Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Don’t pull back the curtain,” Hans added. “Just watch through the opening.” Then he turned and encircled his mother in his arms. “We’ll be all right, Mama. This is all just starting, but we need to get you out of here before it spreads.”

  Inga looked up at him and managed a smile. “I’m all right. I’m just glad that you are here.” Hans kissed her on the forehead. “Me too.” He moved to Emilee and hugged her too. “I’m going to take the lead,” he whispered. “Will you stay right with Mama?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hans!” Gretl’s cry spun him around.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Wolfie rushed over and joined Hans at the window, dabbing at his face with a towel. Up the street to the east, four men had come around the corner onto Herrnstrasse. They were not in uniforms, which was good, but one of them had a rifle, which was not good. Hans leaned in closer to his uncle. “Wolfie, take everyone out through the alley. I’m going to try to slow these guys down a little. I’ll meet you at the trolley stop. But if I’m not there, don’t wait for me. Get to the train station. Get tickets to Oberammergau. If there’s time, call Papa and the others. Have them meet us at Oberammergau. I’ll catch up with you there if not before.”

  Wolfie took his children by the hand. “All right, let’s go. Out the back. No noise.”

  Hans went to Emilee. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “I have to do this,” he whispered. “But I will catch up with you. I promise.”

  “I know.” She threw her arms around him. “I know.”

  He kissed her hard. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

  5:44 p.m.

  Hans watched his family until they left the alley and turned onto the narrow side street that led out of the neighborhood, and then he walked swiftly back into the apartment. He started for the large window in the living room but changed his mind and ran up the stairs. Paula’s and Wolfie’s bedroom was on the front of the house with a window that overlooked the street. Moving carefully, Hans went to the window and peered out. The men were coming slowly, two on one side of the street, two on the other. They were not stopping at anyone else’s door. Their eyes were fixed on the house where Hans was waiting for them. Which meant Wolfie had been right.

  He eased the window open without pulling the curtains back and dropped to one knee. With practiced ease, he chambered a round. Closing one eye, he took aim at the man carrying the rifle. Hans took a deep breath, let it half out slowly, moved the barrel slightly to the right, and squeezed the trigger.

  The sharp crack of the rifle and the instant ricochet of the bullet bouncing off cement shattered the evening silence. The man probably felt the whip of the bullet past his cheek, for he dove to the ground and rolled away. The other three scrambled like crabs to any kind of cover. Aiming at the closest man, Hans fired again, just to the left of his head. Then he took off. Taking the stairs three at time, Hans stopped long enough to make sure the front door was locked, and then he darted out into the alley. He heard someone yelling but paid it no mind as he took off in a dead run.

  6:55 p.m.—Munich Railway Station, Munich

  Wolfgang Groll was off in a corner of Munich’s central train station. He had bought a children’s book from the magazine shop and was reading it to Gretl and Bruno. Emilee saw Bruno toss back his head and laugh. Oh, for the resilience of children, she thought with envy. Once they were away safely from their home, the evening had turned into a grand adventure for them. Their greatest joy, however, had come when their parents told them they were going to Tante Inga’s house and there would be no school for a while.

  Behind Emilee, Paula and Inga were seated on a bench with their handbags beside them and the one suitcase they hadn’t checked lying at their feet. Emilee saw that her mother-in-law’s eyes were closed. She guessed she was praying again, and not sleeping. As was she, though her eyes were not closed. She was searching the faces of the people streaming into the station through the multiple entrances to the main hall. Clearly, the Eckhardts and the Grolls were not the only ones who had decided to get out of the city.

  “Hey, you!” a soft voice said behind her.

  Emilee whirled and then squealed aloud and threw herself into Hans’s outstretched arms. He kissed her soundly. “How did you get in here?” she cried, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’ve been watching the doors the whole time.”

  Hans didn’t get a chance to answer. Bruno came hurtling at him like a miniature missile. Gretl was calling out, “Hans! Hans!” causing everyone in the station to turn and look.

  “Oh, Hans,” his mother cried. “Thank the Lord. Are you all right?”

