Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Are you aware of what is going on in the city right now?”

  “A little. I’ve heard there’s a general strike going on. And a lot of gangs running around.”

  “The Communists are planning to seize the government tomorrow.”

  “What?!”

  Von Schiller nodded grimly. “Yes, but more on that in a minute. So anyway, I was called to an early meeting this morning. I had Alfred bring me in. Monika was furious. She said she needed the car. But I didn’t want her going out today, especially not downtown. I told her I needed to keep Alfred with me so she would have to wait until things calmed a little. Well, as you have learned, Monika is used to having her own way. She was quite irritated with me. What was a general strike compared to getting her dress? So she tried to call a taxi to come get her. No taxis. The drivers are part of the strike. So then she went down to the trolley stop.” He smiled thinly. “Which is quite unbelievable. Monika on a trolley?”

  “And the trolleys were not running either,” Hans guessed.

  “That’s right. By that time she was so furious, she took off walking. My Monika? Walking? Alone? Unbelievable.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “The nanny called me as soon as Monika left. So Alfred and I went looking for her. And I found her with you. And that’s another question I have. When you saw us, why didn’t you take off running?”

  Hans laid one hand on his injured ribs. “Well, in the first place, I can’t run right now. In the second place, she grabbed my arm and begged me to stay.”

  He shot Hans a skeptical look. “And you stayed?”

  “She told me you were her neighbor. And that she was so grateful that I had brought her money back, you would give me a ride to my hotel. With my ribs, that sounded pretty good to me.”

  Von Schiller was shaking his head. “There was no way she was going to let you get away after you humiliated her the way you did.”

  “I humiliated her?”

  The colonel laughed. Then he quickly sobered. “Just be grateful that you changed your mind and brought the money back to her. Otherwise I would have hunted you down and. . . .” He shrugged. The gesture was so casual that it sent a little chill up the back of Hans’s neck.

  “So, if I may ask, sir. What is going to happen to me?”

  Von Schiller abruptly stood up. “The first thing is to get you bathed and in a clean uniform.” He waved a hand back and forth in front of his nose. “You are right. You do smell like a latrine. I have another meeting, but I’ll be back here at about five. Then we’ll talk some more.”

  January 15, 1919, 3:55 p.m.—East Railway Station, Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg District, Berlin

  “Emilee?”

  “Yes, Onkel Artur. It’s me.”

  “Thank heavens. Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Berlin. I’m sorry to call you during work hours, but I’m back at the train station. I tried to call you earlier, but this is the only telephone exchange still working.”

  “I know, I’ve been reading about the strike. Have you found Hans yet?”

  Emilee leaned her head back against the wall of the telephone box, fighting back tears. “Not yet. I’ve been to his hotel and. . . .” She shuddered. “Not yet. He’s gone out somewhere.”

  “Then leave it, Emilee. I want you on the next train to Pasewalk.”

  “Not yet, Onkel. I’m seeing someone at seven tonight. I think he’ll know where Hans is.”

  There was a long pause, and then, “Emilee, listen to me very carefully. I’ve checked the schedule. The last train out of Berlin coming north is at 8:30 tonight. And the stationmaster here said that may be canceled. The strike is quickly spreading to the railway workers.”

  “I have to find out where he is, Onkel Artur. Something’s wrong. Terribly wrong.”

  “The next-to-the-last train leaves at 6:45, Emmy. Promise me you’ll be on it.”

  “Onkel Artur, please. I have to find him.” He started to answer, but she rushed on. “If I can’t find him by tonight, then I’ll come home. But I have to try. I’ll be careful, Onkel. I promise. I’m not down in the center of the city where all the people are. I don’t have to go there.”

  Dr. Schnebling’s voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. “Emmy, listen to me. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we got a telegram from the War Office this afternoon. Every military hospital within a hundred miles of Berlin is being put on standby.”

  “Standby?”

  “Yes!” he hissed. “We are to have two surgeons and five nurses with as much surgical equipment and medicine as we can spare ready to leave within two hours’ notice.”

