Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  Sick at heart, Hans put down the kickstand and got off the bike. Just as he straightened and looked around, there was a flicker of movement out of the corner of eye. Instinctively he dropped to a crouch and reached for his pistol. A moment later, when he saw what had moved, he dropped it back in its holster. A little girl had stepped out onto a third-floor balcony and was gravely watching him. He gave her a little wave. She didn’t move. It was like she was a statue. A moment later, her mother appeared and snatched her up, holding her close. But when she saw Hans and his uniform, she hesitantly raised a hand and waved. “Danke schön,” she called. “God bless you.” Then she hurried inside and shut the door behind her.

  God bless me for what? For torching one of your buildings? For blowing holes in two more? For bringing war to your doorsteps?

  Ignoring the voices in his head, he walked slowly on, taking it all in, letting the sounds of battle and horror and death rush back in at him once again. Mingled with the building rubble and the hundreds of empty shell casings was the evidence of the utter shock that had swept through the crowd when those first shots were fired. Dozens of the miniature Bavarian flags were everywhere on the ground. Here was a woman’s purse with dusty footprints on the leather. A man’s Homburg hat lay half crushed beneath a brick. And almost everywhere were the ugly smears of blood—dried nearly black now in the sunshine.

  Hans saw a little girl’s shoe beneath a piece of window frame. He started to pick it up but then shrank back as a wave or horror swept over him. Instinctively, one hand jerked up and touched the spot where the blood had left a dark smear on his tunic two days earlier. Corporal Jürgens had tried diligently to scrub it out but finally gave up and secured him a new one. But that made no difference. It felt like it was still there, crusting up now into a dark reddish-brown stain in the woolen fabric. He had thought he had shielded the girl before any bullets had found her tiny, pitifully frail body. Only when the corpsman had come and pulled Hans off of her did he see that her face and hair were matted with blood, and that it was all over his tunic as well.

  He whirled as glass crunched behind him and then relaxed when he saw three young boys come out of an alley. Their eyes were fixed on the ground. Each had a pillowcase. They would call out to each other and then run and pick something up, eagerly show it to the others, and drop it into their bags. Collecting shell casings, Hans guessed. A treasure indeed, for a boy of seven or eight.

  Suddenly one of the boys looked up and saw him. For a split second the boy froze in place, and then he gave a low cry and the three of them darted away and disappeared. With that, Hans decided he’d had enough. He had come back so that he would never forget what had happened here. Now, he realized that it was not remembering that he needed. It was forgetting.

  He spun on his heel, walked swiftly back to the motorbike, and drove back toward Marienplatz. He would stop there for just a moment to look at the statue of Mary and the Glockenspiel tower so he could remember what they had saved, and not what they had lost.

  8:05 a.m.—Field hospital, on the grounds of the Maximilianeum

  As Hans parked his motorbike in front of the massive tent, he couldn’t help but note the irony of where he was. The army had set up the field hospital on the grounds of the Bavarian Parliament Building, which was named for the Emperor Maximilian. This was the building where Kurt Eisner had seized the government last November. And it was not far from here that he been shot down, opening the door for the creation of a Soviet Republic. And now over a thousand people were dead, and many more wounded, and numerous neighborhoods were in shambles.

  Hans shook it off, trying to ignore the bone-numbing weariness, but it was too deep in him. Today at 11:00 a.m. he was meeting with Colonel von Schiller, who would ask him yet again to make this his career. And today at 11:00 a.m., he would officially tender his resignation. When Hans told him he was leaving, the colonel would ask him why. He would tell von Schiller it was because of his mechanic’s shop. But neither of them would believe it.

  “Hey!”

  Hans looked up. A motorbike was just turning off the street and driving across the grass toward him. Sergeant Norbert Diehls raised a hand and waved. Hans moved back over and waited for him to park the bike alongside his. As Diehls shut it down and got off, Hans nodded approvingly. “So, Jürgens got you your own bike?”

  Bert removed his helmet, plopped it on the seat, and grinned at Hans. “No, this is just a loaner. Actually, I get yours.”

  Hans couldn’t help but laugh. “So you told von Schiller you’re staying in?”

  “I did. He offered me a commission. Then he’ll send me to Officers’ Training School in Berlin once we’re done here. He says he wants me to be his adjutant eventually.”

  “Really? He must not have given much credence to what I said about you.”

  Diehls smiled, and then sobered. “Actually, he told me what you did say. Thank you, Hans.”

  Hans waved that away. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

  “I am. Does that make you think less of me?’

  Surprised, Hans vigorously shook his head. “Not at all. The army needs more men like you. You’ll make an excellent officer. Your men like serving under you.”

  “As do yours.”

  “Then let’s go in and see them.”

  As they started for the main entrance to the hospital, Bert spoke up again. “By the way, preliminary reports are in on civilian casualties. They think it is around two hundred.” Hans nodded grimly as Bert went on. “The poorer neighborhoods were hit especially hard. Ironic, eh? Those are the people the so-called Republic vowed to protect. Jürgens and I drove around a couple of them last night to get a report for the colonel. It was pretty bad. We stopped and talked to one grandmother with a little baby in her arms. I’m not even sure whether it was alive. Someone had tipped over a barrel of potatoes, and she was sorting through them to find any that weren’t rotten. In another place we saw kids going through garbage cans. Some of them were barely tall enough to look inside. It was pretty tough to see things like that.”

