Armageddon (14 page)

“Nor will I argue either the good or the bad of the Weimar Republic. It was our first experiment with so-called democracy ... and it failed. It was too weak to achieve the needs of the day.

“So, now that this war is ending you say to me ... how could this have happened? I’ll tell you, Major O’Sullivan. If you were a German citizen of Rombaden in 1924 you would have known. There was starvation and no work. Inflation was so bad a wagonload of marks could not buy a loaf of bread.

“And the worst of it was that we Germans had been stripped of our pride and our dignity. Pride is a German strength and a German weakness. Other people can live without it ... the Chinese ... the Latin Americans ... the Slavs. But a German cannot.” He pointed to his dueling scar. “This is a nonsensical pride to show my courage as a young man. Well, Hitler came and spoke to us of jobs and returning German dignity. In that square below and in other squares he staged his pageantry and a hurt lower class devoured it.

“How did the rest of us feel about this ridiculous man? We were coming to a choice in Romstein Landkreis. We either went with Hitler or to the Communists. There was no strong middle ground in the Weimar Republic. So we tried to make a temporary arrangement with Hitler in order to get people working, recover our senses, beat back the Communists, restore our dignity.

“I say in all candor to you, Major O’Sullivan, that in the days that lie ahead you Americans will discover that we were not wrong about the Communists. They may be your allies now, but you shall learn hard lessons about them.

“In the beginning, Hitler gave us more than he had promised. We had our national pride returned and we were working again. None of the people in my class believed that we could not eventually bring Hitler under control. You know the rest of the story. The tyranny imposed upon the German people was absolute. We were strangled and unable to fight back ...”

Sean heard it all with fascination. Was the Versailles Treaty unfair? Could a Germany which plunged the world into its first bloody global war have expected less? And what about the rest of Europe, which starved and went without jobs and knew blood and sorrow because of German insanity.

And what about the Weimar Republic? Did the German people really want it to work? Did the General Staff and all the Von Romsteins give it a chance? Didn’t they fight it and club it to death?

“I am sorry for what happened at Schwabenwald,” Ludwig said softly. “And when the German people learn about these places they will be sorry too. We did not know.”

“What about London and Rotterdam and Warsaw?” Sean asked. “Are you sorry about these places too? Are you sorry about my brothers, Timothy and Liam O’Sullivan? Did you have tears for the human race you trampled on or did you begin to become sorry when you got your brains knocked out at Stalingrad? And as for knowing.
You did not know because you did not want to know.”

Graf Ludwig Von Romstein arose. “I assume the interview is at an end?’’

“Yes.”

He turned to go, then stopped and said with a pleading voice, “What you saw at Schwabenwald could have happened to any people anywhere under the same conditions.”

“But it never has, Count, it never has.”

Chapter Nineteen

L
UDWIG
V
ON
R
OMSTEIN BETRAYED
his noble breeding where many Germans did, at the table. His otherwise impeccable manners eroded to gluttony satisfied with rapid shovelings of his spoon, fork, knife, and fingers (between slurps and burps) and a final sucking and picking of the teeth. The nervous rebellion made him hungrier than usual.

Sigmund had been right. The American major was obsessed with the mission of destroying him. Moreover, O’Sullivan’s intelligence and his information and knowledge of Von Romstein history was startling. The interview had failed to be convincing.

From the moment he realized what was happening at Schwabenwald a year ago, he wove stories in his own mind to build arguments to prove he knew nothing about it. So did everyone else. He cursed the stupid Nazi louts. They had left everyone in a fine fix by failing to destroy the gas chambers and crematoriums. Clumsy dogs ... leaving those fields and trainloads of corpses strewn around. Even the latest batch of castrations in the “science center” were shot in bed.

Perhaps, Ludwig thought, I should have joined the plot on Hitler’s life last year. I should have covered myself with some sort of anti-Nazi gesture; smuggled a Jew to Switzerland or something. I had Jew slaves working on the farms. So, what then? I would have been strung up like everyone else involved in the bomb plot.

