Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

  “It’s definitely not you,” Hans agreed. “I find it a little shocking, to be honest. But it could just save your life in the next few days. No one is going to take you for a Jew.” Hans went on. “Emilee also suggested we transform you from a distinguished historian and college professor to something a little more common. Like maybe a truck mechanic.”

  He turned the sack upside down and out came a pair of faded, oil-stained coveralls, a shabby, well-worn pair of work boots, and a faded French beret. As Alemann picked them up and examined them, his face was unreadable.

  Richelle was touched. “A perfect transformation. That’s an excellent idea.”

  Alemann turned and hung them over the back of another chair. “I agree,” he said grudgingly.

  “There’s no way to know how long this ‘spontaneous’ outrage is going to last,” Hans said, “but if it doesn’t start until two a.m., I’m predicting it will only pick up steam as daylight comes. Which means that it’s going to draw a lot of spectators. Which is good. Easier to blend in.”

  “I’m not sure it’s good that we all be together,” Alemann said.

  “I agree. But we don’t want to get separated by much, either. So I recommend that the girls go first, and far enough ahead of us that people don’t automatically assume they’re with us. Then you and Richelle will walk together. With the lunch pail for sure. Then I’ll bring up the rear. As Emilee and I talked about it, we think it is better that she not come. She’ll stay with Inga and the young ones in case they have to leave.”

  “I think that’s wise,” Richelle said.

  Alemann said nothing. He was studying his new clothes, his brow deeply furrowed. Richelle watched him for a moment. “What is it, Alemann?”

  He picked up the coveralls and held them up. “Isn’t this just the same thing all over again?”

  “What do you mean?” Hans asked.

  But Alemann’s eyes were locked with his wife’s. “Isn’t this the same thing as before, Schatzi?” he asked quietly. “Running? Hiding? Changing our names? Being ashamed? Turning our backs on who we are? Slinking away in the night?”

  Richelle was stunned and fell back. “No, Alemann. We are not. This is to protect our girls until we can get to a place where we don’t have to hide. That’s why we’re doing this. That’s why we’ve spent so much money on new documents. We knew if we came back here, the time might come when we had to leave again.”

  Hans leaned in. “I agree, Alemann. This isn’t the same. Once you get to America, you can be whatever you choose to be. Right now, this is survival.”

  He stopped. Husband and wife were looking at each other, as if they were asking a silent question of each other. Finally, Richelle nodded. “Yes, Alemann. Hans needs to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Our plans have changed.”

  “What plans? Since when?”

  “Since we saw you earlier tonight. Oh, we’ve talked about it a lot before, but after you left, we looked at each other for a long time. And then Richelle asked me a simple question,” Alemann said. “A question we had asked ourselves before but never really answered.”

  “Which was?” Hans asked.

  “Is it time that we stop running? Is it time that we find a place where we not only are safe, but welcomed? A place where our girls can go out without fear?”

  Hans was flabbergasted. “But not Utah?”

  “No, tempting as that is.”

  “If not Utah, then where?”

  They looked at each other for a long moment, then Alemann nodded for Richelle to answer. When she turned to Hans, her eyes were wet. “To Palestine.”

  Chapter Notes

  In response to the assassination of one of their diplomats, Joseph Goebbels seized on the natural outrage of German citizens and saw the initial scattered acts of violence as a ripe opportunity. It was his idea, though approved by Hitler, to have a massive, nationwide, “spontaneous” pogrom break out all across the land. (For Goebbels’s teletyped message, see Read, Devil’s Disciples, 512–13; Shirer, Rise and Fall, 430–36.)

  November 10, 1938, 7:57 a.m.—

  Jewish Quarter, Old Town, Munich

  There they are,” Lisa cried. “Here they come. Thank heavens.”

  Hans turned and watched the Zeidners come, wending their way through the throngs of people hurrying along. It was a clear, brisk morning, and their breath was visible, but behind them the sky was filled with towering columns of grey-black smoke and ash floating gently down from the sky. There was already a thin patina of grey on the few automobiles parked nearby.

