Fire and Steel, Volume 3 Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  © 2016 GNL Enterprises, LP

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, ­Deseret Book Company, at ­[email protected] or P. O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City, Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The ­Church of ­Jesus ­Christ of ­Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of ­Deseret Book Company.

  Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.

  Visit us at DeseretBook.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Lund, Gerald N., author. | Lund, Gerald N. Fire and steel ; v. 3.

  Title: The shadow falls / Gerald N. Lund.

  Description: Salt Lake City, Utah : Deseret Book, [2016] | Series: Fire and steel ; volume 3

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016026983 | ISBN 9781629722603 (hardbound : alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Families—Germany—Munich—Fiction. | Families—Utah—Fiction. | Mormon families—Fiction. | Munich (Germany), setting. | Utah, setting.

  Classification: LCC PS3562.U485 S53 2016 | DDC 813/.54—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016026983

  Printed in the United States of America

  Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Book design © Deseret Book Company

  Art direction: Richard Erickson, design: Sheryl Dickert Smith

  Hitler © SZ Photo/Scherl/Bridgeman Images

  Mountains © mRGB and Town © LianeM/Stock Photo

  And the bramble said unto the trees,

  If in truth ye anoint me

  king over you, then come and put

  your trust in my shadow:

  and if not, let fire come out

  of the bramble, and devour

  the cedars of Lebanon.

  —Judges 9:15

  Contents

  PART I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  PART II

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  PART III

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Bibliography

  About the Author

  October 18, 1919, 5:48 p.m.—Eckhardt’s Truck Repair Shop, Bremerstrasse 122, Milbertshofen District, Munich, Germany

  Hans Eckhardt gave one last light pull on the heavy wrench, sensing by feel when he had applied just the right amount of torque to the bolt. Satisfied, he stepped back and surveyed the truck’s engine block, making sure he hadn’t left any of his tools under the hood. He lowered the hood over the big engine and snapped the fasteners down to hold it in place.

  For a moment he was tempted to start the engine and make sure it was working, but he pushed the thought aside. Outside, it was a cold, blustery evening as darkness approached. A stiff wind was whipping scattered snowflakes along almost horizontally. If he started the engine, even for a few moments, he would have to open the big double doors to allow ventilation. With Emilee’s condition, he would not take even the slightest risk of having any carbon monoxide seep upstairs from the shop. And if he opened even one door, the wind would suck the heat out of the shop almost instantly. It could wait until morning.

  As he replaced the wrench on the tool rack, something thumped heavily on the door. He turned, thinking that the wind had blown something against it. But it thumped again. He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes to six. The sign on the door said the shop closed at five. But there was definitely someone knocking. Hans moved around behind the truck and unbolted the door on the front of the shop. There was a dark figure in an army uniform standing there, one hand raised as if he were about to knock again.

  “Hans?” the man exclaimed.

  For a moment, Hans just stared. Then he gave a low cry. “Adolf?”

  There was a hearty laugh. “Yes, Hans. Did you think the Sparta­cans were after you?”

  Grabbing him, Hans pumped the man’s hand vigorously. “Oh my word. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for an old friend. Looks like I found the right place.”

  “Come in, come in,” Hans cried, slapping Adolf on the back. Hans motioned for him to go around the truck to the front of the shop, then closed and locked the door before going around to join him. “How in the world did you know where I lived?” he asked, still reeling a little.

  Hitler chuckled. “Army records. I’m in a position now where I can pull some strings if I have to.”

  “With the Press and News Bureau, as I remember.”

  “Not any longer.” Adolf smiled briefly. “Do you remember how I got that assignment?”

  “Uh . . . no, I guess I don’t.”

  “I think I told you that the army has started holding ‘political classes’ for their personnel because there are so many being influenced by the Marxist and Bolshevik philosophies. I was told to attend those classes. But in one of them, our teacher made some inane comment about the challenges our government is currently facing, totally missing the real causes of our problems. So, you know me. I can’t let something like that pass. So I spoke up and reminded the teacher that our government leaders, the November criminals who lead our country now, were all Jewish, not only by blood but by philosophy, and that was the real problem.”

  “Ja, ja,” Hans said, remembering now. “And one of your fellow soldiers spoke up and tried to tell the class how much the Jews had contributed to German knowledge and culture.”

  “Exactly. I was so disgusted that I challenged him, too. And I shut them both up. I half expected the teacher to report me as a troublemaker to the big brass and that I’d get put on latrine duty or something.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  Hitler laughed heartily. “No. The brass called me in for questioning, and I thought I was in for it, but when they were done questioning me, they asked me to join the Political Department and become one of their teachers.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! Can you believe it?”

