Stupid Luck and Happenstance.

[Peabody-Martini]

From my notes, year and invention.
1878 cathode ray tube
1897 cathode ray tube oscilloscope
1898 wire recording
1904 vacuum tube, diode
1906 vacuum tube, triode
1918 Enigma machine
The fixings were there, someone just needed the motivation to put them together.

Chapter Sixty-One


1st June, 1922

Bramstedtland, Germany

The green smell of Summer was in the air as Sjostedt walked out into the night. Earlier Ma and Tilde had taken Grandfather into Flensburg for medical treatment and wouldn’t be back until the morning. It was his and Ilse’s turn to mind the farm. Something was bothering the livestock and it had woken him up the night before. It was almost sunset, but this far north the days were very long this time of year.

Ma had always insisted on planting some squash and corn for their own use. To remember where they’d come from. It contributed to the unique smells of this particular place. Other things such as the salt smell of the nearby sea and growing plants were added in. It was part of what made this Sjostedt’s home for the last for the last decade. Tonight, something was off. A fox might take a chicken or duck now and again but that fox would be as much a part of this landscape those smells. This was the felt different. That usually meant that it was result of human intervention.

Sjostedt walked around the chicken coop, passing along where he knew the shadows were deepest. That’s where he waited for it, it was all about the timing. There was a subtle shift in the air. His hand shot out and he grabbed the chicken thief by the ear.

“Ow!” the boy yelled as Sjostedt pulled him across the yard hitting him ineffectually with the hand that wasn’t holding the dead chicken “Lemme go!”

“No” Sjostedt said as he dragged the thief up the stairs onto the porch “You shouldn’t have come back a second night in row.”

The door opened and Sjostedt’s youngest sister, Ilse poked her head out “He’s just a boy Piers” She said.

“Hardened criminals seldom resort to stealing chickens but they might be getting their start that way” Sjostedt said as he pulled the boy into the kitchen and deposited him onto a chair “The bible says many things about theft and before you make any excuses it says a lot about lying as well.”

The boy stopped whatever he was about to say. It was obvious to Sjostedt that he was about to try to fly some line on them but thought better of it.

“I wouldn’t try any lines on Piers anyway” Ilse said “He heard all of them when he was with Army during the war.”

“I heard a lot of things while I was in the Army” Sjostedt said grabbing one of the ashcans and dropping it in front of the boy “But the most of all was my Oberfeld complaining about men being at loose ends causing trouble. That is exactly what you are right now, at loose ends. So, start plucking.”

With that Sjostedt walked out.

“Don’t mind my brother” Ilse said “He’s been in a foul mood since the war in Poland started up again, the Oberfeld he mentioned, Walter, is right in the middle of it. Walter might be our brother in law if he and Nina ever can ever get around to getting married.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” The boy asked. Ilse could hear from his accent that he was from nowhere near here.

“You stepped into the middle of this” Ilse said pulling a pot out of the cupboard “That was your first mistake.”

“I made other mistakes?”

“Yes” Ilse said filling the pot with water “You killed one of our oldest hens, so we’ll have to stew it and most of all you tried to sneak one past Piers more than once. That simply doesn’t work.”

“But the chicken is for my family”

“Let me guess, you’re an orphan too” Sjostedt said as he stepped in from outside carrying an armful of firewood. That he dumped into a large steel container before opening the door on the front of the stove and throwing a piece of firewood in.

“When did you last see your family?” Ilse asked “The truth.”

“A couple of months ago,” The boy said “After the train dumped us off in Berlin.”

Sjostedt had heard of this “Where did the train come from?”

“Paris” The boy said “They gave us one way tickets to Berlin and were told that scum like us would never come back if we knew what was good for us.”

That had the ring of truth to it and it confirmed what Sjostedt suspected.

“So, you’ve been moving north and stealing to survive?” Sjostedt asked “But stealing isn’t new to you by any means.”

“Piers” Ilse said, slightly taken aback at how harsh Sjostedt was being.

“Do I need to tell her who and what you are?” Sjostedt asked the boy who had stopped plucking the chicken and was staring at the kitchen table almost quivering with fear.

“France has been expelling undesirables” Sjostedt said “The boy’s family didn’t want another mouth to feed after they got dumped in Berlin with nothing so they chased him off.”

“Is that true?” Ilse asked.

The man, Piers, just had a way of seeing right through you, the boy thought. The instant he even thought about trying to bullshit his way out of this. Piers had cut that off as if he’d read the boy’s own thoughts. The truth was that Piers terrified him. The girl seemed to have the same low threshold for lies as her brother even if she was nicer about it.

“Yes” The boy mumbled still staring at the table.

“Back to work” Sjostedt said and stared at the boy until he resumed plucking the chicken, noting with approval that the boy was doing a quick job of it.

“The French are really throwing people out of their country?” Ilse asked “Why would people do something like that?”

“France sort of went crazy during war, everyone did” Sjostedt said “But with the French it went deeper and has lasted longer.”

With that the boy finished plucking the chicken.

“If I can have that” Ilse said as she took the chicken from him and over to the cutting board where she began expertly butchering the bird.

“It’s one thing about Ma or my sisters” Sjostedt said “Stay out of their way in the kitchen or you end up looking like that chicken.” He chuckled when he saw the boy’s face at that comment.

“If you are going to be our guest we might as well know your name” Sjostedt said.

The boy thought for a long moment about how to answer that one. As he had already learned in this house they would just see through it if he said anything other than the truth.

“Django” The boy finally said.

“Then welcome to our home” Sjostedt said.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Two


2nd June, 1922

Paris, France

All things fall apart, it’s in their very nature. That’s particularly true for a nation that had most of their industry destroyed and large swaths of the countryside. Word was that food prices were going up again because striking workers had taken to blockading freight yards. Jean Paul Montrose walked his usual beat even though his police uniform no longer held much meaning. Mostly for lack of anything else to do. From the grumbling that he’d been hearing it was no longer an open question as to who the biggest thieves were.

The Boche might have invaded their country and stolen anything they could grab on the way out but the Americans were worse. They’d waited until they’d run out of excuses to get involved. Then after a whole lot of foot dragging they got into endless debates over when their soldier entered the fray and under whose command. Finally, after all of that, they had imposed a humiliating peace on France they were still there and with their hand out demanding repayment on loans from their own former allies. And increasingly the Americans were demanding that those repayments be in the form of hard currency.

Anytime France’s ambassador in Washington tried to bring up restructuring the debt the Americans bluntly hammered him over the head with the American dead from the war. Once even going so far as threatening to exhume all of the thousands of them who had died in the Great War and shipping them home and billing France for it afterward.

The good thing going on there was that the American President was a serial adulterer with a cabinet that was beset by allegations of corruption. A hypocrite’s hypocrite serving a nation of hypocrites, Jean Paul thought to himself as he flicked his cigarette butt into the river.

Not the Government here in France was much better. There had been 12 Administrations in the last 5 years. Many people lamented the death of the great Georges Clemenceau, if he’d lived things would be different. Jean Paul had no such illusions, they’d probably still be at war if he hadn’t died. Then there were the monarchists, as if the people of France hadn’t seen that movie a time or three. An inbred king who eventually ended up short a head or a mad Emperor who conquered most of Europe only to end up poisoned by his enemies on an island in the South Atlantic.

That was when Jean Paul noticed a pick pocket working the crowd river front. The current administration might have made a big show of booting Gypsies and African trash out of the country. That had done nothing about the local thieves who were currently enjoying the lack of competition. Jean Paul brought his truncheon down on the young man’s arm, shattering his wrist while the hand was somewhere it didn’t belong. He then knocked the thief flat with a sharp blow that left him on the ground moaning. Passersby smiled when they saw Jean Paul putting the thief in handcuffs, the rule of Law meant something when he was around. That was when he helped himself to the large stack of Francs he found in the thief’s wallet.

As Jean Paul led the semiconscious thief through the streets of Paris he noticed that there were a large number of men in the blue uniforms of the French army on the streets. What new madness was this?


Near Lukow, Poland

Peter was crawling under the barbed wire as he tried to reach the wounded soldier. Green tracers were zipping by just centimeters over his back which felt dangerously close to his exposed back. He dropped into a shell hole where the wounded man had taken shelter. He could see that the man had a belly wound.

“I got you” He yelled “But I need you to help me here.”

The man’s teeth were clinched in pain but he nodded, affirmative.

That was when the Russian machine gun, it sounded like an old Maxim, stopped firing. He could hear the Russians talking to each other just a few meters away. If the Russians discovered them they’d have a grenade or two in here in seconds.

“Be quiet” Peter whispered to the man who looked at him in fear and pain.

The machine gun started firing again. With every shot the man was flinching and clawing at the Earth.

“Damnit, hold still” Peter snarled at him. It was obviously a bullet wound, in one side out the other. He’d have to pack it here and let the surgeons in the field hospital determine how bad this was. He couldn’t judge the extent of the damage but that wasn’t his job. Once he was done with that he gave the man a shot of morphine. What they were about to do was going to hurt, a lot.

Peter crawled out of the shell hole. When he turned around he hissed “Keep quiet” to the man again and grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him out of the shell hole. The man’s breathing was rapid and he’d passed out from the pain, that didn’t matter. Peter scooted them backwards as the fusillade continued just overhead.

After what had seemed like an eternity he made it back to the relative safety of friendly lines. He’d made it. The Platoon’s other medic checked the man, he smiled.

“You did good kid” He said.

Peter smiled wearily at that. The other medic went elsewhere and a pair of stretcher bearers came for the man. Peter watched them carry the man off. The surgeons could take from here, Peter thought…

Peter never heard it. He’d been watching, then he’d been thrown into the side of the trench by a large blast. He didn’t lose consciousness but dark spots were swimming around in vision and his ears were ringing. Where the stretcher bearers and the man been, was a new shell hole. One of the others in the platoon looked at him. “Are you okay!” he yelled.

That’s when Peter noticed that something warm covering his face. Blood, none of it his own. “What the fuck” He mumbled.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Three


15th June, 1922

Paris, France

This had already been an awful month and it was barely half over. Someone had started a series of malicious rumors regarding current relations with the Americans. The Americans were not demanding immediate repayment on all debt in hard currency. Or most damaging of all was the rumor that the Americans were considering repatriating their dead from the great war. The rumor monger had done their work well with that one. They had included a vastly inflated number of the dead in question. It had seemingly taken the Americans seconds to pick up on that. The number was actually the estimated number of American Service Men who’d been treated for venereal disease while posted in France during the Great War. That had created a new diplomatic row. One more nail in the coffin for the French State.

Now there was this. It was the reason why the French President Alexandre Millerand had ordered General Petain to quietly bring several Divisions of the Army into Paris and its environs to buttress the City Police. The General stood, face ashen as he observed. As he saw it, the final victory that the Germans began long ago at Verdun was now complete. The French Government lacked the authority or credibility to effectively govern the nation. That was why rumor mongers were able to spread lies and gossip so effectively, they were a symptom of a greater disease. After long debate, they had realized that there was only one course of action remaining. President Millerand signed the legislation formally dissolving the republic and empowering the National Assembly to draft a new constitution for the people of France. The Third Republic of France had just died a quiet death on a peaceful early Summer afternoon.


Pruszków Airfield, Poland

Erwin Thorwald squeezed the trigger, the sear broke cleanly like a glass rod. His shoulder absorbed the force of the recoil. He waited for the sight picture through his scope stabilize, in the distance there was a loud “Clank!”. Thorwald could see the steel target rocking back and forth as he worked the bolt.

“10 for 10, eight hundred meters, service ammunition” Thorwald heard Oberst von Richthofen say “Now, do I need to remind you of the terms of our bets Gentlemen.”

Naturally, the Oberst had neglected to mention that they had gone through every lot of 8mm JS in the armory to figure out exactly which one had shot the best through Thorwald’s rifle. But the Oberst had just won a very nice case of wine and Thorwald had just beat the best snipers in the entire 2nd Army earning a Prussian Merit Cross as the winner. The Generals and other observers drifted away in discussion of what had just concluded.

After he’d gotten ditched, Thorwald had gotten thrown into the stockade for a few days, ironically for missing movement. The Airfield's Commander must have gotten a laugh over that one. That was when Oberst von Richthofen had come through. He’d explained that there was actually nothing holding Thorwald there, it was just feared that he’d pursue his Regiment through the countryside. Instead he’d been offered an appointment onto the staff of the great Oberst von Richthofen.

