Patron of the Arts – 1949
Karinhall, Germany, November 11, 1949
The heat was roaring, stifling, suffocating, pressing down on Sunni Brucke as it surrounded her with the red inferno of the city. She tried to run, but the superheated air clamped itself over her nose and mouth, driving the breath from her lungs. Helpless in the midst of the firestorm she screamed and...
For a second she couldn’t believe she was alive. The dream had been too vivid, too intense but she slowly made herself understand that was all it had been. Her bedroom was hot and stuffy, that was what had brought the dream back again, she was sure of it. For a moment she was tempted to open the window and allow fresh air to clean the stale air out, replace it with clean, dry, cool air from outside. It was another dream, albeit one of a different kind. Her bedroom window was nailed shut, the cracks filled with glazing putty and painted over. Nobody, in Germany, in 1949, opened their windows because fresh air could kill you. Just as nobody who could avoid it went outside their homes. Sometimes it couldn't be helped of course, sometimes one had to go, but the trips were as short as possible, as quick as possible and everybody kept to the routes they knew were safe. People kept the clothes they wore when they went outside in lockers by the front doors of their homes and never, never brought them in. The dust could kill you as well. Bring enough dust inside and your home ceased to be a refuge and became a trap.
Brucke climbed out of bed, shuddering slightly with the early morning chill. The old shirt she wore as a nightgown was soaked with the sweat from her nightmares so she spread it out to dry and to air as best it could. Water was something else that could kill you. Germany's rivers were foul, poisonous and radioactive. That meant fresh water was in short supply. If the cleanest available water was carefully filtered, it was good enough to wash clothes with, especially if the pH was checked first. Every housewife left in Germany knew how to use pH test paper and how to interpret the colors that resulted. Fallout tended to make water acid, if it was neutral or even alkaline, it was probably safe. In that way, anyway. If one was really lucky, filtered water might even be good enough to wash oneself in. But for drinking, water had to be distilled. That meant it was a rationed item and everybody was a little thirsty all of the time.
Trying to decide what to wear, Brucke reflected on just how lucky she was to have a choice. When shed come to Karinhall, all she'd had to wear was her Luftwaffe auxiliary's uniform. Goering had given her the clothes his late wife Karin had owned. They’d been about right for size and, when Brucke had seen a picture of Karin, she’d realized there was a superficial similarity in appearance. The clothes were old, dating from the late twenties, but their quality was excellent and style was not a factor in post-hellburner Germany. Once in a while, when she and Herman were eating by themselves, she'd wear one of Karin’s evening gowns for him. Just so that, for an evening, he could pretend he was with Karin again. Some people assumed she was his mistress but they hadn't seen the damage the bullet had done back in 1923. It was no wonder he’d become addicted to morphine, the pain must have been terrible. No, she wasn't his mistress, just his friend. He'd once told her there were only two times in his life when he’d been happy. One was when he'd been flying, the other when he'd been with his beloved Karin. Now, he'd lost both. So, if wearing an evening dress brought a little joy to a sick old man who’d been kind to her, ignoring some catty remarks was a small price to pay.
Brucke drew in her breath, her morning routine completed, she prepared to leave her room and get to work. She braced herself, opened the door and looked at the Grand Salon of Karinhall. It was hideous, grotesque, appalling in its ghastliness. Karinhall was basically a traditional German forest hunting lodge but one that had been enlarged to truly demented dimensions. The Grand Salon was modeled on the dining room of such a lodge, but where the original had one floor with a low roof, perhaps with the head of a magnificent stag or a wild boar as a trophy, Karinhall’s Grand Salon was eight floors high and was wide and long in proportion. Instead of a stag or a boar as a trophy, its walls were lined with the art treasures of a looted Europe. Quite literally, the cream of every art collection in Europe was here. From the Mona Lisa to Picassos strange creations by way of the bust of Nefertiti and the Elgin Marbles. It was a collection beyond price, beyond imagination.
Out on the gallery, Goering's doctor was waiting for her. As she left her room he looked up and shook his head sadly. "Fraulein Brucke, I am afraid it will not be long now. A few hours, a day or so at most. I have told him and he is at peace with this."
Brucke nodded. It hadn't been so long ago that she’d thought they only had a few minutes left to live.
