Fire and Steel, Volume 3 Page 3

  “Not the way they’re going at it, that’s for sure. But. . . .” His voice trailed off as he retreated into his thoughts.

  Hans was astounded. “But? But what? Surely you’re not thinking there may be something to all this?”

  Adolf gave Hans a strange look.

  Hans was astounded. “What? You’re serious about . . . ?” But something in Adolf’s eyes made him stop.

  “Do you know the story of the three hundred Spartans, Hans?”

  Hans stared at him. Where had that come from? “Ja. At a place called Thermopylae, right?”

  “Yes. Three hundred valiant soldiers from Sparta stood against an army of one hundred thousand Persians in a narrow pass in the mountain of central Greece. They built a wall across the pass, and with incredible courage they held off the Persians for two days. The pass was too narrow to allow the full weight of the Persian army to be brought to bear. And do you remember what happened next?”

  “Yes. A Greek soldier secretly went to Xerxes, the Persian general. He told him about a path known only to the locals that led up and over the mountain and came in behind the Spartans. For money he offered to show them the way. Xerxes agreed, paid the blood money, and that night this Judas led hundreds of Persians over the mountains. When dawn came, the Spartans found themselves surrounded by their enemies. They fought valiantly to the last man, but by day’s end the battle was lost.”

  Totally baffled now, Hans said nothing else. Adolf seemed far away. He was looking up the street, but he seemed to be seeing something far beyond their view. “There are two great lessons we learn from that defeat. First, beware of traitors in your own midst. The fields of France and the meadows of Flanders were our Thermopylae, Hans. We were sacrificed by the Judases in our government, the very ones who had been elected by the voice of the people to keep us strong and lead us to victory. They sold us out and the war was lost. And you and I and millions of others of our comrades were then and are now the victims of their villainous treachery.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more on that. And what is the most disgusting is that even now, after they have signed our lives away under the Treaty of Versailles, they still sit on their velvet thrones in the halls of power.”

  Hans began to say something more, but Adolf went on. “Three hundred Spartans. A hundred thousand Persians. That means the Spartans were outnumbered by more than three hundred to one, and yet they had stopped the mighty Xerxes in his tracks. Why? Because they had taken up a strong, defensive position and because they were men of incredible courage. That is the second lesson.”

  Though Adolf’s words stirred Hans, his mind was reeling a little, wondering where his friend was going with all this. It took him only a moment to find out.

  To Hans’s surprise, a smile stole slowly across Adolf’s face. “Suppose for a moment that someone started a political party with one simple goal in mind and one promise to its members: Bring us to power and we will form a government whose primary goal will be to raise the laboring classes to share in the same opportunities and blessings that the middle and upper classes have. Bring us to power and we will pull down those bloodsucking parasites who live off the sweat and blood of the people. What would you say to that, Herr Hans Otto Eckhardt?”

  Hans was dumbfounded. “And you think this German Workers’ Party might be that party?”

  Adolf snorted in open disgust. “Do you jest? I’ve seen women’s literary clubs with more political savvy than what we saw today. No, my friend. I am asking you a theoretical question only. How would the people respond to such a political party, were it ever to come into existence?”

  “I. . . .” It was a stunning idea. “The people would rise up and shout hallelujah. They would join with that party and catapult its leaders into the halls of the Reichstag.”

  Adolf clapped his hands together. “Yes! My thoughts exactly. So, where is the party with that kind of political clout today?”

  “That’s easy enough. The Social Democrats control the Reichstag.”

  “So shall we join that party, you and I?”

  “Now who’s joking?” Hans snorted. “In the first place, they wouldn’t let us in because we abhor all they stand for. In the second place, they’re part of the problem. The leaders of our government all come from that party.”

