Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

  Another fallout from all this is that we just learned that our missionaries in Czechoslovakia are going to be pulled out and brought here. Along with our troubles here, there’s a lot of talk about Germany trying to annex there as well, and that has led to fierce rioting and violence there. With the growing tension, the First Presidency determined that it was no longer safe and are pulling the mission president and his wife and the missionaries out of there. Since we have quite a few people here in Austria who speak both Czech and Slovak, the two official languages of that country, we’re hoping that those missionaries will be brought into our mission, but we haven’t heard yet if that is the case.

  Well, enough of all this political stuff. Tell me how things are going there.

  Whoops! Have to go. A boy from the branch just came and said his mother is very sick and needs a blessing. Bye for now.

  Sunday, April 24, 1938

  I am so sorry, Lisa. I had no idea that it would be two more weeks before I got back to my letter to you. You must think I dropped off the planet or something. After giving the blessing, one thing led to another and it turned out to be a late night. And from there our schedule only got worse.

  So anyway, back to my letter. Tell me about university. Are you loving it still? It pleases me to hear how much you are loving your piano studies. How is Jo doing? Has anyone talked about trying to get her to go to Hitler Youth, or is she still keeping a low profile? Tell me about all of the family. I miss them all so much.

  I will write Mom and Dad tomorrow and tell them that I’m coming back through Germany and so will be a few days longer than expected. Knowing how they feel about you, I think they will be happy for both of us.

  Well, it’s getting late. Time for companion prayer and then it’s off to bed. I think of you every day and pray for your family and friends regularly.

  With love, Benji

  August 25, 1938, 5:42 p.m.—Near the Eckhardt Home

  As Hans rounded the corner and entered the narrow streets that led to his home, he glanced at the second telephone pole, as he had every time he passed it coming or going for months now. This time, however, his eyes widened and he gave a low exclamation of satisfaction. There, exactly three feet up from the sidewalk, written boldly in white chalk, was a two-inch-high letter S. For “Sieg,” or “victory.”

  Finally!

  He drove on without slowing down. But he was smiling. He hadn’t heard from Alemann in almost a month now, and he had started to worry. It had been six months since he and his family had been reunited with the Zeidners in an abandoned house in a seedy neighborhood in the south part of Old Town District. They had not met again since. But before they had left that night, he and Alemann had set up a system for communicating with each other.

  Once again Hans had marveled at Alemann’s meticulous attention to detail. If they were going to get their families safely out of Germany, there needed to be a lot of communication between them, including exchanging documents, cash, and information. But this also created their greatest vulnerability if either of them was being watched. Their system for exchanging material was complex and involved several sites across a wide swath of Munich. But their means of communicating was simplicity itself.

  If Alemann had something for Hans, a white S would appear on the telephone pole he passed every day. If he had something for Alemann, he would chalk a white H on a postal box about a mile from his home. H stood for “Heil,” or “hail.” Hans found the irony delicious. Sieg Heil, or “Hail victory,” was the motto cry of the Nazi Party, which the faithful screamed out when they saluted either the flag or the Führer.

  If it was the letter only, it meant the meeting would be that night in the “hideaway,” as Hans had come to think of it. If the letter was underlined, it meant the meeting was the following night. Since that first night, their wives and daughters were no longer involved, and they knew nothing about the communication system. Usually within a day or two, rain would wash the letters out. If not, late at night, Hans would park a couple of blocks away from the telephone pole, walk past, and quickly pour a bottle of water on it. Alemann would do the same at the postal box.

  Hans had also set up a system in both his house and his office where he could tell if someone had gone through his things. Nothing had been disturbed, which meant that Keitel had bought his story and he was not under surveillance. But he still took no chances.

  7:21 p.m.—Zeidner Hideaway

  Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the dust and debris of the house. As they reached the attic and moved toward the wall at the far end, Hans saw something in the light of Alemann’s flashlight that he had not seen before. “Um . . . Alemann?”

  “Yes?” He took out a small screwdriver and disengaged the latch that opened the hidden door.

  “Have you noticed that we are leaving footprints in the dust?” When he nodded, “Well, that shows anyone who happens to come in here that someone has recently been in the house. And having footsteps lead to a blank wall and stop seems a little obvious, don’t you think?”

  “Ah,” Alemann said, amused. “So the fox is trying to teach the weasel how to suck eggs, eh?”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “Hans, I know I’m not nearly as bright as you when it comes to this stuff, but I do know a few basics about being careful. I have a bag of vacuum cleaner dust. Once you are gone, I will sprinkle dust over our footprints as I make my way out. A careful search might give us away, but remember, there’s no electricity in the house—or so it seems—and so it’s always dark and gloomy in here. There are no footprints to see.”

  “Sorry,” Hans said sheepishly. “I should know better than to question you.”

  “It is good that you are thinking about our security too.” Alemann led them inside the hideaway and pushed the door shut behind them. The moment they sat down, Alemann began.

  “We have a problem.”

  Hans sighed. “Only one? What now?”

