Fire and Steel, Volume 1

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I know, and I don’t want you to go. But this is important, Inga. And—” She turned to her husband. “Can I tell her, Wolfie? What you’re doing for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wolfie is letting me hire a girl to help with Little Bruno. Maybe do some light housework too. She starts Monday. So I’ll be all right, Inga.”

  Looking back and forth between them, Inga was torn.

  Wolfie sawed off a slice of bratwurst and went to stick it in his mouth but then stopped as an idea hit him. “Because I worked so late last night, my supervisor said I don’t have to come in this morning until noon. So if you want, Inga, I could take you to the train station on my way to work. You could be home by midday.”

  That sounded so good, and yet she felt guilty. “I’ve not even been here twenty-four hours.”

  “Go, Inga,” Paula urged. “I’m fine.”

  A little dazed, she finally nodded. “All right. I shall.”

  “I’ll finish eating while you pack,” Wolfgang said.

  “I don’t have much. It will take me only a few minutes.”

  “And I’ll be done and ready to go too.”

  Paula came to Inga and slipped an arm around her waist. “Come, I’ll help you pack.”

  • • •

  Not quite ten minutes later, Inga closed her suitcase and secured the leather straps. Then she looked around. “I guess that’s it,” she said.

  “Not quite,” Paula said, and from the pocket of her apron she pulled out the book. “Will you take this and read it?” she asked.

  Inga hesitated, and then shrugged. “If it means that much to you, why not?” She took the book and bent down to undo the straps on her suitcase.

  “Why don’t you put it in your purse instead?” Paula said quickly. “Then you can read it on the train if you like.”

  Inga shrugged again and slid it into a side pocket of her purse.

  “I wanted to tell you all about it,” Paula said. “About the man who restored the Church and about how he got the book. It’s an incredible story. I’ll write you all about it.”

  “That would be good.”

  “But don’t wait for that. Just start reading it now.”

  “You won’t give me any clue about it?”

  “You love reading the Bible, right?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I think you’ll love reading the Book of Mormon too.”

  “Inga?” Wolfie’s voice floated up to them from below.

  “Coming,” she called back.

  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  The two sisters stood there for a moment, knowing the moment had come that they both dreaded. Then they fell into each other’s arms and held each other very tightly for almost a full minute before they started down the stairs.

  June 28, 1914—Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina,

  Balkan Peninsula

  Ask historians what sparked the Great War, the first of what would come to be known as the “World Wars,” and most will point to a small country on the Balkan Peninsula, across the Adriatic Sea from Italy. It was June 28, 1914. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir apparent to the throne of the powerful Austro-Hungarian Empire, had come to Bosnia-Herzegovina to inspect the imperial armed forces stationed there. He was accompanied by his young and very beautiful wife, Princess Sophie, duchess of Hohenberg, who was much beloved by the people.

  Europeans have a long history. They also have long memories. In 1389, the Serbians, next-door neighbors to Bosnia-Herzegovina, were defeated by the Turks. In the centuries that followed, one conqueror after another kept the Serbians under their thumbs. In 1908, just six years before this visit, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had annexed most of the Balkan Peninsula and subjugated its peoples to the emperor, Franz Ferdinand’s father. The Serbians still seethed with rage over this latest humiliation. A group of nationalist fanatics, committed to using whatever means it took to win back their independence, saw this official visit by a member of the royal family as the perfect opportunity.

  On the morning of June 28th, the archduke and duchess and their entourage were traveling in an open motorcar with very little security. Great crowds had come out to see the royal couple. Suddenly, one of the Serbian nationalists stepped forward and threw a bomb at the passing car. He missed his target by inches. The bomb bounced and rolled off the back of the car, exploding beneath the following car. The archduke and duchess were unharmed, but one of their security officers and several bystanders were injured.