  He removed one arm from around Emilee and drew Inga in with them. “Yes, Mama. I’m all right. The trolleys have stopped running. And when I did finally get a taxi to stop, we had to detour around a lot of hot spots.”

  Paula laid a hand on his cheek. “Thank you, Hans. Thanks to you and Wolfie for acting so quickly.” A shudder ran through her body. “When I think about those men coming. . . .”

  “Don’t, Paula,” her husband said. “Don’t think about it. We’re all safe. I called Opa Eckhardt, and he’ll have someone waiting for us when we arrive.” He looked at his sister-in-law. “And yes, Inga, we do thank the Lord that we are all here safely.”

  Hans withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and then took a ten-mark note from his wallet. “Wolfie, how soon does our train leave?”

  “Not for half an hour.”

  “Will you take this to the telegraph office and send it off?” He looked at Emilee. “I think you need to go with Wolfie and send a telegram to your family and Dr. Schnebling. When the news about what’s going on here reaches them, they’ll worry.”

  “Thank you, Hans,” she said quietly. “I was thinking the same thing just a few minutes ago.” Emilee extended her hand. “Would you mind if I read what you’re saying to Colonel von Schiller? I assume that’s who your telegram is to.”

  “Of course not,” Hans said as he handed the paper to her. “You may as well read it out loud.”

  She did so.

  To Colonel Stefan von Schiller, Commanding Officer, First Battalion, Black Eagle Regiment, Imperial German Army Barracks, Finckensteinallee, Lichterfelde, Berlin.

  Received your letter. Was honored to be so considered. Though my career decisions have not changed, current circumstances in Munich compel me to accept your offer. Have fled the city this very day. Army intervention only real hope. Await further instructions from you. Can be reached at previous address and phone number in Graswang Village, Bavaria.

  Lt. Hans Eckhardt.

  Emilee handed it back to him. “Do you agree?” he asked.

  “Without reservation,” she said.

  “Amen,” Paula said. “Amen to that. Go take back our home.”

  Chapter Note

  The assassination of Kurt Eisner, prime minister of the State of Bavaria, did happen as described here on February 19, 1919, following a devastating loss for Eisner’s government in the general elections (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 34). Shirer noted that immediately after the assassination, “the workers set up a soviet republic.” Another source states, “This assassination caused unrest and lawlessness in Bavaria, and the news of a soviet revolution in Hungary encouraged communists and anarchists to seize power” (http://www.ww1-propaganda-cards.com/Munich%201919.html).

  April 2, 1919, 10:35 a.m.—Eckhardt dairy farm, Graswang, Bavaria

  “Onkel Hans?”

  Hans opened his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. His niece was seated right beside him on the grass. How long had she been there? He started to sit up, but she put a tiny hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

  “Are you sleeping?”

  He smiled. “Not anymore, Miki. Why?”

  “Will you tell me a story?”

  Heidi, who was sitting on the porch with Emilee and Inga, spoke up. “Miki, let Onkel Hans sleep. He’s tired. He can tell you a story later. In fact, why
don’t you lie down beside him and tell him a story? Maybe he can go back to sleep then.”

  Hans lifted his head up enough to look at his sister. “I’m not tired; I’m just being lazy.”

  Heidi just shook her head. Emilee reacted with a hoot. “Right. And that’s why your snoring is upsetting the cows out in the barn.”

  Miki ignored the women, focusing only on Hans. She scooted around so she was facing him directly. One hand came out and touched his face. “Does that hurt, Onkel Hans?” Her fingers lightly brushed across the two scars on his upper left cheek.

  “Miki!” Heidi cried. “Be soft.”

  Hans turned onto his side to face her. “She was being soft, Heidi. It’s all right.” Then to this impish little blonde-haired angel, he said, “No, it doesn’t hurt anymore, Miki. It just makes me look all the more handsome, don’t you think?”

  To his surprise, her mouth pulled down. “No, Onkel Hans. It makes me sad.”

  Hans sat up and gathered her into his arms. “Oh, Miki, you are such a little sweetheart. Come on. Lie down here beside me, and I’ll tell you a story.”

  She instantly complied, pulling him back down too. Then she snuggled up against him.

