Seven Years Later
Nuremberg, Germany
November 9, 1938
Ingrid Schultz never felt comfortable with
her husband’s nocturnal activities. Politics kept him away from
home too much, especially in the evenings. Lately, every night he
seemed to trot out the door to some secret meeting, conspiring with
his black-shirted friends in clandestine support of their new hero,
Adolph Hitler.
Things were somewhat better since Hitler became chancellor. Heinrick got his factory job back, and they had at least some money and some food on the table. But Heinrick’s fixation with politics had strained their marriage. It started two years ago on the night he had heard Hitler speak in Nuremberg, and from there it had exploded into an obsession.
On this evening, she prepared bratwurst, his favorite meal. She hoped the aroma of seasoned cabbage and freshly-baked cornbread would encourage him to enjoy a relaxing dinner and spend time with the family. But once again, he inhaled his meal and barely spoke to her or their girls except to announce that he would be gone again tonight.
As she scraped dishes from the dinner table, she heard him rummaging in their small upstairs bedroom. Within minutes, he hustled down the steps and into the kitchen, his slender six-foot frame dressed in black pants and a black turtleneck. He had pulled a black ski cap over his head, covering all but a shock of his sandy-blond hair.
“What’s with all the black tonight, Heinrick?”
“No special reason. Sorry, but I shall be late coming home. I must go now.”
As he rushed for the front door, she stepped in front of him and held her hand straight out to block his rapid exit.
“What occasion could be so special that you could not stay and enjoy your favorite meal with your family? Can you not even stay for Apfelstrudel? Can’t you see how disappointed your daughters are? They made the dessert for you.”
Ingrid hoped that mentioning apple strudel would make his mouth water. He rarely turned it down. She watched him as he stopped in the doorway. His head turned and she saw his eyes fall on their daughters, Leisel and Stephi, who were both sitting at the table waiting for him. Did he not know that his girls, at ages seven and five, were the most beautiful children in Germany? With their papa’s blonde hair and their mother’s green eyes and curls, each gave him a stare that should have made his heart melt. Surely the sight of his precious girls sitting at the table with his favorite dessert, waiting for him, would make him pause and stay just a few more minutes.
“Save the strudel till I return,” he said. “We are working on a special project for the Party tonight.”
“What do you mean ‘a special project for the Party?’ And who is ‘we?’”
“That information is classified.”
“Classified? I’m your wife, Heinrick! What could be so classified that you can’t or won’t tell your wife what you are doing in the wee hours of the night?”
“I’m sorry, Ingrid. I wish I could tell you. But my activities are classified for reasons of national security.”
“National security, you say?” Ingrid snarled. “Heinrick, you’re a factory worker. How are the nighttime activities of a twenty-eight-year-old factory worker essential to national security? That’s an imaginative ruse. I’m beginning to think there is another woman.”
“How dare you degrade me! You would demean my occupation as a factory worker? And you would accuse me of infidelity? You shall not speak to me in such a matter, woman. My activities this night are a matter of national security. And I declare to you that the time is coming when I shall no longer be subjected to the bowels of a hot factory, but I shall bring glory to the Fatherland in service to our Führer. The last laugh will be upon those who make fun of me and my occupation. That goes for you too, Ingrid.” His blue eyes pierced the air in a blazing fury, and one of the veins in his left temple bulged, as often happened when he lost his temper. “And I tell you,” he shook his finger at her, “that my daughters shall see glory and greatness because of the example I shall set for them and because I shall point them in the right direction. They shall be eternally grateful.”
Ingrid hesitated before responding, hoping that he would cool down. “Speaking of your daughters, Heinrick, aren’t you going to say goodnight to the girls before you leave?”
“Ja. Ja,” he mumbled as he walked over to the table and kissed each girl on the forehead. Then he shot out the front door without even acknowledging Ingrid.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Heinrick,” Ingrid sighed, as if saying good-bye to a closed door which had just been slammed in her face would cure her desperate need for companionship. “Auf Wiedersehen.”
Ingrid gazed into the full-length mirror in the couple’s living room. Her girlish figure had not left her, even after two babies. Her wavy, shoulder-length red hair complemented her smooth face and green eyes. She still looked pretty, she thought, but apparently not pretty enough to distract Heinrick from politics. Turning from the mirror, she reached for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
Heinrick tried slipping into the back of the dimly-lit beer hall. Nine other men, all dressed in similar black garb and head gear, were seated in two rows. They were taking instructions from a military officer, an SS captain, dressed in a black uniform with a swastika armband. He was short, cleanly shaven, fit, and with a Napoleonic complex like his supreme commander. Heinrick knew that Captain Helmut Klinger would not let even the slightest tardiness go unnoticed.
“Good to see you could make it tonight, Schultz,” Klinger growled as the other nine wheeled around and stared at Heinrick.
“My apologies, Commandant. Domestic obligations.”