  The security detail evidently learned nothing from that close call, as later that same day the royal couple were once again in an open car, this time on their way to the hospital to visit the injured officer. How often it is that pivotal points in history are influenced by seemingly inconsequential things. So it was this day. The procession took a wrong turn and started down the same street they had traversed before. The governor of Bosnia, who was in the car behind them, called out to the driver of the lead car to stop and turn around. The driver stopped the car and prepared to back up. Just feet away, another Serbian from the same fanatical group, a nineteen-year-old boy, was stunned to see the royal couple stopped just a few feet away from him. He drew his pistol and raced forward. Leaping up onto the car, he fired two shots at point-blank range. The first hit the archduke in the jugular vein. The second bullet caught Princess Sophie in the abdomen. Both were dead before they could reach a safe haven.

  The outrage swept across Europe like wildfire. Anti-Serbian riots broke out in Sarajevo. Accusations and denials flew back and forth. With war clouds darkening all across the continent, the world powers began to line up on one side or the other. One month later to the day, Emperor Franz Josef of Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Three days later, Russia, a formal ally of Serbia, began marshalling its armed forces. The following day, August 1st, Germany began mobilizing and declared war on Russia. On the 3rd, Germany declared war on France. In the days that followed, so many nations were declaring war on one another that it was hard to keep up.

  Only much later would people remember that Otto von Bismarck, the great German statesman, and the person most responsible for the unification of Germany, had once said, “One day the great European War will come out of some damned foolish thing in the Balkans.”

  August 4, 1914—Menzing, Munich, Germany

  “Elder Reissner?”

  The missionary from Idaho was in the tiny bathroom, brushing his teeth. The water was running. He didn’t respond.

  Elder Ronald Brighton from St. George, Utah, banged his fist on the door. “ELDER REISSNER!”

  Turning off the water, he stuck his head out. “You calling me?”

  “No.” Elder Brighton held up the phone. “The mission office in Zurich is calling you.”

  “Zurich?” He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands and then tossed it on a chair before taking the phone. “Hello?”

  “Elder Reissner, this is Elder Franklin in the mission office.”

  “Great, Elder. Thanks for returning my call. I—”

  “Wait! You called me?”

  “Yes, about half an hour ago.”

  “Oh. Elder, it’s crazy here. I didn’t get the message. I’m calling all of the district leaders on another matter.”

  “Oh?” He grabbed a chair, dragged it over, and sat down. “Go ahead then. But I’ve got a question for President Valentine.”

  “President Valentine isn’t here. He’s doing a mission tour with that elder from Salt Lake City.”

  “You mean Elder Hyrum M. Smith? He’s an Apostle, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” The missionary on the phone drew in a quick breath. “Sorry, I’m a little rattled right now. But Elder Smith and President Valentine are doing a mission tour. Didn’t you get the letter?”

  “Of course we got the letter. But it said they’re not coming for another week.”

  “That’s to Munich. They’re starting the tour in the north and wo
rking their way south. Then they’ll return to Zurich.”

  “All right, all right. Take it easy, Elder. You’re doing fine. So what’s your question?”

  The voice on the other end lowered to a hush. “Have you been listening to the news?”

  “We don’t have a radio, but we’ve been buying a newspaper every morning. Haven’t seen one yet today, though.”

  “Germany just declared war on France.”

  He leaned in. “You mean Russia, right? Yeah, we heard that.”

  “No. Russia was two days ago. Today it was France. And on the news they’re saying England’s going to come in with France, so Germany will declare war against them, too.” His voice was tinged with fear and awe. “Germany’s going to war, Elder Reissner. And the phones are ringing off the hook. Elders everywhere are in a panic. Banks have stopped cashing any foreigners’ checks. Post offices are refusing to cash their money orders. Some have no money at all. Others will be out of money by tomorrow or the next day. They don’t know what to do. The members are calling too. They want to know what’s going to happen to the Church if the missionaries have to go.”