NAIADS Command Headquarters, Potsdam, Germany, June 6, 1947
It had only been minutes between the time they’d realized the last-ditch fighter defense had failed and the Hellburners arriving. A few people were praying, others writing notes or last letters when there was a massive blow that filled the room with dust and smoke, panels from the ceiling crashed down, people were knocked from their feet. As the room shook. Brucke had been hurled from her communications station terminal, onto a floor that was heaving and flexing in rippling waves There was a roar, a deep threatening growl that seemed to fill the room from all around, no particular source but surrounding them in a cocoon of noise. The lights went out completely and there was an utter darkness that made the second shock all the more terrifying even though it was much weaker than the first. That shock lasted longer that the first and was still fading when a third, weaker and longer struck. It went on and on, a hideous remorseless hammering, each blow adding more chaos and damage to the shattered command center. By the time the last blow struck, the walls were cracking open and masonry had collapsed from the ceiling. After it was all over, the blacked-out room seemed deathly silent. And still, so very still. Even when the emergency lights came on, it was hard to see anything through the dust, smoke and wreckage. But the fans picked up and the air cleared. The room was a complete shambles, the orderly German working environment seemed just a dim, distant memory. People picked themselves up from the floor. Brucke didn't try to stand, she was still shaking and she heard herself muttering we are alive, we are alive.
There was an eruption in one corner of the bunker. A pile of crushed wreckage and shattered ceiling tiles suddenly started moving, then the burst open. Goering’s head emerged, his body still buried in the shambles but incredibly he was smiling. "Of course we are alive you silly girl. I am here. Once I flew one of Mr. Fokker's triplanes. If I survived that, no Americans with their Hellburners stand a chance of killing me. Field Marshal Herrick. Are you aware of what you now command? And of who I now am?"
"Yes my Fuhrer.." Goering stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Mr. President please. Germany has had one Fuhrer this century and that is quite enough."
Herrick nodded to accept the correction. "Yes Mr. President. We will get the communications up again and then what? What are your intentions?"
"To make peace you fool. Do you want the Americans to come back tomorrow or the day after with more Hellburners to finish the rest of us? How much chance to you think our armies will stand when the Americans drop Hellburners on them? And if we must grovel to get peace, then grovel we will. And Miss Sunni. It was twelve Hellburners. You win our bet. When you and your young man are together again, you are welcome to stay at Karinhall for as long as you wish."
Brucke shook herself, her hair and eyes full of grit from the shattered concrete of the room. "Thank you .... Mr. President." She shook herself again and clambered to her feet. "Is it really over?"
"Yes, my dear. For the moment anyway. Now we must make sure it stays over. Is it possible to get communications out of here? Specifically, is it possible to get a communication line open to America? I must speak with the American President. We have to surrender before some damned fool does something that brings down more Hellburners on our heads."
Brucke glanced at Field Marshall Herrick. He nodded slightly. "Brucke, you and your operators know this system better than most, probably better than the people who designed it. Do whatever is necessary to give the President whatever he needs."
She had thought for a moment. "Sir, there is a major underground communications center a little south of here, AMT-500 at Zossen. It is the primary routing center for OKH and OKW as well as the security services. We have a direct trunk access to that center. If we can restore communications to that center, we should be able to establish links to any surviving German forces abroad. We can use our communications net to contact any of our local and regional control centers that are left. But getting through to America? I don't even know how to start."
Goering was looking at the map of Germany, its red blotches disfiguring it like smallpox. "If that is the communications center I think you mean, then it had a direct link to our Embassy in Geneva. One reserved for Senior members of the Government. That is now me and the people in this room. Our Geneva Embassy has a direct link to the State Department in Washington. Hasn’t been used for many years but it’s there. If you can get through to Geneva, if Geneva is still there of course, tell the Ambassador to use it and make formal contact with the State Department. Then ask to speak directly with President Dewey. If our Ambassador argues, tell him you are the new Reich Foreign Minister." One of the other girls on the switchboard laughed and made a mock salute. Goering's finger pointed straight at her. "And you are our Entertainment and Propaganda Minister. Go and make some coffee for we have much to do. The girl went bright crimson and fled to the wreckage of the kitchen. Anybody else want an official post in the new Government? No? Then get to work and contact whoever you can find."