  Hans said nothing. He didn’t need any more horrific images in his head.

  Diehls, seeing that, decided to say nothing more, and together they walked into the hospital.

  9:32 a.m.

  As they approached their parked motorbikes again, Hans bent over and retrieved a paper sack with something soft inside it from the leather back behind the seat. “Hey, Bert. I’ve got to drop something off at the nurses’ station. I’ll see you back at camp.”

  Diehls nodded. “Remember. Colonel von Schiller, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late. He’s got permission from the high brass to go back to Berlin for a week. He leaves this afternoon.”

  “Got it, I’ll be there.”

  As his friend started the bike and drove away, Hans went back inside. He looked around. There were no signs posted, so he wasn’t sure where to go. But a moment later a male orderly approached, and Hans waved him down. “Where would I find the children?”

  He pointed. “Go out the west end there. There’s another smaller tent just to the north of this one. That’s the children’s ward.”

  “Thanks.”

  At the entrance to the second tent, Hans had to stop for a moment. He took a deep breath, then another. Then, tucking the paper sack beneath his arm, he pulled the flap back and went inside. A nurse in a white uniform saw him and came over. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for a little girl who was injured the day before yesterday in the Dienerstrasse neighborhood.”

  “Oh, yes. Katya Tobler. Our sweet little Katya. Come. I’ll show you.” And she started away.

  Hans didn’t move. The huge rush of relief had made him momentarily dizzy. Then he hurried after the nurse. As they walked down the aisle, Hans was relieved to see that not even half of the beds were occupied. Most of the children seemed okay, though several wore bandages. One boy had his leg in a cast held up in the air by pulley. Hans was about to co
mment on how good it was to see so many empty beds when he saw another nurse just ahead of them. Standing on the bed beside her was a little girl of four or five. The nurse was removing her nightdress, the front of which was flecked with blood, leaving the little girl only in her underpants.

  Hans’s feet came to a stop, though he had not willed them to do it. The nurse was tossing the soiled nightdress in a small bin, but the little girl had seen Hans and was watching him gravely. But what had caught his eyes was her rib cage. Every single rib was sharply defined by the tightness of the flesh pulled across it. Her arms and legs looked like sticks. Seeing that he had stopped and was staring at the little girl, the nurse who was guiding him started back toward Hans. He quickly moved forward and caught up with her. “Tuberculosis?” he asked in a low voice.

  She nodded. “Yes, and severe malnutrition.”

  “Where are her parents?”

  The nurse, whose name he now saw was Bühler, shook her head. “No one knows.”

  “Will she . . . ?” He couldn’t finish it. He was thinking of Miki, with her robust body and her pudgy little cheeks.

  Stricken, the nurse shook her head, and then she started forward again. Less than a minute later, she stopped and pointed straight ahead. “Third bed from the end, on the left,” she said. “That’s her mother sitting beside her.” She smiled at him. “Are you a friend of the family or a relative?”

  Hans just shook his head and moved past her. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  The woman at the bed had seen them coming and got to her feet and hurried toward him, a radiant smile lighting up her face. He noticed her dress was somewhat rumpled and that her hair needed combing, and he guessed that she had been here with her daughter for two straight days now. In the bed, a girl with the top of her head swathed in bandages seemed to be sleeping.

  “Lieutenant Eckhardt,” she exclaimed as she rushed up to him and gripped his hand. “How wonderful to see you.” She turned. “Katya! Katya! Look who’s come to see you.”

  As the girl’s eyes fluttered open, the mother pulled him forward to the side of her bed. She turned and bent down over her daughter. “Katya, do you know who this is?”

  The girl shook her head, still not quite awake.

  “This is the man who saved your life.”

  “No, no, Frau Tobler,” Hans protested. “I just tried to shield her. It was the men in my company who got in front of us and returned fire at the snipers. They saved her.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “And one of those men died doing that. And two more were wounded.”

  Tears sprang to the mother’s eyes. “I know. I saw it happen. Will the wounded men live?”

  “Yes. Actually, they’re both here. I just visited them. They’re going to be fine.”

  Hans felt a touch on his trouser leg and turned to see the girl looking up at him now. “I remember,” Katya said in a tiny voice. “You were on top of me.”

  “Yes. Did I crush you?”

  There was the tiniest smile. “Kind of.”

  Her mother retrieved something from her pocket and handed it to Hans. “The doctors found this imbedded in her skull. Fortunately, it didn’t penetrate the brain.”

  Hans held it up so he could see better, and then he gave a low exclamation of amazement. “Do you know what this is, Katya?”

  “Mama thinks it’s a bullet.”

  “It’s part of a bullet. It’s what we call a shell fragment. It probably ricocheted off the pavement. If it had been the full bullet, you would be. . . .” He shook his head and handed it back to her mother. “She is a very lucky young woman,” he murmured.

