Fire and Steel, Volume 6
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
© 2019 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 permissions@deseretbook.com or PO 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.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Lund, Gerald N., author. | Lund, Gerald N. Fire and steel ; v.6.
Title: Into the flames / Gerald N. Lund.
Description: Salt Lake City, Utah : Deseret Book, 2019. | Series: Fire and steel ; v. 6 | Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019019999 | ISBN 9781629726205 (hardbound : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Families—Germany—Munich—Fiction. | Families—Utah—Monticello—Fiction. | Mormon families—Fiction. | Germany—History—1918–1933—Fiction. | LCGFT: Novels. | Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3562.U485 I58 2019 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019019999
ISBN 978-1-62972-620-5
eISBN 978-1-62973-881-9 (eBook)
Printed in the United States of America
Lake Book Manufacturing, Inc., Melrose Park, IL
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Book design © Deseret Book Company
Art direction by Richard Erickson
Jacket design by Sheryl Dickert Smith
New Synagogue, Berlin, Germany: Boris Stroujko/Shutterstock.com
Broken glass: Anthony Ricci/Shutterstock.com
A fire devoureth before them;
and behind them a flame burneth:
the land is as the garden of Eden before them,
and behind them a desolate wilderness;
yea, and nothing shall escape them.
Joel 2:3
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part II
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part III
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part IV
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Part V
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Part VI
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part VII
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Part VIII
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Part IX
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Bibliography
About the Author
May 11, 1933, 3:40 a.m.—Eckhardt Home,
Hohenzollernstrasse 81, Munich
Hans carefully sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his wife. In the faint light from the streetlamps coming through the curtains, he could see that her face was in repose and that she was breathing deeply and steadily.
He hesitated, feeling a stab of guilt. But he was far too excited to wait now. He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder, and shook her gently. “Schatzi?” Nothing. Hans shook her a little more vigorously and leaned in closer. “Emilee!”
She stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. Hans shook her a third time. “Emilee, it’s me. Wake up, Schatzi.”
There was a soft groan and Emilee rolled over to her back. Her eyes fluttered open. “Hans?”
“Yes, my love. We need to talk.”
“But. . . .” Emilee rose up on one elbow and peered toward the dresser, where they kept a small clock. “What time is it?”
“Uh . . .” Hans turned and looked. “Not sure. About three thirty, I think.”
Emilee fell back with a groan. “What are you doing still up?”
He took her by the shoulders and pulled her up. “We have to talk.”
With a deep sigh, Emilee pulled the covers around her shoulders and wiggled around so she was facing him. “All right. I’m listening.” She rubbed at her eyes.
“Do you remember that list I made a couple of weeks ago of reasons I can’t just walk away from the Nazi Party?”
Emilee gave him an incredulous look. “How could I possibly forget that?”
“Well, last night changed everything.”
That brought her wide awake. “Everything?”
“Ja, ja, Schatzi. You know how conflicted I’ve been over this whole thing. I don’t want to be part of what’s happening anymore. The risks are enormous. But last night I sat and watched thousands of books going up in flames. At first, one part of me kept saying, ‘Hans, they’re just books. Why are you so upset?’”
“And the other part of you?” Emilee whispered.
Hans didn’t answer. He was staring at his hands. “The other part of me said, ‘Yes, Hans, books can be replaced. But the people who burn the books—what of them?’”
Emilee clutched his hands. “Oh, Hans. Does that mean . . . ?”
“It means that I can no longer be a part of this, no matter what the cost. This is just the beginning, Emilee, and I am a fool to think otherwise.”
She was quiet for a moment and then spoke. “Hans, all those other things you had on your list of why you can’t leave the party—having to move to a smaller house, no more academy for the girls, not having a place for your mother.” She took a deep breath. “And even losing your pension and your health benefits. Those are serious things. Sobering things. But they are not justification for you being a part of what we witnessed last night. This isn’t just about us, is it? It is about our children and Adolf’s vision for them.
He wants to turn them into little robots, giving the Nazi salute and screaming, ‘Heil Hitler.’”
“I agree. And I am ready to do whatever it takes to extricate ourselves.”
Emilee squeezed his hand tightly. “Whatever it takes, Hans! But your mother comes with us no matter what. Even if we have to put all five children together in one room.”