Brucke dusted the wreckage off her equipment and sat down, looking at the array of plugs and sockets. Telefunken were experimenting with an electrical telephone exchange, or so she'd heard, but the NAIADS system had the best Herrick had found and it was still based on mechanical linkages. The address settings were in her directory, she used a piece of the broken ceiling to hold the book open at the right page and tried the first connection for the great Zossen exchange. The first combination she had was dead, so were the next few. She guessed the lines had been brought down or burned out by the Hellburners. She thought for a few seconds then tried the number that linked her to the trunk cable that by-passed Berlin completely and that she knew was buried deep underground. There was a clicking and some static then she heard the unmistakable chatter of the dialing system at Zossen.
"Mister President, I'm through to the Zossen communications center. What is the number you spoke of?" Goering fished a piece of paper out of a pocket and put it in front of her. She picked up the handset of her communications desk and dialed the number. To her amazement, there was another series of clicks and then she heard the ringing noise at the other end. The switchboard operators voice was dull, small and shaken. Stunned by the immensity of what had happened. The questions poured out as soon as she realized it was Berlin on the line. What had happened? What were those huge explosions? Who was it? Had Darmstadt been hit? Was anything left? Was anybody left? Listening to the torrent Goering and Herrick suddenly realized how little they actually knew of what was outside the bunker. Still, that was something that could wait. Brucke cut across the interrogation and demanded the Ambassador be put on the line. The switchboard at the other end complied, although reluctant to surrender the newly-found link with home.
The German Ambassador, despite his pompous accent and manner, said much the same things as the switchboard girl. Stunned, disbelieving, shaken to the point of insensibility. Brucke passed on Goering's instructions to use the Embassy’s communications to get through to the State Department and get through to President Dewey. At that point Goering had taken over the communications link himself, explaining to the man in Geneva exactly what he wanted. That gave Brucke a chance to listen to the other communications desks around her. One group of girls was trying to find any surviving regional and local command centers. They were having little success, from the sounds of it, their equipment simply wasn’t working very well . Something had gone wrong with landlines all over Germany and radio communications were gone completely. It seemed that the operators trying to concentrate on contacting the headquarters of German forces abroad were having more luck. They were getting through, reporting that the line trouble was slowly clearing with time. As they made contact, Herrick was speaking to them, announcing Goering as the new head of state and getting reports of their situation.
"Yes, President. That is what I said. If we use Fuhrer we may as well ask for another stream of Hellburners to fall on our heads. To the Americans, a chancellor is a man who cleans a chamber pot. President is a title they will understand and place correctly......... I don't care what it means in Germany. Germany has gone, it doesn’t exist anymore.............. We must try and save what we can. Above all we must make sure that they do not send their bombers back. If I must crawl to Washington over broken glass and claim to be a pimp to achieve that, then that is what I will do. And so, my friend, will you. Now get through to the State Department and make sure everybody over there knows we surrender. Unconditionally. And keep this link open at all costs. If we lose it we may not get it back."
Brucke listened to Goering take over the conversations with the surviving forces headquarters outside Germany. To the mixture of bluff, friendly banter and cold, vicious threats that brought them into his camp, made them recognize his authority. The message to each was the same. Germany has been dreadfully injured but the Government in Berlin survived - in the form of one Herman Goering. He was now the leader and he was trying to bring the situation under control. In the meantime, they were to do nothing to make the situation worse. Defend themselves of course, but no more than that. Above all, keep the men together, do not allow the units to break up, maintain discipline, shoot a few if you have to, but nothing more. People were agreeing, drawn in by Goering’s personal magnetism and their own relief at finding, apparently, that something in Germany survived. As the minutes ticked by, Goering was rebuilding a state and a command structure.
He'd just finished with the German Army commander in Denmark when Herrick and half a dozen men in combat gear appeared. “Mister President, we have to know what it is like up top, that is the question that everybody is asking and we have no convincing answers. I suggest I take these men up and we look around, see what is happening for ourselves. Then we will no better what we are dealing with.” Goering had nodded with a distinct rather you than me nuance and Herrick had left with his small group.
It was shortly afterwards that the American President Dewey had arrived on the communications link. Goering had read out a statement that constituted the unconditional surrender of Germany and all its forces. He’d sat there waiting for a response and the silence had grown. Eventually, Dewey had spoken.
"Herr Goering. Why should I believe a word that you say? The government you now claim to head has established a record unblemished by any suggestion of honor, untouched by any suggestion of good faith, its agreements unclouded by even the slightest hint of compliance. You now claim to surrender. Unconditionally no less. Why should I place any faith in your words when you yourself once said that the superior state should not be bound by any agreements it may find convenient to make with its inferiors? And you, yourself included the United States in the list of states you considered inferior. Jewish-Bolshevik mongrels I believe was the phrase you used. How can I go to Congress and the Senate and ask them to believe your words when all of your history points to them being a deception intended to gain some tactical advantage. Why should I even waste my time doing so?"