  Emilee felt her knees go weak. She didn’t have to ask why. It was rumored there were half a million workers in the city right now. Half a million! If violence erupted on that vast of scale . . . It was a horrific thing to contemplate.

  “All right, Onkel Artur. I’ll be on the 6:45 train.”

  “Promise!”

  “Ja, I promise.”

  She went back to the exchange operator and had her place a call to Graswang. She had to know if Hans had gone back home again or if he had contacted his family in any way. She quickly regretted it. He had not. Inga had not heard from her son for nearly a week and was frantic with worry. Emilee promised to call her if she learned anything. But it still took all the power of persuasion Emilee possessed to convince Inga that getting on a train and coming to Berlin was dangerous.

  For several minutes, Emilee sat there, going over all of the possibilities in her mind and feeling her anger starting to rise. Where are you, Hans? Sleeping it off on some park bench? In the drunk tank in one of the jails? Out buying more liquor?

  Finally she grabbed her purse and walked swiftly down to the area of the train station where there were a few small shops. In a stationery shop she bought a fountain pen, a pad of stationery, and a small packet of envelopes. Then she went to the combination bookstore and apothecary and bought a few personal items. Satisfied, she headed for the door.

  A wave of relief washed over her as she saw the same taxi driver as before parked at the curb. She increased her pace, waving and calling to him.

  His face broke out in a grin at the sight of her. “Fräulein, it’s you again.”

  “Yes. Can you take me back to that same hotel? And wait for me?”

  “Ja, ja, I can do it. Get in.”

  4:12 p.m.—Hotel Lindenberg, Prenzlauer Berg District, Berlin

  “Am I right in assuming that Herr Eckhardt has not returned?” she asked, her voice cool.

  The owner of the hotel gave her a long, insolent look and then nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then may I have his key, please? I have to return to Pasewalk, and I would like to leave a note.”

  The man reached for the key and handed it to her without a word. Emilee went to the stairs and ascended without looking back.

  She stopped outside the door and knocked again, just to be sure Hans hadn’t slipped past him. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.

  Breathing through her mouth so as to knock the worst edge off of the smell, she turned on the light and looked around. For a moment she was tempted to clean up the worst of his mess. At least put some of his personal belongings back in his rucksack, maybe hang up his clothes. She thrust that thought aside. After all his promises, all his fine talk, he had done this? And she was thinking of cleaning up after him? Disgusted, Emilee pulled the single wooden chair over to the small lamp table, took out her writing materials, and wrote quickly.

  Dear Hans,

  I came here this afternoon hoping to find you. I am sorry that I could not call you in advance. I tried, but the phone exchanges are down. I have been worried sick since I have not heard from you since Sunday. I called your family but learned that you have made no contact with them, either. I decided to come to Berlin, thinking that in the chaos going on down here, something had happened to you. What you said to me Sunday night before your d
eparture lifted to me to such happiness, and I hoped that we might talk more about it.

  Now, as I look about your room, I can see that you were engaged in other things. I don’t know what brought on this sudden urge for “celebration”—perhaps your recent financial windfall—but were you really too busy to call or write?

  I love you. I know that now. But I guess for me, love alone is not enough. Right now, I have enough people in my life who need me to care for them. I am too weary in spirit to take on another.

  I am sorry that I am not stronger for you, but as I look around this room, I have to acknowledge the fact that I am not. And that makes me want to weep. Good-bye, Hans. May you someday find in life what you are so desperately looking for.

  Emilee F.

  She read through it once, resisted the urge to add a post script, folded it, and put it in the envelope. Stepping over one of the wine bottles, she laid it on the bed where it would be easily seen and quickly left the room.

  5:25 p.m.—Imperial German Army Barracks, Finckensteinallee, Berlin

  Colonel von Schiller seemed more agitated when he came back into the room, which set Hans’s teeth on edge. But when he sat down on the chair again, he seemed to push whatever it was that was bothering him aside and focus on Hans. He looked him up and down and then smiled. He sniffed the air with exaggerated care. “That’s a definite improvement.” His smiled broadened. “And did the doctor come and look at your stitches?”