“I. . . .” Hans’s voice caught. “Thank you, my dear, dear Emilee. Mama would be miserable if she returned to Graswang and had to live with either Ilse or Heidi and be. . . .” He shook his head.
“Nazified?” Emilee murmured.
“Ja, ja! Look at their children. Ardent Nazis, even the girls. They’re like strangers now, and it makes me sick.” Hans leaned back. “Which brings me to the most immediate challenge that we face.”
“What?”
“After coming to bed last night, I couldn’t sleep, tired as I was. I just lay there thinking about what we saw last night and what it means for us. So I finally got up, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I started by going over my list of reasons I can’t leave the party. And the only one that I’m not sure how to resolve is how to extricate myself from the party without bringing the wrath of Hitler and the others down upon me and our family. If we don’t do that exactly right, I could end up in prison again.”
“For what?” Emilee cried.
“It doesn’t matter. If they consider me to be a problem, they’ll find some reason. And with this new law doing away with trial by jury, there will be no acquittal this time. They totally control the courts now. I’m not saying that it would happen. But there’s no question that it could happen. And that’s not all,” he said grimly. “I realize now that our most immediate problem is the most difficult, because we have to decide now.”
“What?”
Hans answered with one word. “Jolanda.”
“Yes,” Emilee whispered. “I agree.”
Hans rushed on. “I received a phone call yesterday afternoon from Dr. Steingold. With the book burning, I totally forgot to tell you about it.” He began rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “He said that the evaluation on Jolanda’s allergies came back. She is definitely allergic to cats, but all the other things—grass, pollen, dogs, eggs, milk—are no longer a concern.”
“But that’s good, right?” Emilee asked. And then it hit her and her eyes widened. “So he’s saying she is fine to go to Hitler Youth?”
“Oh, no, he would never say it that directly. But he made it very clear that he will not be signing another letter recommending she be exempt from camp.”
“No, Hans!”
“Oh, yes. And though it makes me angry, I can’t say that I blame him. If Steingold writes too many of these exemption letters, the party won’t be happy. He could end up losing his license.”
Emilee could barely speak. “So what do we do? Jo is not like Lisa. All the bullying and forcing them to be strong will shatter her. You saw her last night. She almost threw up when they made her toss those books on the pile.”
“It won’t shatter her,” Hans said grimly. “She’s stronger than we think. But what it could do is turn her into another hardened Nazi, like her cousins.”
“So what do we do?” Emilee cried again, tears trickling down her cheeks now.
“Yes, what do we do? Keeping Jo home could complicate everything. It could even mean that we end up unemployed and that I lose my pension.” He looked away. “Or worse.”
“We can’t let her go.” Emilee buried her face in her hands. “We can’t.”
Hans put a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. And, to Emilee’s surprise, he was smiling. “Well,” he said slowly, “that’s why I woke you up. I think I may have a solution.”
She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. “What?”
He peered into her eyes, and then his smile broadened. “Are you still praying about all of this, like I asked you to?”
Emilee’s head came up. “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t? Why would you ask me that?”
Hans’s eyes filled with wonder. “Emilee, as I was out there in the living room, completely devastated by this new complication, suddenly I had an idea pop into my head. It came with such clarity that it shocked me. In one instant, I was in turmoil. The next, I had the answer, and it utterly stunned me.”
“Then tell me, Hans!” Emilee exclaimed. “Don’t do this to me.”
“This sounds absolutely crazy, but, what’s the time difference between here and Utah?”
Emilee blinked, and blinked again. “What did you say?”
Hans laughed. “Come on, humor me. What time is it in Utah right now?”
Eyes wide as dinner plates, she thought for a moment. “It’s eight hours earlier there,” she said. “So about . . . um . . . seven thirty at night. Why?”
“Gut. Go call Aunt Paula.”
Emilee nearly leaped to her feet. “What? The rates for trans-Atlantic call are astronomical, Hans. And why would I call her? I got a letter from her just the—” And then it hit her. “Oh, my! Because Aunt Paula is going to have a hysterectomy.”
“Ja, ja! And Uncle Wolfie travels a lot with his job, no? So she’s going to need someone to be there to help her during her recovery.”
Emilee’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Like Oma Inga and Jolanda.”