It wasn’t until he got there that he discovered that the appointment was care for Fredrick and Wilhelm, the Oberst’s dogs. He started to wonder if the stockade would take him back. Then he discovered that his unofficial duties included going on the Oberst’s frequent hunting trips. On the first trip, he’d taken a boar with a perfect quartering shot at 250 meters. After that he’d been at the Oberst’s right hand for every trip since and the two diminutive dogs had grown on him.

Then had come the bet. Two Generals had gotten into an argument as to whose outfit had the best shot. Eventually this had expanded to all the Divisions of the 2nd Army, the Luftwaffe and even some of the Polish Divisions. With the war winding down everyone needed a diversion and this was it. The Poles had done extremely well considering that their rifles had the open sights typical of Mauser rifles. One had placed fourth overall, part of his prize had included a scoped rifle and instructions to practice with it. Thorwald had a feeling that when they did this competition again, the Pole, an Unteroffizer, Kapral as the Poles counted these things, named Bolig was going to give him a good run.

As Thorwald was breaking down his equipment Oberst von Richthofen approached him.

“Good news, Soldat” Oberst von Richthofen said “You’re going home.”

“With all due respect, Sir” Thorwald said “That’s not necessarily good news.”

“You mean your situation?” The Oberst asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean”

“I was able to smooth things over with the commandant of your academy” The Oberst said “You get to come back with your parachute badge and the merit cross you won today. You’ll be the toast of your school.”

“No thanks to my so-called friends” Thorwald said bitterly.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on Oberfeld Schultz” The Oberst said “Or Hauptmann Holz for that matter, you put them in a difficult position.”

“Anything else I should be aware of, Sir?”

“No” The Oberst “Just be sure to say good bye to Fredrick and Wilhelm before you go, I think they’ll miss you.”

“Then I guess it’s goodbye to you too, Sir” Thorwald said.

“Yes” The Oberst said “But not for long, you’ll be back as a Lieutenant in a couple of years.”

“You think the Luftwaffe would take me back?” Thorwald asked.

“Of course, it will” The Oberst said “You have our foul stench on you now, neither the Heer or the Fleet take you with that. Besides that, the Heer thinks I brought you in as a ringer in the competition. I’m content to let them keep thinking that.”

“Thank you, Sir”

“You're welcome, Soldat” The Oberst said “Now get a move on, you don’t want to miss your flight.”

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Four


17th June, 1922

Biala Podlasta, Poland

They were holding the city that stood astride the main highway between Warsaw and Minsk. With the Luftwaffe controlling the air and sweeping the roads for moving Russian columns this had effectively ended the war. Now it was up to the politicians to negotiate the peace. Hopefully one that would hold this time. Emil was walking through the city streets. The fighting here had been short but intense, lasting only a few days. The Bergmann machine pistol that Emil had been issued for this campaign had been pretty much useless right up until the urban fight had started. He found that it was absolutely murderous once the fight was down to just a few meters. His report on the equipment would reflect that.

It had been the Paras who’d led the fight in the city itself while the Heer had encircled it linking up with the Poles coming from the North in the process. Between here and Warsaw was an unknown number of Soviet forces who trapped in Poland. Pawns in the negotiations. It had been the records that they had seized within the city that had provided them with the most amusement. The Soviet leadership, before they had fled hadn’t found the presence of the Paras to their liking. A phrase kept coming up in the documents. Emil couldn’t read the Cyrillic but he was told the phrase was Zelenyye D’yavola, Green Devil. In a State that had no religion the Soviets had found a Devil all right, the Regiment had loved it.

Now he was walking out of the City to the bivouac of the 4th looking for Horst and Peter to check on them. The 4th had distinguished itself, blasting across several hundred kilometers in just a few weeks. General von Wolvogle was setting pretty again with the High Command, there was even talk of adding the ivy wreath to his Blue Max. Word was Oberst Manfred von Richthofen was up for that as well. The Ace of Aces now had a world leading 115 enemy aircraft of all types to his credit, far surpassing the British Ace Mick Mannock, his nearest rival. His air offensive had been what the world had taken really notice of.

Finally, Emil found Horst coming out of the Mess tent.

“Your brother did okay in the fighting” Horst said “Perhaps you can convince him to stop being such a pain in the ass now.”

“What’s he doing?” Emil asked.

“He pulled a wounded man out of machine gun fire a couple of weeks back” Horst said “The Brass heard about it and they gave him an EK2 for it.”

“How’s that a problem?”

“Peter watched that man and two others get killed by artillery a few minutes later and is trying to decline the medal because of that.”

“I see” Emil said.

I tried to tell him that it’s about more than just him” Horst said “That those medals are a reflection on the entire Company and that he got this one without ever firing a shot…”

Horst didn’t need to finish that thought. That was in some respects the ultimate example courage under fire.

They found Peter with the rest of the Platoon. There was the expected grumbling over the sudden appearance of the Company Spear, there was a reason why the job was also called Company Mother. Horst was the main enforcer of discipline and was in many respects the ultimate authority within the Company. Emil turning up had however put a chill on matters. Brass, even a Hauptmann from a different service branch had that effect.

“I’m just here to check on my kid brother” Emil said with a smile “The rest of you can carry on.”

With that Peter got up and the rest of them went back to what they were doing. Probably just hanging around and bullshitting, Emil thought. There were times when he really missed being a part of that world, the easy comradery among the enlisted.

Peter followed him out away from the fire.

“How you holding up?” Emil asked.

“I’m dealing with things” Peter said.

“Really?” Emil said, leaving that hanging in the air, waiting for Peter to say what was going on.

“You talked to the Spear, didn’t you?”

“Yes” Emil said “Horst said that you are declining an Iron Cross.”

“Are you also going to try talk me into taking it?” Peter said.

“No, that’s your business” Emil said “You’re a man now and that means that you get to make your own decisions.”

“Thank you for that” Peter said, it was the first time he’d had someone put it that way.

“You know I almost declined the Knight’s Cross that I won in Verdun” Emil said.

“That’s the one you were given by the Emperor” Peter said, shocked.

“Yeah” Emil said “I won it because I got lucky and I felt I didn’t deserve it.”

“Why did you take it then?”

“It was pointed out to me that it would open doors for me and it has.”

“That doesn’t apply to me does it” Peter said.

“No, it does not” Emil said “But of all the things you’ve done here in Poland what are you most proud of?”

“There were some villages where we were giving medical care to the locals, really helping people.”

Emil smiled at that “After this is over” He said “You want to keep helping these people?”

“Yes” Peter said “I could go back to school, become a real Doctor.”

“I’d love to see that” Emil said “But Universities and Medical Schools get hundreds, thousands of qualified candidates. Why should they take the likes of you, a Book Binder’s son from Jena?”

“They took you and…” Peter stopped as it sunk in what Emil was saying “I really hate you, you know that?”

“I just want you to understand the big picture” Emil said.

Horst would later tell Emil that Peter had decided to take the EK2 after all. Whatever Emil had said had made his brother come around even if Peter wouldn’t talk about it.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Five


3rd July, 1922

Rendburg, Germany

Jacob had promised Esther that they would take a proper family vacation this Summer holiday. When he’d asked his Commanding Officer for a few weeks leave he’d discovered that there had been several ongoing bets about when he’d finally take a day off. He hadn’t taken a sick day or leave in four years. He’d gotten five weeks, all of July and a good chunk of August off, no questions asked. They were on their way to a rental cottage on Sylt Island but first they had a small diversion that Jacob had planned. They were sitting on the bank of the Wilhelm Canal enjoying a picnic lunch. Esther had another reason for this trip. She felt it was the last chance to do a trip like this with Sarah, who was due to start grade one in the fall. She would pass from early childhood and something precious would be lost forever.

Jacob had agreed with her on that score, the kids were growing up. Even the baby, Nessa was about to turn four. Not that there would be any others. After Esther had a particularly difficult pregnancy with Nessa she’d talked to the surgeon about something Jacob could do to see to it that there’d be no more. The way she’d put it, if Jacob wasn’t willing to do it in the hospital, she’d be perfectly happy to do it at home with a rusty pickaxe. To preserve his domestic tranquility, he’d consented.

They heard a commotion further up the Canal, this was the moment that Jacob had been waiting for. The SMS Bayern came around the bend followed by the SMS Baden.

“That was the ship that I served on when you were born Sarah” He said as the Bayern passed by, it was an illusion but the Bayern seemed to be only a few meters away. Sarah and Nessa waved to the sailors who waved back but it was when Esther blew them a kiss that got more than a few cheers back. He was married to truly great gal.

He looked over and saw the SMS Sachsen and SMS Württemberg had rounded the bend, he’d never seen the two sister ships of the Bayern and Baden before now, both had been commissioned after the war had ended. With the war in the Poland and the Baltic over then they were getting sent home to Wilhelmshaven. Jacob had heard the British reaction to that, they were not pleased but no one in the High Seas Fleet cared about what they thought. The process repeated when the Baden and the other ships passed. Esther didn’t bother blowing a kiss to the other ships. She knew that the Bayern was special to Jacob and the big girl had brought him home safe to her. This had turned out to be a truly great afternoon.


Bramstedtland, Germany

Django had discovered that the Sjostedt family were different from any other people then he’d ever met before. They had told him that so long as he stole nothing else them or their neighbors and helped out around the farm then he could stay for as long as he liked. Unfortunately, that included at least an hour each day except Sundays with Lars, the Sjostedt Patriarch. It had taken the old man less than five minutes to discover that Django was illiterate. Lars had decided to do something about that, whether Django liked it or not.

It was the piano that kept Django on the farm, Ma had said he was a rare talent had even gone so far as to show him how to read notation, another language he was learning to read. It helped that Ma looked a bit like some of the women he’d grown up with in his extended family. But the Sjostedts were no Gypsies. When he’d asked about it they told him that Lar’s son Karl had married into a Diné family. It had seemed simple enough, the Diné were a people in America with their own language and culture. Django had heard them talking in it enough times. Then it’d all snapped together, the Diné were Red Indians. The Sjostedts had just laughed about that.

The other revelation was that Lars was an ordained Lutheran Pastor and that Piers was his assistant. He was unlike any Priest or Minister that Django had ever encountered. For starters, there was no church. When asked, Lars had told him that his congregation was entirely composed of poor farmers. He refused to impose upon them by asking them to build one and if preaching under the blue sky was good enough for Jesus himself it was more than good enough for Lars. Then Lars had taught him two new words, humility and humble.


Tsingtao (Qingdao), German enclave, China

The Germans had traded technology to get this place back. Particularly airplanes, Albatros AG had worked with a Japanese machinery and shipping company called Mitsubishi to build Albatros/Fokker D.VII and later Albatros D.XV Scouts under license. Sauvageot found it particularly ironic that this was the nearest European enclave that he could get to and hopefully start to find his way home. No cash, passport or weapons. Jacob Schmidt had seen to it that he’d landed here with no more than the shirt on his back.

He’d managed to scratch out a bare existence as a translator/bodyguard for a German businessman who was exploring importing textiles to Germany but was unsure of the demand. At this rate, it would take him years to get back to France and he was discovering that local Summers in this part of China were not exactly what recommended the region, hot and sticky. The good thing though is that the Germans being Germans seemed to always build a brewery wherever they went. That meant that there was a lot of cheap pilsner to help beat the heat.

There was a commotion outside and his client asked Sauvageot to go see what the deal was. As it turned out it was the weekly airmail run where mail was shipped at great expense from Berlin to Tsingtao in no more than two or three weeks. He suspected that it was one of those flights that he had been dumped out of.

When he got outside he discovered that the Imperial Mail Service was giving newspapers away. He grabbed a couple of them. Sauvageot had learned quickly things were seldom given away for free in China or cheaply for that matter. He fought his way back into the tavern and handed his client one of the copies.

“Thank you, César” The man said.

“Yeah, you're welcome, Sir” Sauvageot mumbled as he read the headline.

No wonder the Germans were so excited. They and their Polish allies had defeated the Soviets. Not that he had any love for the Russians. He found them crude at best. It looked like the Germans were consolidating their Empire in Eastern Europe, no real surprises there. He opened the newspaper and was reading below the fold when another story caught his eye. French Republic dissolved, new constitution, rioting in the streets. He went numb when he read what had happened to France. He needed to sit down. He might not even have a home to return to.