The words struck Goering with the force of a blow from a mailed fist. He sagged back in his seat, his face whitened. He had been expecting to have problems getting his own people to surrender, it had never occurred to him that the Americans would treat his surrender with disdain once he had offered it. "Mister President. I am surrounded by the destroyed ruins of a country, one where the only things that are not blasted are burning. Ever since your Hellburners fell, we have been trying to contact survivors here. We have contacted a few small groups, no more than that. We have nothing left to gain an advantage with."
"There are survivors in Germany then. Thank you for that information. I am informed that it will take at least a day to refuel and rearm our bombers and another for them to cross the Atlantic again. The reconnaissance bombers will go first of course and they will find the survivors you speak of. And then the bombers will drop on them."
"Mister President, please. I have established my authority over those military forces abroad, the ones I have been able to contact anyway, and ordered them to respect a unilateral cease-fire. They will defend themselves if attacked but no more. You can confirm that with the resistance movements, with your own people. Germany is beaten, helpless. With every weapon in our arsenal we couldn’t stop your bombers, now we have nothing left. And you are right, I have a heavy burden of blame for what has happened. I accept that and my responsibility for what has happened to Germany and to the world."
There was another long silence and, when Dewey replied, his voice was marginally softer. "Very well, Herr President. I will place your alleged surrender before the Cabinet. But I will tell you this. If there is any breach of good faith on your part, any at all, what will happen to Germany will make this day seem like the first breeze that rustles leaves in the approach of a great tempest."
Goering slumped back in his seat, his face knotted in anguish. At that point, one of the communicators signaled for his attention. "Mister President. I have Grand Admiral Doenitz."
Brucke watched Goering compose himself and pick up the handset. From the one side of the conversation she could hear, it seemed that Doenitz was claiming that he, not Goering was the final authority in Germany now. The debate had gone on for almost an hour, then Goering had told Doenitz that the German Army and Air Force in France had already accepted Berlin as their command and, if necessary, he would order them to reduce Doenitz’s forces by assault. At that point Doenitz had caved in and accepted. Then he’d dropped the bombshell.
"We have a chance to avenge the blow struck against us. In St Nazaire, safe in the concrete pens, are five Type XXID U-boats. We are loading their missiles with Sarin gas now. At midnight, they will set sail and we believe that at least three will get across the Atlantic. Then, they will fire their missiles into Washington."
Goering weighed the odds. The Type XXID was a derivative of the original Type XXI with a hangar semi-recessed in the hull ahead of the conning tower and a catapult built along the foredeck to fire an Fi-103 missile. Back in ‘45 they'd been used to carry out a series of attacks on mainland USA but the combination of the missiles inherent lack of accuracy and the problems in fixing the exact position of the launching point had made the possibility of hitting something so low as to be futile. Then, the ever-increasing efficiency of the U.S. ASW effort had pushed casualties up so high that the attacks had been abandoned. Three out of five get through? One out of five was more likely.
Then, Goering’s musing were interrupted. Herrick and his team had re-entered the bunker. They were coated with a fine white dust, head to foot, mixed with strange black fragments that seemed stuck to their skin and clothes. The cloth of the uniforms was already rotting around some of those flakes, but that was not the sight that froze the bunker. It was the look in the men’s eyes, a fixed glaze of horror, a terror so deep rooted, that a mere nightmare would have been a welcome release. They gasped out their story in words that were torn from them, disjointed phrases of death, fire and destruction that painted a more vivid and ghastly picture than any coherent account could have done. Those images were the ones that decided Goering’s mind. One of those submarines might get through and that was one too many.
"Miss Sunni, get me the American President again." It only took a moment and Dewey’s voice was put onto a speaker. It was flat and neutral and all the more terrifying for that.
"President Dewey, I have just learned from Grand Admiral Doenitz that he plans to send five missile-carrying submarines. Type XXID, the Fi-103 carriers, across the Atlantic. To attack Washington with gas-carrying missiles. He tells me they will leave from Saint Nazaire at or before midnight. Mister President, no matter what else happens, you must stop those submarines."