  “Okay, Elder. Slow down a little.” He waved at Elder Brighton, lowering the telephone. “Get a paper. Write down everything you’re hearing. Come close so you can hear what Elder Franklin’s saying.” Then he spoke into the phone again. “Tell the missionaries to stay put for right now. They’ll have to do the best they can. If they’re out of food, have them talk to the members. Then try to contact President Valentine.”

  “I did. Nothing. Can’t reach him. No one knows where they are. They were supposed to have arrived in Berlin yesterday, but no one has seen them yet.”

  “No surprise there. Germany’s mobilizing for war. I’ll bet the railroads are a nightmare right now. Have you tried a telegram?”

  A long pause, then, “Uh . . . no, I don’t know how to do that. But they got a telegram from Salt Lake two days ago.”

  “Who did? President Valentine?”

  “And Elder Smith too.”

  “What did it say?”

  There was a sudden touch of huffiness in voice. “We don’t open the president’s mail. Especially stuff from Salt Lake. Elder Becker sent it on to Berlin, hoping it would get there before they arrive. He left a note to forward it on to Leipzig if it misses them.”

  “Where is Elder Becker?” Elder Becker and his companion were the most senior missionaries in the office.

  “They’re out trying to get some money for the office. Fortunately, Switzerland is neutral, and we’re not having any problems yet.”

  “And you’re there alone? Where’s your companion?”

  “He went with Elder Becker.”

  Elder Reissner rolled his eyes and covered the phone again and whispered, “Elder Franklin’s only been out about three months. Not the best one to be left to deal with a crisis. You getting all this?”

  “I’m writing as fast as I can,” Elder Brighton replied.

  When Reissner spoke into the phone again, he talked slowly and kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible. “It’s all right, Elder Franklin. You’re doing great. Tell Elder Becker to call me this afternoon. We’re going out to check on our missionaries and the branch members here in Munich. Many of them don’t have phones yet. We’ll be gone for three or four hours.”

  “Right. Call you this afternoon. If he doesn’t, you call back, okay?”

  “I will, Elder. Auf Wiedersehen.” He hung up and looked at Elder Brighton. “Get your coat on. We’ve got work to do.”

  Schwabing, Munich

  As Elders Reissner and Brighton came out of their flat and reached the sidewalk, Elder Reissner stopped. It had rained the night before, but now the sky was crystal clear and the sun was filtering through the leaves of sycamore trees above them. It was going to be a beautiful day. But Elder Reissner’s mind was not on the weather. He looked both ways, his mind working at full speed.

  “What do you think, Elder?” Elder Brighton said. “Aren’t the biggest banks down around Marienplatz?”

  “Ja, that’s what I was thinking. But they’ll probably be the most crowded too. I’ll bet half of Germany’s trying to get money out of their accounts right now.”

  Elder Brighton was visibly nervous. He had been out for just over six months. It had taken Elder Reissner almost a year before he started to feel really comfortable here, and that was with his ability to speak German.

  “Maybe we should wait until we hear from President Valentine. I’m guessing that telegram from Salt Lake City contains instructions about what we’re going to do. Maybe we’re better off to stay in our flat today in case they call.”

  “If we do, the banks may be closed by the time the call comes. If there’s too big of a run on them for cash, they’ll just close their doors.”

  “But . . .”

  “Look, Elder. We don’t know where President Valentine and Elder Hyrum Smith are. But when we do hear from them, there’s a ninety-five percent chance that they’re going to say, ‘Get out of Germany now.’”

  He blanched a little. “Do you really think so?”

  “There is going to be a war here, Elder. A big war. And Germany is going to demand that all Americans and other foreign nationals leave the country immediately. Especially those who stand with the Allies.”

  “But America’s not involved. They say they’re staying out of the war.”

  “America is sympathetic to France and England. Germany is not going to let us stay. We have to make sure our elders have sufficient money for train tickets to Switzerland. No one is going to leave before we hear from the president, but we have to be ready.”

