Chapter One Thousand Three Hundred Seventy-Nine
16th July 1960
Potsdam
Forty-one years, that was the final tally. Except for when he had gone back to University, Emil had spent his entire adult life in either the Heer or the Luftwaffe. Now the State was making a big production of him getting shown the door as possible by performing the Großer Zapfenstreich in his honor. The Emperor and Crown Prince were present tonight, so the Staff Band and Drum Corps had gone out of their way to make this memorable. Not to mention hundreds of torchbearers from various units from the Heer and Luftwaffe-Fallschirmjäger who Emil had been a part of over his long career.
Emil would have preferred that they had spared the expense and just let him leave quietly. If his replacement, Generaloberst Johann von Kielmansegg, wasn’t required to be here and he would probably be in Emil’s office measuring the drapes at that very moment. Claus von Stauffenberg, the Deputy Commander in Chief of the Military High Command was elsewhere. He had been passed over for the top spot this time and as rumor had it, he had not taken it particularly well but was to much of the proper gentleman to reveal that in a public setting. Oddly, it was that aristocratic demeanor that had cost him, he just wasn’t as good at the political game that anyone who aspired to be the Chief of the High Command needed to be. Not that it mattered to Emil, after tonight the monstrous egos of his subordinates would be someone else’s problem.
Maria was here and she had even agreed not to come as a Reporter for the Berliner. Not that she didn’t know that the paper would have one or two of their other people covering the event. If anything, she was probably the one who assigned them the story. Somehow, Maria had convinced Zella to wear a dress tonight as opposed to dressing like a Street Rat from the Berlin Rocker scene that she had become a very visible part of. Emil found that amusing. These children were trying to differentiate themselves from what they saw as their conformist parents with loud music, unkempt, tattered clothes and an in your face attitude. They would have fit in seamlessly with the crowd that had been in Berlin during the Spring Revolution back in 1921. The clothes, music and attitude were nowhere near as outlandish as they imagined or different from anything that had existed in Berlin since the introduction of railroads more than a century earlier.
Emil’s son Walter had yet to develop Zella’s love of music and had shown that his personality was closer to Maria than to Emil. If Emil was being honest, he was a bit disappointed that Walter seemed to have none of his older sister’s rebellious spirit. He was speaking with his namesake, Emil’s old friend Walter Horst. Horst had been in declining health over the last few years and was being eased out of his semi-retired role in the Heer. It was a big part of why Emil had not fought the Chancellor when it was suggested that he consider retiring once he had reached forty years of service. It was better to pull the pin while he was still heathy enough to enjoy retirement. The trip across Asia and America that he was planning with Zella was a once in a lifetime opportunity for both of them. Still, Emil did have his doubts.
“It’s the end of an era” Horst said as Emil approached.
“I just worry that I’m leaving a touch too soon” Emil said, “Everything that is going on in the world and all.”
“There’s always something” Horst replied, “Let someone else take the weight for once. You are leaving things in good hands. They’ll screw some things up and get other things right. That’s the nature of the beast.”
“That sounds like something Sjostedt might say” Emil said.
“He said that to me last week” Horst said as he looked at his son-in-law Stefan Mischner and protégé Tilo Schultz who were here as Emil’s guests. Before the ceremony started the two of them had talked around the concerns that they had over getting sent overseas. It had also become very apparent that Horst envied them for that exact same reason.
It was something that Emil had noticed years earlier and had attempted to break himself of. How war gave one meaning and purpose. The exhilarating rush of combat. All of it was one of the most addictive things that Emil was aware of. Horst still had it and was angry that his failing body had prevented him from pursuing that still.
Los Angeles, California
As Harriman waited in the VIP lounge for Air Force One to be readied for takeoff, he considered how the just concluded Democratic National Convention had gone. The 1960 Presidential ticket had jelled around nominating Harriman for reelection which no one had doubted wouldn’t happen for a second.
The real action had been over who would be the new candidate for Vice President. The Party had chosen Senator Stewart Symington of Missouri in a bid for Party unity. It remained to be seen how effective that would be. The noises that Harriman had heard from the Party rank and file had suggested that it was the West Coast here in California that might just be the future of the Party. The Speaker of California State Assembly Richard M. Nixon and Governor James Roosevelt were definitely rising stars.
The Republican Convention was next week. They were widely expected to nominate Nelson Rockefeller as their candidate for President and Barry Goldwater for Vice President. God help America if that ticket got elected, Harriman thought to himself. Because all Hell would break loose if they got into the White House.