by Ward Wagher
Okay, he was angry. Schloss continued to stare at him to the exclusion of everyone else at the table. “No? Why do you think I never criticize your shop, Herr Himmler?” He was speaking softly now. “It is because you have done a masterful job of securing the safety of the state. But we are in new territory now. Ask the people around this table. They see it. Why can you not?”
Himmler looked more subdued now. He shifted his gaze around the table. None of the others would meet his eyes. He unwillingly looked back at Schloss. “Perhaps I was hasty.”
“Think about this, Herr Reichsprotektor, the Fuhrer accomplished more than any German leader ever has. He accomplished more than Frederick the Great; more than Bismarck. We owe it to him to preserve those gains. If we engage in fratricide, we will lose all that. Think about it.”
Himmler stared at him for nearly a full minute, then nodded slowly. “I have never accused you of being a fool, Herr Partieleiter. You are truly thinking about preserving the state. That bears consideration.”
Schloss decided it was time to be magnanimous. He had to remind himself he was facing a dangerous, dangerous man.
“Thank you, Herr Reichsprotektor. That is all I can ask.”
# # #
June 11, 1941 11:00 PM
Schloss Residence, Charlottenburg, Berlin
At one time Heinrich Schloss considered the gladiatorial combat of the faculty senate the most exhausting activity of his career. On this evening he was rapidly revising his opinion and decided the government council was worse. After eating dinner and spending some time with the children, he trudged upstairs to his bed. Frau Marsden, noting his weariness, had quietly gotten the children to bed and left him to himself.
The hoped for oblivion of sleep would not come, though, as Schloss restlessly tossed and turned, and considered this Berlin he was now a part of. Would he ever return to his previous place? Did he even want to? While the dangers he faced, particularly while sitting across the table from Himmler, were terrifying, he found it exhilarating. Plus, he was making a difference in this world. That had to count for something.
Finally, he rolled out of bed, put on a robe and padded downstairs. In the parlor was a tall cabinet that folded out into a desk. While Schloss had noticed it, he had been unable to come up with a clear reason to rummage through it.
A bank book yielded itself to his inspection. With regular deposits recorded over the previous dozen years he had nearly fifty-thousand Marks in the bank. That was a respectable amount, even for a Nazi party leader. He slid the book back into its niche and pulled out a heavy envelope. It was closed at one end, rather than along the edge. A string was attached to the flap, and wrapped around a cardboard button on the envelope.
He unwound the string and opened the flap. Looking inside he saw a stack of photographs. Several were of two children – a boy and a girl. With them were an adult pair, mostly likely parents. The styles were from around the turn of the century. He wondered if one of the children was him, or the Alter-Schloss rather. Another picture showed Schloss as a teenager. Standing next to him in the picture was a slightly younger girl with dark hair. A sister, maybe? How could he know? Then there was the wedding picture. His wedding. The thin blond woman was nearly his height, and attractive. But then, he had always managed to take up with attractive women. Another picture showed the woman, probably his wife, by herself. He stared at the picture and wondered.
“She loved you very much, you know,” Frau Marsden said.
Schloss jumped and turned. “I did not hear you come in.”
“I am sorry if I startled you.”
Schloss nodded down to the picture in his hand. “It almost seems like it's from a different life.”
“I understand,” the old woman said. “Great loss shakes us to the bottom of our souls. How can any of us predict what our lives will be? We would probably go mad if God granted us the ability to see into that future.”
Schloss slipped the pictures back into the envelope and tied it. He wondered if Frau Marsden was being intentionally cryptic. Perhaps he was just tired.
“I need to get to bed,” he said.
“Good night, Herr Schloss,” she said as she eased out of the room.
CHAPTER SIX
June 14, 1941 2:00 PM
Nazi Party Headquarters, Berlin
Schloss thought the funeral was bizarre. Carefully orchestrated by Goebbels and riding a wave of sorrow by the people, it resembled a Nazi party rally. The grounds of the Lustgarten in Berlin were packed with representatives of the armed forces, in uniform and formation. At Goebbels' suggestion, Schloss had instructed his office to make sure several thousand party members from around the country were also present.
Goebbels presented the text of the eulogy Schloss was expected to make. Schloss promptly sat down with Rainer and carefully edited the speech. Goebbels had commented that Schloss's version had substantially more punch than the original. Combined with the Nazi military songs and the speeches, the people seemed to leave much encouraged.
And through the process Schloss was in constant fear of meeting people he was supposed to know. Rainer gave him searching looks from time to time. One morning, while on the way to the toilet, he overheard two of the office girls talking. One girl had commented that the Partieleiter had been somewhat distant of late. The other suggested it was the shock of the Fuhrer's death. Schloss decided it was like riding a bicycle. One had to keep moving to maintain balance. He seemed to be making good decisions, and being aggressive helped. But falling off the bicycle would be disastrous.
Schloss sat at his desk at the party headquarters and pondered his fate. While he had heard of alternate history stories, he had read none. The what-ifs were more of an American fixation in his mind. But, was he caught in an alternate history? He could think of no other explanation and was completely mystified at his arrival in this world. So far he had kept the secret that he really did not know what he was doing. Who would believe his story, anyway?