  “We have to accelerate our schedule. Things are starting to unravel quicker than we thought.”

  Hans groaned, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “I have two pieces of bad news. First, your family’s applications for visas to America have been flagged.”

  “Flagged? In what way?”

  “Red-tagged. We’re not sure what that means. And our contact in the emigration office didn’t dare ask lest she call attention to herself. It could be something as simple as the fact that you are a former high-ranking Nazi official and they’re wondering if you need VIP treatment. If so, they would likely bump it up a level for further direction. Or it may just be that you need eight visas, counting Inga. And that’s unusual.”

  Hans wasn’t comforted by that. “How long ago did this happen? I’ve heard nothing from them or anyone else.”

  “About ten days ago. But that’s good. If they haven’t contacted you, it means that it’s not a high priority for them, which it would be if they were suspicious. And by the way, that was a wise decision on your part to not ask to emigrate. Getting visas for a Christmas holiday trip, even for eight people, is a lot simpler than getting permission to leave permanently. Go on holiday and just never come back. It’s likely that no one in America will even notice. If they do, you apply for asylum.”

  “I hope you’re right, but I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I, but that’s the least of our problems. Let’s talk about the second issue.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been following the Sudetenland crisis. A lot of chest-pounding and name-calling. Hitler has now deployed eight or ten divisions along the Saxony border and in Lower Bavaria. So, no surprise, the Czechs have done the same on their side.”

  Alemann grunted in disgust. “Did you see that Neville Chamberlain and the French foreign secretary emphasized that they stand behind Czechoslovakia and are warning Hitler to keep his hands off?” When H
ans nodded, “Well, what the papers haven’t reported is that at the very same time Chamberlain was saying that, he had Lord Halifax, secretary of the foreign office, who, incidentally openly detests the Czechs, send one of his top diplomats to schmooze with Ribbentrop, our foreign minister, and solve the crisis. Mind you, he didn’t go to Czechoslovakia to reassure them that they’re safe. He’s hobnobbing with the Germans.” He sat back and half closed his eyes. “Which is why I’ve been up in Berlin for the last week checking things out.”

  Hans nearly shot out of his chair. “Berlin! You went to Berlin? Are you crazy? Alemann, you have to keep a low profile.”

  “I also have to know what’s going on,” he fired back. “I got an urgent message from my source that he needed to see me. But I was careful. I was well disguised, and I met with him out in the city outskirts, not right in Berlin.”

  “Sorry. So what’s happening? What did you hear?”

  As Alemann leaned forward again, his jaw was set and his eyes were grim. “Not hear, Hans. Saw! I saw copies of documents. Documents so incendiary that my source destroyed them immediately after letting me read them.” He blew out a long, slow breath. “Including a copy of the latest iteration of Case Green, the code name for the German High Command’s plans to invade Czechoslovakia.”

  “You mean the Sudetenland?”

  “No, Hans. We’re way past that now. The copy of Case Green that he showed me had just been updated. And note this. In the previous version, the introductory statement, written by Hitler himself, stated, ‘It is not my intention to smash Czechoslovakia in the near future.’ That was written about a month ago. That sentence now reads: ‘It is my unalterable decision to smash Czechoslovakia by military action in the near future.’”

  Hans swore. “Unalterable?”

  “Yes! And the plan calls for the immediate mobilization of ninety-six divisions. Ninety-six, Hans. He’s not just talking the Sudetenland here.”

  Hans gave a low whistle. “That’s almost half a million men.”

  There was a grim nod. “And in the cover letter submitted with the plans, a high-ranking member of the Army General Staff added this note, ‘By the “near future,” the Führer means October 1, 1938, at the latest.’”

  Hans paled. “That’s less than six weeks from now.”

  “Yes, but there’s more. Here’s another ominous sign. In late May or early June, Hitler was saying he would take action against Czechoslovakia only if he was convinced that France would not march on us and bring England in with them. On July 7, he restated that sentence to read, ‘Plans are underway to determine what to do if France and England intercede.’”

  “So he’s made up his mind. Oh, that’s not good.”

  “So, that is the question. Will France and England intercede if Hitler strikes? Well, here are two indicators. Back in May, in what was supposed to be an off-the-record luncheon with a London correspondent from a New York newspaper, Chamberlain was asked that very question. The next day in New York, the correspondent reported that Chamberlain told him that neither France nor England, and probably not even Russia, would come to the aid of Czechoslovakia if she were attacked.”

  Hans swore again. “So they’re selling her out.”

  “Oh,” Alemann said bitterly. “One more thing. Just the day before yesterday, while I was in Berlin, Hitler was in the North Sea with his navy. He had high-ranking members of the Hungarian government there. Hungary has long coveted some slices of Czech territory. Whatever it was they asked for, Hitler’s answer was classic. ‘Those who want to sit at the table must also be willing to help in the kitchen.’ They understood him perfectly and have promised that they would take no action if Germany were to invade.”

