by Ward Wagher
Schloss had appointed Schreiber the new Minister of Communications to replace Goebbels. The former propaganda minister had tried to slip away again in the confusion and Schlempke shot him. Rainer was now the new Reichsprotektor. Schloss retained his title of Partieleiter, and the others had insisted he also take the title of Chancellor.
Somebody must be shown to be in charge, Schloss thought, and for my sins I guess it will be me.
The crowds had melted away during the evening and the streets were again quiet. The populace seemed to now be holding its breath to see what would happen next.
Schloss stood up. “I would like a word with each of you individually.”
He looked at Goering and nodded his head towards the small room to the side of the meeting room. Goering followed him over.
“Herr Reichsmarshall, we need to have an understanding.”
“I am at your service,” Goering replied.
“First of all, you have made yourself incredibly wealthy despoiling the Jews. Don't lie to me Hermann.”
Goering looked shocked. Finally, he nodded. “That is correct, Herr Schloss.”
“I am not in a position to do anything about that,” Schloss said. “You stood by me when you could have supported Himmler.”
“That would have been suicidal,” Goering said. “Hitler was on his way to destroying Germany, and Himmler would have continued that. Let's call it self-preservation – I will not lie to you.”
“Very well. But your theft stops right now. And if we ever get a republic put together and they decide to investigate you, I will not be able to protect you.”
“I understand, Herr Schloss. I believe our job at the moment is to preserve the Reich. I refuse to worry about anything else right now.”
In other words, you scum, you will help preserve the Reich because it will save your neck. Afterwards you will look to yourself.
“The next thing,” Schloss continued. “The pogrom against the Jews stops right now, tonight. I have charged Rainer with that mission, but I will need your unquestioned support.”
Goering clicked his heels together again. “I agree and support you without reservation.”
“Fine. Now go see if you can find yourself a place to put your head down for a few hours.”
Goering walked out of the small office, and Schloss pointed at Ribbentrop. The Foreign Minister walked across the room, and into the small office.
“Yes, Herr Chancellor?”
“I really do not know what to do with you, Joachim.”
Ribbentrop suddenly looked nervous. “How so, Herr Chancellor?”
“You have consistently supported me over the past several months.”
Ribbentrop interrupted. “Of course. What you have advocated only made sense.”
“Don't interrupt.”
Ribbentrop's mouth snapped shut.
“Better. I want you to be honest with me. Your reputation is that you will tell me anything you think I want to hear. You are also considered to have been a disaster as an ambassador, and only slightly better as Foreign Minister.”
“I... I do not know what to say, Herr Chancellor.”
“Good. Also, I assume you know that Goering hates you.”
Ribbentrop managed a wry smile. “That has not escaped my notice.”
“I reward loyalty, Joachim,” Schloss said. “If you listen to me and pay attention to the people who work for you... well, hopefully you will survive.”
Ribbentrop was sweating now. “I will, of course, do my best.”
“I expect you to do nothing else.”
Schloss walked over and stepped through the door, leaving Ribbentrop in the office. Schreiber looked up as he walked across the room.
“Do you need a word with me, Herr Chancellor?” he asked.
“Probably not necessary, Peter. While your brother-in-law and new boss goes to find a place to get some sleep, you have a speech to write for me.”
“I talked to Renate and Frau Marsden,” he said. “They are amazed at the events of the evening.”
“Peter, I am amazed at the events of the evening.”
“This is just the beginning, isn't it?” Schreiber said.
“Unfortunately, yes. Now, if you will excuse me.”
And Heinrich Schloss, the new master of the German Reich walked out of the meeting room.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
December 15, 1941; 10 AM
Nazi Party Rally Grounds, Nuremberg, Germany
Viewed from the professor’s eye in the 1970’s, Schloss had thought Nazi funerals were grotesque. Sitting in the middle of the experience did not change his opinion. Schreiber had inherited a smooth running propaganda operation, and his new employees immediately swung into operation to put together a funeral for Rudolf Hess. Because of the war, they were accustomed to doing things on short notice, but they still put a sheen of professionalism on their work.
Peter had moved into Goebbels’ old office, and already owned the place. The workers were loyal Nazis and Peter exuded authority. The events of the previous days were seen as murky at best, and Schloss had encouraged the players to keep quiet. The public at large knew Himmler had had Hess killed, and now Himmler was dead. A new government was immediately in place and as far as the average German was concerned, alles en ordnung– all was in order. Goering had remained in place and he was broadly popular. Rainer had taken control of the SS and was actively purging the most militant of its members. Besides, people had learned not to ask questions of the SS. Ribbentrop was another familiar face, and gave some measure of stability.
Schloss was the unfamiliar face, and he knew it. He was much more comfortable working in the background, and apparently his alternate self was much the same. People knew he was the Partieleiter or party leader, but knew little about him. Now as the Chancellor, he was forced to step in front of the government, and he wasn’t sure he liked that.
And I am going to have to get up in front of about 25,000 people today and give a eulogy for a man I hardly knew, and was a flake besides. Yet the people adored Hess, and it is necessary for me to play up to that. And I really don’t want to start my time as the leader of these people telling lies, but do I really have a choice?
