and control over the people. When Germany took control of the capital and most of the country, craftsmen worked day and night for two weeks to reconstruct it into a formidable image of Adolf Hitler standing in a straight-arm salute—a ubiquitous reminder to good citizens everywhere that the Father of the Third Reich perpetually kept watch to ensure their rightful place as guardians of the world. Every day, from the palace which had been built on the grounds where the old American White House had once stood, she drew inspiration from the various landmarks.

  She caught her breath, and waited for her pulse to return to normal.

  Leaning against the cold balustrade, Grace marveled at the glittering lights of New Berlin at night. To the west, beacons from the sentry towers of the district walls shone in the distance. Masterful constructions, those walls. One of the ASA’s crowning achievements in civil engineering, they rivaled that of ancient China, and—forged of steel and reinforced concrete—were significantly stronger. Cynics and dissidents tried to denounce district walls as symbols of imprisonment. But in truth, they manifested the nation’s strength and security. In addition to military and civilian technology, her people had developed the greatest innovations in modern civilization—yet another reason for national pride.

  For some reason, though, Father had never held as fast to the “Superiority of the Aryan Master Race” concept, as did the traditionalists back in the Fatherland.

  For the sake of Imperial unity, however, he held that opinion strictly in private.

  It was one which Grace was glad to have in common with him.

  A surveillance drone flew over the palace and toward the districts outskirts. Seeing it restored a sense of stability which comforted, and anchored her back into reality.

  She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and drew a long breath.

  Such a glorious land.

  So much promise for the future.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d been prepared for the life of a model for all people, young and old. She’d received Empires the very best training in history, protocol, public oration, athletics and culture. It was why she had been born—to inspire all to strive for the apex of society—to become a respected member of the Nazi party, to care for and fully utilize the resources entrusted to the heirs of this planet. To stand against the evil that lurked in the form of radical extremists, deviants, and other threats to all that was good, all that was pure and moral.

  All she wanted to was to help make the world a better place.

  What about Friedrich?

  With such heroic patriarchs as Adolf Hitler and today, his grandson Klaus, the Kaiser back in the Fatherland as templates, surely Father would pardon the young soldier. Father was, after all, the Führer of the Aryan States of America—he answered to no one but the Kaiser himself.

  And the Kaiser was thousands of miles away in Germany.

  For now.

  A voice stirred her out of her reverie.

  “I know you’re turning eighteen, but I still can’t believe how grown up you look.” Mother stood there in a flowing red gown, her gentle eyes meeting Grace’s. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  It wasn’t Mother’s fault, but somehow even seeing her in those bogus pictures made her feel uneasy around her. “I’m fine.”

  “I know you better than that,” Mother said, her voice soothing. “Talk to me.”

  Trying to conceal her discomfort, she folded her arms and forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

  “Now, Grace…”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I might.” Tall and elegant, Mother glided over, placed a warm arm around her, and pulled her close. Her hair smelled like sweet orange blossoms.

  Grace let out a breath and leaned against her shoulder. “Have you ever seen or heard about something so unbelievable, that if it were true, it would shatter your entire world?”

  “I might have.”

  “I mean, what would you do if you suddenly started doubting everything you knew to be true?”

  She kissed the top of Grace’s head. “Does this have anything to do with your confirmation? It’s a big step, after all.”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Then what’s this all about?” Mother said.

  “About life, about everything: This country and how it came to be. About the evil that once ruled it—and maybe still does.”

  “What ever are you talking about, Schatzi?”

  “I saw these pictures Mother, horrible pictures. There were bodies, mass graves, tortured souls. I could see it in their eyes, the utter disbelief that another human being could be so cruel. It must have been faked, right?”

  Rather than affirm what she desperately needed to hear, Mother’s rosy complexion quickly vacated her already fair skin. “Wh—what exactly did you see?”

  Grace’s heart plummeted into a chasm of dismay. “I said, they’re fake, right?”

  “Ach, meine Hertzchen…appearances can be deceiving.”

  Grace pushed away, the heat of indignation rushing to her face. “You were both in that picture too. And you ‘appeared’ to be reveling in your military work, while hundreds of dead bodies lay piled up behind you.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then it was real!”

  Mother turned away. It felt just like those recurring nightmares, the darkness around her mind, her heart, just kept wrapping tighter and tighter, squeezing the air, the very life out of her. It just couldn’t be true! And yet, she wasn’t denying it. Quite the contrary.

  Mother moved past her and set both hands on the rail. The evening breeze unfurled the scarlet silk scarf that wrapped around her neck like a serpent. “They taught everyone that Infekts were nothing more than a disease, like…parasites. That the world needed to be cleansed of them.”