He convinced himself once more that he had stayed out of the intrigues against Hitler for the sake of preserving the family, but the whole Von Romstein family is tottering! Sigmund is ready to crack apart. He has been in a state of hysteria since the first air raids two years ago. What will happen when they really grill him? If only he had the good grace to put himself away as Kurt did.

Of his two sons, Johann had followed the baron’s steps as a flyer. Johann was dead ... shot down over the English Channel.

The other son, Felix, was a dull, minor bureaucrat in Berlin, without ability to carry on the Von Romstein tradition.

His thoughts turned to his daughter, Marla Frick. Marla was the only real hope the family had. But ... hadn’t she always been the only hope? Johann had been wild and irresponsible ... fast cars, faster airplanes. Johann would have never settled to his family duties even if he had survived.

And the others ... bunglers. Marla was the one real Von Romstein of them all. A true German noblewoman. Count Ludwig had needed someone to modernize the Machine Works. He arranged a marriage between Marla and Wilhelm Frick to lure the brilliant industrial designer away from the Krupp Industries.

The Von Romstein fortunes revolved around the Machine Works. Wilhelm Frick could ensure its continued growth and prosperity ... even turn it into one of the nation’s industrial giants. So what if the marriage was not made in heaven ... Wilhelm was ten years older than Marla ... he kept mistresses at the Spa on the south bank ... he had another in Dusseldorf, where he made trips yearly and she accompanied him to Munich and the Riviera. But ... what the devil, we’ve all had our other women. Ludwig had not shared his wife’s bed for seven years. Even poor Sigmund kept a woman in Rombaden.

The marriage of Marla and Wilhelm had produced the necessary heirs, fortunately two boys. These grandsons would eventually adopt the Von Romstein name and carry the great tradition into the next century.

But dammit, just when the big contracts were rolling in Wilhelm Frick was drafted by Alfred Speer’s ministry to organize industry in the occupied countries. Wilhelm Frick had been captured by the Russians. God only knew when he would be seen again, if ever.

Ludwig left the table, retreated to the study of his late brother, Kurt. The room was still plush, having been spared from the bombings. It was in this room so many many years ago ... how many? Twenty ... twenty years ago that he urged Kurt to join the Nazi Party ... get in on the ground floor ... for the sake of the family. Kurt obeyed. Everyone obeyed Ludwig. It was damned fortunate for us all, Ludwig thought, that Kurt did not allow himself or the records to be taken. The Nazi records showed the close intertwining of the Von Romstein control. It was in this room, too, that Kurt took his life. Poor Kurt. Ludwig selected one of his brother’s pipes, found the last of the tobacco, and sunk into a deep chair waiting for Marla to finish putting the children down. Damned nuisance these days without servants.

Marla was a good sport. She and Wilhelm Frick had a magnificent smaller estate on the south bank. The Americans had commandeered it for those louts of Polish laborers. Slaves, indeed! A decent slave can at least put in a day’s work—the Poles were less than useless. In normal times they could not have held jobs at the Machine Works ... now these pigs live in Marla’s home. God knows what they will do to Castle Romstein.

Marla Frick entered the study and said that the children had fallen asleep. She sat in a straight-backed chair near her father. She was a radical departure from the plump, large-breasted, bread-eating, beer-drinking peasant variety that abounded in Romstein Landkreis. Marla Von Romstein Frick was slim, high cheekboned, immaculately groomed. Her features were too dark and thick to give her true beauty, but her manner offset that. All heads turned at the regal bearing when she entered the casino. She was a magnificent horsewoman with a cold intriguing cruelty that could use a whip on a horse or across a servant’s face. Ludwig’s adoration of her was obvious, and against his better judgment he conceded that she was his favorite. He often wondered why son-in-law Wilhelm found it necessary to stray from the fold.

Marla poured her father tea and cognac. “How did the interview go with the American?”

“Not well, I’m afraid.”

“What do they want from us? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“War is a foreign substance to them. They have never had to explain to an occupation force ... what a convenient existence. We had a good chance to hold our position ... that is, until they opened Schwabenwald. But now the world will rise in a ground swell of righteous wrath and demand retribution.”

