Fire and Steel, Volume 3

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Guns?” Ernst exclaimed in alarm.

  Roehm shook his head grimly. “No, the police are searching people for firearms. But there’ll be billy clubs and brass knuckles, maybe a few lead pipes. When I walked through the hall a few minutes ago, they openly jeered. Said this would be our last meeting.” He looked around at the crowd. “With these men out here we would easily outnumber them, but these people can’t get in. Inside, their numbers will be superior to ours.”

  Hans drew a deep breath and turned to Adolf. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Well, we’ll be in one of the largest rooms in the Hofbrauhaus. It is the main dining hall, which is long and narrow and has rows and rows of tables set end to end. It is not an ideal place for speaking. So, in the past, I have moved a table near the center of the room over to one side, up against the wall. Then I use that table as my speaking platform. It puts me right in the midst of the people and I can speak directly to them without a microphone.”

  “And that is what worries me,” Dietrich Eckart said. “You being right in the midst of the people. It leaves you pretty vulnerable, mein Führer.”

  “Someone must have told our enemies that,” Emil said with a frown, “because the majority of them are massed around the center of the room.”

  “It is still the best place for me, and I shall not shrink from my duty.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Roehm said. “As instructed, the staff here have served beer along with snacks to the people while they wait, but only one stein per adult is allowed before the meeting begins.”

  “Good,” Dimitri said. “So they won’t be drunk.”

  “Not as we go in,” Roehm said grimly, “but once the meeting begins, that restriction is lifted. They can order as much as they can pay for. And here is a concern. So far, those who have come to give us trouble are not returning their beer steins when they are empty. They’re putting them under the tables at their feet.”

  Ernst was incredulous. “You think they mean to use them as weapons?”

  “Why not?” Hans retorted. “A good beer stein weighs a pound or two. And they’ve got handles on them. That makes them almost as good as a club.”

  “And better than a rock,” Emil noted sourly.

  “That is a problem,” Adolf agreed, “but we must not act unless they actually strike against us. They will taunt us and try to goad us into reaction, but we cannot respond until we have actual provocation. I can weather their insults and their taunts.”

  All around him lips pinched and eyes narrowed, but no one said anything.

  Adolf turned to his head of security. “Tell them your plan, Emil.”

  Maurice shot to attention, clicked his heels together so they cracked like a gunshot, and threw up his arm in salute. “Jawohl, mein Führer.” He spun around to Hans and his little group. “I have only about four dozen men here. There may be a few more coming, but only a few. There wasn’t time to send out a general call. So I’ve organized those we do have into six squads of eight men each. They’re trained to work together in small groups, hitting hard and fast in one place, then rolling on to the next critical area. With the approval of der Führer, I am dividing my men into three groups of two squads each, one commanded by me and one each commanded by Eckhardt and Roehm, who both have combat experience. Do you agree with that strategy?”

  “Totally!” Hans said.

  “Absolutely,” Ernst agreed. “We’ll need to post guards at the door so that when we throw the vermin out, they can’t come back in.”

  “Agreed,” Maurice said. “Ernst, why don’t you and your men take that assignment?” He looked at Hans. “I’ll take the far end of the hall. There’s no exit to the outside there, but there are doors that lead into the kitchen. We want to make sure no one slips in or out that way. Hans, we’ll let your friends here stay with you. You’ll have the center portion of the hall.” There was an ominous pause. “The one where the fighting will likely be the hottest.”

  Maurice turned to Adolf. “Do you approve, mein Führer?”

  “Jawohl! You have my complete confidence, Emil. You are in charge.”

  “Gut.” He looked Fritzie and the others. “We’ll get armbands for each of you so the police will let you through. My men also have some extra police batons for you.”

  Ernst reached under his jacket and withdrew the short length of shovel handle. “Hans and I have our own.”

  Uncle Anatoly pulled something from his belt too. Hans recognized it immediately. Back in Berlin, after he had been badly beaten by the Spartacans on the same day they had burned his restaurant, he had asked a friend to make it for him. It looked like a police baton, only it was wrapped in tightly stitched leather. And sewn inside the leather at the upper tip of the shaft was an eight-ounce clump of lead. Hans had seen Anatoly, who was near his seventies, shatter a two-inch-thick tree branch with a single swipe of his “persuader,” as he liked to called it.

  Fritzie patted his back. Dimitri did the same. “We’re good too,” Dimitri said.

  Adolf straightened, throwing back his shoulders. “The meeting starts in ten minutes, my brothers. We need to get in there. But, Emil, before we do, I’d like to speak with your men. I will be brief.”

  “Of course, mein Führer.” He snapped off another salute. “Follow me.”

  When the crowds saw who it was that was calling for them to move back, a pathway quickly opened to where the S.A. men were waiting. They all came to attention as their supreme leader approached. On signal from Emil and in perfect unison, they raised their hands in salute. “Heil, Hitler,” they cried.

  Adolf saluted back and then motioned for silence. It came instantly.