Sooner or later he was going to trip over something, and worried about the consequences of his ignorance of the Alter-Schloss. He was willing to file that under Tactical, while he increasingly pondered the Strategic question. In other words, what was he going to do? And he wondered about how much he would be able to affect the history of this place. And where was this place? Schloss had boiled his thinking down to two major goals, first of all: the first was preventing the sack of Berlin by the Russians, and second was stopping the murder of the Jews.
The historian in him had established the two premises, and he was now circling the ideas and trying to validate them. Keeping out of a war with the Russians seemed the easiest. The governing council, as it was now called, was all over the place on Barbarossa, but only Himmler was adamantly in favor of the operation. Schloss and Hess were strongly against it. Ribbentrop and Goering seemed ambivalent.
Where the Jews were concerned, the Nazi party had done its work well over the past fifteen years. Himmler's SS was enthusiastically putting together a plan to liquidate European Jewry, and the general public didn't seem to care one way or the other. Schloss was unsure of how to approach the issue, but he had no intention of being judged as one of the monsters of this age.
After a quick double-knock, the door opened and Rainer stepped in. “Frau Schreiber to see you, Herr Partieleiter.”
He stood and stepped around the desk as a striking brunette brushed past Rainer and walked towards him.
“Oh, Hennie, I am so sorry we could not be here when Hannelore passed.” She stepped close and put her hands on his arms, and kissed his cheek. She then hugged him.
Okay, who was this? And who was Hannelore? Could Hannelore have been his wife? Now, what to say? Was this the point where the whole edifice came tumbling down? He eased her away and looked into her face. There was something familiar, maybe? Was this the teen-aged girl with him in the picture he had studied the previous evening?
“Thank you for saying so,” he said. “I know you would h
ave been here if it were possible.”
“How are the children doing?” she asked.
How indeed? Hannelore must have been his wife, and her death was not that long ago.
“I think the children are more resilient than we are.”
“Peter said you would say something like that,” she continued. “I really want to see them. I am just delighted the Foreign Office called him home. Buenos Aires is a lovely city, but I am so happy to be here again.”
Who is Peter? Her husband?
“When did you get in?” he asked.
“Just this morning. Peter was able to snag a couple of seats on the Condor flight. It is a barbaric way to travel, compared to steamship. We had just arrived in Lisbon when we heard about the Fuhrer. What a tragedy.”
“The nation is still in shock,” Schloss said. “I take it Peter is being permanently posted back here?”
“Oh yes. Our things will follow us via steamship. The office is putting us up at the Adlon Hotel for the time being. I was wondering, Heinrich, if we might stay with you?”
He looked into her face again. It seemed as though he was looking in a mirror. A sister, maybe?
“Of course you can stay with us. I should have thought of that myself.”
“Poor Hennie,” she touched his face. “It must've been terrible for you. How are you doing?”
And what about Trudy? He never thought about her. Could wives be forgotten so easily?
He chuckled. “I do not quite know how to say this, but the Fuhrer's death may have been a blessing for me.”
“You have been busy.” It was a statement.
“Quite.” Schloss shook his head. “This entire week has been a nightmare.”
“And the government?”
“We're keeping it running. There are probably some tough decisions coming up. I don't know what we will do.”
“The streets are very quiet,” she commented thoughtfully.
“The people do not know what to expect.”
“You're busy,” she said suddenly. “I shan't keep you.”
“I will call Frau Marsden and have her make a room up for you and Peter,” Schloss said.
“Frau Marsden would be the housekeeper you hired when Hannelore become ill?”
He nodded. “Yes. She is quite formidable.”
“Very well,” she said. “Thank you, Hennie. I must go tell Peter so that he isn't wandering around the Adlon looking for me.”
Schloss chuckled again. “I somehow don't think Peter would appreciate that.”
“Peter has the patience of a saint, but I would not do that to him. Until later, then.”
She kissed him on the cheek again and slipped out the door. He was left with the lingering scent of her perfume.
“Rainer!” he called.
“Yes, Herr Partieleiter?” Rainer asked as he stuck his head in the door.
“Call Frau Marsden and tell her the Schreibers will be staying with us until their things get here from Argentina.”
“At once, Herr Partieleiter. I am glad your sister was able to come home.”
“Thank you, Karl. I am glad as well.”
Okay, we have established that I have a sister who is married. Now all I have to do is figure out her name.
He had studied the address book in his desk. It was, of course, a simple contact list with no further information. He looked under the S's and immediately found an entry for Renate and Peter with an Argentine address. He wondered if there was another listing somewhere of people who he had met casually during the course of business, but would not routinely remember. Then he wondered how he would ask Rainer about it.
The next meeting was with the Reichsmarshall, and Schloss knew all too well who that was. Goering eased himself into the chair across from Schloss's desk, his size making it a close fit. He was wearing a powder-blue uniform on this day. Schloss wondered if Hermann was getting more adventurous without the Fuhrer to rein him in.