  “He did. There’s no infection. They should come out in another few days.”

  “You’ll carry those two scars for life. I suppose he told you that.”

  “He did. In fact, he said”—he lowered his voice to mimic the physician’s pompous pronouncement—“‘You are now part of the great brotherhood of Teutonic warriors who carry the scars of battle on their visage for all the world to see.’”

  The colonel laughed. “Dr. Bochert is a student of the classics and especially loves the history of Germany’s role in the Crusades.”

  Hans nodded. “Well, I very much appreciate you sending him in. He also taped up my ribs. They seem a little more bearable now.”

  “Gut.”

  “Danke schön. I am deeply in your debt.”

  “Yes, you are,” came the reply. “I’m glad that you see that.” Von Schiller sat back in his chair, studying Hans thoughtfully. “Surely you have questions about what is going on here.”

  “Just one. Why?”

  “Why?” There was short bark of laughter. “That’s not one question. That’s ten or more. Why are you here? Why aren’t you in jail? Why didn’t I shoot you on the spot? Why am I feeding you and clothing you and . . . Well, you get the point.”

  “Yeah, all of those. So, why is a man of considerable authority playing the part of the Good Samaritan for a man who tried to rob his wife at gunpoint? To be honest, sir, you don’t seem like the Good Samaritan type.”

  Von Schiller hooted at that. “You know what, Sergeant. I like you. I like your style.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s not an answer.”

  He sobered immediately. “No, it’s not. And no, I’m not a Good Samaritan. I assure you that my motives are in no way altruistic or noble. They are purely selfish and self-serving.”

  “Good. I can understand that. The rest totally baffles me.”

  “So, before I answer your question, let me ask you two questions. One practical, one theoretical.”

  Hans nodded and sat back on the cot.

  “Question one. Tell me more about those men who attacked you. You said they were in uniform and had army-issue weapons. Did they have any unit patches on their uniforms?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Name tags?”

  “No, but I did hear them call each other by their names. The leader was named Karl. One was Horst. One was Werner.”

  Von Schiller nodded, but obviously the names meant nothing to him.

  “Next question. Tell me your feelings about our current government.”

  Hans snorted in disgust. “Utter contempt. They’re nothing but thieves and criminals.”

  “Ah, yes. The ‘November Criminals.’”

  “Ja. Exactly. They betrayed the Fatherland and stabbed the army in the back when they sold us out on November 11. All that we worked for, all that we fought for, all that we died for—they gave it away with the stroke of a pen at Compiègne.” Hans had to stop. His chest was heaving. “I think they need to be taken and out and shot,” he concluded.

  “You have a lot of company in those feelings, Eckhardt.” A long pause. “Including myself.” Another pause, all the time his eyes never leaving Hans’s. Then the colonel leaned in, very earnest now. “And what would you say if you were asked to defend them, to fight for them?”

  The question stunned him. “Begging your pardon, sir?”

  “You heard me. Are there any circumstances that would lead you to defend our government?”

  “None! Absolutely none.”

  “Including a firing squad?”

  Hans rocked back. Was that a threat? He said nothing.

  Again, that seemed to please von Schiller rather than anger him. “Gut, gut!” he said. “No false bravado. None of this, ‘I’d rather die than support them in any way.’ Only fools talk like that, and I didn’t take you for a fool.”

  “Is that what this is all about, Colonel? Are you asking me to defend the government?”

  “That is precisely what I’m going to ask you to do, Sergeant.”

  Hans had to look away. It was happening again. Exhilaration, despair. Jubilation, misery. Hope, hopelessness. The Divine Trickster. It was like this was becoming the pattern of his life.

  “And do you know why I am going to ask that of you?” von Schiller exclaimed. “Because that is what I am asking of myself.” There was a short, bitter laugh. “Yes, that’s right, Sergeant. I detest our government. They are a bunch of spineless idiots, little boys playing at politics. I’ll grant you, they are making a valiant effort to govern, but they have no backbone, no courage to stand up to the forces that are threatening our very existence.”