“Are you okay” The Client asked.

“France” Was all Sauvageot could say.

“That’s where you’re from isn’t it?” The Client asked as he read the article “It can’t be all bad, can it?”

“I hope you are right, Sir” Sauvageot said.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Six


30th July, 1922

Wilhelmshaven, Jade Bight, Germany

SMS Torpedo Boat V105 had finally rotated back to Wilhelmshaven. The crew had been overjoyed when they had learned of this. No one had been looking forward to the prospect of spending the winter on Saaremaa Island. Now they had Wilhelmshaven to look forward to, the city built for the needs of the High Seas Fleet.

The crew had been in good spirits as they took the Canal from Kiel to the North Sea. Kiel had been the usual hive of activity, hundreds of merchantmen of every type from all corners of the world. They could see the huge new battleship was being laid down, she didn’t have a name yet just a number, L20b, she was supposed to be an enlarged version of the Bayern Class. Arend had debated the rest of the crew about whether or not it would be worth it to serve on one of those battle wagons. In the end, they had decided that it was the torpedo boats where the real action was but it would be nice not to have to live with the practice of hot bunking.

There was also that odd looking ship, the SMS Immelmann, flat with the superstructure and stacks pushed off to starboard. No one was sure what she was for.

As they passed through the harbor in Jade Bight they had seen all four of the Bayerns, three of the Mackensens and the brand-new SMS Yorck. 1 Scouting Group was back in force in the North Sea.

The SMS Derfflinger and SMS Hindenburg were off to the side, word was they’d been sold to Greece and the Government was just waiting to the sale to finalize. Part of the new building program, everything built prior to the start of the Great War was to be sold off or scrapped.

As they pulled into port and tied V105 up, Arend knew what he was going to go for first. After months in the Gulf of Finland a vegetable that wasn’t a potato or came from a can was something he’d kill for.


In transit, Rural Germany

Peter Holz was going home. With that ugly piece of steel that he was less than thrilled about and he’d done his year. He’d been forced to conclude that Emil was right about it giving him a leg up in getting into a decent University and Medical School. Emil had told him before he boarded the Train in Warsaw that he only three things to worry about now. Home, University and Life. How he went about doing those things was entirely up to him because he had nothing to prove to anyone, not anymore.

Horst had busted up when he heard Emil say that. Apparently, it was from the exact same discussion that the two of them had in the December of 1917 when the Great War had ended. Peter suspected that there had been a great deal of alcohol involved with the original conversation.

Peter smiled as he watched the countryside race by. He would be home soon enough and he now understood it. This is what Emil had wanted for him all along. To go home with nothing weighing on his conscience and now his real adventure was just beginning.


Pruszków Airfield, Poland

Emil was involved training the Polish Army. The Poles were interested in modernizing their Army, even going so far as going through the roles of the 2nd Army, which included several Divisions of Regiments largely raised in West Prussia. What that had meant in practice was that ethnic Poles made up a substantial minority within the ranks. Offers of rank, land and money had come to anyone who might have a Polish background. There had been a few takers. It was even rumored that Manfred von Wolvogle himself had turned down the offer of Field Marshal. No such offer had come to Emil, not that he would have taken it. His family had lived in Jena and its vicinity since time out of mind as farmers or tradesmen.

He had set a Polish Infantry Company to bayonet drill, he could see that there was plenty of room for improvement. That was when a Lieutenant who barely looked old enough to shave came running up.

“New orders for you, Sir” The lieutenant said handing Emil some papers. What now?

“Thank you, Sir” The Lieutenant awkwardly saluted him he was obviously still learning. Probably some General’s kid.

Emil returned the salute “You don’t need to salute in the field Lieutenant” It was one of the major reasons that Emil preferred to be out in the field.

“Thank you, Sir” The Lieutenant said before scurrying off somewhere.

Emil flipped through the papers. Travel orders, back to Berlin, meaning Wunsdorf-Zossen. He was to attend Regimental Command School. That meant, there it was, Emil had been promoted to Major in the Luftwaffe and upon completion of RCS he was to be appointed Executive Officer of the 1st Fallschirmjäger Regiment. Onward and upward it looked like.


Sylt Island, Germany

The vacation was winding down, they had another week to go and were making the most of it. The girls enjoyed playing on the kilometers of beach and Esther was enjoying having Jacob and the girls all to herself. Jacob still thought about numbers. They had been his life for as long as he could remember. Lately he’d been thinking about redundancy within the codes that were the language used by his encoding machines. He was drawing with a stick on the beach deliberately putting an error in the long equation and looking at how that changed the subsequent numbers while keeping an eye on the girls who were busy playing. Esther had decided that she needed a few hours of sleep and couldn’t remember the last time she been able to just take a nap. That had resulted in the three of them being kicked out of the cottage for the afternoon.

The girls came over and were looking at the numbers that Jacob had been drawing in the sand. It was okay, those would just be random numbers to them. Nessa looked at the numbers till she got to the exact spot where Jacob had inserted the error. She stood there for a moment with a quizzical look on her face.

“You got this part wrong, Papa” Nessa said with a smile and then ran after Sarah who was running up the beach arms outstretched. Jacob used his feet to erase the numbers. He had a feeling that he needed to keep a closer eye on Nessa in the future.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Seven


4th August, 1922

Heinersdorf-Pankow, Berlin, Germany

Hans Mischner’s earliest memory was one that his father denied ever happened. But as the Vice President of the Rail Workers Union Local and a survivor of the savage Battle of Arras Otto Mischner had good reason not to ever show weakness. The memory was of Otto in the basement of his Aunt’s house. The Police had just brought him in and not wanting to arrest him because they’d known what had happened just hours before. His Aunt had taken Otto and locked him in the basement until he sobered up. What Hans remembered was a few hours later his father sitting against the concrete wall hands bruised, bleeding and swollen from fight he’d gotten into with the Police and Hospital Security, completely shattered. That was the only time he’d ever seen his father cry.

Han’s at the time didn’t understand what was happening, he just knew that he now had a baby sister, named Katherine, after his Grandmother and that his mother was gone forever. He heard his Aunt and Uncle whispering about “God’s will” and “These things happen”, in later life he would consider that the origin of his belief that God was total bastard.


1st September, 1922

HDW Shipyards, Kiel, Germany

The SMS Schlesien was ready to be launched at last, the old pre-dreadnaught bearing that same name recently having been stricken and sent to the breaking yard. Her design kept having to be updated as technology advanced and the lessons of the Great War were digested causing more than a few delays. At the end of the great war the proposal L20a, which was a compromise designed mostly to be built quickly and cheaply, had nearly gotten junked entirely. Naval planers had however seen potential in the design and reworked it eliminating the compromises. They then went further refining the concept with the latest advances in underwater protection, anti-aircraft defense, power plant and fire control. They were hopeful that they had a ship that could beat anything else afloat. Many critics believed that she was just an enlargement of the earlier Bayern Class. She was so much more than that.

The launch of the Schlesien, the leading ship of her Class proved to be a massive social and political event. Public dignitaries, military officers, the Press and hangers on of all types were present. No one knew it at the time but it would prove to be the last public appearance by Augusta Victoria, Empress of Germany.

For Augustus Lang, newly elected to the Reichstag in the opposition, he begged off attending. He had a previous engagement that struck him as far more important.


3rd September, 1922

Bramstedtland, Germany

The wedding had come as a surprise to Django, but he would learn that it was actually several years in a planning. The oldest daughter of the Sjostedt family had met Walter Horst after the end of the Great War. The problem that both of them had at the time was that Nina had at least three more years of University left and Horst had the unpredictable life of a professional soldier. Ma said that she thought they just liked shacking up. They had finally just about run out of excuses when Poland had happened. With Poland dealt with, Nina having secured a teaching position at a Berlin primary school and Horst being assigned to Wunsdorf-Zossen in a staff posting for the foreseeable future they really were out of excuses this time.

The wedding itself was both a simple and complex affair. They needed to do the announcements in the community, the marriage of a Pastors granddaughter was a big deal. Then there were the people who were coming in from all over Germany. Everything had to be timed just right, including getting the bride and groom onto the train north. Piers said that he depending on someone named Emil who Horst couldn’t just ignore.

The ceremony itself was the simple part. The reception was where things got complicated again. There was an interplay between the military types and the one politician present that needed to be observed. There was an even more complex web of kinship and connections within the local community. All of them had the same reaction to Django. “Who are you?” But he was used to that sort of reaction from people.

What surprised Django most was that Piers, who struck him as silent and humorless most of the time was totally unguarded around his friends. Piers was also the subject of most of the attention from most of young women from around the community.

Ma looked at this with amusement. He’s a war hero, a church Pastor in his own right and when Lars goes the farm passes to him, she said, that makes Piers a pretty good catch for whichever of those girls gets their hook into him first.


4th September, 1922

Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

It still felt good to be back to work. Jacob had enjoyed the vacation but here he was able to pursue his ideas to fruition. It had taken him weeks to get things back to rights. While he’d been away his staff had gotten creative in some rather unfortunate ways. Some of what they did presented some interesting possibilities, but he had needed to assign a couple of teams to figure out how they had gotten the results they did. That would probably keep they busy for the next couple of months.

That was when the phone rang, when Jacob picked it up it was Esther. “Sarah’s teacher called” Esther said “She said that she needs to talk to us.”

“Is Sarah in some sort of trouble?” Jacob asked.

“No” Esther said “She specifically said that Sarah wasn’t but she needs to talk to us.”

What now?

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Sixty-Eight


3rd February, 1924

Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Jacob had just confirmed the death of Vladimir Lenin, one more example of uncertainty in the world. There was an ongoing power struggle in the Soviet Union that showed no sign of resolving itself anytime soon. He’d so hoped that 1924 would be a better year than 1923. So far it was off to a roaring start and not for the better. Not to put too fine a point on it 1923 had sucked.

For Jacob personally it had started in late 1922. Being called in to meet with Sarah’s teacher. Later in the car Esther had been unhappy and only reluctantly told him why. She’d been aware of Nessa for longer than he’d been. That Nessa played with numbers the way Jacob did, that she very likely had inherited that from him. Sarah on the other hand wasn’t like that. She was ordinary, she learned like any other child, spelled words wrong and needed practice to solve math problems. Then she started learning music and proven anything but ordinary.

Sarah had learned in days what most musicians took decades to learn. Her ultimate potential was unknown but it was pointed out that her school was not equipped to teach someone like her. When Esther had learned this, it was one of her worst fears realized. That both her children would advance beyond her understanding and she’d be forever outside looking in. Jacob had told Esther that it didn’t work that way, no matter what happened she’d still be their mother. He couldn’t tell if she had believed that. After that Jacob’s domestic situation had grown tense, as if to reflect that the wider world had gone into convulsions.

What had happened over the following months was described by economists as the German State finally paying the reckoning for the Great War and Poland. The bills had finally come due. Watching the economy grind to a halt, tens of thousands of workers getting furloughed and the resulting turmoil had put things into perspective. He was insulated from that but even he could see consequences if the March revolution from a couple of years ago had happened differently or Germany had been subjected to victor’s justice after the Great War. There would be crowds with red flags in Berlin right now and there would be a counter reaction.

Jacob could easily see it. Someone come along to exploit that sort of chaos, someone always did. Then it would fall into the faux revolutionary politics of the Soviets or right wing nationalism of the sort that brought out the worst in Germany. Either way it would be people like Jacob and his family who lost out.

This was just a mild recession, but it had given Jacob a glimpse of something that had disturbed him greatly. He rolled a piece of paper into his typewriter. He needed to do a report on this and it had to have solutions. The system needed to have redundancies built into it before a real series of crises overtook them.


Nuremburg, Germany

Helga was out with her mother when there was a knock on the door. The kids were in the parlor listening to the radio, that would keep them occupied for the next hour or so. It was a broadcast of a radio play that depicted the 1st Fallschirmjäger Regiment in Poland. He had no interest in listing to the fictionalized version of what he’d done just months earlier, but his oldest son, Jost, had discovered this radio play a couple weeks before. Popular culture had discovered them remarkably fast, but with everything going on the German State needed heroes right now and the valiant Green Devils fighting the dastardly Reds had fit the bill. Who the Hell wrote that trash? No one in the Fallschirmjäger called themselves that. He found it ridiculous, blatant propaganda even if he didn’t mind kids thinking their father was some sort of hero.