  “Right again. So here’s another possible scenario. You form a political party of your own. You start small at first so that you can mold and shape what direction it takes, what members it accepts, and what political philosophy animates it. So—” He grinned. “Now stay with me for a minute. So once you form that party, you draft a constitution—a platform that clearly states the ideas and values that will appeal to the oppressed and exploited peoples of the nation. You also exclude or cull out those who do not share your vision. You would do that gently if possible but forcibly if you must. You spread the word. You hold mass meetings. You invite the press to come and listen, as well as the people. Perhaps you purchase a newspaper of your own.”

  Hans felt a thrill of excitement. “Then, when you have gathered enough faithful followers around you—”

  “And brave followers,” Adolf broke in excitedly. “Men like the three hundred Spartans. And women, too. Your wife reminded us of that yesterday.”

  “Yes,” Hans went on. “Men and women of courage and commitment. And when you have gathered a sufficient mass of those members, you put your own representatives up for election. You begin with the state and regional assemblies and gain power and experience there first. You let the people see that you are truly committed to helping them, and your numbers continue to swell. Next, you enter your candidates in the national referendums and you win enough seats to become a powerful voice in the Reichstag.”

  “And then,” Adolf said, finishing his thought softly, “you win a majority of the seats in the Reichstag. And then you, not the Social Democrats, choose the chancellor, choose the prime minister, choose the cabinet and all the other positions that run the government. Ah, Hans. That’s how you do it.”

  “Wow!” was all Hans could think of to say.

  Adolf stopped and took him by the elbow. “Wow, indeed, my friend. So forget about the economic theories of Gottfried Feder tonight. He has some good ideas, but he is not the answer.” Hitler stepped back, gripped Hans by the hand, and shook it vigorously. “Thank you, Hans. Thank you for coming. Thank you for listening to my dreams. Go now. Say hello to Emilee for me.” He started away and then looked back. “And have some dreams of your own.”

  Chapter Notes

  At this time, Germany was a parliamentary democracy, where representation in the Reichstag, or national assembly, was determined by the number of votes a political party received in an election. Requirements for forming a new political party were virtually nonexistent, so groups who harbored even the smallest frustrations with the government could form their own political party. The German Workers’ Party was one such group.

  Why Hitler’s superiors considered this group worthy of further investigation is not explained. Hitler admits in his autobiography that he went only to hear Gottfried Feder, who had given a lecture in one of his earlier educational courses. He was disappointed and almost left the meeting when Feder delivered the same lecture he had already heard (see Mein Kampf, 98–99).

  In his autobiography, Hitler writes that very early on, he considered starting or finding a new political party that would eventually appeal to the masses sufficiently to give them real political power (see Mein Kampf, 95).

  October 19, 1919, 1:15 p.m.—Munich Latter-day Saint Branch meetinghouse, Soffallingstrasse 23, Munich

  Bruno Grohl was five years old and the youngest of Wolfgang and Paula Grohl’s children. He was of mellow personality, always smiling, and could out-talk even the most talkative adult. As he came out the door and onto the upper landing, he stopped dead and lifted a hand to shade his eyes as he stared at the solit
ary figure leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He gave a cry and then bolted down the stairs yelling, “Onkel Hans, Onkel Hans!”

  “Hello, Bruno,” Hans said, punching him softly on the shoulder when he reached him. “Church all done?”

  “Ja. Tante Emilee and Mama will be out in a minute. They’re talking to Brother Switzer, their Sunday School teacher.”

  “Oh. And how long will they be?”

  Bruno shrugged, not really caring. Since Paula was Hans’s mother’s sister, and therefore Hans’s aunt, he and Bruno were actually first cousins. And Emilee was technically a cousin-in-law. But Bruno and his sister, Gretl, were the youngest of Paula’s children and the only ones still living at home. Since both were at least ten years younger than Hans, like the rest of the Eckhardt grandchildren, they called him Onkel Hans and Emilee Tante Emilee.

  Above them on the upper landing of the stairs, more people were coming out. A family of four came down the stairs. They smiled and said hello as they passed. A moment later, up above them, Gretl, who was thirteen, stepped into view. She was beside Emilee and lightly holding her elbow. Paula was on the other side of her, steadying her as well. A moment later, Hans’s mother appeared.