  “All right, then,” Hans began. “I want to tell you a story about a little Dutch boy.”

  “What’s a Dutch boy?” she interrupted.

  “It’s a little boy who lives in Holland, which is a long way from here.”

  Inga sat forward on her chair. “Oh,” she said innocently, “this is one of my favorite stories.”

  Hans pretended not to hear. “And this little boy’s name was. . . .” Then he turned and looked at his mother, waiting for her response.

  “Peter,” she said, laughing right out loud.

  Miki, of course, was already enthralled. “I like that name.”

  As he continued, Emilee leaned in toward Inga. “Did he tell you how hearing the name Peter helped him to decide to give the money back to that woman he was robbing?”

  Heidi’s mouth dropped open. “What did you say?” she gasped.

  Inga reached out and patted her hand. “I’ll tell you later.” Then to Emilee: “Yes, he did tell me. I told him that was the hand of the Lord.”

  Emilee smiled. “So did I. Interesting that he would choose to tell Miki this story.”

  Inga’s smile deepened with satisfaction. “It’s not just for Miki. It’s for me.”

  Suddenly they heard the phone ring from inside the house. Emilee started to get up, but Heidi was faster. “I’ll get it,” she said, and she went inside. A moment later she hurried back out. “Hans, it’s from Berlin. It’s Colonel von Schiller.”

  Up in an instant, Hans ran inside, leaving Miki looking confused. Emilee got up and followed him in. As he picked up the receiver, he motioned for her to move in closer.

  “Yes, this is Lieutenant Eckhardt.”

  “Ah, gut. How are you, Lieutenant? How are those ribs coming along?”

  “Barely notice them anymore, sir. Thank you for asking. And how is your leg doing?”

  “The same. I’m still limping quite a bit, but I threw the cane away last week.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Sorry for the long delay, but this is the army, remember. They have three speeds—slow, slower, and dead stop.”

  Hans chuckled. “Not to mention reverse.”

  “Right. So, how are you coming along with finding men for C Company?”

  “Well, as I mentioned in my last letter, I’ve been going up to Munich two or three times a week to recruit, and I’ve found some good men. But I was getting stonewalled by the army here until the anarchists declared that Bavaria is now a Soviet Republic.”

  “What? When did they do that?”

  “Just three days ago. But that finally got these lunkheads off their behinds, and I’m getting full cooperation now. I’ve identified over a hundred potential men. They’re ready to sign and start training the moment you give me authorization to move ahead.”

  “Excellent, Eckhardt. I knew you’d come through. I think it’s time you move up to Munich. If things are deteriorating that rapidly, I want you where you can keep your finger on things.”

  Hans glanced at Emilee, who pulled a face. “Yes, sir. I need a few days to tie up some loose ends here. If I were there by Friday morning, would that work?”

  “Friday’s fine. I’ll have Corporal Jürgens get you a place in the officer’s quarters.”

  “Very good. Uh . . . any chance Jürgens could requisition another motorbike, Colonel?”

  There was no answer.

  Hans went on. “It’s not like the men I need to talk to are all in one place. And right now, trolley service is really spotty. I spent over two hours the other day just waiting for trolleys.”

  “All right, but if you get this bike shot out from under you, that’ll be it, got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Uh. . . .”

  There was a deep sigh. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “If he could have that by Friday, that would be wonderful. Some of the men are day laborers. I’ll have a better chance of catching them on a weekend.”

  That was true, but it was only part of the picture. The first time he had gone up to Munich, he had been tempted to go to his shop and borrow Wolfie’s car for transportation. It didn’t take much to talk himself out of that. Too high of a profile. Too costly in petrol. Too much chance it would be damaged or stolen. But a motorbike? That was a whole different picture. It was cheap. It was highly mobile. And it was fast enough to outrun most pursuers.

  “All right,” the colonel finally said, “but I want to see results.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Anything else, Lieutenant?”

  “No sir, I don’t think so. Thank you for everything. I am in your debt once again.”

  “Yes you are,” von Schiller growled, “so don’t you forget it. If you need anything, call Jürgens.” And he hung up.