“Ah, yes. Domestic obligations. I am sure the Führer and the Party will understand. After all, I suppose these so-called ‘domestic obligations’ at least help provide the population base to support the rank and file, if not the leadership, of our great army. Right, Schultz?”
Heinrick wanted to crawl in a hole. The commandant, the title Klinger insisted on being called, was a stickler for punctuality. Even a thirty-second delay would send him into a frenzy. If Ingrid had gotten dinner ready earlier and had not delayed him with the silly interrogation about his activities, he would have been on time. It was her fault, stupid woman.
Hopefully, the commandant would not retaliate by blocking his participation in tonight’s classified mission, the details of which remained secret. Rumor had it that those selected to participate would enjoy a bright future with the Party and possibly the military.
“My profound apologies to you and my colleagues, Commandant. You have my word that it shall not happen again.”
Klinger paused for a moment. “Now that Schultz has attended to his domestic obligations, perhaps we can proceed, eh?”
Thankfully, the commandant seemed uninclined to press the matter. Heinrick sat down on the back row as the commandant extracted a white envelope from his jacket.
“Gentleman, I hold in my hand classified orders for tonight’s operation. Prepare to stand at attention for the reading of the orders.” Klinger paused, his eyes sweeping his ten volunteer subordinates in Hitleresque fashion.
“Achtung!”
With the sharp bark of that single order, twenty leather jackboots stomped in unison against the varnished hardwood floor of the empty beer hall as the ten-member platoon mounted to attention.
“From Reinhard Heydrich, Director of Security Service, to all operatives, friends, and supporters of the Third Reich.
“Two days ago, November 7, 1938, Ambassador Ernst vom Rath, the third secretary of our German embassy in Paris, was shot by an infidel Jew named Hershl Grynszpan. French authorities took Grynszpan into custody. I regret to inform you that earlier today, November 9, 1938, Secretary vom Rath died from gunshot wounds.”
Klinger paused, allowing the announcement of vom Rath’s death to sink in.
“Secretary vom Rath, a family man, served as a loyal servant of the Führer and the Third Reich. Both Reich Minister Josef Goebbels and the Führer have expressed their condolences to the family. However, in our grief we must never lose track of our resolve to punish those members of the evil Zionist movement whose hands drip with the blood of this murder.
“Your retribution shall be swift, devastating, and effective. May those who would shed innocent German blood get a foretaste of their bloodthirstiness. In the name of our Führer and of the Third Reich, good luck and Godspeed.”
A master of melodrama, Klinger let his voice hang for a moment.
“At ease, gentlemen! You may take your seats.”
Klinger resumed. “Tonight for the first time, our squadron is called into action in service to the Party. This action is highly classified and may be discussed with no one outside the confines of this room. Anyone breaching security will be shot.”
The idea of that woman questioning the classified nature of our operations! If she could only hear this now, Heinrick thought as Klinger continued his briefing.
“You shall be divided into two elite commando units of five men. Team A shall consist of Von Reuben, Becker, Graff, Rödl, and Struben. Von Reuben is commando leader. Team B shall consist of Brandt, Shroeder, Kleinschmit, Heidelmann, and Schultz. Brandt is Team B commando leader.”
Heinrick got chills to hear the name Schultz included as part of Commando Team B.
“All over Germany tonight, a handful of elite commando teams just like yours, comprising the brightest and most talented Germany has to offer, shall retaliate for the murder of Secretary vom Rath.
“But unlike the murdering Jews, we shall show our compassion and respect for human life by attacking only property, which of course the Jews prefer over life anyway. Our message shall be resolute. Attack our people and we shall retaliate with fury and abandon!”
The group burst into applause at the inspiring words of revenge.
“Commando Team A shall strike business properties controlled by the Jewish conspirators. By disrupting Jewish business interests, we will slow the flow of money used to finance assassinations and other organized criminal activity. Specific targets will be revealed by your team leader as you are being transported to the sites.”
“Commando Team B will strike at the heart and soul of these filthy murderers. You gentlemen shall attack the personal residences of the conspirators who seek our annihilation. Then you shall also carry out incendiary operations against the Temple Beth-El. This so-called synagogue spreads anti-government propaganda to the population. Your team leader shall provide details in transit. Your actions will serve as a stark reminder that vigilante murders such as the cold-blooded killing of our ambassador shall rain down consequences! You will be armed with Mausers if fired upon. However, you are not to fire except in self defense. I repeat, do not fire unless fired upon. You will be comforted to know that German police forces will stand by to arrest many wealthy Jewish conspirators.”
“Achtung!”
The two teams of five jumped to their feet.
“As you carry out your mission this night, remember the family of Secretary vom Rath. Attack in the name of the Führer. Attack for the Glory of Germany! Any questions?”
Not a soul spoke up.
“Very well, then. Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” came the unified response.
“Go now. We will reassemble here in three hours to discuss damage assessment.”