  As Lisa started forward, her father reached out and restrained her. “Wait for them. We can’t look anxious, Liebchen. You’re just going to school together.”

  She stepped back. “Yes, Papa.”

  As the Zeidners joined them, Hans sidled up to Alemann. “Looks like the neighborhood got hit pretty hard last night. What’s burning?”

  “What’s not?” he said grimly. “They set the synagogue on fire first thing.”

  “How bad?” Hans cried.

  “Gutted. Started this morning about three o’clock.”

  “Did the firemen come?” Lisa asked.

  “They did. And the police. But police held the firefighters back unless the flames threatened nearby buildings. Can’t have that,” he added bitterly. “The landlords are Gentiles.”

  “It wasn’t just the synagogue,” Richelle said quietly. “Our community center, two nearby businesses, and seven homes in the neighborhood right around the synagogue were all torched.”

  “Doesn’t sound very spontaneous to me,” Hans said bitterly, thinking of Goebbels’s teletype.

  Alemann leaned in. “They said the soldiers had lists of targets. Books of names. Dossiers on businesses. Hardly spontaneous.”

  “We could hear truckloads of men going through our neighborhood all night,” Erika said. “It was terrible, Onkel Hans. We could hear glass shattering all night long. Men yelling and laughing raucously.”

  “They’ve already given a name to it,” Hans said. “On the radio this morning, they called it Kristallnacht. They’re also calling it the Night of Broken Glass. Beautiful names for something very, very ugly.”

  “A truckload of men stopped at the cemetery,” Richelle said, her voice still tinged with horror. “They had sledgehammers. They smashed or knocked down almost every gravestone. It was all I could do not to weep as we walked by it this morning.”

  Hans stepped back, eyeing the others. “The clothes work. You’re just another working-class family, taking your kids to school and then off to work yourselves.”

  Richelle frowned. “Would a mechanic and a house servant really have children going to the Bogenhausen Academy? That seems suspicious.”

  That took Hans aback. He hadn’t thought of that. But Lisa had. “One of the things my cousin taught me when it comes to dealing with bullies is the principle of distraction. Our uniforms are a distraction. Since all three of us have attended there, we can answer questions.”

  Alemann was nodding. “If it reaches the point where they are checking out every aspect of our story, then we are lost.”

  Hans turned to Richelle, noticing that she was wearing her cross. “Did you bring the game?”

  “It’s in Leyna’s book bag.”

  “Is it still in its sack?” When she nodded, he went on. “I want you to carry it under your arm. This is something you just bought. As a Christmas present.”

  She nodded as Leyna opened the flap on her satchel and gave the game to her mother.

  “Gut,” Hans said. “We may run into checkpoints. They may check papers. It’s all right to look a little nervous,” he said. “Everyone will be. None of us like dealing with the Gestapo.”

  “What if we’re terrified?” Erika asked in a small voice.

  Hans reached
out and touched her arm. “Terror isn’t allowed,” he said with a smile. “But remember, they’re not looking for you. Your names are on none of their lists, and that’s what they’ll be checking today. Okay?”

  When she nodded, Hans looked at them. “All right then, let’s go. Girls, you take the lead. Stay together. You’re a little nervous about what’s going on, but you’re still young girls. Don’t look too troubled. Stay out far enough that you don’t seem directly tied to us, but close enough that you can join us quickly if you need to. Richelle, you and Alemann walk together, husband and wife off to work. I’ll be about ten paces behind you. A businessman going to his office.”

  “And where are we going?” Alemann asked.

  “To our home, but we’re using a circuitous route.”

  “No, Hans!” Alemann cried softly. “That’s too dangerous for you.”

  “Mama and Emilee are taking the kids to the zoo this morning. They’ll take a trolley. We’ll slip in quietly and get you a few things, which we will then load into our car. Then I shall drive you down to Austria.”