  “I can, actually. Especially in the field of politics.”

&nbs
p; “So now I’m teaching my fellow soldiers and trying to educate them about the poisonous political philosophies of the day, such as pacifism, communism, socialism, anarchy, and democracy, where the majority voice of the party in power takes precedence over moral imperative and the maintenance of order and stability.”

  “That’s wonderful, Adolf. So you’re finally doing something in politics like you’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Ja. It’s not what I had in mind, but I’m learning a lot. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  Adolf was eager now. “The most important thing I’m learning is that I can teach. I can speak to others and clearly convey abstract concepts in a way they understand. Didn’t I tell you once that all great politicians have to be great orators?”

  “Yes, and you said that your greatest fear was that you didn’t have oratory skills.”

  “Ja, ja. Well, I don’t have those fears anymore. I found that I love talking to people about politics and history. And, if I may say so myself, I’m pretty darn good at it. Sometimes I get so worked up that it just pours out of me. Like the other day. One of the men in my class started to defend the Marxist philosophies. He said he had studied philosophy at the University of Munich. Well, when I finished with him, he looked like a wet noodle and got up and left. And the rest of the class gave me a round of applause.”

  Hans was nodding. “Actually, that doesn’t surprise me at all. So congratulations.”

  “Danke. My official title now is Bildungsoffizier. It feels pretty good to be an educational officer.”

  Hitler looked around the shop. “And look at you. I’m impressed, Hans. When you said you were going to start your own truck repair shop, I pictured something out behind a barn or under some lean-to.”

  Hans sobered. “That’s what it would have been if you hadn’t secured my severance pay from the army, Adolf. Emilee and I are deeply grateful to you for that. Deeply.”

  “It was nothing,” he said with a diffident wave of his hand. “When you know which officer’s name to drop, then the vast bureaucracy actually pays attention.”

  Hans was nodding. “Well, whatever you did, we are in indebted to you.” This gave him another idea. “Adolf, I would like you to meet my wife.”

  “I would like that too. She’s the nurse, right? From Pasewalk?”

  “Yes. She said she knew who you were but was never assigned to your ward, so she never personally met you.”

  “Ja. I should like very much to meet her. You seem much happier than when we had those long talks in the hospital. She must be a remarkable woman.”

  “She is indeed.”

  “We must never underestimate the power and influence of good German women. We speak of the Fatherland, but it is the mothers of Germany who make the Fatherland strong.”

  “I agree, and actually, she is about to become a mother. We’re expecting a baby now.”

  “Das ist gut. Congratulations, my friend.”

  Then Hans had another thought. “Have you eaten yet, Adolf?”

  That seemed to almost startle him. “Uh . . . no, but I should be going anyway.”

  Hans remembered that night they had met at a restaurant in downtown Munich. It had been on Adolf’s birthday. He ate voraciously and later admitted that he hadn’t eaten much that day. As thin as he was, Hans wondered if that wasn’t the case more often than not. So he pressed him. “It’s already on the stove. She’s making split pea and ham hock soup with freshly baked pumpernickel.”

  Hitler drew in a deep breath and then admitted, almost shyly, “It does smell wonderful. But I would not wish to impose. Are you sure it will be all right?”

  “I’ll ask,” Hans said. “But I know she’ll be delighted. I’ve talked so much about you that she wants to meet you. Wait here.”

  Hans bounded up the stairs that led from the garage to the second floor where their flat was. Thirty seconds later he was back again, grinning. “I told you so. She insists that you stay. Come. We can wash up.”

  6:38 p.m.—Eckhardt residence, Bremerstrasse 122

  “Wunderbar, Frau Eckhardt. Absolut fantastisch.”

  Emilee lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks growing warm. “Danke schön, Herr Hitler. You are most kind.”

  “I mean every word of it. Wherever in the world did you find a ham in these times? And dried peas?”

  Emilee smiled. “Hans took ten pounds of peas in as payment for a truck repair. And he has an aunt and uncle who own a hog farm near Unterammergau. From time to time they hold out a cured ham for Hans’s mother. And when she came to visit us last week, she brought one of them to us. Unfortunately, all that was left by now was the ham hock with a little meat on it.”

  “Ah,” Adolf retorted, “but that makes the best soup, no? It was superb. I haven’t had ham hock and pea soup in ages, even though it was one of my mother’s favorites.”

  Embarrassed by the effusiveness of this praise from an otherwise taciturn man, Emilee got to her feet. “Hans, take Herr Hitler into the sitting room. I’ll do the dishes.”

  “No, Frau Eckhardt,” Adolf said emphatically. “Come. Join us. The dishes can wait. And please, call me Adolf. I’m not sure who this ‘Herr Hitler’ is.”