  When Gretl saw him, she waved and turned. “Tante Emilee!” she cried. “Look who’s here.” But Emilee had already seen him and was waving as well. Holding tightly to the banister, she came awkwardly down the stairs and went to him, giving him a quick hug. “This is a surprise,” she said. “I thought your meeting went later than this.”

  “No, thank heavens. It lasted only a couple of hours, which was about an hour and a half too long.”

  Paula laughed. “That bad, eh?”

  “Yes, except for the last twenty minutes.”

  “Oh?” Paula asked. “What happened?”

  But at that moment a horn honked, and a grey sedan turned into the small car park next door. Hans’s uncle, Wolfie Grohl, was behind the wheel. He stuck his head partially out of the window. “Hello, Hans,” he hollered. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Hans waited until the car rolled to a stop and his uncle got out. “My meeting was down in the Schwabing District,” Hans said, “but we came back to the Marienplatz trolley stop before we parted ways. I thought I’d come and make sure Emilee didn’t have the baby in church.”

  “I wish I had!” Emilee said as the rest of the family joined them. “I am more than ready.”

  Hans stepped back, eyeing the car. Paula had told him on the phone that Wolfie had bought a new automobile, but he hadn’t seen it yet. He recognized it immediately. It was the largest model made by the Audiwerke Company of Zwickau in Saxony. This was the 5.7-liter model, a completely enclosed touring car, which was one of their upper-end models. The engineer in Hans found it quite amazing.

  Hans was envious of Wolfie, but not resentful. When the revolution in Munich had erupted the previous May, radical groups of Spartacans and Bolsheviks attacked the Department of Public Works where Wolfie was a lower-echelon supervisor. He had fled for his life, but some of the rioters followed him home. Fortunately, Hans was able to drive the attackers off long enough to help the family escape. Wolfie’s family went to Graswang to stay with Hans’s parents until order was restored. By that time, however, the leftists had completely sacked and vandalized their apartment. Many civil service employees threw their lot with the revolutionists, but not Wolfie. So when the uprising had been put down, Wolfie’s loyalty was recognized and he was promoted to a section chief and given a substantial increase in salary.

  “Want a ride home?” Wolfie asked him.

  “Is there room?” Hans replied. Obviously, Emilee wasn’t going to walk home, nor were Paula and the children. The car sat five comfortably, but Hans made six.

  “I can ride on Onkel Hans’s lap!” Bruno called out.

  “Ja, ja,” Wolfie agreed. “Come, we have room.”

  “And have dinner with us,” Paula added. She smiled at Emilee. “You aren’t going to feel like cooking anything, and the thought of you eating something that Hans has cooked is truly frightening.”

  “Hey!” Hans cried. “I made her toast the other day.”

  “Yeah, and a good thing it was pumpernickel,” Emilee said, “because you couldn’t tell how badly it was burned.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Wolfie said, opening the front passenger door for his wife. Hans opened the back door for Gretl, who sat in the middle. Emilee followed her in, and then Hans went around to the other side, got in, and lifted Bruno onto his lap. A moment later they were out on the street and headed north for Milbertshofen.

  1:28 p.m.

  They had gone only a block or two when Wolfie glanced over his shoulder at Hans. “So how was your meeting with Herr Hitler?”

  Emilee answered. “That was what he was about to tell me when you drove up. He said it was boring except for the last few minutes.” She turned to Hans. “So tell Wolfie and Paula a little about the meeting, and then continue on from there.”

  He did, giving them a quick description of the German Workers’ Party and its rather pitiful gathering and about Gottfried Feder’s ability to put a hurtling freight train to sleep. “The only thing that was exciting about his talk,” he concluded, “was that he took ten minutes less than he was allotted. And I thought we were going to get out of there early. But then the party president invited questions or comments from the group. I groaned, hoping no one would say anything, but one man raised his hand.”

