In the Shadow of Your Wings

by J. P. Robinson

  His eyes betrayed a shred of curiosity and she seized the opportunity. “Using poison gas as a weapon will not only kill our enemies; it will also murder the honor of our nation.”

  Silence. Not the reaction she had hoped for, but at least he hadn’t thrown her from the room. Not yet.

  “The technicalities of warfare are not your concern.” He leaned back in his chair, stroking the gray hairs of his moustache. “Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe that patriotism has brought you to my door. What is it you truly hope to gain, hm?”

  Clara glanced down, twisting the ring on her finger. She could not confess that she craved the glory that Fritz wore like a crown. What to say? The silence had dragged on for too long; she could hear him shifting in his chair.

  “You’re right.” She blurted out the words while still formulating her argument. “O-our honor is not the only thing at risk. We must also consider the military repercussions.”

  He stiffened. “Explain. Quickly.”

  Leaning forward, Clara said, “Not only will our honor be compromised, but our enemies will use our dishonorable aggression as a pretext to retaliate with their own chemical weapons.”

  Falkenhayn shrugged. “If we strike hard and defeat them, the war in the West will be over before they have time to retaliate.”

  Clara shook her head. “Not so, Generaloberst. I am not a military strategist, but I am a scientist. Your commanders will be able to confirm that in northern France, the wind rarely blows from the south-east, but it does often blow from west to east, which will give our enemies much more opportunity to wreak havoc on our troops than we will have to destroy theirs.”

  The general was silent, but she could see that his mind was turning. Hope seized her, and she pressed still further. She had saved her most powerful weapon for last.

  “Then there is the fact that Fritz’s weapon just may not work. Thousands of brave soldiers will await a signal to advance that may never come. Can you afford to have an entire regiment unable to fight because they are waiting on the wind?”

  She lowered her volume. “Can you afford to have such a blight upon your spotless reputation?”

  There. It was said. The possibility of failure was a powerful seed that, once planted, held the distinct possibility of yielding some sort of fruit. Clara fell silent, knowing that he would either reject her outright or—

  The general shot to his feet and strode rapidly to the other side of his desk. He examined the topography of the map before him, moustache twitching, as he mumbled to himself. She could not hear what he was saying but she caught the words, “wind” and “south-east.”

  He turned from the map, rocking back on his heels for several moments, hands clasped behind his back. She waited, her breath hanging in her chest. Not even the Kaiser himself would cross Falkenhayn’s will in matters of military strategy. If she could convince him that Fritz’s enterprise was not worth pursuing, her husband would realize that her agile mind was an easy match for his aggressive, self-centered personality. He would come crawling on his knees and beg her to join his scientific research, recognizing that to wage war on his wife was to wage war on himself.

  Falkenhayn pivoted and clicked his heels together. He had made up his mind. He’ll say no. He’ll order me out of his office. He’ll—

  “Very well, Frau Haber.” He threw a begrudging nod in her direction. “You’ve made your point.”

  She froze, mentally calling her ears a pair of liars. Did this mean...?

  “I am not agreeing because of your meddling here today or because of the pathetic drivel you have been shouting throughout the city.”

  He glared at her as though wishing she were an unruly child that he could turn over his knee.

  “I agree because my commanders in the field have already voiced the same concerns you have mentioned. The weapon’s effectiveness remains in doubt because of the unfavorable wind. Our conversation today has convinced me that they are correct. I believe a change must be made.”

  Leaning forward, Clara gripped the arms of the chair and gasped. She had won! In her mind’s eye, she envisioned a penitent Fritz sharing all his chemical secrets and asking her opinion on the weaknesses of chlorine as a killing agent. He would ask her if phosgene could be a better conduit of death or perhaps sulfur dichloride. He would...

  “I will therefore have the men adjust our attack site to another location more suitable for the purpose. This will be a small, contained experiment that will allow us to see if your husband’s work has any merit.”