  Hans and Emilee stood together for a few moments, not speaking. Finally, Emilee looked up. She was very close to tears.

  “I have to go, Emilee,” he said. “You know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s time. We’ve been here over a month now. I’m glad something is finally happening.”

  “I know that, too. I’ve seen how restless you are here. Wolfie too.”

  He pulled her to him. “I want to get on with our lives.” Then he flashed her a boyish grin. “Though I neglected to mention this to Colonel von Schiller, one of the reasons I asked for the motorcycle is so I can come home on the weekends during training.”

  “Really? Oh, Hans, that would be wonderful. Are you sure?”

  “I can also go to the shop at night and do some work.”

  “You are shameless,” she said, managing a smile.

  “I have learned to always tell the truth to your commanding officer. And it really will help me recruit more men to have a motorbike. But you don’t have to tell him all of the truth.”

  Emilee didn’t laugh. Instead, she threw her arms around Hans, clinging to him fiercely. “This is good, Hans. I know that. But I still worry. If Munich becomes another Berlin, then. . . .”

  “Remember, there’s the extra money, too. Three hundred more marks at the very least.”

  “It’s not worth it,” she said flatly.

  He put a finger under her chin and tipped her head back until her eyes met his. He kissed her softly on the lips. “You know I’ll be careful, Emilee. I have something to live for now.”

  April 4, 1919, 8:50 a.m.—Mars Camp, Maxvorstadt District, Munich

  Hans lowered his duffel bag and looked around. No surprises here. It looked like a dozen other army posts he’d seen. Three-story barracks of white stucco with unit flags flying from their roofs. Large parade ground. A mess hall. A squarish two-story building with the national, Bavarian, and regimental flags on three poles in front of it. That would be post headquarters.

  A shout bro
ught Hans around to the left. Two men in uniform were coming toward him from the nearest building. He raised a hand and called back, recognizing them immediately. Master Sergeant Norbert Diehls and the ubiquitous Corporal Jürgens.

  “Welcome, sir,” Jürgens called out while they were still ten or fifteen paces away.

  “Jürgens? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on TDY, sir.”

  “What kind of temporary duty?”

  Jürgens grinned. “The colonel says I am to help you and Sergeant Diehls get your company up and running before he gets here, or my behind will be in a sling for the rest of my life.”

  Now it was Hans who grinned. Wonderful. Hans hated paperwork, and if the men he had found were going to get paid and clothed and armed, there was a ton of paperwork to be done. That was Jürgens’s forte. “Have you had a chance to—”

  “Yes, sir. It’s around the back of the officer’s quarters.” He reached in his tunic pocket and extracted two keys on a ring. “The tank’s full, sir. It’s got a few miles on it, but the quartermaster assures me it’s the best motorbike he has available.”

  Hans extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Diehls. Glad to have you at my back.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  Hans turned to Jürgens. “I’m anxious to get started so we don’t have to work all weekend. Show me to my quarters and I’ll dump my gear, and then find us a place to work.”

  “Already did, sir. They’ve given us an office in the basement of post headquarters.”

  Hans slapped him on the back. “Jürgens, don’t you ever let them make you an officer.”

  “Why’s that, sir?”

  “Because you’re far too valuable right where you are.”

  April 13, 1919, 6:28 p.m.—Herrnstrasse 16, Obermenzing District, Munich

  As he slowed the bike and rounded the corner onto Herrnstrasse, Hans was feeling pretty good. By five o’clock yesterday, they had processed the paperwork for ninety-four men, and Jürgens had managed to contact more than half of them and tell them to report for duty at oh-eight-hundred Monday morning. Leaving Jürgens to contact the rest of them as best he could, Hans and Bert had left shortly after five and taken the motorbike into Altstadt—Old Town Munich, a major center for Munich’s night life. They had spent the next three hours moving between the bars, bistros, restaurants, cafés, Rathäuser, and beer halls, looking for men who either were in uniform or looked like they should be. About a half of those they picked out were already part of one Freikorps unit or another, but those men recommended friends, relatives, or former army buddies who might be interested. When they left they had commitments from another seventeen men and forty-two names to check out. It was a good thing, too.