by Ward Wagher
“Thank you, Herr Mitner. And with that...”
And he stepped out of the small dining room. As he climbed the stairs he wondered about the slight emphasis Mitner put on the word exactly. He would find out soon enough. The toilet was indeed where he had left it last time, if it had been him here last time. The evening's repast had caught up with him and he rather desperately needed to take care of business. The small water closet was next door to the bath, and both had been recently and carefully cleaned. Schloss suspected Mitner had made sure the place was spotless before the visit by the important person.
Room three was at the other end of the short hallway. From the looks of the layout, the room did not adjoin another room on either side, which would give him maximum privacy. Either Mitner or the Alter-Schloss had left little to chance. Schloss looked down to open the door. Even the brass lever had been freshly polished. He stepped into the room.
“I have not seen you since Hannelore passed. Was it very bad, Darling?”
Schloss stared for a moment at the redheaded woman sitting in the bed, then turned to shut the door. His mind was racing to fit the pieces of this puzzle together and he had no time to arrive at a solution. He closed the door and turned to look at her. She sat propped against the pillows with the spread gathered about her waist. Her flame red hair was very long and combed down to cover her breasts. The hair framed an oval face with a sharp chin and chiseled nose. All in all, an attractive package, Schloss thought. And she was waiting for him to respond. Once again he acted at the instinctive level and said the first thing that came to mind.
“You know, I felt like I hardly knew her.”
Schloss continued fitting the pieces together. Renate and Peter had wanted to visit Hannelore's grave site. He had contrived to get Frau Marsden to lead him there, which meant that the children were with them. This had broken open their grief again, and he dropped to one knee to embrace his weeping son, while Renate had picked up a distraught Anna Lisa. As he held the boy to his shoulder he imprinted the information on the tombstone in his memory. Hannelore Schloss had died on May 17, 1941, barely a month before the strange events deposited him in this world.
He had carefully studied the calendar in his office and knew that he had last visited Munich a week before the death of Hannelore. And he had maintained a mistress in Munich even while his wife lay dying of cancer. He and Trudy had not been close, but the marriage was comfortable and he had never given serious thought to straying. Apparently the Alter-Schloss was not identical in makeup. He was not impressed with his double. And now the woman was speaking again and he had to rewind the conversation and think about what she was saying.
“When I heard nothing from you this past month I thought perhaps you did not love me anymore. Or maybe I was just a convenient ink well, after all.”
Schloss looked down at the floor. “Things have been... complex. And I am here.”
She slipped out of the bed and walked across the room towards him as he gazed at her nude form. She really was attractive. She stopped in front of him and folded her hands across her middle.
“Poor Hennie. When you cried in my arms the last time you were here, I thought perhaps you had decided at the end to forsake me for Hannelore. And I could not begrudge you that.”
“It was a... difficult time.”
“And the only time you had trouble saying hard things were when you talked about her. I am so sorry, Heinrich.”
Schloss shook his head. “I have discovered over the past several weeks that life goes on. And we must make our way through it as we best can. In more ways than you can imagine, I am at the beginning of the rest of my life.”
She stepped into his arms and embrace him.
“And through it all you have been so stoic and wise,” she said softly into his ear. “And I understand the grief you carry. It is like the world is crashing down around you.”
Schloss sighed. He really could think of nothing to say.
“Come to bed, Hennie,” she said.
Schloss's last thought before he drifted off to sleep was the question of how he was going to discover her name.
CHAPTER TWELVE
July 2, 1941, 10AM
Nazi Party Headquarters, Munich
Goebbels had released the news to the press, and the people in the party offices in Munich celebrated. The British bombers had been caught at the worst possible time – low on fuel and in the process of landing. The crews were tired and many had packed away ammunition and stowed guns. What fighters were in the air were at the end of their endurance and suffered inattentive pilots. Over one-hundred aircraft had been destroyed in the air or on the ground. The Germans had sufficiently cratered the runways to put many of the British aerodromes out of business for days.
Goebbels had not released the losses suffered by the Germans. Twenty-five bombers had been shot down during the raid, and another fifteen fighters had been lost. Still, in the calculus of war, Schloss concluded it was a victory. While information out of England was hard to come by, it appeared the Londoners had already become accustomed to not having to sleep in the bomb shelters. They reacted to the loss of the aircrews with shock. Apparently there was already some mild recrimination in Parliament as well. This was all to the good.
Rainer had scheduled the return flight to Berlin for early afternoon. Hess was due to present a major speech that evening in Berlin, and Schloss wanted to review it. And the work was piling up in Berlin since this distraction had come up in Munich. Plus, he had not figured out a way to discover the name of the red-haired woman and this frustrated him. Schloss had awakened to her kiss, as she left the gasthaus to make her way to her job.
Rainer slipped into the office Schloss had co-opted that morning, and placed a stack of papers into the tray on the desk.
“What's this?” Schloss demanded.
“Munich party matters you need to review, Herr Partieleiter.
“Can't Zindenfel do that?”
Rainer gave him an old-fashioned look. “I have given Herr Zindenfel the items he is capable of handling.”