There was a burst of disjointed words in the background. Goering heard strange-sounding words, phrases. "USS Stalingrad's group. Mark Fours? Ground bursts? Both?'." Then President Dewey was back on the line.
"President Goering, your warning of this threat is acknowledged. Your decision to give it will be included when I present your surrender to Congress and the Senate for approval. Mister President. I think it is fair to say that the United States will indeed accept your surrender."
Karinhall, Germany, November 11, 1949
"Fraulein Brucke? Are you unwell? You have not been outside have you?"
Brucke snapped back into the present, reminding herself it was more than two years later and she was in Karinhall, not the NAIADS bunker. It had all worked out in the end although the last few hours had been tense. Then Doenitz had seen the American carrier aircraft dropping vast numbers of mines into the river and realized his plan was futile. More than likely, he had realized that it was so, even if the submarines could get out, and had been looking for an excuse to give it up. No matter, the submarines had never left the U-boat pens and Germany's capitulation was achieved. There were times when being defeated was a victory of a kind.
"No, Doctor, I am quite well thank you. As well as anybody these days. In truth, Brucke wasn't feeling very well, something that applied to everybody these days. Nothing she could put her finger on, one of her friends had described it as being an overwhelming sensation of not being quite right. It wasn't radiation sickness, everybody in Germany knew and dreaded the symptoms of that. She grimaced slightly. "And I haven’t been outside although it is quite safe around here. The Americans checked the grounds very thoroughly with the guider counter. There is no radiation hazard near us."
"Geiger counter, Fraulein Brucke. But you must come downstairs soon. The American General is due shortly."
She nodded and went into Goering's room. He wasn’t recognizable as the plump figure who'd inspired admiration in his youth, then both fear and derision in middle age. He was gaunt, his face shrunken to a mask of skin drawn over the bones of his skull. The Americans had killed most of the population of Germany, but they hadn't killed its leader. He’d done that to himself. Years of drug abuse had given him his death sentence, execution by pancreatic cancer. By the time it had been diagnosed, it had been too late for surgery, even if the facilities had been available. One Doctor had suggested radiation treatment. Goering had just stared at him and suggested he could get all the radiation treatment he needed with a short walk down the Unter den Linden and would the Doctor like to join him? But he'd gone downhill quickly after that, pain, jaundice, fatigue, inability to eat, had all taken their toll. He was asleep, a light, fitful sleep but it was better than nothing. Brucke quietly left him to get what rest he could. Not that it mattered so much now.
As she reached the ground floor, she heard a car pull up outside. By the time she got to the main entrance, the American general was already inside the outer door, taking off the one-piece coveralls the Americans wore when they were outside in Germany. They were made out of one of the new densely-woven, synthetic fabrics that kept dust out completely. He’d already pushed the hood back and peeled off the surgical mask that covered his nose and mouth. It only took a moment to take off the coveralls and hang them on the hook provided. Then he entered.
Even after two years, Brucke still vaguely expected Americans to have horns and a tail. This one couldn't be further from that image. If anything, he looked like a small-town schoolteacher. A friendly, good-natured schoolteacher who always had a smile for the children in his charge and was remembered fondly by them when they grew up. He just didn't look like a general. The Russians, Zhukov, Rokossovskiy, Bogdanov, Chernyakovskii, Koniev, they looked like Generals, hard, dour men who ordered thousands to their deaths. The Germans, Manstein, Model, Rundstedt, Rommel, they looked like Generals, ruthless professionals who sent tens of thousands to their deaths. The American Generals looked like slightly baffled civilians who would rather, given the choice, be doing something else. But they had killed by the millions.
That was the problem had been of course. Too many who should have known better had been taken in by the warm smiles and off-handed friendliness. They’d mistaken tolerance for weakness. It would be a long time before anybody ever did that again. There was a caricature of the Americans now that was popular all over Europe. A friendly Uncle Sam, with a smile on his face and one hand outstretched in friendship - and the other holding an axe dripping with blood. The man walking towards her was a good example of the deceptiveness. He exuded a simple, magnetic charm, perhaps the air of a country squire. Yet, for five years he had been General George S. Patton’s Chief of Staff and without him, it was whispered, Patton wouldn’t have been given his third star, let alone his fifth.
"General Eisenhower, welcome to Karinhall. This is different from Geneva, yes?"