  “Austria!” Richelle said. “With all that’s going on, is that wise?”

  “Austria is not part of this as near as I can tell. And with so many of the military and paramilitary groups involved in Kristallnacht, that will mean fewer guards at the border, maybe even none. I’ll take you to Innsbruck. Skiing season is not really underway yet, so there won’t be many people around. Lie low a day or two, then catch a train to Vienna.”

  “And if there are border guards?” Alemann pressed.

  “I know of a small back road between Garmisch-Partenkirchen and the border, not far from Innsbruck. It’s almost never guarded. If it is, you’ll go into the forest and cross the border on foot. Then I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  As Alemann started to say something else, Hans cut him off. “Discussion ended. The sooner you are out of Germany, the better we’ll all feel.”

  Alemann turned, his eyes wet. “Danke schön, old friend. How can we ever repay you?”

  A lump caught in Hans’s throat. “Send us a postcard from Palestine.”

  Richelle went up and kissed Hans on the cheek. Tears had filled her eyes to overflowing. “Tell Emilee and Inga how much we will miss them. And tell the Westlands how sorry we are we won’t get to see them again.”

  “I will,” Hans said gruffly. “Okay, it’s time to go. Not too fast, girls, but don’t dawdle either. If there’s a crowd stopped to watch something, then we stop too, if even for a moment. We can’t look like we’re running away from something.”

  8:13 a.m.—Junction of Blumenstrasse and Frauenstrasse, Old Town District

  Alemann slowed his step and half-turned his head. “Checkpoint ahead. Four SS officers checking papers.” He looked more closely. “Looks like the two guards at the tables are checking the list of all Jews in this area. The others are checking identity papers.”

  Hans moved up behind him, looking forward. “The officer on the left is Gestapo. I’ll go first and take Lisa. Have your girls drop back with you and go through the other line.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “This is normal. Don’t get rattled. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Go.” Hans accelerated his pace. As he came up on the girls, who were looking very nervous as they approached the checkpoint, he touched Lisa’s arm. “Come with me,” he said softly. “Leyna and Erika, you drop back with your parents. Remember, say nothing.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Fortunately, the lines were not terribly long, and the four soldiers seemed to be moving people through efficiently. When they got within four or five people of the table, Hans leaned in. “Okay, Lisa. Stay with me.” He stepped out of line and started moving past the others, pulling her forward with him.

  “Bitte,” Hans called out loudly. “Excuse me, please.” He pushed past those in front of him. People turned in surprise and then instantly glared at him. He ignored them. “Make way, please.”

  An older man turned and snarled something at him. Hans stopped dead and thrust his face right up next to the man’s. “What did you say?”

  The man’s face flushed and he backed away. As Hans started forward again, pulling Lisa behind him, he saw he had the full attention of the two men checking his line. Hans raised a hand. “Captain? A moment?” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet.

  The SS officer’s brow lowered at him as Hans came past the others. “Wait your turn, sir.”

  Hans held out his National Socialist Party Membership Card. When he saw what it was, a flash of anger darkened the captain’s face. “I don’t care about your party membership.”

  Hans was up to him and got right in his face too. “Then perhaps you should, Captain.” Then, Hans started to fumble in his pocket for his other papers. As he did so, the captain examined the party card. Suddenly his eyes widened and he fell back a step. “Number eight?” he gasped.

  “Ja. And the Führer was number seven. Did you know that?”

  Then recognition came as the officer studied the name on the card. “You’re Hans Eckhardt? The one who was over all elections a few years ago?”

  Hans smiled. “The same. Very good, Captain. You have a good memory.”

  “Sir, I. . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” He hastily handed his other papers back.

  “No reason you should have, Captain,” Hans said, warmly now. “Sorry to trouble you, but with all the commotion, the trolleys are running late, and my daughter is late for school.”

  “And I have an exam first period,” Lisa said, smiling sweetly at him.

  “Again, I apologize. You are free to go, sir.”