Schloss threw his pencil down and leaned back in the chair. “Karl, who is going to manage this place when we wing our way back to Berlin this afternoon?”
“I did not say appointing Zindenfel to the position was the perfect answer to the problem, Herr Partieleiter. It was merely the best in an array of bad choices.”
“Oh, don't get your knickers twisted, Karl. What I want to know is how you plan to keep this place here running after we leave.”
Rainer smiled at Schloss. “Fraulein Stohner sorted these items. After we leave, she will continue that task and will send whatever we need to see to us in Berlin.”
“And Zindenfel's reaction?”
“Herr Zindenfel does not know.”
Schloss studied his adjutant for a few moments.
“Okay, if you're comfortable with that, I am too. Just remember what flows downhill.”
“I understand, Herr Partieleiter.”
“And, I am glad you do.”
Schloss leaned forward again, and picked the stack of papers out of the bin. He picked up the pencil. He seemed to work more efficiently with it in his hand, even if he did no writing.
“Now let us see what you have so ungraciously dropped in my lap.”
“One other item, Herr Partieleiter, do you want me to have a gift sent to Frau Badhoff?”
Schloss laid his pencil down again and pinched the bridge of his nose. Who was Frau Badhoff and why did he need to send her gifts?
“If I have offended, I apologize,” Rainer continued.
Schloss held a hand up. “No, no. I should have remembered it myself. I don't know why I have been so distracted of late.”
“It is perfectly understandable, Herr Partieleiter. You have suffered grievous loss, and then the Fuhrer's accident happened. And you have not stopped. May I suggest we schedule an extra day here in Munich and you take the opportunity to relax? I'm sure we could arrange for Frau
Badhoff to have some time away from her work. Spend an afternoon in the mountains.”
Enough clues now presented themselves and Schloss decided Frau Badhoff was probably the red-haired woman he had spent the night with. And if I spend an afternoon in the mountains with her, he thought, I will likely trip badly over my lack of knowledge. And how do I find out her first name?
“No, Karl,” he said. “I appreciate your concern. But we really need to get back to Berlin this afternoon. I dare not spend much time away from the capital while things are so... fluid.”
“I am concerned you may become exhausted and ill. I believe you are the only person truly holding the government together.”
Schloss snorted. “I believe I am the magician who must keep pulling rabbits out of the hat. I am almost out of tricks.”
“Just so,” Rainer said. “You need to rest.”
“Let's get through the next several weeks,” he replied. “Then we can talk about a vacation.”
“And the gift?”
Schloss now laughed and shook his head. “Karl, what would I do without you? Yes, pick something out, or have somebody pick something to send to Frau Badhoff. I guess I am not thinking well this morning.”
“Very well, Herr Partieleiter. I will take care of it.”
“Thanks, Karl. Now let me go through this stack of paperwork you so graciously placed on my desk. And call the airport to let the pilots know I want to depart on time.”
Rainer nodded and slipped out of the office. Schloss shook his head again and slid the small notebook out of his valise. It was more than just an address book. It contained notes on the people Schloss was likely to meet during the course of his duties. As a politician of sorts, there was no way he could remember everyone he needed to know. As a transplantee from another time, Schloss was grateful the Alter-Schloss had a fetish for keeping careful records.
Paging through the notebook, he quickly found an entry for Gisela Badhoff along with a Munich address. The entry was dated in 1937. A later entry in Rainer's handwriting noted the death of her husband Lieutenant Willem Badhoff during a raid on England in September 1940. The entry twigged another thought. Rainer had also kept a scrapbook of political events, and Schloss wondered if the Badhoffs were in it. He resolved to look at it again after his return to Berlin.
# # #
July 2, 1941, 4 PM
Reich Chancellery, Berlin
The governing council was in high spirits after the early morning victory against the English. Hess, Himmler and Goebbels congratulated Goering on his brilliant planning. Goering glanced over at Schloss during the meeting, but said nothing about his contributions. Schloss, for his part, was satisfied to remain in the background.
“What further activities are planned against the English?” Himmler asked.
Goering looked nonplussed. “Herr Reichsprotektor, this was one of those rare opportunities that came up. We were able to take full advantage of it. The English will not allow us to accomplish something like this again.”
“Well, why not? We spend huge sums on the Luftwaffe and you are handing us these occasional victories. How are you planning to stop the English bombers from ranging over Germany at night?”
“I believe the Reichsmarshall has discouraged the English in their nightly sorties,” Schloss interrupted. “We destroyed forty percent of the bombers that were on last night’s expedition. He not only handed us a signal victory, but I believe he has made real progress in reducing the scourge.”
Himmler glared at Schloss for a moment, and then turned back to Goering. “Tell me how you are planning to take advantage of the victory.”
Goering was now looking distinctly uncomfortable. Schloss recognized that beyond the scheme they had put together for the previous night’s operation, the Reichsmarshall had done nothing to plan for a followup. Perhaps it was time to come to his rescue and further move the portly Nazi into Schloss’s camp.