  “Did you believe that?”

  Mother remained silent. Chin high and proud, she sniffled tersely and didn’t lift her hand to stop the single tear that fell.

  “I looked into their eyes, Mother!” Grace grabbed her elbow and gave it a shake. “Those images will be forever burned into my memory.”

  “My child, you must believe me.”

  “They didn’t look like dangerous terrorists and deviants. Why, they didn’t look any different from us. Even with their dead bodies piled like refuse, they looked…human.”

  Mother reached out to touch Grace’s face. “You don’t understand. It was the only way—”

  “The only way? What…How can you even—?” She pushed Mother’s hand away, then ran back into the palace.

  “Grace, wait!”

  Mother’s voice faded, as she flew down a flight of stairs and into the kitchen. After catching her breath, she started for her room.

  While she walked through the hall, a commotion out in the courtyard caught her attention.

  She eased toward the window for a closer look.

  Down below, a pair of gua
rds escorted Friedrich toward the security tower.

  He’d been arrested.

  “Go to your room,” Father said.

  Grace gasped with a start.

  “Wait, what are they—?”

  “I said, go to your room, Grace!”

  She turned and raced up the stairs. Having this day alone learned more than she could bear, it was all she could do to return to her room and hope Father would find a way to pardon Freidrich.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GRACE AWOKE the next morning to the irate chirp of her alarm clock. Bleary-eyed and listless, she slapped the snooze button to squelch it. After a lifetime of rising at 6:30 AM, it should have been easier to embrace this time of the day.

  It wasn’t.

  Father’s proclivity for punctuality was his trademark. As with all his edicts, he expected her to follow them without fail—even ones as banal as appearing presentable at the breakfast table at 7:00 AM sharp.

  After washing up and getting dressed, she dragged her feet to the breakfast alcove wondering if last night’s events had been nothing more than a bad dream.

  A new day had dawned. Could the ill will she suddenly harbored in her heart toward her parents have resulted from such a dream? Perhaps none of that business with the photos had actually happened.

  Another night, another nightmare.

  No, it had been real—and repugnant. How could she even face them over breakfast, as if everything was normal?

  “Guten Morgen, Grace.” Father smiled and tapped his watch. “Once again, you are late.”

  Unaware that her usual sheepishness was all but gone, she said flatly, “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Is that so?” His voice betrayed a touch of irony.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I—”

  “No matter. I’m sure we’ll find a way to correct this problem with your punctuality, no?”

  There was something odd in Father’s tone. Uneasy, she nodded and glanced over to Mother, whose eyes dropped as she drizzled hollandaise over her eggs.

  “So,” he said, “if your restless night had anything to do with the intruder caught breaking into the archives last night,” Father said, his voice becoming colder with each word, “you’ll no doubt sleep easy tonight knowing that he has been…dealt with.”

  Her fork dropped and clanked onto her plate. “Dealt with?”

  With his eyes narrowed, he searched the room. “Is there an echo in here?”

  “What happened with Friedrich?” Grace said, “And what do you mean, ‘dealt with’?”

  “Must I spell it out for you?” He sighed and shook his head. Quietly, he impaled the bratwurst with his fork, sliced it, then stuck the piece in his mouth. “Such a waste. His commanding officer said the young corporal rather fancied you, Grace.”

  Though it pierced her heart, she would not shed tears before him. Father could be unpleasant, but this was especially cruel. Was he actually enjoying this?

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, then stood, threw her napkin on her plate, and turned around to hide the fact that she was about to break down.

  “Fraulein, you do not turn your back to the Führer. No one d—”

  Choking back a sob, she dashed from the room.

  “You get back in here right now!” He bellowed, his chair hitting the marble floor as he bolted to his feet.

  She ignored him while angry tears drew hot lines on her face. Who cared if anyone saw? Grace bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, then stormed into her room and slammed the door.

  For the next half hour, she sobbed.

  Father demanded absolute obedience, but he could also be compassionate at times—not often, but it happened now and again. Why was he being this way?

  Poor Friedrich! He was young, just like Grace. His love for country was as palpable as his desire to protect it. Yet, his country, his Führer had let him down. She’d let him down.

  How could Father be so heartless?

  The image of him standing before the pile of human remains, rifle in hand and grinning with pride returned. A mixture of fear and disgust filled her heart. How could she possibly have any connection to that monster in the picture?

  And what else have they kept from me?

  She should’ve turned herself in to the guards last night. It wasn’t Friedrich’s fault. Regret revived a fresh wave of tears.