  Hans glanced back and saw that Alemann, Richelle, and their girls were in third place in their line. He needed about one more minute to make his plan work. So he turned back to the captain. “An eventful time, eh?” he said, lowering his voice. “I saw a copy of Herr Goebbels’s teletype message that went out last night.”

  That was a shock to the captain. “You received one too?”

  “Ja, ja. As a courtesy, even though I’m retired now. Any idea how things went?”

  He smiled and leaned closer. “Superbly, sir. Like clockwork.”

  “When we couldn’t get a trolley, we came up past the Jewish neighborhoods and saw a lot of smoke.” He lowered his voice even more. “Were they able to get the synagogue?”

  “Indeed. I led the squad that burned it. It was glorious.”

  “Got to bang a few heads?”

  The officer flashed a grin. “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Any report on any of the other synagogues?”

  “Yes, Herr Eckhardt. As of about eight thirty this morning there were over a hundred synagogues or Jewish temples burning, including the two biggest ones in the nation, the one in Hamburg and the one in Berlin.”

  Hans touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Wunderbar! That is great news, Captain. Thank you.” He started to turn away but then saw that the Zeidners were next in line. He stiffened, then poked the captain’s shoulder. “Look at the woman in the line next to us. She has some kind of a package under her arm.”

  He turned, squinting at Richelle. “It’s just a sack.” Then he realized what Hans was suggesting and stiffened. In two steps he was directly in front of Richelle. She looked up and went white.

  “You there! Frau! What do you have in your sack?”

  Richelle blanched. “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” One hand rested on the butt of his Luger as he motioned to her. “Step out of line, bitte.”

  Likewise startled, Alemann was at her side in two steps. Instantly the other officer, a lieutenant, whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Alemann. “Stay back!”

  There were soft cries and people in both lines started backing away.

  “I. . . .” Richelle was trembling. “It
’s a present, sir. For Christmas. For my nephew.” She held it out for him to see. Warily, he took the sack from her, looked inside, and withdrew the box. He stared at it for a moment, then tossed his head back and roared. “Ah, ja. Juden Raus. I have heard of this game. Very popular with young people, I am told.”

  Richelle, whose face was pale, just nodded. And that’s when a second idea came to Hans. “Captain,” he said, turning to face him, “do you happen to have any children?”

  “Ja. Three. The oldest is fourteen. Two boys, one girl.”

  Turning back to Richelle, Hans was all smiles. “Frau, what a wonderful thing you have done, offering this wonderful gift to the captain for his children. How very generous of you.”

  There was no mistaking her dismay. “I . . . uh . . .” And then she got it. “But of course. I will get another one for my nephew.” Richelle forced a thin smile. “Consider it a small token of my family’s appreciation for what you are doing here today, Captain.”

  “Danke.” He turned, motioning for Alemann to come over. Then he looked at Leyna and Erika. “And these are your daughters?”

  “Ja. And my husband. Herr Wiessemann.”

  Hans spoke up, speaking to the girls. “Is that not the uniform of the Bogenhausen Academy?” When they nodded, he motioned toward Lisa. “My daughter also goes to Bogenhausen. Do you know each other?”

  As the captain and the other three guards turned to look at Lisa, both Zeidner girls’ faces were flaming red. “I . . . I recognize her,” Erika stammered, “but we have only been attending the school for a few weeks now. We do not know many of the students well.”

  And just that quickly, the captain lost interest. He set the game on the table and motioned to Alemann. “Come, come. You are free to go.” Then to Hans, “A pleasure to meet you, Herr Eckhardt.”

  “And you, Captain. Good wishes to you in this important thing you are doing.” He shot to attention and raised his hand. “Heil Hitler!”

  “Heil Hitler,” all four of the men cried as they leaped to attention.

  As they moved away, Hans and Lisa walked slowly, letting the Zeidners go past them. As Alemann did so, he hissed in a low voice. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, our friendship is over. You hear me?”