The man who was outside the door was typical of the grey-faced bureaucrats that he’d met a thousand times before.

“Are you Johan Schultz?” The man asked.

“Only if I know who I’m talking to” Schultz said.

“My name is Herr Blau” The man said.

“That’s nice, Sir” Johan said stepping out onto the stoop. He had a feeling that he didn’t want this Blau in his Mother-in-Law’s house. If there was a problem he’d not have to worry about getting blood on the carpet if he stepped outside.

“I’m here to discuss with you your next career move” Blau said.

Schultz grabbed Blau’s shoulder, normally a friendly gesture was decidedly less so when Blau’s back hit the wall, his feet barely touching the concrete of the front stoop.

“I’d say you have about 5 seconds to explain how that is any of your business” Schultz said.

“You are currently on leave from the 1st Fallschirmjäger Regiment” Blau said, Schultz noticed that he’d broken through Blau’s composure, good “But that is not what interests us.”

“Who’s us?” Schultz asked.

“I can’t really…” Blau said.

Schultz twisted something in Blau’s shoulder and watched him grimace in pain. This man was clearly some mid-level pencil pusher. “I’d say you really can tell me who us is.”

“Auswärtiges Amt” Blau said. The Federal Foreign Office, go figure.

“What do a bunch of diplomats want to do with me?” Schultz said “And why are you stupid enough to approach me when I’m with my family?”

“Sorry about your family” Blau said “We are interested in where you were between 1911 and 1914.”

“That’s hardly a secret” Schultz said “I spent those three years in New York.”

“That’s not the secret” Blau said “If you’ll let me get something from my briefcase.”

Schultz watched Blau closely as he reached into his and pulled out a piece of paper that was creased and yellowed with age. When Schultz saw it he started laughing. He didn’t stop until Helga and her mother came home a few minutes later. Helga was delighted, her mother frowned. Helga might have met Schultz during that period of their lives but that didn’t mean she approved of it. It was an old handbill from Schultz’s days as a wrestler in New York.

Masked Mangler to battle Iron Mike McGrann

Schultz remembered that night well, he’d beaten the Irishman to the loudly booing crowd. He’d played the villain in the ring that night, good vs. evil. That night evil had won a round. Schultz had carried Helga out on his shoulder to the crowd’s dismay. The truth was that they had planned on eloping anyway, the promoter had just wanted them to make a show of it when they did. The battle had been for her favor, as planned Schultz had won.

“I doubt the International Olympic Committee will care at this point” Schultz said to Blau “It’s not like I ever medaled in anything.”

“No” Blau said leaning close and practically whispering “But the Foreign Secretary and Abwehr need people who understand America.”

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Differing perspectives and the relations Royal Navy and High Seas Fleet are thawing. Sailors at sea can always find common ground.


Chapter Sixty-Nine


30th June, 1924

Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

There were times when Esther was forced to admit that she let her fears run away from her. Her worrying about what would become of her daughters was one of those times but it was as Esther’s mother had once told her that God didn’t give you more than you could handle. Not that being married to Jacob was easy, he had this weird mix of arrogance and introversion. He was almost always the smartest person in the room but take him out of his comfort zone and watch the neurosis pile up. She’d loved him since they were children in Bremen but there were times that she just couldn’t understand him, that he was on a totally different wavelength. She had been worried that the same thing would happen with Sarah and Nessa. Then Esther met the Schultz children and realized that she needn’t have worried.

A few months earlier the house next door to the Schmidt’s owner, an elderly Generaloberst and widower had been eased out of the Heer and into a retirement home. The modest three-bedroom house had been bought almost as soon as it hit the market. The Schultz family had moved in, able to afford it because Johan’s stake in a company he’d co-founded was bought by an automotive corporation. There seemed to be this constant fraying around the edges of everything they did money or not.

Esther got to know them well over the months since. Every Sunday Helga packed everyone off to church, it was clear she was desperately hoping that something took. Depending on weather Johan would fall asleep listening to the radio on the back porch most evenings. The Schultz kids generally ran wild around the neighborhood. She genuinely felt sorry for their oldest child Ava, baring divine intervention Ava seem destined to become her mother in a few years. The oldest son, Jost, on the other hand already seemed prison bound at the age of nine. The other four’s personalities hadn’t gelled yet, the way they followed Jost around put one in mind of the Pied Piper of Hanover.

Sarah and Nessa behaved nothing like this and Esther had found comfort in the fact that she didn’t have to worry about their future.


Helga noticed that the neighbor lady, Esther, was watching the kids again. She was glad that people in this neighborhood were willing to do that. It made her life easier. At first, she hadn’t been sure what to make of the Schmidt family, she knew that they were Jewish, until they’d moved in here she’d never met such a family. It seemed like their girls were so serious all the time but here and there Helga could see that it was a false impression. The father, who Johan said was a big deal with the Navy, and the youngest girl were often out at night looking at the stars through a telescope on clear nights. They were even kind enough to include Jost in that. The other one played a violin in the back garden, she was so good that Helga had thought she was a record at first. It was so wonderful that the kids now had smart friends like that.


Off Dogger Bank, North Sea

V105 was currently involved in a very ticklish bit of international diplomacy and commerce. The crew off the Royal Navy Destroyer they were tied up to was driving a hard bargain on the trade value of a stack of blue films from the Berlin Cinema of the sort that would give cause any self-respecting official Censor to have a heart attack. The Limeys were offering a stack of American cowboy novels and a couple cases of rotgut in return. Even though the crew of V105 had seen the films till they were sick of them, they knew that they were worth more than the Brits were offering. Oberstaber Giese was leading the German negotiations and was doing a masterful job. Arend was watching along with the rest of the crew, those cowboy novels were a hot commodity in the fleet. Everyone wanted a crack at those before they got thumbed to pieces and if they had them they could name their price to the crews of the BBs and BCs moored back in Wilhelmshaven. They intended to drink all the booze before they got back to port. If Giese felt the same way you couldn’t see it on his face.

“You have to agree that no films like these would ever be made in England” Giese said impassively, puffing on his pipe.

“I understand that” The British negotiator, and equally salty RN Chief Petty Officer said “But the offer we’re making is very generous.”

“Do I look like a whore to you?” Giese asked “Why are you trying to fuck me like one?” That brought a laugh from the assembled crews.

“I prefer my whores to have fewer wrinkles, grey hairs and definitely no beard” The Brit said, then as he looked at Giese appraisingly for a few seconds “There was that one time I got totally shitfaced but I could have sworn it was your mother or a particularly smelly goat.”

That brought more applause and cheering.

“If your offer was half as good as your insults we’d have closed this deal by now” Giese said “Don’t tell me you can’t sweeten the pot a bit more.”

That was how it went for another hour. Both men making offers and counter offers, intermixed with insults. Finally, the Limey made a miscalculation, he offered a few cases of beer to sweeten the deal. Bad call, as if V105 didn’t already have a dozen or more cases and kegs of beer in the hold. They’d had to have been at sea for a lot longer than just a few days to take that offer. After that, the Brit had been forced to throw in an American Gangster film to save face. Gold was worth its weight in that film.

The crews of the two ships cheered as Giese and the British CPO shook hands closing the deal.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

The flotilla in question is two Schlesien Class BBs(L20b), four Bayern Class BBs, three Yorck Class BCs and Three Mackensen Class BCs.

Chapter Seventy


26th July, 1924

Spithead, Off Isle of Wight, Near Portsmouth, England

There was a word for had happened to the crew of the V105, irony. They had just gotten back to Wilhelmshaven with the load of contraband when they’d received word that much of the fleet battle fleet was preparing to put to sea in the name of peace and diplomacy. The ironic part was that because of the excellent combat record in the Gulf of Finland and the good conduct of her crew V105 they’d been selected to be close escort to the SMY Hohenzollern III, the Imperial Yacht.

Wilhelm the II had been invited to the British Royal Naval Review. Still in mourning for the Empress who’d died suddenly the prior winter, Wilhelm had leaped at the opportunity. Knowing that his authority was limited these days, Wilhelm had asked the OKW and KLM if they would be willing to provide ships for the German Empire to showcase. It was an impulsive move on the Emperor’s part and the first time he’d tested the limits of his authority as Emperor since the March revolution. This had triggered a debate in the Reichstag as to the exact limits of the Emperor’s authority. In the end, it was decided that while the Emperor couldn’t unilaterally declare war he could use military assets for diplomatic and humanitarian purposes. This precedent would have interesting consequences but in the meantime the KLM had decided that they’d put on a showcase that the world would not soon forget.

The SMS Schlesien and her sister ship, the SMS Hessen were in the midst of conducting sea trials in the Baltic. They were to transition the Wilhelm Canal, join the four Bayern Class, the Imperial Yacht and 1 Scouting Group in the Jade. From there they were to proceed to Spithead and the Royal Review. With the contraband’s trade value burning a hole in their collective pockets, and the frustration that it would have to wait until they got back, they joined the flotilla to go beard the lion in his den.


The Royal Navy had an impressive number of ships, until one looked at the ships themselves. Almost all of them were built prior to or during the war, still formidable but not as impressive as the first impression gave. Some of the fleet units like the HMS Tiger were just waiting for sale or a trip to the breaking yard. At Jutland, the SMS Moltke had put a hole through the top of the Tigers turret and the Germans had declared the Moltke obsolete and sold her to Argentina. Here was the Tiger still in the Battle Line going past the HMY Victoria. Something that couldn’t have been lost on Wilhelm the II, there as a guest of George the V.

The USS Colorado, USS Washington and USS Arizona passed by representing the US Navy. Unlike the British ships the Americans had not bothered paint their ships white in peacetime. The two Italian ships had. Then came the German ships. Two giant new battleships in the lead dwarfing the four older battleships trailing. Next came the six battlecruisers of 1 Scout Group, their very presence was a provocative move. The British had not forgotten Felixstowe, even if neither von Hipper or any of the BCs from the Great War were present. Their hulls were painted gray but the superstructure and upper-works were all painted a grey on grey two tone camouflage pattern. Wilhelm sat impassively. He could tell that this show of force by the newest units of the HSF was giving the assembled members of the British Government and Admiralty collective heartburn.

This trip had really been worth the time. Wilhelm figured that his cousin wasn’t going to extend another invitation like this to him again anytime soon. His last intelligence briefing had suggested that the British could stop building warships or they could go broke. Now they were seeing their worst nightmare pass by. I won, Wilhelm thought to himself.


As it turned out, they were wrong about Admiral Franz von Hipper not being present. He sitting on the bridge of the SMS Yorck listening to the British reaction to their presence on the British radio broadcasts. Wilhelm is probably enjoying all this, von Hipper thought to himself. Too bad that the antagonistic relationship with the rest of Europe was something that they could no longer afford. He’d read the Schmidt report, he remembered the radio operator from the SMS Moltke, odd man but after the Des Moines incident and the Texas, ignore him at your own peril. He’d suggested that sooner or later the Americans and the Russians were going to go to war with each other and they would cheerfully turn Europe into an abattoir to get at the other. The Emperor could have his fun today. They needed to perform a miracle and make the French, British and Italians into enthusiastic allies tomorrow.


Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Johan Schultz was sitting in his favorite chair listening to the radio on a mild summer afternoon. He had cut a deal with Abwehr, he’d work for them and they’d never tell the IOC he’d wrestled professionally before the war. He still had ambitions of coaching and the hypocrites at the IOC could make his life very difficult. Those pricks expected athletes to either be rich or live in penury to preserve their purity of sport.

All he had to do was tell potential agents about what America was like from the bottom up. He could do that easily enough. He’d run away from home at 14 and spent the next few years on a tramp steamer. He’d had no money when he’d finally jumped ship in New York. His size and strength had held him in good stead in the ring. It was pure serendipity that he’d fallen in love with the ring girl, who’d happened to have come from Nuremburg, 20 kilometers from his home village. Eventually he’d brought Helga and her mother home when he went back to Germany with the ambition of representing Germany internationally. Then war started and life happened.

It struck him that if Abwehr wanted him to work for them then perhaps he could carve out his own fiefdom there. He’d done that once before in Jasta 11 during the war.

Right this instant he needed Jost to get him a beer from the icebox. Where'd he run off to?