Hotel d'Angleterre, Geneva, Switzerland, September 9, 1948
She had heard the row even before she’d turned the corner. President Goering had sent her over with some paperwork for the Americans, details of Nazi Party accounts held in Swiss banks, and that had meant her coming to the wing the Americans had occupied for the duration of the conference. She’d made the trip with mixed feeling, half of her eager to see what the ogres who had destroyed an entire country actually looked like, the other half, terrified at the answers she might find. What she hadn’t expected was to find a brawl about to start.
"You bastard! You treacherous, scheming bastard. You told us nothing about this! Nothing! Even twenty four hours warning and I could have got my people out. Dozens of them died, dozens! You had a duty to warn us, you should have told us what was going on. Dozens of my people are dead because you have to play your stupid games." The man lurched forward again and the group around him held him back. He was a big man, fair-haired, his rough-hewn face crimson and knotted with rage. The target of his anger was a much smaller, dark-haired man, leaning against the wall with an expression of quizzical interest on his face. Brucke got a feeling he was middle eastern or perhaps southern European in ancestry but it was hard to tell. What she couldn’t understand was why he was so at ease; if the big man broke free, he stood a pretty good chance of getting seriously hurt.
"You know the rules Loki. The interests of the country that hosts us, that gives us sanctuary, come first. It’s the only way things can work, God knows we've tried all the others. I couldn't warn you, however much I wanted to. If the Germans had found out what was happening, if they’d found out what we were planning and how we planned to do it, then they might have found a way to stop us. Six of the seven bombers we lost were shot down coming home, they were already getting ideas on how to fight us, even in that short time. They might have been able to protect the assets we needed to destroy and made the strike less decisive. We had to keep the when, the what and the how absolutely secret if we were going to end that stupid war. If you thought things through for once instead of flying off the handle every time your lack of foresight leaves you holding the short end of the stick, you wouldn’t get caught flat-footed all the time. Now calm down and get control of yourself. And don't ask me to spend sleepless nights over the death of a few when I have sixty million to think about."
"And don't you pretend you care anymore about the deaths of sixty million than about the deaths of our dozens. You play your little games, moving armies and countries around like some giant game of chess and you care nothing, nothing, about the people who suffer as a result, Don't deny it. You never have and never will. It’s all just a damned game to you, Seer, and you know it. You don't care anything about anybody. All that matters to you is winning your stupid games." The fair-haired man, Brucke guessed his name was Loki, tried to lunge forward again and, again, his companions stopped him. Brucke hadn’t noticed before but there was a unusually large number of women in both men’s parties. That was odd, usually political gatherings like this had few women in them. The other man, the Seer? Was that what Loki had called him? He hadn't changed position and his expression hadn’t altered but one of his hands had moved as if he was about to give a signal. Whatever it was, it would be unnecessary, Loki’s companions were crowding him back to the stairs. He went with them, reluctantly at first, then more willingly. As he went, he threw a few insults at the Seer, notable more for their obscenity than their content. The Seer made a motion of catching them and throwing them back.
Then the air relaxed, Brucke guessed the confrontation, whatever it had been about, was over. Behind where Loki’s party had been standing, two doors opened, one either side of the corridor. A woman stepped out of each, one black-haired, the other a spectacular red-head. They were wearing the elegant skirt-suits American business women favored and each had a sub-machine gun slung over her shoulder. Now, Brucke knew why the Seer hadn’t been concerned. If Loki had made a real attack, the two women had been in perfect positions to cut him and his entire group down - and Loki hadn’t even been aware they were there. Suddenly, Brucke saw what the Seer had meant about thinking things through.
"You know, Seer, this is getting to be a habit." The black-haired woman spoke reprovingly. The Seer straightened up from his slouch against the wall and grinned at her. In doing so, he saw Brucke standing with her files of paperwork.
"Whoa, people, strangers present. The lodge isn’t tyled. Can I help you Fraulein?"
"Sir, I am Sunni Brucke, from President Goering’s office. He has asked me to bring some vital papers over to General Eisenhower. I am sorry if I have come at an inconvenient time."
"Sunni Brucke? Ah yes, President Goering has you listed as his executive assistant." The Seer was pensive for a moment. "Useful job-title that. Descriptive yet non-committal, I must remember it. I'm pleased you got here so soon, we need these papers to resolve the latest problems. By the way, I am sorry about the disturbance. The poor man lost a lot of his family in the bombing and he holds me personally responsible. Which I am, in a way, I suppose. Naamah, honey, would you come with us please?"