He sat on the platform in front of the crowd looking suitably somber during the dirge. To one side a group of party dignitaries had been seated. On the front row was Frau Marsden with the children, along with Renate and Gisela.
And I am going to have to do something about Gisela. If I marry her she will become target number two, right behind me. But I cannot live without her. I really am a selfish swine.
Sitting next to him was Goering, in his full dress regalia. Schloss had to admit he looked magnificent. Rainer was on the other side. Peter and Ribbentrop completed the government.
I must be mad to attempt to manage a government with these clowns. Peter is the only one who is remotely capable. No one else is, including me. Well, let’s be honest; Rainer knows what he is doing. I am only a history professor, who arrived by accident. I truly wish I could wake up from this dream. He thought for a moment. No I don’t. Let’s be honest, Hennie. You love what you are doing, even if you are an accidental Nazi. And meeting Gisela was worth the trip by itself.
The funeral moved along and it was time for Schloss to speak. For the first time in his life he suffered stage fright. It felt like his insides were turning to water. He somehow made his way to the lectern and faced the audience. He scanned the crowd as he willed his rebelling emotions under control. The crowd saw a tall, ascetic looking man in a party uniform calmly gazing at them.
If I don't start speaking soon, they'll haul me away. Come on Hennie, stow the butterflies.
He took a deep breath.
“Fellow citizens of the Reich. We have today another day of great sorrow. It hardly seems to have been six months since we laid our Fuhrer to rest after a tragic accident. And now we see another great leader struck down before completing his mission to Germany. I must confess I am
as shocked as you at another death.”
But probably not for the same reasons you are shocked.
“We had all grown to admire, yes even love Herr Hess. He not only came to understand the mission of the Reich as few others, but he eagerly grasped the task set before him. He saw what we needed to do in ensuring the safety of our thousand year Reich. He courageously took the leadership and encouraged all of us to follow.”
What a load of hog scheisse, he thought. I am no better than these swine we killed over the past week.
He continued speaking from the printed text before him. Someone in Peter's office had written the first draft, then Peter and Schloss had spent several hours polishing it. It was a very good speech, and a marvelous work of fiction. The audience, though, was attentive. Even the usual coughing and foot shuffling was in abeyance. Schloss was as aware as everyone else on stage of the importance of this address, and gave it as much effort as was possible.
“And so, my friends, while we do not have Herr Hess to lead us, we can use his memory to guide us. We can be inspired by his leadership to do great things for the Reich. And in that memory, today we can shout Heil Hess!”
And he shot his arm into the air in a Nazi salute. The crowd immediately returned his shout with one of their own. It seemed the very air shivered as the people screamed Heil Hess. And the shouting continued for nearly ten minutes. Finally, Schloss made his way back to his seat.
“You do that extremely well, Herr Partieleiter,” Goering said out of the corner of his mouth. “You continue to amaze me.”
“One does what one must, Hermann,” Schloss responded. “I am hopeful we will not require many more funerals for a while.”
“You have this way of getting to the nub of things.”
“At least we are alive,” Schloss muttered. “We must keep it that way.”
“I shant argue with you.”
At the end of the funeral, an honor guard of troops from the Army, Navy and Luftwaffe fired a salute. The SS was pointedly excluded from the ceremony. Then a group of nearly five hundred aircraft flew over the parade grounds – Bf109's, FW190's, Ju88's and others. The roar of the engines shook the air.
In the moments of silence afterwards the military band filed to the front and played Deutschland Uber Alles. Schloss had never thought the words mixed well with the music of Germany's national anthem, however in this case the somber music fit the occasion. Then the crowd slowly dispersed.
Ribbentrop slipped up to Schloss afterwards.
“Will we be meeting this afternoon, Herr Chancellor?”
“I suppose we must. May I assume you have items to discuss?”
“Indeed. Nothing immensely urgent, but...”
“I understand,” Schloss said. “Please send your agenda items to Herr Kirke. I will instruct him to call the meeting.”
“Thank you, Herr Chancellor.”
The enormous Mercedes-Benz 770 swung around as he exited the stage. He shook his head – the days of riding around in an anonymous Opel Admiral were over for good. He appreciated the armor plating in the state limousine, though. The children, Frau Marsden and Gisela preceded him and climbed into the car. He stopped, and swung around to wave at the members of the crowd standing near. They broke into polite applause.
I can handle polite applause. God help us if I succumb to Hitler's megalomania. Heil Schloss indeed.
Hans-Friedrich was thrilled to ride in the automobile. Anna-Lisa was more subdued. She seemed better at sensing her father's moods, and recognized his discomfort. Frau Marsden sat in one of the jump seats with regal poise. She was not bothered in the least by the ostentation, seeing it was merely Schloss's due. Gisela watched silently out the windows as they drove through the city and then took the highway back to Berlin.
Back in Berlin they drove to the Reich Chancellery. Over the preceding weekend Schloss had moved from his house to the Leader's Apartment in the Old Reich Chancellery. This was something he really did not want to do, but the symbolism was too powerful to ignore. Goering, Rainer and Schreiber had each insisted he move in. At least it was a safe place for the children to sleep. Once again Frau Marsden had accepted it as only their due. Peter and Renate would continue to live in the Charlotteberg house. Renate had grown up there and it was half hers anyway.