  “We know that, and we thank God for it.” She was looking at Hans more closely. “It looks like they got the blood out of your tunic.”

  “Uh . . . no. I think they’ve thrown it away. This is a new one.”

  The tears welled up again. “Thank you,” she said, her voice choked.

  Hans retrieved the sack from under his arm. “I brought Katya something. May I?”

  “Of course.”

  He took the chair beside the bed and handed the sack to the girl. She reached in and gave a low cry as she pulled out what was inside. “Oh, look, Mama. It’s a toy bear.” She held it up and then hugged it to her. “Danke,” she said, her eyes wide and filled with happiness.

  “In America,” Hans said, smiling now, “they call this a Teddy bear. It was named for one of their presidents, Teddy Roosevelt.”

  “Then I shall call it Teddy,” she said. “Oh, thank you, Herr Eckhardt.”

  He touched her hand. “Please, call me Hans.” Then he leaned in closer. “Did you know that I once dated a girl named Katya?”

  Her eyes grew big. “You did?”

  “Yes. And oh my, she was beautiful. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, just like you.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “I liked her very much.” He smiled up at her mother. “But I’ve only loved the woman who is now my wife.”

  “How very sweet of you to come,” Katya’s mother said. “Would it be all right if I visited the men who are wounded? Katya can get out of bed tomorrow. We’ll go together.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took Katya’s hand. “How can we ever repay you?”

  Suddenly, catching him completely by surprise, a sob was torn from Hans’s throat. “You . . . you just have.” Then his shoulders began to shake and he turned away. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, and the sobs came one after the other. Frau Tobler stepped forward, weeping openly now too, and put her arms around him. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”

  Suddenly he needed her to understand just what this meant to him. “I needed to know that I did at least one thing right the other day,” he managed to choke out. “Thank you for letting me come. You have a beautiful daughter.”

  Frau Tobler shook him gently. “You also saved our neighborhood.”

  “We destroyed your neighborhood,” he cried. “I was just there. We destroyed it.”

  This time she shook him harder. “You saved us! We had no idea those men were hiding in our buildings. If you had not come, we would have been next.”

  Hans straightened, pulling free of her, and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, I . . . I didn’t expect that.”

  She was smiling through her tears now. “Could you give me the names of your two men? Katya and I would very much like to thank them.”

  Hans nodded and took a pencil and a small notebook from his tunic and wrote their names. He tore the sheet off and handed it to Frau Tobler. Then he looked down at Katya, who now had Teddy perched on her chest. “They will be very happy to see you, Katya, just as I am.”

  Before she could answer, he had another thought. He wrote quickly on another page and tore it off and handed it to the mother. “I have to go now. I’m leaving for Oberammergau this afternoon to rejoin my wife. But we have a flat here in Munich. As soon as things settle down in the city, we’ll be moving here, to the Milbertshofen District. We would be delighted if you and your husband would bring Katya and visit us. I would very much like to have my wife meet you all.” He looked down at Katya. “Her name is Emilee.”

  An angelic but impish smile spread over Katya’s face. “She must be very beautiful if you love her more than the other Katya.”

  Hans laughed aloud and then bent down and kissed the girl gently on her bandaged forehead. “Yes, she is,” he said. “She is very beautiful.” Then he bent down again and whispered. “You keep that bullet safe, Katya. Someday you’re going to tell this story to your grandchildren, and they’ll think you were the bravest little girl in all the world.”

  May 4, 1919, 11:17 a.m.—Mars Camp, Maxvorstadt District, Munich

  “Well, Eckhardt, I’m sorry to lose you, but I understand. Go home, kiss your wife, start that garage. And if things don’t work out, you know where to find me.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir
.” He hesitated and then added, “I would probably be dead by now if it weren’t for you.”

  The colonel shook his head. “I doubt that. You’re a survivor, Eckhardt. I’m just glad I was there to give you a hand. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, sir. I hope it’s all right, but Corporal Jürgens said I could use my railway pass one more time today to get home. Then I’ll cut it up.”

  “When is it good through?”

  “Through the first of June.”

  “Then use it until then. The army owes you that much.”

  “Danke. Oh, there is one other thing, sir.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I were to show up at your home this Saturday for that banquet, do you think there might be a place at the table for me?”

  Von Schiller threw back his head and roared. “You do have a death wish, don’t you, Eckhardt?”

  “Yes, sir!” Hans snapped off one last salute, turned on his heel, and marched out.

  1:40 p.m.

  There was a sharp rap on the door. “Lieutenant!”

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and Jürgens stuck his head in. “A Corporal Adolf Hitler to see you, sir.”

  Hans spun around from the duffel bag he was packing. “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. I told him you’re on a tight schedule. I can send him away if—”

  “No, no. Send him in. I have time.”

  He followed Corporal Jürgens into the hall and met Adolf at the door to the barracks. “Adolf,” Hans cried. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  They shook hands vigorously. “I know you’ve only got a minute,” Adolf began.

  Hans cut him off. “I’ve got time. Come in.”

  Once they were seated, Hitler launched in without preamble. “Well, we did it, didn’t we?”

  “Got rid of the Communists? Yes we did.”

  “And the Jews. Don’t forget that.”