The red-haired woman had been speaking quietly with another member of The Seers party. On hearing her name she turned to face him. Brucke caught her breath. She’d been expecting the woman who had that hair to have brilliant green, beautiful eyes; but the pair that looked at her were horrible. A flat, expressionless, lifeless, lime-colored mud. Like pond slime that had begun to rot on a hot summer’s day. Brucke shivered slightly at the sight, it was a relief that the woman’s voice didn’t match those terrible eyes. Naamah spoke with an accent that was slight yet unfamiliar. Perhaps an American region Brucke hadn’t heard yet? "With you, Seer."
They took her along the corridor to a door at the end. If the geography of this wing was the same as the one she was in, this would be the suite. The Seer knocked on the door and waited for a moment. The door was opened from the inside by an American military policeman. Behind the desk, in shirtsleeves with his jacket draped over a nearby chair was the leader of the American delegation to the Peace Conference. General Dwight D Eisenhower. He looked up as the people entered his suite and rose slightly to his feet. "Miss Brucke, I have been expecting you. I hope the papers you bring will solve our problem?"
The peace conference wasn’t really a peace conference. The war was over, ended by nuclear fire consuming Germany. This conference was really more about trying to deciding what to do now Germany had gone. It had started the traditional way, each of the countries had arrived with a list of grievances, another list of demands and their own ideas on how post-war Europe should be structured. Ideas which, of course, put them in the driving seat. And that was just Western Europe, the problems in the East were a whole different ball game. Then there were the problems over what to do with what was left of Germany. The French wouldn’t even use the name Germany; they called it Nafoco. The Nameless Former Country. And were demanding all German territory west of the Rhine and reparations that, on a per head basis, would keep their population living in luxury for generations. The squabbling had reached fever pitch, then the Americans had stepped in.
They'd made a suggestion, one presented by General Eisenhower. Pretend the last 15 years hadn't happened, return the borders to their 1933 positions. There had been a universal scream of objections but Eisenhower had turned out to be a much wilier operator than he looked. He'd shown people what was left of Germany, arranging flights in B-36s over the blasted ruins. It had sunk in on people that the Americans hadn't bombed parts of the country that would be returned to their original owners - provided the American suggestions were accepted.. If people agreed to the American suggestion they got back the territory they had lost. Anything else they got would be a burned-out wilderness. Not something worth fighting over. Eisenhower had worked tirelessly and proved to be a master at organizing coalitions and reconciling different opinions. On each point, he got enough people to agree on the essentials so that the proposal would be workable and that served to bring the rest into line. Nobody got everything they wanted, but everybody got the minimum they could live with - and in an exhausted, shattered Europe that was enough.
Talk of reparations had died as well. It was painfully obvious that Germany had nothing left to offer. Anyway, there was a different specter haunting that question. The Second Horseman, Famine. Europe’s crops had failed disastrously in 1947 and they’d withered in the ground in 1948. Livestock birth rates had plummeted and the few surviving farm animals had to be kept for breeding stock. Even eggs were unobtainable; the hens laid them but the insides were a foul, rotting, mixture, too rank to be edible and poisonous if somebody tried. Australia, Canada and the United States had sent food aid, more had come from Italy and Spain. Today, Europe was living on imported food and nobody knew when the famine would end. If it ever did. When the hard-core nations on the reparations issue had refused to drop their demands, the food donors had simply mentioned that they would start billing those countries for the emergency food supplies. That had ended the reparations issue.
Borders, reparations, food, prisoners of war, repatriation. All the key issues had been hammered out one by one. Only one was left now, and that was well on its way to proving impossible. Germany had looted Europe of its art and cultural treasures and shipped them back to the Reich. Now their original owners wanted them back. Or, they wanted what was left back; all too much of the loot was now radioactive ash blowing around in the ruins of German cities. It had seemed to be easy and Eisenhower hadn't given the matter much attention. Just asked the various national delegations to send in lists of the treasures the Germans had taken and they would be identified and returned. Only, it hadn’t been that simple. The French list had been the first symptom of the problem; they’d listed virtually every art treasure, every painting, every sculpture in Europe as being theirs. It turned out that original owner was a very elastic concept. Most of the treasures in question had changed hands dozens of times during Europe’s hundreds of wars and everybody had a claim to everything. Or so it seemed. Incredibly to the bewildered Americans, it seemed as if Europe was going to war again over the loot.