“The Reichsmarshall and I have had some discussions about this,” Schloss said, nodding his head at Goering. “Based upon this success along with other intelligence, we are taking a hard look at concentrating our bombing campaigns against the English air bases.”
Goering looked grateful and Himmler looked disgusted.
“So you are advocating we abandon the Fuhrer’s strategy of bombing the Londoners into submission?” Himmler asked, pointing at Schloss.
“Has it worked?”
“We have forced them to focus their resources on defending the capital,” Himmler continued.
“Has it worked?” Schloss repeated.
“I am not sure I appreciate your tone, Herr Partieleiter.”
“Our Fuhrer was a great man,” Schloss responded. “But he recognized the need to change tactics or strategy when something was not working.”
Nothing of the sort was true, Schloss thought, but the statement might help to drive Himmler off track. Himmler recognized the lie as he continued to glare. Schloss hoped it would make them all recognize Hitler’s single-minded devotion to insane ideas that required huge efforts and risk to talk him out of, many times unsuccessfully.
“So you think our bombing of London has been a failure?” Himmler asked softly.
Careful now, Hennie, Schloss thought, he’s looking for a way to shove the knife into your back.
“I know it has,” Hess interjected. “All we have done is drive the English into a blind devotion to Churchill. There are thousands of English who are sympathetic to Germany. We need to do what we can to capture their affections.”
Schloss saw Goebbels roll his eyes. Hess was off on one of his loony trips. Schloss suspected what Hess said was somewhat true, but nobody took him seriously. And he wasn’t helping the argument.
“Rudolf,” Schloss said, shaking his head, “I think you may be exaggerating the level of support we might find in England. But you are entirely correct that the bombing of the cities has intensified English support for the war.”
Hess looked slightly confused at Schloss’s comments. Himmler scowled and Goebbels looked down at his notepad.
Goering chose that moment to speak again. “From what we could glean from the English press, the people there have directed their unhappiness at the defeat against the English armed forces rather than at us. I would view that as a success.”
“True,” Goebbels said. “We must attempt to find a way to exploit that.”
Schloss looked at Himmler. “Do we have anyone in England who can credibly criticize the Royal Air Force?”
Himmler scratched his head and picked up his fountain pen. “I will check on that. Most of our assets in England are deep cover agents. We have not had the opportunity to develop sympathetic elements.” He chuckled softly. “I believe Comrade Stalin calls them fellow travelers. He has used them to great effect here in Germany. Perhaps we can borrow the idea.”
Goebbels nodded and scribbled some notes. “A good idea, Mein Herren. Our broadcast propaganda is much more effective here in Germany than in England. Perhaps this calls for a different approach.”
Goering looked relieved that the subject had been changed. Himmler said nothing further, apparently deciding he was ahead for the moment. Hess scratched the item off his agenda.
“Very well,” Hess said. “The next item is the diplomatic note from the Americans about the U-Boats.”
Ribbentrop nodded. “This is getting serious. The American Chargé d'Affaires told me, unofficially of course, that the next step is breaking diplomatic relations.”
Everyone around the table looked sober. They knew what this meant. The next step after that would be the United States entering the war on the side of the British. Nobody wanted that, except possibly Himmler.
“Have the Americans suggested a way we can quiet things down?” Schloss asked.
“Our read on the situation is that Roosevelt is looking for a way to enter the war,” Ribbentrop said. “The Americans have been very quiet since the death of the Fuhrer. This note was a surprise.”
“Perhaps we should teach the Americans a lesson,” Himmler said. “We are regrouping after we canceled Barbarossa. They do not want to go to war with us.”
Schloss felt a chill in the room. “We do not want to do that, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“Why are you so weak and cowardly, Schloss?” Himmler screamed suddenly. “You have managed to stop every initiative of our late Fuhrer. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were spitting on his memory!”
And I would piss on his grave for what he did to our land, Schloss thought. But, I must meet this challenge.
Schloss slammed his fists on the table and stood up. “And you want us to get into a war with the United States? Are you such a fool? They have four times our population and ten times our industry. We haven’t been able to effectively neutralize the English and you want to raise the stakes. Pardon me, Herr Reichsprotektor, but I really thought you were smarter than that.”
The room shivered. Schloss recognized things were on the brink.
Himmler was now pasty white and trembling. “You will apologize for that remark, Herr Partieleiter. I will not be spoken to in that way.”
“Apologize to you? You keep pressing us to adopt strategies that will destroy our nation. Listen to me, all of you! We lost our champion a month ago. He was successful because of his audacity, courage and sheer leadership ability. Which one of us can rally the people like that?”
He pointed to Hess. “Our Deputy Fuhrer is doing the best he can, but he is not in the Fuhrer’s league. I am not. You are not. The people revered Hitler. They are afraid of you, Herr Himmler.”
“And you will surrender the German state to the Russians and the English. And now, the Americans!” Himmler retorted.
“By keeping us out of a war we cannot possibly win? We are the power on the European continent. But we cannot project our forces much beyond that. Look at how much trouble we have had with the English.”