  “A member of the party?” Paula asked, turning halfway around to look at him.

  “Not sure, but I don’t think so. Though he was dressed in working clothes, we were told later that he was a recent addition to the faculty at the university. He was young and obviously quite proud of his own learning. He immediately challenged Feder’s lecture, saying that it was all theoretical and had no basis in the real world of finance and business. Which, to my surprise, infuriated Adolf. He had been pretty bored during the lecture, but this young man really raised his hackles. He started muttering things like, ‘Feder is a political theorist. He leaves the practical application of his theories to others,’ or ‘Who is this that dares to question a man of Feder’s intellectual stature?’”

  “Did you say anything?” Emilee wondered.

  “Me? No way. I did keep leaning in and whispering to Adolf that we should sneak out the back. But he barely heard me. Then this guy demanded that the party publicly take a stand on the issue of the unification of Bavaria and Austria. He launched into a real diatribe about how Bavaria’s unique needs were being ignored by the national government because all of the political power was in the north, and they didn’t care about Bavaria. And the solution was for Bavaria and German-speaking Austria to join together to form their own country.”

  “How did Adolf take to that?” Emilee asked. “Being Austrian and an adopted Bavarian?”

  “He came out of his chair like a rock launched from a catapult. I mean, he was in a fury. The rest of us were so stunned, we just sat there with our mouths open. He walked right up to the man, stuck his face in his and shouted, ‘How could anyone with even a pinch of intelligence propose something so absolutely asinine and idiotic as union between Bavaria and German-Austria? Have you lost your mind, sir?’”

  “Wow!” Wolfie exclaimed. “He really said that?”

  “I was gaping at Adolf like he was a stranger. The professor’s face had drained of all color. Everyone was shocked into silence. Then Adolf turned to the chairman and asked for permission to take the speaker’s stand. It was granted, and the professor sat down, looking like a whipped puppy.”

  “So what did your friend say?” Paula asked.

  “Yes, what?” Wolfie echoed.

  “Well, he spoke for ten or fifteen minutes, and I have to say that it was amazing. He spoke without notes, with no time to prepare his thoughts, but when he began to sp
eak, I forgot everything else around me. I was completely enthralled and deeply moved.”

  “Give us a summary,” Wolfie pressed.

  Hans shrugged. “It was all about how the Hapsburg monarchy, which was once a powerful monarchy among the Germanic peoples, utterly sold out their German roots when they started incorporating other races into the empire. I was astounded at how well he knew his history. I took a whole class on the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and he was saying stuff that I didn’t know. His basic point was that the empire had diluted itself when it joined itself to inferior races that have surrounded the Germanic peoples for centuries—Hungarians, Poles, Czechs, Ukrainians, Slovaks, Croatians, Serbs, Italians, Romanians. I knew that had happened, of course,” Hans continued, “but I had never thought of it weakening the power of the empire. But as an example, he said that in the Imperial Army the officers, who were mostly Austrian and German-speaking, had to develop sixty-eight single-word commands that every enlisted man had to memorize. That was only way the officers could lead all these other nationalities in battle, because they all spoke something other than German.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Gretl spoke up. She had been watching Hans intently as he spoke. “What does that mean, Onkel Hans? ‘Single-word commands’?”

  “Words like ‘halt,’ ‘charge,’ ‘fire,’ ‘retreat,’ ‘march.’ Can you imagine trying to direct legions of men with just sixty-eight words? Anyway, Hitler went on giving one example after another, barely even pausing for breath. It was really something to hear him.”

  “Did the young professor say anything when he was done?” Emilee wondered.

  “No. He had slipped out while Adolf was talking, I guess. When I looked around afterward, he was gone.”

  “And how did the rest of the group react to what Adolf said?” Wolfie asked.

  “Everyone shot to their feet and gave him a standing ovation.” Hans paused for a long moment and then added, “And I was one of them.”