  That seemed to satisfy the younger missionary, but Elder Reissner decided it was good for him to understand exactly what they were about to do. “We can’t go to the bank where we normally get our funds. Everyone there knows we’re Americans. And right now, Elder Brighton, we are going to try to keep that fact hidden as much as we can.”

  Then a thought came. He turned right, motioning for Elder Brighton to follow. “Come on. Let’s catch a trolley.”

  “Where to?” his companion asked, hurrying to catch up.

  “To Marienplatz.”

  “But you just said . . .”

  “That’s just our trolley destination. A short walk from there is a district called Schwabing. It’s where the Ludwig Maximilian University is. It’s much quieter and there are always a lot of students about our age around there. And there’s a branch of the Deutsche Bank just a few blocks away.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Elder Reissner reached out and touched his companion’s arm. “Your German is improving rapidly, Elder, but you still speak with a noticeable American accent. So no talking if anyone’s close by.”

  “Got it.”

  • • •

  Elder Reissner was disappointed, but not surprised, to see that the line for the Deutsche Bank in Schwabing came out the door and snaked about half a block down the sidewalk. That was still significantly shorter than the lines in Marienplatz, which stretched two or three hundred yards at every bank they passed. He was also gratified to see that about half the line consisted of young men and women like themselves.

  “Das ist gut,” he murmured. “Now remember, Elder. No talking. Not even in German. With war breaking out, I’m hoping no one is going to be looking for light conversation this morning. But if they do, let me do the talking. But remember: under no circumstances are you to say anything in English. Nicht ein Wort.”

  “Ja. I understand. Not a word.”

  • • •

  It took them an hour to actually get inside the bank. As they drew nearer, Elder Reissner watched the people coming out of the bank closely. No one seemed upset, and he saw a few putting cash into their purses or wallets as they walked away. That was good. His plan was to withdraw enough cash to give each companionship fifty marks, enough to get them into Switzerland if the order to evacuate came. That meant he needed at lea
st six hundred marks. His greatest fear was that this little branch would run out of cash before he reached the tellers.

  But when the bank guard opened the door with a sober but pleasant “Guten Morgen,” he felt a huge relief. There were fewer than a dozen people inside the bank now, and he assumed that if they were getting close to running out of cash, they would have stopped letting people in.

  He had been right about conversation. People who knew each other talked in low voices about the war and what it would mean, but everyone else wasn’t saying much. His hopes began to rise.

  Elder Brighton stepped to one side when they reached the teller’s cage. Elder Reissner withdrew the bank draft from his jacket pocket and slid it under the steel bars that covered each teller’s station. He smiled at the woman, who was in her mid-forties. “Guten Morgen. Could I receive this all in fifty-mark notes?”

  She glanced at him, then at the check, and then nodded. “Papiere bitte.”

  Elder Reissner felt his heart drop. He had hoped that she wouldn’t ask to see his papers. But there was nothing to be done for it now. He reached in his pocket and brought out his identity card, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t ask to see his passport too.

  She didn’t, but the moment she read his identity card, she started shaking her head and her mouth pinched into a tight line. “Nein,” she said emphatically.

  “Why not? There are sufficient funds in the account to cover it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two things. Elder Brighton had a look of pure panic on his face, and others behind them in the line were leaning forward to catch what was going on. Neither of those were good.

  “The government forbids any foreign national from withdrawing money from a bank or post office.”

  Instantly there was a murmur of sound behind him. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, as he read her name tag. “But Frau Baartz, the government has also asked that we leave the country. That is what we are doing. I am responsible for myself and twelve others. We are leaving for Zurich today. But we cannot do that without money for tickets.”

  That took her aback, and for a moment she looked confused. “Einen Moment.” She backed away from the window and walked to a man in a suit. Behind him Elder Reissner heard something that sent a shiver down his back. It was a man’s voice, and he uttered one word. “Englisch?” Angry mutters instantly followed.