Chapter Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Twenty-Seven
20th October 1978
Tzschocha, Silesia
To Gretchen
I am coming to despise the sort of men we are chasing. Several times now we have reached a site believed to be used by pirates only to find that they burnt everything that couldn’t carry away with them. The smell and the things you see because of that are not something I would want to burden you, or anyone else, with.
I am sorry that have to tell you of this, but you need to know to understand why I am here. It could be an earthly paradise, but oil, tin, rubber, and spices fuel the conflict. The vast fortunes that are made in these islands are why the Dutch have fought like mad to keep them. During the Pacific War where the Dutch with their British and Australian Allies fought the Japanese, there was an ongoing revolution against Dutch Rule, the revolutionaries welcomed the Japanese as liberators. That as it turned out, was a mistake…
Reading the letter, Gretchen knew that Erich was trying to explain himself. What he was doing and why. The conflict he was talking about had been spilling out of the East Indies, which was why the Marine Infantry was involved. She had looked up the portion of the Pacific War that had taken place in the East Indies and had seen photographs of British and Australian Soldiers. There were others too, like Indians or the Kiwis who had held the line with improvised Panzers when the alternative had been nothing at all until they were able to get something better. According to the book, the First Battle of Jakarta was one of the few times that Japanese Panzers had made a real difference, setting up the battles that would rage on Java Island over the following years right up until the end of the war.
Looking at the text of the letter, Gretchen could see that it was typewritten by the sort of typewriter that the Military had made by the tens of thousands and most of them had seen decades of use producing the blizzard of paper that got sent of Wunsdorf every single day. They had mismatched keys from repairs where done with expedience as the primary concern. The rollers were coated with the residue of ribbon ink, carbon paper and correction fluid leaving marks on the page. The pawls didn’t always engage properly causing the lines to be slightly uneven. Erich used such a typewriter, and it showed on the letter he had sent to Gretchen. What was typed up the envelope was pristine, as had the last several letters, much to Gretchen’s annoyance. Someone was reading her mail and taking the trouble to make it look like it had still come from the Naval Depot in Da Nang, Vietnam.
Wunsdorf-Zossen
Tilo’s nephews Erik Garver and Karl Dunkel had been born within a few weeks of each other and in school their teachers had occasionally been surprised to learn they were cousins rather than brothers. Considering the amount of trouble they had caused exactly how they were related had probably been the least of their teacher’s worries. Eventually they had gotten older, and a stupid prank had been on the verge of getting them thrown into prison when Tilo had intervened by getting them into the Marine Infantry. Erik had gotten out of the Marines following a shrapnel injury to the throat that had nearly killed him. Taking advantage of a program meant to find gainful employment for Veterans, Erik had become a Postal Inspector. Anyone who knew Erik knew that going through other people’s things and ferreting out their dirty little secrets was the sort of job he was made for. Karl on the other hand had remained in the Marines earning an enviable reputation for his conduct in Korea, Poland, and Argentina. These days Karl was a Hauptmann on the shortlist for promotion and appointment to a Staff Position in Kiel or the OKW in Wunsdorf-Zossen. The trouble was that anytime the two of them got together, trouble followed.
Erik had been intercepting all the mail going to or from Tilo’s daughter Gretchen. When he found one with her requesting to be a pen pal with a Marine in the field, Erik had contrived for that to be one particular Marine Officer with the help of Karl and an extremely unlikely accomplice, Tilo’s mother. That was why he was in Wunsdorf-Zossen on his own time.
It was brisk autumn day with the weather report speculating about if the first snow of the season would fall that evening. The house that Tilo’s mother had lived in for the last several decades was just as ramshackle and dilapidated as it had looked for as long as Tilo could remember. Despite her advanced age of eighty-four and being nearly blind, Helga Schultz nee Kunkel, had steadfastly refused to move to an assisted living facility when her children had asked. Despite the rundown state of the house, Tilo was aware that his mother had received some eyewatering offers for the property. Almost all the other houses in the neighborhood were owned by members of the High Command or high-ranking members of their Staff. Tilo and Lenz had seen to it that she had several live in assistants. Beyond that, Tilo’s sisters Hana and Ava lived nearby, as two of the thousands of Civilian Workers in the nearby sprawling office complex that was the OKW.
As Tilo entered the house, he found his mother watching a gameshow on television. “Good evening Dietrich” His mother said with a toothless smile as he entered the room as she was looking at him with those sightless eyes.
“I bet the look on your face is good” Helga said with a laugh. “Esther saw you pull up in your car and told me over the phone.”
Esther, the lifelong friend of Tilo’s mother and the widow of Grand Admiral Jacob von Schmidt lived next door. Going back to Tilo’s childhood, he doubted that a leaf fell in the neighborhood without the two of them being aware of it.
“We need to talk about the little game you have been playing on Gretchen” Tilo said.
“Don’t take that tone with me Dietrich” Helga said, “You sound like your father, and do you remember how that worked out for him?”
Tilo was probably more aware of his father’s actions with Abwehr and later with the BND than most people were. Still, Tilo’s mother had been more than a match for his father when it came to bloody minded skullduggery. Apparently, she had not missed a step.
“Why though?” Tilo asked.
“Most of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren are lost causes” Helga said, “I feel that Gretchen actually has a chance to break the cycle of idiocy and illegitimacy that has plagued this family. Karl told me all about that boy, Erich Raeder, and making sure that she meets a nice boy from a good family is worth a shot.”
As annoying as it was for Tilo, he couldn’t argue with his mother’s reasoning.