  “All right, but please call me Emilee. Hans and I have not yet been married a year, and ‘Frau Eckhardt’ still feels quite strange to me.”

  “I shall . . . Emilee.”

  Hans led them into the living room, with Adolf bringing up the rear. When they were seated, Adolf looked at Emilee. “If it is not too presumptuous of me, may I ask when the baby is due?”

  “It is due about the first of November, in just another week or so.”

  Hitler smiled. “So soon? I would have guessed longer.”

  Emilee blushed happily as she looked at Hans. “Now that is the kind of comment a woman likes to hear when she feels like a weather balloon about to be launched.”

  Adolf turned to Hans. “Are you hoping for a boy?”

  “Of course, but I’m thinking it will be a girl. I am the only boy in my family. I have three older sisters, and of my six nieces and nephews, only two are boys. My father was delighted once he got an heir. But I have a niece named Miki who is the apple of my eye, and I would be very pleased to have a daughter like that. We shall have boys someday, of course.”

  Emilee looked at their guest, wondering if he had children of his own, but then remembered Hans saying that he didn’t think Adolf was married, even though he was around thirty.

  Hitler seemed to read her thoughts. “I am envious. I myself am not married. I am not sure that is part of my destiny.”

  Emilee blinked in surprise. What a strange thing to say. Most men were married by thirty, but Adolf was hardly some old bachelor. He was good-looking enough, and quite charismatic. But she merely nodded.

  Hans decided to change the subject. “Adolf is serving at Bavarian Army Headquarters. He is an educational officer with the Army’s Propaganda Department.”

  “Ah,” Emilee said. “And what is it that you teach?”

  He gave her a two- or three-sentence summary, obviously not anxious to talk about himself.

  “Well,” she said as he finished, with a touch of bitterness, “I think it’s a wonderful idea to do that. It seems to me like muddle-­headed thinking is far too common in the Fatherland right now. And that’s true even in the highest levels of our government, as was recently demonstrated with the signing of the Versailles Treaty.”

  Adolf reared back a little as he listened to her. When she finished, he turned to Hans. “Not only did you marry a fine mother for your children, but a woman who is soundly grounded in what is going on in our country today.” He looked to her. “Bravo, Frau Eck—Emilee. Would that all of the women in Germany were as well informed as you.”

  Hans chuckled. “And she is not shy about expressing her feelings,
as you can see.” Then, seeing her look, he hastily added, “And that is one of the reasons I married her.” Then he frowned. “Unfortunately, the Bolshies and the Spartacans and the Commu­nists are smelling blood in the water and circling again, waiting for any chance to pounce.”

  Adolf sat back, eying them both thoughtfully. After a moment, he turned to Hans. “Do you remember that night at the restaurant when you and I talked about making a difference in the world?”

  “I do,” Hans answered. “Very clearly.” He shrugged, frowning a little. “Back then, I was thinking that maybe I would become a well-to-do engineer or a successful businessman and reach out to bless the poor. But what you said totally floored me. It was the last thing I expected or had considered.”

  “Actually,” Adolf chortled softly, “it was a bit of a surprise to me, too, to put it into words.” He looked at Emilee. “I told your husband that if a person really wanted to make a difference in the world, he should go into politics.”

  Hans laughed too. “And I just stared at him. Politics? That was the last thing I would have guessed. Especially since it’s the politicians who are causing us so much grief right now.”

  “Ja,” Emilee said slowly. “I have to say that politics wouldn’t have been on my list either.”

  “Oh, but I am talking about so much more than simply seeking election to an office. What I’m talking about is political leadership, not just political participation. When you think about it, how many men or women can you name who have profoundly affected the course of history because they rode to positions of influence and leadership in their nation? Here are just a few: Otto von Bismarck. Alexander the Great. Julius Caesar. Charlemagne. George Washington. Abraham Lincoln. Ghengis Khan. All were politicians of one kind or another.”

  Emilee hesitated, but then couldn’t resist. “I didn’t hear any women’s names in there.”

  Startled, Adolf just stared at her. Hans coughed, trying to warn her off with his eyes. But to her surprise, Hitler took her seriously. “A point well taken,” he said. “Like Queen Elizabeth, or Queen Victoria.”

  “Or Catherine the Great,” Hans added, pleased at his reaction.

  Emilee started listing others who came to mind. “Joan of Arc. Cleopatra. Eleanor of Aquitaine. Her sons Richard and John went on to become kings of England.” Then to Adolf, she said, “I can see what you mean about politics—in this greater sense—being a powerful medium for change.”