  “What forces?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. I could give you a dozen examples, but I’ll just give you one. Two days ago, one of the so-called ‘People’s Councils’ sent representatives to Parliament to present their demands. Care to guess who those representatives were? Teens. Yeah, that’s right. Juveniles. Fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-olds. They came in and made demands of the National Parliament. And they let them speak. Treated them like they were visiting royalty. It’s idiocy!” he exclaimed. “Pure madness. It’s like they’re senile. Our country is collapsing around our heads, and they call in children!”

  “So,” Hans persisted, “again I ask, why fight to defend them? To keep them in power?”

  “Because,” von Schiller said grimly, staring right through Hans, “it is better to be governed by weaklings than by madmen.”

  Chapter Notes

  The conditions described here by von Schiller accurately portray the situation in the government at this juncture. With the fall of the Empire and the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II, the elected members of Parliament were mostly replaced by representatives from numerous state and local governments that had come to power in the Socialist revolution of October through December 1918. The primary governing body in Parliament became what they called the Vollzugrat, or “Volunteer Board or Council.” Many of these were poor and uneducated civilians with no experience in government whatsoever. “People’s Councils” and “Soldiers’ Councils” formed in local areas during that revolution were given a voice as well. Even small political parties with only a few members had representation (see And the Kaiser Abdicates: The German Revolution November 1918–August 1919, digitized edition, chapters 12–119, pp. 176–292).

  The army, particularly the career officer corps, detested the government, but they detested the leftist groups even more. They were practical enough to s
ee that if they did not support and shore up the government, Germany could easily be turned into another Soviet Republic.

  Political chaos is not too strong of a word to describe the situation in Germany at this time.

  January 15, 1919, 5:40 p.m.—Telegraph Office, East Railway Station, Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg District, Berlin

  “Please check your message carefully,” the clerk said, handing a sheet to Emilee.

  She took it and read it slowly.

  ARTUR SCHNEBLING PASEWALK MILITARY HOSPITAL

  NOT COMING TONIGHT STOP VERY SORRY STOP SOMETHING I MUST DO STOP BE ON FIRST TRAIN TOMORROW STOP WILL FIND HOTEL NEAR OSTBAHNHOF TONIGHT STOP FORGIVE ME EMILEE

  She handed it back. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “That will be one mark fifteen.”

  She got it from her purse and paid him. “How soon will it be delivered?”

  “Within the hour, assuming he is at the address you’ve given me.”

  “Thank you.” She turned and hurried out the main doors. Her taxi driver wasn’t there, but there were others. She went to the nearest one, gave him the address, and climbed inside.

  5:42 p.m.—Imperial German Army Barracks, Finckensteinallee, Berlin

  With a long, weary sigh, Colonel von Schiller got to his feet and began pacing back and forth. “So, let me briefly summarize what has been going on here for the past few weeks.” He frowned at Hans. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised that you haven’t read all of this in the newspapers.”

  Hans shrugged. “I had a lot of bad nightmares from what the doctors call ‘shell shock’ or ‘combat fatigue.’ I found that reading the news tended to make them worse. So while I was back home in Bavaria with my parents, I deliberately asked them not to talk about what was going on or show me the newspapers.”

  “Well then, I’m sorry if what I say now makes them worse again, because this is a living nightmare that we’re in.”

  “I’m doing much better now.”

  “Gut.” Von Schiller took a quick breath. “As it became clear that Germany had lost the war, the effect on the German people was devastating. It wasn’t just the loss of millions of our young men and the humiliation of losing the war; it was the realization that the sacrifices had all been for nothing. Rationing, food shortages, suppressed wages, loss of some of our richest lands—all of these were demoralizing to the people. And they demanded that those responsible be held accountable. Kaiser Wilhelm fled the country in disgrace, and overnight, the Social Democrats seized power, promising to restore order, dignity, and stability to the Fatherland.