“It was disgusting ... unbearable,” Marla said, “forcing us to walk around in the middle of those corpses as though it were our doing.”

Ludwig set his pipe aside. “The fact is, the family is in a grave crisis. In all likelihood your Uncle Sigmund and I will have to serve prison terms.”

“But whatever on earth for, Father?”

“My pet, justice belongs to the winning side. The winners may judge the losers on any set of rules they wish. You can be assured that the Russians will never be brought to justice for their hideous crimes. Only we Germans must answer.”

“Dear God, what has Hitler brought us to.”

“Marla, I am completely prepared to accept a prison term. You know full well that Felix is incapable of heading the family. We do not know when your husband will be released from Russia, if ever. It is up to you, Marla.”

What a delicious moment! Up to me. Up to me and my sons.
Me
...
the woman!

“Insofar as politics is concerned,” her father continued, “as a woman you are above suspect. Americans are terribly fair about that sort of thing. You know of course that sufficient funds have been transferred to Switzerland.”

Marla nodded.

“Unless you are driven out you are to stay here and keep up the fight for the estate and the Machine Works.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Marla, the great strength of the Von Romstein family is the willingness of its members to sacrifice for our name. Your Uncle Kurt and your brother Johann have given their lives. Your Uncle Sigmund and I are ready to go to prison. Throughout our history Von Romstein women have cemented invaluable alliances for the sake of the family.”

She knew her marriage was no different. Wilhelm Frick was palatable but never desirable. From time to time she enjoyed him, but those times were seldom and only after long periods of lonely frustration.

In their public life Wilhelm Frick was always proper. The union was important to the family. It had produced the desired heirs. It protected the estates, the castle, and the Machine Works. She had known that this was to be the way of things since she was a little girl. Now was the moment of reward. Her sons
alone
would keep the name alive and
her
cunning alone would save the family.

Once she had loved someone. He was a student at the Medical College. It was the only time she remembered her father beating her. She was sixteen. Despite her rigid training, despite the fact she despised those people, she had fallen in love with a boy who was half Jew. The penance, discipline, and training that followed was cruel. There were times, of course, on a holiday away from the family when she was able to indulge in a lover. Secretly she looked for a Jew. Perhaps a Jew could help her recapture that one single moment when she was young and giving.

“Marla,” her father continued, “the Americans are building a case against the family. In a way we are fortunate that legality is an obsession with them. Had the Russians come here we would no doubt all be dead. Their concept of justice is as crude as the Slavic people. With the Americans we stand somewhat of a chance. Much of what finally comes to court will be based on the results of the interrogation by this young officer, Arosa.”

She nodded.

“Having been interrogated by him I am convinced that his thinking can be made flexible. I believe the case could be made much less severe.”

Marla spared only a fleeting thought for her husband somewhere in a Russian prison camp. Certainly, if and when he returned from Russia he would want the Machine Works restored and would endorse the urgency of the situation. Besides that, Marla had been without a man for many months. She was hungry for sex. The young American officer was not without appeal.

“They seem to be quite serious about this nonfraternization, Father.”

Ludwig smiled. “Just so much more of their impractical unworkable schoolboy nonsense. I am quite certain, Marla, that you could be quite convincing to Arosa. In fact, I’d bet a fortune on it.”

Chapter Twenty

I
T WAS CURFEW.
P
OLISH
slave laborers, liberated from Schwabenwald, staggered over the pontoon bridge to the south bank, where Lieutenant Bolinski had set up a displaced persons center in the spas, hotels, and Kurhaus.

Shenandoah Blessing watched them from his jeep and whistled the tune the Poles sang. The last half dozen of them over the square gathered about the jeep to bum cigarettes. One Pole, who wore a Bavarian hunting hat and leather pants, was not content with merely shaking Blessing’s hand. He threw this arm about the fat policeman and thrice blessed America. After that he began to weep with drunken joy and insisted that Blessing should have his green velour hat with the big bushy feather and the hunting pins. Blessing tolerated this all with endless patience.