  “My fellow brothers in arms,” Adolf began, his voice ringing out across the square, “we are about to face what may be the greatest challenge our party has yet seen. But I am confident that your willingness to defend the Fatherland is firm and that your loyalty to the National Socialist Party is unbending.”

  Heads were nodding and there were murmurs of assent. Their faces were bright with excitement, their jaws firm with determination.

  “I shall not sugarcoat our situation for you. You see how few our numbers are. Inside, you will be greatly outnumbered by a ruthless and implacable foe. Many of us may be carried out of the hall tonight; perhaps even some will be dead. But know this. I shall not leave that hall as long as I have one breath left in me, and I expect the same from you. Should I see any of you falter, I shall personally fight my way to you and rip off your armband and badge and throw them on the ground. Our cause cannot fail this night, therefore you must not fail.”

  His eyes swept across the group. “Two more things. You are not to pay attention to the insults and taunts that will be hurled at you or at me. But at the slightest attempt to sabotage our meeting and stop me from speaking, you are to spring forward like a lion on its prey, without mercy and without hesitation. We may be statistically outnumbered, but you are in the majority when it comes to courage, bravery, and resolve.”

  They roared the response to that. “Jawohl, mein Führer!”

  “And remember this, when you are outnumbered, the best defense is a vigorous and determined offense.” He searched their resolute faces for a few moments and then raised his arm in salute. “Sieg heil!” he shouted at them. “Hail victory!”

  Every man stiffened and, led by Emil, they raised their arms and thundered back, “Sieg heil! Sieg heil! Sieg heil!”

  November 4, 1921, 7:57 p.m.—Hofbrauhaus Keller

  The squads of men shuffled to a stop in the large vestibule just outside of the main entrance. Emil Maurice turned and raised his hands in the air, motioning for the men to move in close. Adolf was in the lead, of course, with Emil right beside him. Emil waited until all of the men had pushed in close and then cleared his throat. His instructions were terse and clear. He and two squads would go in first and
occupy the far end of the hall. Hans and his two squads, plus Ernst and Fritzie’s family, would take the center of the hall. It was their job to protect Adolf and the committee members who would be seated at the head table. Roehm’s two squads would take the area around the entrance and make sure no others came in.

  Maurice was grim as he finished. “When this is over, you can have all the bratwurst and sauerkraut and schnitzel you can eat and all the beer you can drink. But until that moment, you have nothing. Not a bite. Not a drop. And that goes for all of us. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the men roared back.

  “You are to keep your eyes focused totally on the crowd. If I catch you ogling the waitresses, you will be shot at sunrise.”

  The men hooted and stomped their feet as they laughed.

  Adolf looked up. “I’ve seen some of those girls,” he said. “It might be worth it.”

  Now they roared with laughter and clapped their hands in delight.

  Maurice turned and looked at Adolf. “As a precaution, mein Führer, we will have you and the other officers of the party walk in the center of the formation as we enter.”

  Adolf gave a curt nod but said nothing. Hans could tell that he was already in the hall and thinking about what he was going to say to a group that would be more hostile than any he had ever faced before.

  “Hans,” Emil said, “we asked the staff to reserve the chairs closest to the head table for some of your men. I want you and your squad to stay within arm’s length of der Führer at all times. You cannot abandon him, no matter what else is going on around you. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We know that we are greatly outnumbered. So, when you put someone down, or a group down, don’t assume they are down for good. You pick them up and drag them out by their hair if you have to, but get them to Roehm’s men. They will ensure that the scoundrels do not come back in to fight again.” He turned to Adolf. “Mein Führer, do you have any final words for the men?” Adolf seemed momentarily startled, but then he nodded. “I do. Danke.” He stepped forward and let his eyes sweep across the group. “My brethren in arms, one of the things that runs deeply in the blood of all Germanic peoples is an admiration for strength and courage. It has been bred into our hearts and souls through hundreds upon hundreds of generations. I think it comes from the earliest days when our Teutonic grandfathers and grandmothers roamed the vast forests of northern Europe and struck fear into the hearts of even the vaunted Roman legions.

  “No one owned private property then because they feared it would make the people weak. They didn’t build permanent homes because they believed they weakened the character. Their chieftains would lead plundering expeditions on neighboring tribes in order to give their young men experience in battle. Their wives accompanied them to war because their women would not tolerate the slightest weakness in their men.

  “So it comes as no surprise that our history is filled with the names of strong, powerful leaders who captured the loyalty and admiration of the German people.” He paused for a long moment and then went on, his voice rich with fervency. “Tonight may not prove to be a great turning point in our nation’s history, but I tell you this with all the soberness I can muster. Tonight will prove to be the turning point in our party. If the people see us turn tail and run from a bunch of rabble they despise, then they will despise us as well. If the people are driven from our halls because we are too weak to control our enemies, why would they ever send us to the halls of Parliament? And if we cannot maintain order in our meetings, then they will laugh us to scorn when we promise to establish order in the Fatherland.”