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Note, I got the name of the British Royal Yacht wrong. In 1924 it would have been the HMY Victoria and Albert, the HMY Alexandra having been removed from service in 1922.

Chapter Seventy-One


15th August, 1924

Berlin, Germany

The mere presence of Generaloberst Manfred von Wolvogle was enough to give the Emperor’s security detail fits. Everyone had this vision of the Hohenzollern Palace disappearing in a cloud of vapor, leaving fire and broken masonry raining down on the city because of something that the two of them thought was a good idea at the time. During prior visits, some unfortunate things had happened that involved structural damage to the Palace, the destruction of some priceless antiques and cultural treasures. Wilhelm didn’t care, he considered the General the one friend of his that wasn’t constantly blowing smoke up his ass.

Today Wolvogle was wearing his best uniform, as benefiting a man of his station, it was rich black wool with silver braid cut to perfectly show off the many medals he’d won in his career. The staff had been warned not to look at him in direct sunlight lest they be blinded. They were shooting billiards while enjoying cigars and drinks. As far as the Emperor was concerned one of Wolvogle’s best features was that the old cavalryman wasn’t the least bit picky about what he drank. It was a bit more extreme than the emperor realized. Tonight, this happened to be a French cognac that was older than both their combined age, but that was lost on Wolvogle. It could have just as easily been turpentine from the broom closet for all he cared.

“So, you are saying that you one upped the Limeys in English waters, your Grace” Wolvogle said as he scratched once again. He never could play this game to save his life.

“Yeah” Wilhelm said “You should have seen the looks on their faces.”

Wolvogle chuckled at that “That’s been your goal all along hasn’t it?” He asked “Beating the Limeys at the Naval game.” The truth was that the limit of Wolvogle’s knowledge of nautical matters was limited to knowing that the bow was the front of a ship.

That gave the Emperor pause, he needed to think about that. His next attempted a shot, he was distracted and missed.

“Other than showing off the latest and greatest from the Fleet you do anything else, your Grace?” Wolvogle asked.

“I don’t know…” Wilhelm said “The trip itself was fun, I’d missed being on the sea, before the Great War I used to do that all the time.”

“Why not start doing that again?” Wolvogle asked.

“Matters of State” Wilhelm said.

Wolvogle snorted at that.

“What’s funny about that” Wilhelm asked.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, your Grace” Wolvogle said “Your title isn’t what it used to be, meeting with politicians from here and elsewhere then doing nothing but sitting in this pile of marble is all you do anymore.”

Wilhelm frowned at that, the General was right.

“What would you have me do?” Wilhelm asked.

“Your Grace, if I was in your shoes, I’d want to get as far as I could from here as fast as possible.”

“That’s abdication” Wilhelm said “And it would be a scandal.”

Wolvogle shrugged as he set up for a shot, he sank this one.

“It depends on how you look at it” Wolvogle said “A shop owner retires and his son takes over the family business, it’s a point of pride. You do that and it’s a scandal.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” Wolvogle asked.

“I suppose that is something that you needn’t worry about.” Wilhelm said watching Wolvogle set up for the next shot. He was perfectly aware that Wolvogle’s two sons were a film producer and a nightclub owner. Wolvogle also had a couple of daughters, one wasn’t on speaking terms with him because she’d found out about the other daughter that Wolvogle had with his mistress. None of Wolvogle’s children were interested in a career in the military.

“Perhaps you ought not to consider it abdication” Wolvogle said “Call it something else, but it means that you get to do all the fun stuff and the rest can go hang.”

“I could cruise Norway or the South Pacific, watch the fleet do maneuvers in the Baltic or go fishing” Wilhelm said.

“And Junior get's stuck with all the boring official shit” Wolvogle said with an evil grin.

Wilhelm returned the grin, that was sounding better and better.

“You like fishing?” Wilhelm asked.

“Never been” Wolvogle said.

“We’re going to have to remedy that” Wilhelm said.


16th August, 1924

Abwehr Cryptographic Department, Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Was it treason to want to wring the neck of the Emperor of your own country?

That thought had gone through Jacob’s head a lot over the last few weeks. The trip taken by the Emperor to the Royal Review had been a diplomatic disaster. If the English had to mortgage Buckingham Palace to pay for the planned N3 battleships they’d probably do it after the Emperor's little display. Then there were the comments about being a guest of the King of England on his nice, though elderly, yacht. The Emperor had also thrown out some delightful comments regarding his opinion of the British battle line focusing on one aging battlecruiser ignoring the dozen or so more modern units that had preceded it.

Jacob had also listened to the opinion of the world’s Navies about the appearance of the German fleet, the word predatory was being thrown around a lot. That wasn’t all bad, but barring unforeseen events the planned modernization of the German High Seas Fleet wouldn’t be complete until at least 1940. Having the world see their most modern units in the field was their best face forward. Jacob still wished that Emperor hadn’t done it though, they couldn’t afford to have the British as enemies anymore.

That was when Jacob heard some commotion among the team outside his office. When he asked what was going on he learned that some coded traffic was being sent out to all service branches of the German Military via the OKW. Kaiser Wilhelm the II was planning on resigning as Emperor in favor of his son Fredrich Wilhelm after a lifetime of service to the State. As Jacob walked back to his office he couldn't help but hum the melody of the finale of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, the biggest obstacle to his plans had just solved itself.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Two


3rd August, 1928

In transit, near Busteni, Romania

Today was Katherine “Kat” Mischner’s sixth birthday and she was looking forward to spending it in Bucharest which they were going to pull into in a couple hours, tomorrow they were going to Constantinople. Kat’s ambition was to visit every European capital city. She’d never been to Moscow but as Papa said, the Russians used a different rail gauge so his trains couldn’t go there and the Russian’s leader, Joseph Stalin was not a very nice guy. That one was unlikely to ever happen because of that. London and Dublin were both across the Ocean.

This trip was her birthday present, like every other year and she wanted nothing else. For Kat, the smell of coal smoke and hot metal on Papa’s trains was just as much home to her as her family’s house in Heinersdorf back in Berlin. She loved these trips riding on the observation deck of the guard van watching the countryside roll by. As an Engineer Papa had some discretion as to who could ride on his trains. As the President of the Union Local back in Berlin, no one dared question that. Every summer for the last two years she’d rode her father’s trains from Portugal in the west, to Poland in the east and Finland in the North. Before now Naples and Madrid were as far south as she’d ever gone. Kat thought she’d have to check the map to see if Constantinople was further south than those two places.

At the moment though the train was traveling through the Southern Carpathians. The high passes in the mountain ranges were always the best. Rock faces and deep blue sky, it was like flying. As they passed through another one of the mountain villages there were people walking along the tracks. Kat waved to the people. She always got different reactions from people when she did that. People were always surprised to see a red-haired girl waving from a freight train’s guard van. Some waved back, others just stared. These ones waved back.


Fischerinsel, Central Berlin, Germany

Generalmajor Manfred von Richthofen was walking through the new museum complex on the southern end of the island. This one was devoted to science and technology. The portion that Manfred was standing in was devoted to the German military. Sort of hard to mistake it for anything else. Tomorrow when it opened to the public for the first-time, visitors would be greeted by the battered bow of General von Wolvogle’s Raupe Panzer “Lucifer” made to look as much as possible like it had after the victory at Ussy in the foyer. There were vehicles, uniforms, weapons and other artifacts. It had become a competition among the service branches as to who could contribute to best and most interesting items for display. That had included his old Albatros D.III that the Luftwaffe had worked with Albatros and Mercedes to completely restore to how she’d looked in mid-1917. The KLM had probably beat out everyone else when they had donated the A turret and working chamber from the SMS von der Tann to the museum, the architects had redrawn the blueprints. Now the turret on the roof was one of the most visible parts of the museum, the 28cm guns pointed forever up the Spree.

But all of that was for the public, the real purpose of the museum was in the archives. Millions of letters, journals and other records were to be preserved here. This was to be the repository of the memories of soldiers, sailors and airmen going back to the Napoleonic wars.

What Manfred wanted to see was in one of the three exhibition halls that were in the north end of the building. He’d pulled rank to get in here a day early but this was important to him. Like the rest of the museum these halls had spurred a competition. This one was over how they’d choose to remember their pasts. This had come in the form of the decorations. Stained glass and light colored hardwood for the most part. The stained-glass windows depicted scenes of bravery in idealized moments. But it was the banners hanging from the high ceilings, they were like the banners of knights from a different era. The Heer had gone with the colors and symbols of Divisions, the KLM had gone with ships in a similar manner.

Manfred walked in to the Luftwaffe’s hall. It was banners done up in the colors of individual Jastas, the ace pilots and squadron leaders having their own banners. The banners had been hung in order of chronology and importance. Nearest to the doors was the green banner of the Fallschirmjäger, but it would probably not remain there for long. At the front of the room was the banners for Jasta 11, only Jasta 2, the unit founded by General Boelcke himself, that even Manfred had served in, came before it. Manfred von Richthofen’s banner, crimson with a single black and white stripe, white outlined black gothic cross, and the blue & gold symbol denoting that he had the Pour le Mérite with oak leaf. Beside it, as Manfred had insisted was Lothar’s blue and red banner.

He looked around the room. There were the banners of Werner Voss, Kurt Wolff and so many other friends and rivals who’d not survived the Great War. Symbolically this was laying Lothar and the others to rest in good company. Not even Manfred was sure he deserved to be here. “Farewell my brothers” he whispered as he walked out past the curious workers who were putting finishing touches on the building. That was probably thirty or fortieth high ranking officer that they’d seen pass through in the last couple of days.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Three


8th August, 1928

Hohenasperg Prison, Near Stuttgart, Germany

The prisoner was led from his cell. “Why don’t you fuckers just kill me already?” He demanded of his guards.

“Because yer bein’ held at the convenience o’ the Emperor” The Guard said “Even if it ain’t the same Emperor no more.”

The guards laughed at that, as if the same jokes they’d been saying for years had not grown old. After his Court Marshal, he’d been thrown in here, one of the rare military prisoners in this place, his sentence to be reviewed later, later never came. They could still choose execute him at some later point. It had taken awhile for him to realize that it had been done that way on purpose. The uncertainty had gnawed away at him, knowing that the axe could crashing down on him any second. Then after years had passed he started to welcome the idea that they’d finally get it over with and stop torturing him like this. The guards found that the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. If he really wanted to die he’d just throw a sheet over a pipe like any other self-respecting prisoner who couldn’t handle the weight of years. Was he a craven as well as a traitor? More laughter, he’d heard that one a lot over the years. The prisoner had come to understand the terrible meaning of the popular tattoo that many of the other prisoners sported, a clock with no hands. Time had no meaning here.

After the guards had cleaned him up, which was composed of spraying him in cold water from a fire hose, soap optional and giving him a fresh uniform. Then it was back to his cell. The single barred window looked out onto a blank stone wall just a few inches away. Once a year for a few minutes there was a single beam of sunlight that shown down between the two buildings. As the door closed the prisoner noticed that the beam of sunlight was fading into shadow. He’d missed it.

Later the guards heard the prisoner, Stoltz screaming about how something was unfair. Nothing they hadn’t heard a million times before.


Tsingtao, China

Five years stuck here and the only thing that had changed was who he drank with. These days César Sauvageot was definitely upwardly mobile in that one respect. Taking the time to learn the local Chinese dialects had helped. Working as a fixer for the German and British businessmen and adventurers had actually become the means of making a comfortable living. Still though, he was no closer to getting back to France. He couldn’t imagine that the Intelligence Ministry gave him a second thought these days, they probably assumed he was dead. That plus the unknown that was the current French Government had worked as a powerful demotivating force, keeping him here in Tsingtao.

A couple of years earlier Sauvageot had struck up an unlikely friendship with Oberst Gerig, the commander of the local garrison. One of the first things the Oberst had asked was if he had served. Sauvageot had told him that he had, but the French Poilus was probably not what he had in mind. That was true after a fashion. The Oberst had laughed his head off over that, an honest Frenchman, who knew? The Oberst had told him that the war was over and Europe was a very long way away. Here at the far end of the chessboard they were all kings. After that Sauvageot had an open invitation to the weekly card games that the Oberst hosted on Sunday afternoons.

Now Sauvageot had gotten word that the Oberst wanted his presence in the middle of the week. He wondered what the Oberst could possibly want. When he got to the Oberst’s office he was greeted by the Oberst and an unfamiliar German Officer.