  “What?” Clara’s heart sank lower than the floor beneath her feet. “Y-you mean, you won’t put an end to Fritz’s work?” Her voice betrayed her confusion. In just one moment she had risen to the pinnacle of euphoria only to plummet to the lowest pit of despair.

  “Of course not.” Falkenhayn scoffed as he folded his arms across his bony chest. “Why should I? The Kaiser expects the stalemate in the West to be broken and broken it shall be.”

  Frustration edged into her voice. “And what about Germany’s honor?” She had come so far and had expected so much only to receive nothing in return!

  He shrugged again. “It is unfortunate that we will destroy the enemy like rats but, whether we kill them with bullets or with gas, the result is the same.”

  “But—”

  “I think it is time for you to leave, Frau Haber.” Falkenhayn jerked his head toward the door. “You are needed at home.”

  She glared at him, rising like a cobra about to strike.

  “You are making a mistake, General.”

  His smile was thin. “You may have a doctorate in chemistry but do not presume to question my intelligence.”

  The color left Clara’s face. “Intelligence? You have the intelligence of a houseplant! If you won’t stop this, then I will convince the people to do so!”

  Fuming, she slammed the door behind her. Outside, she slowed her pace and sighed while massaging her temples. Her open declaration of war had taken place only a week ago, but she realized now the battle had begun the day she became Fritz’s wife. She was forty-four years old now. For fifteen years she had been ignored, patronized, and minimized. For fifteen years, the volcano of frustration within her had been building to the point of no return.

  “I’ve lost.” She tugged at her hair while mumbling aloud, ignoring the curious looks of those around her. “Nothing will ever change him. There’s no way out. I’ve lost.”

  War had only just been declared and already she wondered if she would be the only casualty.

  FRITZ HABER SLUNK THROUGH the rounded wooden door that sat within a stone archway of a tan, cube-like building known as the Pringsheim Palace. The door was buttressed by two seraphs who strained to carry an ornate golden balcony above their shoulders. The palace hosted the Deutsche Gesellschaft 1914, a club designed to create harmony within German society by allowing men from different social strata to meet and discuss their political differences.

  Haber grimaced as he shrugged off his thick overcoat and handed it to a bowing attendant. He passed into a large drawing room that boasted walls comprised of alternating panels of cherry wood and embossed leather. Elegant chandeliers dimly lit the room’s interior. The perfume of cigars and cognac wafted to his nostrils but, despite his taste for both, the chemist did not feel at all relaxed.

  The club had been created to promote harmony but the political differences within Germany had proven too difficult to heal. Now, perpetual wrangling among the club’s members threatened to disembowel the organization itself.

  Just like my marriage. He snorted as he made his way toward a group of political writers and industrialists who reclined on plush leather seats around a chest-high marble table. Clara Immerwahr had made him wait until after she finished her studies before agreeing to become Clara Haber. He had expected only harmony, but their mutual passion had rapidly disintegrated into a turbulent relationship that he could only describe as a dormant volcano.

  It is dormant no long
er. The first explosion had been when she sabotaged his public speech. In the week following her fiery eruption, Clara had not spoken to him even once. It was ironic that he, a man who could bend the laws of science to pull fertilizer from the air, did not know how to make his wife smile.

  I saved the world, but I cannot save my own marriage.

  The voices of those at the table grabbed his attention and Fritz resolved to forget about his wife for the next few hours.

  “Guten Abend Herr Haber.” A series of voices rose in unison. Fritz returned the greeting, raising his hand to request some of the cognac that flowed freely around the table. He would need it when he faced the dragon who waited for him at home.

  “Herr Haber?”

  Fritz started at the low, sultry voice that seemed to ride above the raucous noise around him, floating like music into his ears. He turned to his right as a young brunette, dressed in an enticing black velvet gown offered him a glass brimming with cognac. Her hair caressed smooth, bare shoulders like a wave gently stroking a sandy shore. Her inviting mouth, full and moist, sported a daring coat of red lipstick that begged him to taste its sweetness.