The meeting of the government was routine. Ribbentrop's announcement was a bit of a surprise and he relished it.
“The Americans are sending Gordon Smoke to replace Leland Morris as the Chargé d'Affaires at their embassy.”
Schloss looked across the table at Schreiber. “Now that is interesting. Any thoughts on why they are doing so at this time?”
“That was who Herr Schreiber met in Lisbon, was it not?” Goering asked.
Peter nodded. “Indeed. My guess is that the Americans want somebody in Berlin who has met at least some of us.”
Ribbentrop tapped on the table with a finger. “I will make every effort to meet with Herr Smoke as soon as possible after his arrival. It will be interesting to see if he brings a formal communique from the United States.”
“The Americans are in a bit of a hole,” Rainer said. “I suspect they are happy to avoid a war with us right now.”
“And we should do everything we can to encourage them,” Schloss said. “Something to think about: how much effort should we expend on driving through to a conclusion of the war with England?”
And discussion rolled on. Schloss found he could use his professor's expertise in leading discussion and eliciting ideas. There was no doubt times were still dangerous. Rainer mentioned one disquieting item.
“Reinhard Heydrich has completely disappeared,” he said. “Some of his favored henchmen are missing as well.”
“Now, I do not like hearing that,” Schloss said. “I assume you will be looking for them.”
“Oh, I think you can safely assume that, Herr Chancellor. Heydrich is extraordinarily dangerous.” Rainer paused and looked down at his notes. “We have begun dismantling the Gestapo. The camps will take rather longer.”
“Why is that?” Goering asked.
“Because Himmler tossed political prisoners in with common criminals, and it is going to take some time to sort things out. We have completely stopped collecting the so-called enemies of the state.”
“I worry that releasing all those people in the camps would contribute to some political instability,” Ribbentrop said.
“It probably will,” Schloss said. “I think we can ride it out if we explain we have reversed the previous government's policies.”
“Will that solve the problem?” Schreiber asked.
“Not in the short run,” Schloss said.
Later Schloss retreated to what was now his new office, which was once Hitler's office in the New Reich Chancellery. The place was a monstrosity, decorated in Hitler's taste for the heroic. Schloss had been surprised at the contrast with the Fuhrer Apartments, which were actually homey, if a little strange.
As he thought about it, Schloss concluded that his entire life had been strange. Born of an unknown Russian soldier and a sixteen-year-old German girl, raised in an orphanage, educated in the post-war Federal Republic of Germany, and now the leader of a Nazi nation sitting astride Western Europe.
Who would have believed me? he thought. What happened to my doppelganger whom I replaced here, the Alter-Schloss? What happened to the other world where Hitler dragged an entire nation into ruin? And where do I go from here? So far I have relied upon the history I used to teach. Now that history has changed. But I have been given an opportunity by God, or by fate to do something right for the people of this world. I just hope I can do it.
EPILOGUE
June 10, 1941 11:00 AM
Over Central Germany
The Junkers JU-52 cruised easily at 2,500 meters in the summer sky on this trip from Munich to Berlin. The passenger load was light today. Adolf Hitler and a few aides returned from a Nazi Party banquet held the night before. The morning flight would land at
Berlin's Tempelhof airport between 11 AM and noon.
Hitler jotted notes related to a few upcoming speeches. Operation Barbarossa would kick off in less than two weeks. This was his most audacious gamble yet. Russia was a slumbering giant, and he planned to drive a stake through the heart of that nation while it slept. The prize was an unimaginable trove of raw materials and laborers. He would provide living space in the Ukraine and other eastern territories for generations of Aryans to build wealth for Germany. He would once and for all eliminate the communist threat to his land.
Yet, he knew that the people of Germany would be uncomfortable with opening another front in the war. Hitler had spent hours in planning with Joseph Goebbels, the minister of propaganda, so that the message would ring clearly about the country. The German folk would simply be reaching for the land that was rightfully theirs. Populated by subhuman peasants, the undeveloped lands were the canvass on which he was painting the thousand year Reich.
In the cockpit Hans Baur frowned at the controls. A last minute mechanical problem had sidelined the Focke-Wulf Condor normally flown by the Fuhrer. They were once again in the Immelman II that had served for years as Hitler's official transport. The Junkers JU-52 was a robust and forgiving bird. Though not fast, it was reliable. Hitler had only nodded when informed they would take the older aircraft.
Baur had over twenty years’ experience as a pilot. He was frowning over the Junkers' increasing tendency to dip its port wing during low speed operations – such as during landings. Baur had not reached his age and experience by being careless. He intended to down-check the bird after the landing at Tempelhof. One did not take chances while transporting the Fuhrer around the country.
The June sun baked the cockpit, and Baur wished he had not had the heavy breakfast of sausage and potatoes before flying. The onset of heartburn was sudden and vicious. Baur felt the sweat break out on his forehead and he loosened his seat belt. He reached up and slid the window open slightly on his left. The rush of cool air felt good.