“Not just them. That would be too obvious. They would see that for just what it is, a lame excuse to keep Jo out of Hitler Youth. But what if you were to take our two youngest to Graswang and let them stay there for the summer? Then you and Hans Otto would go with Mama and Jo.”
Emilee was clearly shocked. “We don’t have that kind of money, Hans.”
“Really?” he said. “I thought you would say that we have to do this. No matter what the cost. Because that is what I am saying. This is our solution, Schatzi. Don’t tell me you are really going to worry about the money.”
“Oh, Hans!” Emilee cried, throwing her arms around him, great sobs racking her body. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Then she suddenly pulled back. “But what about Lisa?”
Hans shook his head slowly.
“Why not? It’s only one more ticket.”
“Because Lisa is the way we demonstrate to the party bosses that we are still faithful little Nazis. She’s a model student. This will be her second year. And do we really need her to go and care for Aunt Paula with all of you going?”
Emilee considered that, her expression stricken. “I see all of that. But it will break her heart. If we go to Utah, you know the Westlands will invite us down to stay with them. Think how many years Lisa and Benji have been writing to each other. To have our family there without her would. . . .” Her voice trailed off, for she saw the answer in his eyes.
“She can’t go, Emilee. Remember, this isn’t just about helping Aunt Paula. It’s about breaking loose from the party. And without her as evidence that we are still part of the faithful, we may not be able to.”
“It will crush her,” Emilee whispered, wiping at her eyes. “But all right, Hans. Let’s call Paula and Wolfie and see what they say.”
But as she reached the door, she stopped again, her face troubled. “You have to be the one who tells Lisa, Hans. You have to let her know why. And what is at stake here.” The tears began to flow freely again. “She’ll do it for you, even though it will break her heart. So don’t hold back. Tell her why we’re doing it. Why she can’t go. Tell her how you felt at the book burning. Then she’ll understand.”
July 11, 1933, 9:23 a.m.—Eckhardt Home
Hans Otto Eckhardt Sr. was having a typical day.
He was alone. He was bored. He was highly frustrated.
It had been a month and a half since he had waved goodbye to his mother, his wife, and two of his children as their train pulled out of the station. And it had been five weeks since h
e had driven Lisa to the Hitler Youth Camp in the Bavarian Alps. When he had returned that evening, he had felt almost euphoric. Almost three months by himself. No interruptions. No actual commitments, other than going to the office and going down to Graswang on Sundays to visit Enrika and Nikolaus.
He could sleep in as long as he wanted, go to the cinema—maybe even twice a week if he chose—attend a summer concert or two by the Münchner Philharmoniker. He went to the office a few hours a day to get caught up on the backlog that had piled up since his accident. He read several newspapers papers each morning and kept working his way through another of Alemann Zeidner’s books, this one on Germanic culture during the Thirty Years’ War.
It had taken him almost two weeks to realize that he kept looking up from the newspaper, thinking he had heard someone in the hallway. Or turning his head because he thought he had seen movement in the kitchen. Sleeping alone in his and Emilee’s bed had proven to be difficult, and he often gave it up and worked or read until three or four in the morning.
For the first couple of weeks of his family’s absence, Hans and Alemann had spent a lot of time together discussing current events, philosophy, history, or the government and its policies. But the Zeidners were now on summer holiday at their chalet in Switzerland and wouldn’t be back until mid-August.
The French had a word for boredom. They called it ennui. It was a lovely word for such a dull thing. Other words came to Hans unbidden. Apathy. Indifference. Detachment. Doldrums. Tedium. Lethargy. Monotony. World-weariness. He especially liked that last one, for he sensed that maybe that was the underlying cause of more than his ennui.
The day after his family left, Hans had made a list of the things that needed fixing around the house. The leaky faucet in the main bathroom. Replace some pickets in the back fence. Really shock Emilee and paint the living room, as they had talked about doing for over a year now. Now his list was on the desk in front of him, with every single item crossed off except one. Develop a plan for easing yourself out of the National Socialist Party without putting yourself or your family in a difficult or dangerous situation.
Hans snorted in disgust. Half the summer was gone and he was no closer to solving that dilemma than he had been when his family had left. He stared at the paper. He had come up with several ideas for how to do it, all of which involved finding new employment. That had to happen. He had to leave the party and its constant scrutiny of his life. But how?