“So good of you to come by, Herr Reichsmarshall,” Schloss began.
Margrethe eased into the room carrying a tray with a coffee service and pastries. She slid it onto the small table next to Goering's chair.
He gave her a winsome smile. “Ah, thank you, Margrethe. You remembered.”
She curtsied. “I am honored, Herr Reichsmarshall.”
Apparently Goering was a regular visitor to this office.
“I wish to discuss the industrial planning,” Goering began. “The Fuhrer had canceled many of the new weapons programs on the promise of a quick war. I have wondered if we should revise that calculation.”
“I believe we have a window of opportunity,” Schloss said. “When Barbarossa was on the boards it would have been insanity to attempt to introduce new weapons. But now....”
“You believe Barbarossa is dead then, Herr Partieleiter?” the big man asked.
“Don't you? The General Staff has begun demobilizing from the East.”
“The Reichsprotektor will not like that. He is expecting it to be rescheduled.”
“So then we reschedule it for next year.”
Goering stared at Schloss. “A very dangerous game to play, Heinrich.”
“I am trying to save the nation, Hermann.”
“We beat the Russians in the last war,” Goering said.
“No. We beat the Tsar and then the Bolsheviks. When they threw in their hand, we were done. No, the Fuhrer intended to conquer Russia, which is a different matter entirely. The road to Moscow will be liberally irrigated with German blood. We could have entire armies disappear without a trace in that land.”
“More like Napoleon then?”
“That is it exactly. Stalin will retreat to save his armies, and he can retreat a long way,” Schloss said. “Think about our supply lines. And think about the Russian winter.”
Goering poured a cup of coffee and picked up a pastry. He took a mountainous bite and then slurped the coffee. Schloss decided he really was a swine. Goering took his time pushing the pastry down his gullet.
“I need an entire new fleet of aircraft,” Goering said. “To be honest the British first line fighters are nearly as good as ours. And we have nothing to match their bombers.”
“I have some ideas about that,” Schloss said.
“You?” Goering looked as though he didn't believe Schloss.
“Yes. Tell me, Hermann, what are the most promising new designs right now?”
Goering rubbed his chin and studied the plate of pastries again. “The new Heinkel 280 is a promising design. It uses the new turbojet engines being developed by BMW and Junkers.” He picked up another pastry and stuffed it in his mouth.
“I see,” Schloss said. He considered his historical knowledge and decided to try a shot in the dark. “What priority have you assigned to the development of the new engines?”
Goering stopped chewing and stared at Schloss. “I reduced investment in the programs back in February. At the time the Fuhrer thought them to be unnecessary, and I agreed.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I have been reading reports from our fighter crews over England. Our losses are too high.”
Schloss raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it is to your favor that you would admit to a mistake.”
Goering sighed. “I would not have admitted this to the Fuhrer. He was impatient with such.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I think we need to invest heavily in the new engines and airframes.”
“Who else is working on this?” Schloss asked.
“Messerschmidt and Arado have designs in process. In fact, the Messerschmidt Swallow flew in April with a conventional engine.”
“What about the long range aircraft?” Schloss asked.
“We have the Heinkel 177 in development, and some others in the design stage. The Heinkel has proven troublesome.”
Schloss studied the Reichsmarshall for a few moments as he framed his next statement. “I believe we will eventually need
the long range aircraft. I would suggest, however, your first priority will be the turbojet aircraft.”
“And what will the others say in our meetings?” Goering asked.
“Rudolf will say whatever I tell him to,” Schloss said. “I believe you and I can sway the others.”
“Very well, Herr Partieleiter. As you know, I particularly worry about the English. They are quite stubborn. Particularly their night bombers.”
“We should think on that, then,” Schloss said. “In our next meeting.”
Rainer eased into the office after Goering left. “Will there be anything else, Herr Partieleiter?”
Schloss looked at his watch. It was nearly five o'clock. Today might be a good day to get home early, particularly since his sister was coming to stay.
“Sit down, Karl,” Schloss said. “I need to pick your brain.”
Rainer dropped into the chair recently vacated by Goering, and sat at attention. “Yes, Herr Partieleiter.”
“I just had a long conversation with the Reichsmarshall about setting priorities in our production of war matériel. We have decided to initiate development of the next generation of weapons in some areas. And between several of us we managed to stop that insane Russian adventure. I gathered that did not displease you.”
“Yes, Sir. I do not believe people realize what a big land Russia is. Moscow is not even halfway across that country and Napoleon didn't get there. And comparatively speaking, I think that during that time the French were better equipped and better led than we are right now.”
“What has driven you to that conclusion, if I may ask?” Schloss asked.
“I have studied military history, Herr Partieleiter. I read whenever I have the opportunity.”
Schloss leaned back in his chair and thought about his adjutant. What kind of an arrangement did Rainer have with the Alter-Schloss?
“Given the current situation, Rainer, what do you think we should do next?”
Rainer leaned forward and became animated. “You and I have spoken of this enough. Surely you have not forgotten.”