  A knock at her door snapped Grace out of her self-loathing.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Miles, Miss Grace.”

  She opened the door and found him there with a concerned look on his face. He offered her a tray with her breakfast plate. Everything had been replaced, as if she’d never touched it.

  “Thanks,” she said, and took the tray.

  “You okay, Miss Grace?”

  She shook her head.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Again, she shook her head. But after setting the tray down on the table, she said, “My whole world is falling apart. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Oh, Miles.” She smiled, surprised at how much his husky old voice soothed her. She’d never met her grandparents, but imagined they’d make her feel as unconditionally accepted as he always did. “I didn’t mean you.”

  He nodded and bowed slightly before leaving her room.

  Grace shut the door, shut her eyes, and collapsed onto her bed.

  #

  GRACE WANDERED DOWNSTAIRS forty minutes later. In just a few hours, she was to make a grand entrance in the ballroom for a rehearsal dinner for her great confirmation. Hundreds of dignitaries from all over the Empire would be present waiting to greet her, kiss her hand, present gifts, and worst of all, hear the speech extoling the virtues and glory of the Aryan States under Father’s rule—which she had not yet written.

  Part of her wanted to confront him, give him a chance to explain his harsh actions. Perhaps he’d also have a reasonable explanation—he always did—for those pictures. Maybe they were all war criminals, as all Infekts back then were supposed to be, and it was…

  What if he discovers that I was in the archives too?

  She’d tell her side of the story. Surely, he’d understand. On more than one occasion he had said that she shared his innate curiosity.

  But how could she have inherited anything from him? All of a sudden, he seemed like a stranger, and all of his affection, their experiences together, a work of fiction.

  She strode down the hallway to the sunroom where the French doors remained shut—Father’s signal that a meeting was in progress.

  A secret meeting.

  She crept near the door and leaned in to listen. He was speaking with Reinhold Krause, Emissary to the Fatherland.

  “The Kaiser is not pleased,” Krause said. “What happened last night was unacceptable.”

  “He must understand that we took care of the problem. No harm will come of this.”

  “How do we know this won’t happen again?”

  “I assure you, it won’t. We confiscated the photos. And the young officer involved has been dealt with.”

  “If any of them were to fall into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous.”

  Father employed his patronizing tone, the one he so effectively used in public to bolster his appearance of confidence. “No chance of that happening.”

  Krause huffed. “The question remains, Herr Drexler. How did those photos even appear in the archives?”

  “That’s under investigation even as we speak,” Father said, more severe now. “I had ordered all of those photos and negatives destroyed years ago. I am just as surprised by their existence today as anyone.”

  “No one must ever see them,” Krause said. “Ever.”

  “You can give the Kaiser my personal guarantee this will never happen again.”

  “Indeed, it shall not,” Krause said, the threat hardly veiled in his voice. “But there is the issue of your daughter.”

  “I’m sure I
don’t know what you mean,” Father said.

  “Hans, please. The security footage has already been forwarded to the SS in Germany.”

  “But—”

  “You are expected to control your entire household, especially your daughter! The knowledge of those photos is particularly dangerous in her hands. Do not underestimate her. None of you Aryan-Americans seem to be aware of the influence she commands, not even Grace herself.”

  “But that influence is a good thing, nein? Was it not Adolf Hitler himself who said, ‘He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future’?”

  The Emissary lowered his voice to a threatening grumble. “So long as she is loyal.”

  “You question my family’s loyalty?” Father’s tone grew tense. “I have devoted my life to the service of the Empire and the Kaiser! There is none more loyal.”

  “But if you had to choose between the Empire and your wife, your daughter? Hmmm?”

  To Grace’s dismay, Father hesitated.

  “Herr Drexler? Your family, or your Empire, which would you chose?”

  “I will not even dignify that with an answer,” Father said in a low pitch. “My actions speak far louder than…than mere words.”

  Another deadly silence.

  “Sehr gut. Do you expect any more trouble?”

  “Not after tonight. It will be dealt with.”

  Grace had to cover her mouth to suppress a gasp.

  He couldn’t possibly mean…?

  Every passing moment betrayed that he was less and less her father, and more the cold-blooded soldier with the rifle in that photo.

  The sound of chairs shifting alerted her.

  The meeting was over, and they were preparing to exit.

  Panicked, Grace stole down the hall and hurried up the stairs. Once she reached her room, she shut the door and locked it.

  Head spinning and barely able to breathe, she pressed her back against the wall while one question kept repeating in her mind:

  What am I going to do?