  His hand remained airborne as he drank in the sight of her for a full minute before realizing that he was staring.

  “Is something wrong, mein Herr?” A smile played with the corners of her lips.

  Fritz shook himself, then lifted the glass from her slender fingertips. “Danke.” Without drinking, he placed it on the table and wiped his clammy hands on his caramel colored suit jacket.

  He cleared his throat, turning back to her. “And you are?”

  “Charlotte Nathan.” She seemed unfazed by his scrutiny. “I count it such a pleasure to meet the man whose work is changing the world.” Her eyes, the color of liquid chocolate, glowed with an inner fire that he found mesmerizing.

  “Y-you do?”

  She moved closer, smiling as she toyed with a pearl necklace that looped around her neck. “I love a man who lets his imagination run wild.”

  Fritz felt his jaw drop at her brazen words. But what words they were! She was right; he was changing the world.

  He could not help but contrast his wife’s public insults with Charlotte’s lavish praise. Clara’s harsh criticism echoed in his mind. If his diabolical plan succeeds, the world will never know peace again. Before him stood a woman who not only showed appreciation for his genius but stood in awe of his presence.

  Straightening, Fritz tugged at his jacket then bowed as he placed his lips upon the smooth skin of her angelic hand. “The honor is all mine.”

  He took a few steps away from the table, putting distance between himself and the debating club members.

  “I was not aware that women were active members of the Deutsche Gesellschaft.”

  Laughter bubbled from her lips like champagne from a bottle. “I’m not a member. I was recently hired as manager of club events.”

  “Ah! So, you will attend our gatherings frequently, then?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I could never miss the pleasure of seeing you.” She winked at him, released his arm, and moved away. “I must see to the other guests.”

  Fritz stared after her for several long seconds, feeling a cold void where the warmth of her presence had been only moments before. He slowly walked back to his table, his mind spinning as though he were drunk. The cognac? He frowned and looked at the glass. It was still half-full.

  No. It was the effect of standing in the presence of a ravishing woman who showered him with the praise and appreciation he deserved. Her words had been a healing balm. And her voice! Already he ached to hear her intoxicating laughter.

  Charlotte. She was like the chemical element Cesium, gorgeous and irresistible. Charlotte and Cesium. He mentally repeated the name of the woman and the element, analyzing how much they had in common. Both names began with the letter C, for instance.

  Like Charlotte, Cesium was a soft substance whose radiant complexion glowed like a fusion of silver and gold. Like her, the element produced strong reactions when in contact with other substances. Cesium’s properties meant that it could, at least theoretically, be used to keep time.

  He tapped his rounded chin with his finger. Time. Could there be a more opportune moment for him to meet such a spirited and ravishing woman? Now, more than ever, he felt the need for the emotional support that a woman like Charlotte could offer.

  Fritz drank deep, rolling the cognac around his mouth, then reached inside his breast pocket for one of his favorite cigars. Cigars. Cognac. Cesium. Charlotte.

  So many opportunities for pleasure all packed together in one room at the Pringsheim Palace. He flicked his tongue over his lips. It was time for a change.

  WERNER JAËGER STOOD apart from the small crowd of about a hundred people, mostly women, who had gathered to hear Clara Haber speak on the virtues of peace. As he listened with one half of his lithe brain, the remainder spun through a meticulous list of observations.

  One: Germany was about to launch a new phase of the war and, while the fact that his country was developing gas weapons was not completely classified, the details as to how, when and where the weapons would be deployed were confidential information to which few people had access.

  Two: Fritz Haber was, quite literally, the brains behind Germany’s plot and knew those classified details intimately. It was quite probable that he had written information in his lab, or worse, in his home that could compromise the Fatherland’s scheme.