  Alemann sat back, lines of weariness around his eyes. “And that’s where we are today. Hitler is still making overtures to Chamberlain because he is convinced that England is so eager for peace that they will either help them broker the surrender of the Sudetenland or will not intervene if that does happen.”

  “So the Czechs are the ones being cooked in the kitchen. And it’s just five weeks away.”

  “Yes.”

  “And this source of yours—you’re absolutely confident his information is solid? He must be pretty high up in the government to get access to the kind of information he gets you.”

  Hesitating, Alemann finally nodded. “Actually, he’s a general.”

  “What? And all these years, he. . . .”

  “Yes! He feels as passionately about the Nazis as we do. But, Hans, these developments change everything. If we go to war in about a month from now, we’re not getting out of the country, and neither are you.” He touched the envelope again. “So here’s our backup plan. Do you still have copies of the photos you had taken for your visas?”

  “Uh . . . yes.”

  “Gut.” Alemann frowned deeply. “I hate to ask you this, because it could put you and your family in danger.”

  “If we’re going to war, we’re already in danger,” was his reply.

  “All right. If Chamberlain can work out some kind of compromise, which I personally think he will do, then we’ll go ahead as planned. But if war breaks out, we’ll go to plan two.”

  “Which is?”

  “We go out by way of Austria.”

  “Austria!” That totally shocked him.

  “Yes.” Alemann pointed to the envelope. “In here I have all the information, including photos, for new identities for me, Richelle, Erika, and Leyna.” He paused, then gave Hans an apologetic look. “And my contact and his wife.”

  Dumbfounded, Hans gaped at him.

  “I know, I know,” he went on in a rush. “It increases our risk, but we owe him a lot. We wouldn’t be where we are without him. They won’t be traveling with us. They’ll be going to Switzerland.”

  “All right, Alemann. If you say it’s necessary, then I trust you. But can we get out of Austria with German papers?”

  “You can, because you’re German citizens and you’re just going on holiday. But all of us have new identities as Austrian citizens.”

  “That sounds pretty risky.”

  “Well, Austria is still reeling from the Anschluss. The Nazis are quickly moving in to take control of the government, but right now it’s still pretty chaotic. We’ve learned that in Graz, for a healthy fee for looking the other way, the Austrians will clear us to emigrate. We’re not alone in this. Thousands of Austrians are fleeing too.”

  “And do we travel together?”

  “Nein. But we travel in tandem. You and your family a day ahead of us. We’ll all go by train through Italy to Marseilles. We hear that Marseilles doesn’t pay too much attention to why people are leaving or where they are going. If everything still looks good, we’ll sail together.”

  “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  He sighed. “I need you to go to Vienna. The man who created our original false identities is still there. You’ll take all of our information down to him, then return two weeks later for our new papers.”

  Hans just nodded again. “And the money?”

  “It’s already waiting for you in Vienna. Instructions are in here.” He handed him the envelope. “I wish there were time to put this in the usual place to make the switch so you’re not carrying it on your person as you go home, but there’s not.” Alemann got up, went back to where the beds were, and picked up a beat-up leather briefcase. When he brought it back, he held it out to Hans.

  “I have a briefcase, Alemann.”

  “Not like this one, you don’t.” He opened it, showed Hans that it was empty, then tipped it back. On the bottom were four small, brass knobs, one at each corner, the kind they put in to protect the leather. “Please watch carefully.”

  With his thumb, he pressed hard on the back of the left knob. “One, two, three, four, five,” he counted softly. There was a soft clic
k, and inside the briefcase, the whole bottom popped up.

  Hans stared at it, mouth half open, as Alemann put the envelope in the briefcase and pushed the false bottom back in place. “There. Make sure it’s full with other things so they won’t detect the weight difference.” He grinned at Hans’s expression. “Press and hold for five seconds. That’s all you do.” Then he closed the briefcase and handed it to Hans.

  “Nothing about this to the girls yet,” Alemann went on. “Emilee and Inga are not a concern, of course. But be doubly careful as you go back. Make absolutely sure your house is not being watched.”

  Hans leaned in and punched him softly on the shoulder. “Surely, the fox is not going to try to teach the weasel how to suck eggs.”

  Chapter Notes

  An excellent summary of the events of the summer of 1938 is found in Shirer, Rise and Fall, 361–78.

  August 26, 1938, 7:10 a.m.—Eckhardt Home

  It took a moment for Hans to realize that his wife was standing at their bedroom door, watching him quietly. When he turned and smiled, she spoke. “How long do you think you will be gone?”

  He shrugged. “Well, since this is, supposedly, a trip to do research for my doctorate, if I don’t stay at least two or three days, Dean Eberhardt might be suspicious. And I do plan to spend quite a bit of time at the university library. The bigger challenge will be explaining to him why I will have to go down again a week or two later.”

  “Can’t you ask the man, whoever he is, if you could pick them up on a weekend? Then Eberhardt would never have to know.”

  “Good idea.” He turned to face her fully. “Emilee, it’s going to be all right. I don’t want you worrying.”