Ironically, it had been the most dedicated collector of them all, Herman Goering, who had proposed a solution. His home, Karinhall, contained the cream of the collection, a vast assortment of every art treasure European history could provide. He’d made a very simple offer. Everybody has a claim to everything? Then let everybody own everything! Karinhall and everything in it was, in his opinion at least, Goering's personal property to do with as he wished. He would leave it to the people of Europe, as their common inheritance, owned by all, free to all, denied to nobody. An example of what Europe could achieve if it stayed at peace - just as the devastation that surrounded Karinhall would remind them of what another war would mean. His suggestion had one obvious problem. How would the proposed European Center for Culture be funded? The solution to that problem was in the files Brucke had brought over.
Eisenhower opened the first file. It was Herman Goering’s own Swiss bank account, all the details of the funds he’d looted, misappropriated and otherwise spirited away for himself. He looked at the current balance and whistled quietly to himself. Then, he’d noted it down on a pad. One by one, additional figures were added as the private accounts of each of the Nazi leaders was found. The final amount was stupendous. Eisenhower had to ask the obvious question "Fraulein Brucke, are you sure the decimal points are in the right place?" She had nodded.
The Seer looked over Eisenhower’s shoulder and nodded. "Looks right to me Sir, if the Nazis had been as accomplished rulers as they were thieves, we'd all be speaking German. Perfect example of a kleptocracy. We can muscle the Swiss into giving us access to this money, no problem. Selling the idea to the rest of Europe, that will be the problem."
Eisenhower nodded. "Fraulein Brucke. President Goering has come up with a practical solution to the problem, whether it is also an acceptable solution, I do not know. But, nobody else has a better idea so we will run with this one."
Karinhall, Germany, November 11, 1949
"So, General, we will extend the galleries across the Grand Salon to divide it into eight floors. That will give us much extra space and turn this atrocity into an attractive structure. We can extend sideways as well. We have much ground here and its clean. So we can have sub-galleries, buildings devoted to special subjects, the possibilities are endless."
Before Eisenhower could reply, the Doctor re-appeared. "Please, the President is awake but he is fading fast. If you wish to speak with him, there is little time."
In his room, Goering was awake but his eyes were unnaturally bright and his face had shrunken even since Brucke had last looked in on him. Even so, he recognized Eisenhower immediately.
"General Eisenhower, have you news?"
"Yes, Mister President. Everybody has agreed at last. The French helped us by claiming they deserved sole ownership of the treasures since they'd lead the resistance to Germany and that claim swung everybody else to support your proposal. They all saw it was better to have a part of something than all of nothing. Once they were alone, the French agreed as well."
"And the other part?"
"Agreed, just as you wanted."
Goering nodded, weakly, but distinctly. "Sunni, I have left you the private apartments here at Karinhall for your personal use. Also, the post of Director of the Center is for you. Once I promised you that you and your young man could have your honeymoon here in Karinhall. When he comes back to you, I will have kept my promise."
He drifted off again. As the Doctor, the General and Brucke sat with him, he faded in and out of alertness, the awareness becoming shallower and the unconsciousness deeper each time. After a while he started muttering "Karin, Karin. "
"Karin?" Eisenhower asked, his voice soft as befitted the surroundings.
"Baroness Karin von Fock-Kantzow, Herman's wife. She died of tuberculosis in 1932." Sunni said in a whisper. Then "excuse me." She slipped away and quickly changed into one of the evening gowns shed inherited, one she know from Goering that Karin had particularly liked. By the time she got back, his condition had deteriorated further. Eisenhower saw the dress and raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Brucke sat beside Goering’s bed and waited.
A few minutes later his awareness returned and he looked at her, amazed delight spreading across his face. "Karin, Karin. You came. I always..." then he was silent and the death-shadow spread across his face.
"I always.." Eisenhower repeated. "I wonder what he was trying to say?"
"He was saying Karin, I always loved you. Of course." Brucke was crying quietly to herself. She dabbed her eyes, went back to her room and changed back to her day clothes. By the time she got back, the doctor had closed Goering’s eyes and going through all the other routines of dealing with a patient's death.
"General Eisenhower, Herman did so much that was very bad but he did try to make amends. Will it be enough?"
Eisenhower looked at the wasted, shriveled figure on the bed. It seemed much less, somehow, than it had a few minutes earlier. "Do two years of repentance and trying to make things right balance twenty years of evil? I guess he's getting the answer to that question right now."