  Three: The British had turned someone who was close to Haber with the goal of eliciting information that could be used against Germany. Jaëger sniffed the air like a wolf scenting its prey. His job was to find and neutralize that threat. Clara Haber’s recent attempts, such as publicly denouncing her husband and securing a meeting with one of the primary leaders of the German army, had rapidly propelled her to the top of his list of possible collaborators.

  He sensed a slight movement behind him. “It went as planned, Christophe?”

  “Yes, but we had some complications.” His assistant spoke in a hushed undertone.

  Werner stepped back from the crowd while keeping Clara’s animated face in his line of sight. “Complications?”

  “We were nearly discovered by her husband.”

  Husband? Werner let his mind mull over this new bit of information. The husband could be none other than Malcolm, son of the renowned banker Sir Thomas Steele.

  He had ordered Leila to infiltrate the Steele household but had left the method up to her. Apparently, within the two months since her last contact, the ravishing spy had wormed her way into Malcolm’s heart. The girl was good. Very good.

  Pursing his lips, Werner focused again on Christophe. “Did he see you?”

  “My back was to him and I ran as soon as he arrived. I lingered in the shadows and listened to their conversation.”

  Werner thrust his hands into the pockets of his black trench coat. “You said, ‘complications.’” He stressed the word’s plurality. “What else?”

  “She said that ‘things were getting harder. I assume she meant the emotional climate of London.”

  “She knew the risk before she accepted the assignment.” Werner frowned, while stomping his numb feet against the snow-covered ground. “We will have to assume she didn’t marry the boy out of love.” His frown deepened. Leila’s knowledge went far beyond the coming gas attack. She possessed a secret that, in the wrong hands, would unite every power in the world against Germany.

  “It is our duty to preserve peace and ensure the rights of all of Germany’s citizens.” Clara’s voice wafted over the heads of her enraptured audience who applauded and cheered.

  “Good, isn’t she?” Christophe nodded toward the speaker.

  “They’re always good.” Werner shifted the topic. “Any word from those shadowing Haber’s team?”

  Christophe blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Nein.”

  “Add this one to the list.” He jerked his chin toward Clar
a.

  “Haber’s wife?”

  Werner started to walk away but paused, glancing from Christophe to Clara. “Those who seem the most innocent almost always have the most to hide. Remember that.”

  HERMANN SLITHERED TO his mother’s bedroom and peeked through the space beneath the bottom of the door and the floor. He could just make out his mother’s bare feet on the ivory carpet of her bedroom. She had returned late in the afternoon and had immediately withdrawn to her bedroom where she had remained.

  The household servants had brought food into her room and seen to his dinner—which he ate alone. The boy sighed as his mind outlined the night’s gloomy future. Tonight, like every night, Mama would stay in her room, coming out only to kiss him goodnight.

  If Papa came home before he went to bed, he would pat Hermann’s head absently then yell at Mama. Mama would either ignore him or shout back at him. Then Papa would slam the door and go to his own bedroom without saying another word.

  Tomorrow they would wake up. Papa would go to work and Mama would sulk at her desk in the study, lost in a world of books and chemistry that she refused to give up.

  He sniffled. He didn’t want them to fight. He didn’t want her to brood in the study. Why couldn’t she see that he was more important than her work as a scientist?

  The sound of sobs from within the room reached his ears. Scrambling to his feet, Hermann pressed down on the door handle, easing it open a fraction of an inch.

  His mother sat in front of her dressing table, tugging at her long brown hair. Her shoulders trembled as she wept.

  “I can’t...” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t take... anymore.”

  Hermann shifted, allowing himself a better view and caught sight of sheets of writing paper on the desk. Next to them lay a pencil. Who is Mamele writing?

  Clara thrust herself upright, stared at the mirror, and began to scream. Hermann jumped back, startled by the noise. His mother slammed her fist onto the desk and swept papers, pencil and everything onto the floor.

  “I hate you!” She slammed her fists onto the desks. “I hate life!” Clara grabbed a glass vase and heaved it against the far wall of the bedroom.