  He looked up, staring at the leaden skies overhead, seemingly far away. “My brothers, it won’t be me that convinces the people tonight that we are strong. It will be you. You hold the future here this night.” Suddenly, he clasped his hands together, raised them high above his head, and shook them gently. It was the classic Germanic way of expressing gratitude without ever saying a word. “You are the future of this party,” he cried. “You are the future of the Fatherland. You are Germans! Go, and be strong!”

  He straightened, turned on his heel, and spoke to Emil. “I am ready. Let it begin.”

  8:03 p.m.—Great Hall, Hofbrauhaus Keller

  One of the most vivid memories Hans still carried from the war happened in the early spring of 1916 during the Battle of Verdun. He and his best friend, Franck Zolger, were driving trucks for the Fourth Transport Brigade of the German Second Army, shuttling supplies to the front and the wounded back from the front. One day they were stopped by the military police because the British had launched a mustard gas attack a few miles ahead of them. After several hours, they were told to put on their gas masks and proceed. A few miles up the road, they passed through a French village with no idea of what awaited them.

  As it turned out, the villagers—or what was left of them—believed it was the Germans who had gassed them. The scenes that greeted Hans and Franck as they drove slowly through the town were as horrific as anything Hans had seen on the battlefields. Bodies were everywhere, twisted grotesquely in the agony of death. Little children had their eyes and lungs seared by the gas. Grandmothers with blistered faces and arms groped their way through the streets. And everyone who could still see—old men, women, little children—stared at them with such naked hatred in their eyes that Hans felt like it was his flesh being seared.

  That was the image that came into his mind now as Adolf and the storm troopers entered the hall. At first some people clapped. These were their supporters. But instantly the ones who occupied the center of the hall leaped to their feet and erupted in a fury. The air was filled with hissing, sneers, catcalls, insults, harsh profanity, obscene curses, and obscene gestures.

  “We will spill your guts out on this floor tonight,” one bearded young man snarled.

  “You are a dead man, Herr Hitler,” called an older man in greasy coveralls.

  “I will personally smash your face in,” cried a boy who hadn’t yet started to shave.

  But to Hans’s immense surprise, once Hitler and the others were seated, the crowd gradually began to quiet. The air was still crackling with tension, like you sometimes feel during a dry lightning storm, but the shouts gradually died away, the clenched fists dropped into laps, and people sat back in their chairs to see what was going to happen next.

  A major part of that was due to Adolf himself. With that uncanny sixth sense that so astounded Hans, he seemed to realize that the longer it took to get him up before the people, the greater the explosion was going to be when it finally came. So Hitler didn’t wait for Herr Herman Esser, who was to conduct the meeting, to speak. He went straight to the table that was the speaker’s platform, clambered up, and turned around to face the crowd. His head was back. His shoulders were square. And his face was calm. He didn’t move or seem to blink until the hall was completely silent.

  8:48 p.m.

  As Adolf had said, the speaker’s “platform” here in the main hall of the Hofbrauhaus was a table placed against the west wall. That meant that his audience fanned out on three sides of him, and Hans saw immediately what Adolf meant when he had said this allowed him to quickly establish a more intimate rapport with the people. With his usual oratory mastery, Adolf soon had the ones who had come to hear him laughing or roaring their approval. Even the ones close around him, who had come with something quite different on their minds, were caught up in his words and seemed reluctant to interrupt him.

  What was Adolf saying that seemed to be holding them back? Hans neither knew nor cared. He was totally focused on what was going on around him. A minute or two before, Hans had glanced up at the large clock at one end of the hall and been shocked to realize that Adolf had been speaking for almost three quarters of an hour now. Could it really be that long? But immediately he brushed the question aside and returned to studying the hundreds of faces
surrounding him. The seating arrangement might be good for establishing rapport, but it was a nightmare for Hans and his little band. Adolf was within easy reach of more people than Hans could count. In a mere second or two they could be on him like a pack of wolves on a downed stag.

  And to make matters worse, the moment the meeting began, the waitresses started moving through the hall taking orders for food and beer. Not only did that make it harder to watch the faces of those around him, but it quickly became evident that these men had all received the same instructions. Order a beer, drink it slowly, and then order another. Do not, however, give the empty steins back. Stash them under the tables for easy access when things turn ugly. And do not get drunk. If they were getting drunk, that would have been more comforting to Hans. Drunks got loud and belligerent, but they were much easier to handle when trouble erupted.

  Within ten or fifteen minutes, Hans had been able to identify most of the ringleaders of the opposition by watching how the others interacted with them. Men would lean in and whisper something to them, and they would shake or nod their heads. Occasionally notes were passed back and forth. Twice, two ringleaders had stood and gone to the back of the hall, pretending to stretch their legs, but he watched as they urgently conferred with one another before returning to their seats. While they were up, Hans took the opportunity to pass his own terse notes to his men, pointing out who their first targets should be.

  But it still puzzled him why they hadn’t acted yet. They had no idea how long Adolf would take, and surely they knew that once he sat down, it would be harder to mount an attack against him. They were obviously studying him, waiting for the opportune moment, but they also seemed to sense that Adolf had control of the crowd and that if they tried to interrupt him at the wrong moment, it might backfire.