“I was telling the Oberst here that you are one of the better fixers that we have” The Oberst said “Even if you are a Frog.”

“Thank you, I think” Sauvageot replied.

The Oberst totally disregarded the sarcasm at the end of Sauvageot’s reply. “Oberst Bauer has been brought in to consult on the Chinese artillery for the Emperor” He said.

Consulting for the Chinese Emperor, just the thought of that caused Sauvageot to raise his eyebrows. “That’s a big deal” Sauvageot said “But it’s potentially dangerous, for the Chinese politics are a lethal business.”

“That’s why we need someone like you along” The German Officer, Bauer said “Who knows these things.”

“Surely the German Army has their own people for this sort of thing” Sauvageot said.

“Not at the moment” The Oberst said “The garrison can hardly cover the demands already placed on it and I cannot spare the men.”

Sauvageot knew that was a load of crap, there was more going on here than just a consulting mission. And it was obvious that Oberst Gerig preferred that whoever got sent with Bauer would be someone who would not be missed.

“You know what my going rate is” Sauvageot said.

“Yes, I do” The Oberst said “And the German Government is prepared to double it.”

Well wasn’t that interesting. The mission was probably a one-way ticket to certain death, but he’d lied to the Oberst about how much he’d been payed by his clients in the past. Double that and it could finally give him enough money to escape the arsehole of the world, where he currently resided.

“Then it sounds like I’ll be doing business with you, Sir” He said to Oberst Bauer standing up and offering to shake his hand “César Sauvageot, pleased to meet you.”

The Oberst stood and shook his hand “Oberst of Artillery Max Bauer” Bauer said “And likewise, pleased to meet you.”

Sauvageot knew that this job would probably be a serious challenge and that he’d need to survive to reach payday. Survival was the one thing he’d always been good at.


10th August, 1928

Abwehr Cryptographic Department, Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Jacob looked at the memo that had just crossed his desk, because he couldn’t be everywhere he’d assigned a portion of his staff to review domestic wire traffic. They were to focus only on particular words, names or phases. This one was something that was supposed to draw a red flag. It related to a telegraph sent by an Oberst Max Bauer from Tsingtao detailing to the Heer a brief status update on his mission to the court of the Chinese Emperor. He’d hired a fixer named César Sauvageot who understood the local situation. So, that meant the French spy still lived, hardly surprising, cockroaches were notoriously hard to kill. Jacob would need to make sure that the preparations for dealing with Sauvageot were still in place, just in case he came back to Europe and failed to heed the warning to stay out of Germany.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Four


10th August, 1928

Abwehr Werewolf 43B, Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

For Johan Schultz, the last few years had been good ones, Jost had finally started doing well in school, though Schultz suspected that it had more to do with his interest in girls rather than any interest in academics. Jost had inherited his father’s broad frame and athletic ability. Which meant that the girls were interested in him back, something that scared the 13-year old to death. Fun to watch. Ava was still Ava, that meant the Schultz was debating with Helga the merits of sending her to an isolated convent school in the Swiss alps for the next few years, well worth the expense if it kept them from becoming Grandparents before it was respectable.

Of the others, Lenz looked like he’d become just like his older brother in a few years, bound for the Military and/or prison as sure as the sun rose in the east. Hanna and Inga looked like they’d turn out better than Ava. On the other hand, there was Tilo, the youngest and probably the last of the Schultz children. He was proving hard to gauge, something was just sort of off with that boy.

For Schultz, himself carving out a fiefdom within the Abwehr had turned out to be a bit more time consuming than he’d thought. Lecturing trainees about how to ride the New York Subway or find a gun at 4 am in Chicago was both time consuming and boring. His breakthrough had finally happened a few months earlier when he’d stumbled across some disused office space in the basement of the building that the Abwehr used. All it had inside was piles of musty files pertaining to things such as the cultural impact of the Greco-Turkish war in 1918 and British outreach to the nomadic tribesmen in the Western Deserts of Egypt. He’d chucked the whole lot into the incinerator and as far as he knew no one had ever missed any of it. After that he swiped a few desks, a couple of couches, table and a flatbed of office supplies from the KLMs offices in a midnight acquisition. It seemed to Schultz that it was perfectly in keeping with the mission of his new job.

Schultz had gotten the name from a couple of different places. 43B was painted on the insulation of the first steam pipe that you saw when you entered the room. The Werewolf part had come from a movie of that title he’d seen with Jost. It was a low budget Austrian horror film where the film makers had used what they had to maximum effect. They had relied on clever psychology, writing, shadow and the film score to ratchet up the tension. It was standard horror film boiler plate. The beast terrorized a generic small village somewhere in Eastern Europe. The clever bit was that the audience never actually saw the beast and the whole time you were left guessing until the very end because it could have been anyone. It had given Jost, then 11, nightmares for the entire following week, then he wanted to see it again. It was the proudest he’d ever been of Jost.

So, Schultz had a name, Werewolf 43B, it sounded both ominous and official at the same time. Then he’d needed to staff it. He knew that they weren’t now or would ever be spies. They’d be the ones who got called in to clean up the mess when spies screwed up or for really messing up someone’s day. They’d be like the beast in that movie, the lethal shadow, everywhere and nowhere.

That had been the question, what sort of people did he need. Erwin Thorwald had jumped at the opportunity. He’d been appointed as a Offizieranwärter Fahnenjunker, the lowest rank of Officer Aspirant, in the Luftwaffe. When Schultz had gotten a hold of him, he was leading an infantry squad at an airfield in Estonia and was bored out of his mind. That meant that he had possibly the best sniper in Europe on his team. Then he’d called a Heer Pioneer Hauptgefreiter he knew named Karl Weiss who’d once gotten thrown into the stockade after he blew out all the windows of his barracks to win a bet. The explosive he’d used to do that had been wheat flour. Demolitions were now covered.

To round out the team he’d found Obersoldat Fritz Schafer in a stockade near Mannheim. Fritz was a god on the battle field, Schultz had once seen him kill half a squad of Russians with a knife before they had realized he was there. Peace didn’t agree with Fritz. He got bored, got drunk, then picked a fight with the biggest and meanest men he could find. Panzer Grenadiers were his favorite choice these days. He had finished the elite Heer Stormtrooper school with distinction. Five years later he was still a Para Obersoldat because he was a such a discipline problem for whatever outfit they shoved him into. Schultz had sprung him with the promise of excitement if he volunteered for Schultz’s team.

Now came the hard part, justifying the existence of Werewolf 43B. They’d been sitting around the table discussing what they were going to do when the phone, which as far Schultz knew no one had the number or extension to, rang. Schultz, with surprising trepidation, answered it.

“Hello” Schultz said.

“Good afternoon, Oberfeld Schultz” FregattenKaptän Jacob Schmidt said cheerfully “Now that you and your friends are settled into your clubhouse I’ve work for you.”

“How did you get this number, Sir?”

“Honestly Herr Schulz, you think that anything happens under this roof I don’t know about?”

That gave Schultz pause “I’m not exactly under your command, Sir”

“You are now” Jacob said “And if you have a problem with that you can always be arrested for misappropriating government resources and destruction of official documents.”

“I see, Sir”

There was a knock on the door. “That’s your orders now” Jacob said “Help yourself to whatever you need from the armory and I will discuss what I expect from you in the future when you debrief after this mission.”

Schultz walked to the door, a teenaged Matrose was nervously standing outside the door holding a folder and stack of envelopes. “These are for you, Oberfeld” He handed them to Schultz and fled. Schultz closed the door. That scary little shit had let him hang himself and was now offering to cut the rope for a price, he must have known the whole-time Schultz was setting this up. Time to pay the piper.

Schultz opened the folder as the envelopes were passed out. Travel vouchers for wherever the Empire’s transport links went and back.

“Well, boys” Schultz said reading the contents of the folder “I told you that this was going to be exciting, we’re going to China.”

“China?” Thorwald asked “When?”

“Right now,” Schultz said.

The other three men were staring at Schultz in disbelief, but he knew that this was for real.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Five


22nd August, 1928

Tsingtao, China

Eleven days, unbelievable, Schultz thought to himself. When he’d been on the tramp steamer as a teenager this trip would have taken months. From Wunsdorf-Zossen they had caught the train into Berlin with as many guns, ammunition and explosives as they could carry. They’d also been advised to pack tropical uniforms this time of the year where they were going.

In Berlin, Schultz had told Helga via telephone that he’d gotten orders that would take him out town of for a few weeks to deal with whatever the Hell this was. Herr Schmidt could fill her in on the details. He’d been able to tell she was pissed that he’d left with no warning but after being his wife for the nearly decade and a half he’d been in the military she was used to this sort of thing. Still he was expecting an earful when he got back and if she ever learned that this had happened because he’d been stupid, he figured she’d kill him in his sleep.

After that his team had boarded the extended range version of the three engine Junkers G24 Cargo Plane that was used to fly the Berlin-Tsingtao rout to deliver the mail. The pilots and airline had been not happy about them displacing the weight of them and their gear from the mail bags that normally made up the bulk of their cargo. The airline would get payed cost by the German Government to transport them but that would still cut into the profits for the run. They took off for China in the early morning hours of the 11th of August.

Schultz had briefed the team as soon as they were airborne. The noise from the engines made it impossible for them to be overheard. A German Oberst on a sensitive diplomatic mission had inadvertently fallen into the company of a known French intelligence operative. They were to find the Oberst and determine if the French agent was a threat to the interests of the German Empire. They were also to assist the mission of Oberst Bauer by whatever means they had at their disposal when they caught up to him. If the Frenchman was deemed a threat they were to neutralize him by arresting him if possible. If that wasn’t possible they were to employ other means. Schultz didn’t need to tell anyone what that meant. They knew their business.

In Constantinople, they had burned the file. That was the last stopover in friendly territory. From there on it was across Anatolia, Persia, India, Indo-China and finally to Hong Kong. From there it was up the Chinese coast to Tsingtao. They’d been delayed by weather and officialdom in India. If anyone asked they were soldiers en route to the garrison in Tsingtao.

They’d arrived on a warm humid evening. When they got to the hotel they learned that Oberst Bauer had left with César Sauvageot almost two weeks earlier. It was said that they were bound for Beijing. The accommodations on the plane had been less than ideal but as soldiers they’d dealt with worse, tonight they’d had the luxury of sleeping in a real bed.


Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Jacob watched the Schultz kids playing in the yard. He’d just got confirmation that WW43B had arrived safely in Tsingtao. This was his fault, that Schultz and his team needed to take this mission. He had dropped Sauvageot into China just to show off. Now years later it was interfering with German interests in China. Luckily the perfect tool to quickly and quietly remove the Frenchman from China had fallen into his hands. He’d noticed what Schultz was up to and instantly saw the potential in it. A small group of elite soldiers that could possibly perform tasks that entire armies might find daunting. Still though, if something happened to Schultz he’d have to see his children every day and know he been the one to order their father into harm’s way. He’d have to live with that.


Tiergarten, Berlin, Germany

One day, Django had been shocked to discover that he’d been in one place for several years. Not that he’d disliked where he was. He’d practically became one of the family as far as the Sjostedts were concerned. But he’d gotten itchy feet and felt the need to move on. On the day he’d left everyone had seen him off and Piers had even given him a ride to the train station. When they got to the station Piers had given him an envelope of cash that he’d said was his back wages as a farm laborer and told him that he was welcome back there whenever he passed through.

It was what had happened to him when he got to Berlin that would change his life forever. He’d walked past a record store that had music unlike anything he’d ever heard in his life coming out of the open doorway. The man behind the counter had told him that it was by an American named Duke Ellington in a place called Harlem. The man in the record store had also let him listen to other records in the shop. He’d lost all track of time that afternoon listening to Blues and Jazz. Eventually the shopkeeper had turned off the music and kicked him out but not before telling him to come back again another day.

That evening he’d wandered in a daze. That music was just… amazing. He’d wandered into the Teirgarten as the sun was setting and stumbled across the Beethoven-Hayden-Mozart Memorial. It was like a shot from the Heavens that hit him then. The music that Ma Sjostedt had taught him, largely compositions by these men for whom the elegant three-sided memorial had been erected, the music that he’d listened to that afternoon and even the Gypsy melodies he remembered from his childhood were all connected. He could hear a new kind of music based on all those things and of none of them. He didn’t know how but as of that moment he knew that he was going to change the world and he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

Then he felt a cool breeze and realized that before he could do that he’d need to find a place to sleep tonight.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Six


27th August, 1928

Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

A couple of years earlier Esther had decided that she desperately needed to find something to do outside the house. She’d gone with the most obvious choice in that regard, the massive office complex that was the OKW. Ironically, the largest civilian employer in the region.

Just by being married to Jacob and Rhona Reise’s sister meant that she been subjected to multiple investigations over the previous decade, a detail she was less than thrilled to learn about. The result was that her application was approved in a day, a record as far as the personnel department was concerned. She’d applied to be a typist. To avoid a conflict of interest they’d avoided assigning her to the KLM, instead they had sent her to the Heer and rather being a typist she was assigned to be one of the secretaries of the General Staff of the Army Corps permanently based in Southern Brandenburg. How that worked out in practice was that she was the babysitter for a large group of ill-behaved children who were old enough to know better.

When Esther got to work the rumor mill was running at full bore in regards to a joint Luftwaffe/Abwehr operation that was ongoing somewhere in Asia. That hardly concerned her, at the moment she had more pressing concerns. The first thing she had to do on Monday morning was field calls from the General’s wife and mistress. The General hadn’t been home all weekend, the Berlin apartment or the house in the countryside. They wanted to know if something had happened to him. Esther couldn’t tell if they were worried or hopeful. Showed what they knew. Misadventure, enemy fire or cirrhosis of the liver should have killed the old goat ages ago, the odds were good he’d out live them all.

As expected, the conference room was trashed and the cleaning crew was afraid to enter. There had been some unfortunate incidents in the past. Empty bottles were scattered around the room. A chalkboard at the end of the table perfectly documented the course of the meeting. A strategy discussion devolving into crude humor and obscene limericks. At the bottom of the board someone had written “redundancy is good” three times, that one was almost clever. At least there were no fresh bullet holes in the walls or bloodstains on the floor.

The General’s Aide-de-camp and Assistant were still in the conference room looking the worse for wear. Generalmajor Heinz Guderian was sitting in his chair wincing as Esther opened the blinds and windows to let light and air in. “Must you do that Frau Schmidt” He moaned.

“It was hoped that you’d help rein him in” Esther said to him practically hissing in anger.

“He’s a politically connected General” Heinz said “What do they expect me to do?”

“For starters, you can stop doing late night beer runs to keep the party going.”

“How do know about that?” Oberstlieutenant Rommel said from where he was seated on the floor his back against the wall, eyes closed trying to block out the light. Esther had to step over him to get to the next window.

“I do the expense reports” Esther said “And I swear that the next time von Hindenburg’s office asks me about what the large entertainment expense in the budget is I ought to tell them the truth.”

Both Rommel and Guderian recoiled at that. Esther would burn this whole office to the ground if she did that.

“Where is the old goat?” Esther asked, she’d earned these men’s respect the hard way, the first week on the job she’d broken the thumb of a hand that had found itself somewhere it didn’t belong. Ever since then word had gotten around to never mess with Frau Schmidt. Being the wife of one of the Heads of the Abwehr SigInt Division also inspired a bit of fear. That suited her just fine. At the moment, she was the only secretary willing to go head to head with these jokers.

“In his office, I presume” Rommel said, pressing his hands against his temples. Esther hoped he was in serious pain, served him right.

She headed for the door, as put her hand on the door she said “One of you idiots needs to erase that chalkboard before anyone else sees it” over her shoulder.

Upon entering the office Esther could hear General of Cavalry Manfred von Wolvogle snoring as he slept off his latest bender. He was kicked back in his chair, his short-brimmed cavalry cap over his eyes, his silver handle bar mustache drooping from neglect. He was wearing his favorite old field uniform, black Panzer Corps faded to grey and heavily worn at the knees and elbows. For the thousandth time, she thanked God that she had two sensible daughters who’d hopefully be immune to the likes of this old goat when they got older.

This job went beyond requiring practical shoes, she’d gotten a pair of the steel-toed shoes that the Navy issued to its sailors. Finding them in her size had been the only consideration. They came in handy today when she kicked the chair out from under Wolvogle.

It was long past time that someone put this office to rights.


31st August, 1928

Rural Hebei Provence, China

The latest coded message from Kap’tän Schmidt had implied what Schultz had suspected since they’d caught up with Oberst Bauer and Herr Sauvageot in Beijing. They’d gotten played. Oberst Bauer had been in China for most the last year and suddenly he needed a fixer who happened to be a known French agent. Someone in Abwehr must have spilled the list of names to be flagged to Bauer. Heads were going to roll for that.

In the mean-time Schmidt wanted to know what Bauer was up to, that meant playing along until they knew more. Complicating the situation was Sauvageot behaving like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs and Bauer himself. It seemed that their Chinese hosts that derived particular meaning from the fact that the German Government had sent four soldiers. Sauvageot had said that it was being interpreted as sending Bauer a strong message of disapproval as well as official sanction for his actions.

This had been confirmed when General Chiang Kai-Shek himself had pulled Thorwald, who the Chinese viewed as a junior officer, aside and told him that he admired the subtle and crafty manner in which Wilhelm the III handled this affair. He looked forward to meeting the German Emperor one day. Everyone knew that the General was the real power behind the throne. His ambition was to turn China into a constitutional monarchy along the lines of the British or German Empire. With him in charge, naturally. He just needed to defeat the warlords and communists, hopefully uniting the country in the process. There was also the small matter of the Japanese waiting in the wings.

Now they were in the mountains somewhere west of Beijing with Bauer saying that he wanted to show the General what a proper squad of German soldiers can do. Word was that one of the warlords was holed up in these mountains. They were to assist their, not so trustworthy, Chinese allies in rooting them out. What was the worst that could happen?

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Seven


31st August, 1928

Rural Hebei Provence, China

It was Thorwald who started the attack, it was a simple straight on shot with no deflection, exactly 500 meters. The 8mm FMJ-BT match bullet punched through the windshield of the lead lorry killing the driver instantly. The 13-gram bullet still had enough energy to over-penetrate and ricochet around the steel bed behind the diver amongst the dozen or so luckless men trapped back there as the lorry careened out of control. The first five trucks of the convoy got the same treatment until Thorwald needed to reload his rifle. That was when the explosives planted at the direction of Weise went off taking out the trailing vehicles of the convoy. The result was a snarled chaotic mess.

Schultz opened up with the light machine gun he’d dragged halfway around the world causing the warlord’s troops to scramble for the ditches on either side of the road. Big mistake on their part. The ditches were mined and the new S-mine prototypes that they had found in the Abwehr armory proved to be every bit as murderous as predicted. Weise and Schafer firing down the hill with their K98s, the cut down version of the old Mauser rifle used by the entire German Military. The carbine had been adopted by the Paras after the MP18s had proven less than satisfactory in Poland. They’d been promised an improvement but several years later they were still looking for one. At 500 meters, they didn’t have the accuracy of Thorwald’s sniper rifle but the number of targets meant that they hardly needed to aim.


General Chiang was watching through his field glasses as his men moved in to mop up after the ambush.

“Impressive” He said to Bauer “How many men in the German Army are trained to this level?”

“These men are from the Jäger Division of the Luftwaffe, the Green Devils, parachute infantry” Bauer said “They are still working towards bringing themselves up to full strength, I’d say there are currently 9 or 10 thousand of them.”

The General’s face was unreadable “Your government sent four devils to China” He said “They are really trying to tell you something aren’t they.”

Schultz had explained that it was just coincidence that things had worked out the way it had. Of course, the Chinese didn’t believe in that either. At this point Bauer wanted the four Paras and the French spy out of China. He didn’t care where they went and if he’d have to pay the cost out of pocket he would happily do it.


Heinersdorf, Berlin, Germany

The train pulled into the yard after several weeks. It had been a good trip. The run south to Constantinople, Otto had arranged to spend a day exploring the ancient city with Kat. The Turks had been stewing in the rump state that remained of the territory they’d initially attempted to claim before the Greeks had grabbed it. The recent move by the Orthodox Church to reclaim the Hagia Sophia had included dynamiting the minarets, this had triggered howls of outrage. The Greeks had in turn told the Turks to piss off, centuries of hate at work there. In spite of this they had still enjoyed the day.

The way back had included going through Athens and up the Adriatic Coast through the squabbling small states that made up the Baltics north of Greece. From there it was Rome via Trieste and Venice, then on to Paris. The City of Lights was starting to reclaim its old mantle after more than a decade and a half of war and political turmoil. The 4th Republic was starting to gel, France was at last reclaiming her rightful place as an economic and cultural center. Then it was the run down through Madrid and back through the Low Countries. When they had stopped in Calais Kat had looked wistfully across the English Channel. One more place she wanted to go.

Now they were back in Berlin and in the home yard just a few blocks from the house where Otto’s Sister-in-law, Marcella Böhler and her husband Klaus lived. Kat was due to restart school in a few days which meant that the fun was over. For some unknown reason, Marcella and Klaus had never been able to have children of their own. They had claimed Hans and Kat as their own after… Some things were still too painful to think about.

The train had stopped just outside the yard, waiting for the lines to clear the door of the guard van just behind the tender opened and Kat expertly jumped out. The old purpose of the van was for extra breaking power in the days before airbrakes and to provide shelter for the crew. These days with the large crews of old were no longer necessary, the observation platform was still used for its intended purpose but the van was mostly for keeping the paperwork, extremely useful for when a train might have to cross a dozen customs checkpoints in a day. It was also used by the crew as sleeping quarters on long runs and the unofficial use by an Engineer’s daughter taking trips across Europe on the sly.

Kat waved and ran into the neighborhood, vanishing between the buildings. With her blue eyes and red hair, she looked more and more like her mother every time Otto saw her but that was a small bit of pain on an otherwise happy day.


Wunsdorf-Zossen, Germany

Jacob was monitoring the situation in China, but with the distances involved he had to sit through infuriatingly long waits before he got progress reports. It didn’t help that Schultz and his team were frequently out of easy communication. Closer to home he had Esther to contend with. She’d taken the job with his encouragement. Now, he was questioning his judgement in doing that, perhaps she should have found something to outside the OKW. He’d discovered that in spite of the fact that no investigation was taking place, Esther had in fact kicked the chair out from under a sleeping General who had pushed her just a little too far. The General in question had squelched any official reaction mostly because he and his staff had a great deal to hide.

It was the reaction of the Secretarial pool to her actions, Esther had become quite the heroine for giving that lecherous old goat what he deserved. The problem was that General von Wolvogle was a confidant of Wilhelm the II, and an advisor to Wilhelm the III. There was also the matter that he had a lot of friends among the two dominant political parties in the Reichstag. What had Esther gotten herself, and by extension him, into?

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Eight


7th September, 1928

Tsingtao, China

Full circle, Sauvageot thought to himself. Back in this shithole again, surrounded by Germans. Not that Hauptfeldwebel Schultz and his team were bad sorts, with the exception of Weise though. That man was bound to blow himself up at some point. At least he had the prospect of spending the winter in Europe this year but he still found the thought of returning to France daunting. What would greet him when he got there?

Schultz was working on decoding the latest message from the OKW. Sauvageot figured he’d be spitting teeth if he dared look too closely but he could tell that it was a pad cypher, one time use. The Boche had clearly learned a lot since the Great War, Sauvageot hoped that France had kept pace in that regard.

“Herr Schmidt has arranged our return trip” Schultz said “A couple of weeks from now we’ll be home.”

“Home” Sauvageot said “It’s been five years.”

“Wow” Schultz said “Here I was worried that Helga would kill me after five weeks.” Sauvageot had seen the photographs that Schultz carried everywhere with him of his wife and kids. Possibly the most German looking family Sauvageot had ever seen, if there was such a thing.

“I’m not sure what will greet me when I get back to France” Sauvageot said.

“Well” Schultz said “There for a while, we were worried that a new Napoleon might emerge but that never happened.”

“How are you so sure of that?” Sauvageot asked.

“We would have been the ones tasked with taking him out” Schultz said “Young Thorwald here would probably been the one to take the shot.” Schultz was sort of making that up but Thorwald sarcastically toasted Sauvageot playing the part perfectly. The Frenchman was perfectly aware of what Thorwald was capable of. Having the spy tell his superiors the version of them that Schultz wanted him to tell would do wonders for their reputation.

“That hardly concerns me” Sauvageot said “Alas, when I return emptyhanded after so much time you and your team will be the least of my worries.”

“I might be able to help with that” Schultz said.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Schafer asked.

“Why not” Schultz said “It’s not like any of this is a secret and by the time we get back the Frogs won’t be able to do squat.”

With that Schultz got up from the table and walked out the door. The others followed, Sauvageot reluctantly tagged along. They walked down the street towards the docks. At the door of a nondescript warehouse Schultz bulled past the night watchman to enter. Sauvageot was reluctant to follow them into the warehouse, what did they have planned?

“Come on” Schultz said “You’re going to want to see this.”

With trepidation Sauvageot walked through the door and he felt his jaw drop when he saw what was inside.

“This is what this whole thing was really all about” Schultz said “Mind, this is just one warehouse.”

Inside there were 10.5cm howitzers, hundreds of them.

“Krupp and Rheinmetall made a killing off this” Weise said “Schmidt discovered this and sent word shortly after we arrived. Bauer was trying to force an official stamp of approval for this deal by hiring you and forcing the hand of the Government, instead we got sent.”

Sauvageot was just amazed. He’d always known that Jacob Schmidt was one step ahead of everyone else but this was extraordinary. Bauer had managed to steal a march on even him.

“Any idea what all this is for?” Sauvageot asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Thorwald replied.

“What’s east of here?” Schultz said.

“Japan” Sauvageot answered.

That’s partially correct” Schultz said “A stronger China means that Japan is looking west but that also means that America is not feeling threatened by Japan and not building up their fleet because of that.”

Then it was all so clear to Sauvageot, the US Navy was an existential threat to Germany. They were playing the long game here. The Boche really had learned from the Great War hadn’t they.


SMY Hohenzollern III, Jade Bight, Germany

Wilhelm the II and Manfred von Wolvogle were trapshooting off the fantail. Just being the King of Prussia and the Head of the House of Hohenzollern agreed with the former Emperor. The way they had worded it in the announcement, nearly every other job in Germany had an apprenticeship involved, why not Emperor. Wilhelm the II had withdrawn from the duties of Emperor over a three-year period, now for all intents and purposes Wilhelm the III was Emperor in the smoothest transition of power that anyone could have wanted. Wilhelm the III would be the Head of the Family and King of Prussia in due time, his father didn’t want to give up everything just yet. At the moment, they were discussing things far more important than matters of State.

“So, this woman who kicked you over” Wilhelm asked “What did she look like?”

“Brunette, medium height, early thirties” Wolvogle said “A lot of fire.”

Wilhelm had recently remarried, Wolvogle hadn’t met the new Missus, so he didn’t have an opinion formed yet of that course of action.

“Fire is important” Wilhelm said “But can you talk to her.”

“At the moment, she’s still refusing to talk to me” Wolvogle said “You ought to see it, my assistant has a Blue Max but even he is terrified to go another round with her.”

“Is she taken?” Wilhelm asked.

“Tragically she is” Wolvogle said “Happily married to the chap who builds those newfangled computing machines.”

“That’s the way of the world isn’t it” Wilhelm said.

“Yes, it is” Wolvogle said “And it’s a good thing too because I can’t afford another mistress.”

“I can understand that perfectly” Wilhelm said “PULL!”

With that they resumed blasting the clay pigeons and the occasional unlucky seagull that got caught in the crossfire.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Seventy-Nine


19th September, 1928

Berlin-Tempelhof Airfield, Berlin, Germany

It was the nature of their mission, Werewolf 43B was returning home to no fanfare. No one had even known they’d left beyond the immediate family that they’d contacted and none of them had known where they were going. From here they would have a lorry take them to the station where they would board a train back to Wunsdorf and quietly resume their lives.

For Sauvageot he was waiting for Jacob Schmidt to retaliate for his presence in Germany. At any second he expected to be drugged and wake up in Greenland or the Australian Outback.

“You must be Herr Sauvageot” An official in a dark civilian suit who Sauvageot assumed was from the airline, he handed him an envelope “This is a ticket on a Luft Hansa flight scheduled to leave for Paris in 10 minutes. If we hurry, we can have you on it.” They ran across the tarmac and reached the airplane. This one looked like a single engine version of the plane he’d spent the last week and a half flying on. The radial engine was already chugging away as they ran up to it. As Sauvageot boarded the plane he saw that the next couple of hours to Paris would be in the relative luxury of having an actual seat. No more sitting on a metal floor. The co-pilot closed the door and walked up to the front of the plane.

As the plane taxied to the runway, Sauvageot felt the tension ease out of his body. Then the passenger, a businessman, across the aisle looked at him. “What about you is so important that you delayed our flight for two hours?” the businessman yelled angrily over the engine.

“The man who helped me to the airplane said that this is the scheduled departure time and he’s from the airline!” Sauvageot yelled back.

“I’ve no idea who that man was but he wasn’t from the airline!” Then the businessman went back to reading his newspaper in the dim cabin light making a point of ignoring Sauvageot.

Sauvageot turned and looked out the window. He saw Schultz and his men loading their gear onto a waiting lorry. The man who’d led him across the airport was talking to them. The soldiers were behaving in obvious deference to him. Then he turned and faced the airplane and did a naval salute to the airplane as it accelerated down the runway, exactly as Sauvageot remembered had happened a decade ago. That son of a bitch, the man who’d put him on this airplane had been none other than Jacob Schmidt himself. The wheels of plane lifted off the runway and the lights of Berlin came into view as the plane climbed away from the city. Sauvageot sat back in the airline seat laughing. He’d finally caught up with the elusive German Naval Officer and he’d not even recognized him.


Jacob watched the airplane fly off to the west the engine fading away in the distance. “Did you show him the warehouse in Tsingtao and tell him the information that you were ordered to?” He asked Schultz.

“Yes, Sir” Schultz said “Why did you have us tell him that, it was mostly true?”

“It’s because of the British and the Americans” Jacob said “And how they’ll react to that information.”

“Whatever you say, Sir” Schultz said “Now about the debrief?”

“That can wait until morning, tonight you should go home to your family.”

“Thank you, Sir”

Jacob watched the men board the lorry and as it drove away. Tomorrow there would be a leak to the press that he’d already arranged. Secret warriors of the Abwehr, risking their lives on behalf of the people in unknown wars with no acknowledgement and asking nothing in return. It was pure crap but it sounded noble and the public would eat it up. Schultz would find that his little clubhouse would get a lot more crowded before too much longer. Served him right.


12th December, 1928

Central Berlin, Germany

Augustus Lang still walked with the cane, since the day he’d walked up to the Panzers he’d discovered that there was importance in the symbolism. He was battered but still standing, he made his career that day. What he did with the rest of it was up to him. Perhaps in the next round of elections his party would capture enough seats to control the Reichstag. He felt that he was at the center of a new energy that was emerging.

Today was the eleventh anniversary of the armistice and Central Berlin was as crowded as he’d ever seen it. This was the parade to celebrate that sort of victory that they’d achieved. The truth was that the Great War had come to be the marker between what had come before and what was still coming into focus. There were plenty of red, white and black Imperial flags but every year there were more and more of the black, red and gold Federal flags. There were also the flags of the individual Kingdoms of Germany, Poland, Bohemia, Slovakia, and the Baltic States. It was by no means a utopia. Lang was sure that tomorrow he’d hear stories of fights over nationalist sentiment. But for now, these were the people of Berlin, together for art and commerce. It was exactly as his brother-in-law had said in that report a few years ago, they truly were stronger together.

Lang found Rhona’s hand, this crisp December day was going to be one to remember. They walked up the wide boulevard that the cars had been evicted from this afternoon. Rhona would later tell him that it was in her opinion the first day since that long-ago tragedy in Sarajevo, Europe was waking up at last.

 

[Peabody-Martini]

Chapter Eighty


4th January, 1929

London, England

The Chinese situation had resulted in questions on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. The Germans had evidently been successful in their attempts to court General Chiang Kai-Shek apparently with the idea of setting up China as a strategic counter to Japan. The British Secret Intelligence Service was taking the word of the French operative at face value. There was no reason to deny that the howitzers he’d seen had been real. But what were the Germans really up to? They had told the Frenchman that it was to keep the Japanese distracted thus having the Americans remain fat and happy thinking that oceans would be all the protection they needed. The British could have told them that was something that had never been true, the War of 1812 proved that. But every analyst who had looked at it suspected that there was a larger game being played here.

Curiously, the Americans were the largest suppliers of raw materials to Japan while viewing the IJN as their biggest rivals in the Pacific. The British position on China was more nuanced, they had Hong Kong and India to consider. They just didn’t know enough about what was going on and needed more information.

That Friday afternoon, at the direction of the SIS Chief Sir Hugh “Quex” Sinclair a series of messages were sent to be hand delivered to the British Embassy in Berlin giving instructions to British agents in the Berlin area. The secrecy surrounding the content of the messages was maintained but as the special courier left London a coded message was sent ahead announcing his travel plans. This wasn’t a security breach in of itself except someone was waiting for that exact transmission.

In the Wunsdorf-Zossen complex Jacob Schmidt saw this and smiled. The British had just bit the hook he’d set for them. Now the real show would begin.


Baltic Sea, Off Fehmarn Island

The Siemens-Schuckert D.IX fighter was tossed around by the wind as Oberfähnrich zur See Jost Hoefler fought with the controls. The weather was disintegrating and water droplets were splattering the windscreen as the rain was increasing. The Immelmann seemed huge when walking around on her, from this vantage she was just a tiny grey postage stamp on a blue-black sea. Jost had already had to go around once. If he didn’t make it this time his fuel situation would start to become critical and he’d be redirected to Kiel and probably wash out as a result. His squadron was training to be a part of the air group on the new SMS von Richthofen but they had to complete training on the Immelmann first. Jost had already seen several of his fellow cadets wash out during the last couple of weeks. You either mastered this series of unforgiving tasks or you were gone, there was no middle ground.

Jost’s entire concentration was on the deck ahead of him, he carefully adjusted the throttle, fortunately the Bramo radial engine was instantly responsive. He couldn’t imagine doing this with the underpowered trainer that had been his ride just a few weeks ago. The LSO resolved from just a speck. At least that meant that weather wasn’t so bad that they’d suspended operations. He could see from the relative movement that the Immelmann was really getting tossed around. He kicked the rudder around trying to keep the airplane aligned with the deck.

Sooner than Jost might have liked he was over the edge of the deck and the undercarriage slammed into it with bone jarring force, fortunately the arrester hook caught the cable and the D.IX came to an abrupt halt. He taxied the plane to the elevator and shut down the engine. With that he handed the airplane off to the crew chief and jumped out of the cockpit down to the steel deck. As he made his way to the hatch leading to his quarters he saw the Squadron Leader watching the other airplanes of the squadron come in.

“Hey Hoefler” He said without looking away from his observation “Not a bad landing, you could still use work though.”

“Well, considering the storm and all, Sir” Jost said.

“Storm?” The Squadron Leader, snorted “This is just a squall and we’re in halfway sheltered waters. Wait till you have land in a real storm.”

Jost didn’t find that thought comforting.


Berlin, Germany

Augustus Lang had a number of problems, both politically and domestically. On the domestic front, Rhona had discovered herself confronting the aspects of herself that she’d never put much thought to. She’d never wanted the conventional roles that were there for women in society, wife, mother and whole Madonna or whore thing she’d complained about her whole adult life. Now certain things had caught up with her. He pushed that out of his mind, too much drama. He pushed that out of his mind for now and focused on work, not that it was much better.

Lang had discovered that in his professional capacity he had to tell people “no” constantly. As an activist, he could just tell people what they wanted to hear with no compromises. Now if he wanted to get anything done he needed to cut deals, perhaps have to settle for half of something as opposed to all of nothing. Needless to say, no matter what he did he always seemed to anger someone. With the Reichstag closely split there was constant lobbying between center-left and center-right. For the majority to get anything done they had to get support from at least some of the opposition.

He was looking at the report about the use of slips in the shipyards. Every one not being used for warships could instead be used for merchant vessels that will have a return on investment. At the same time the KLM had friends everywhere. One more unwinnable situation in his life that had become full of those.