was forced to withdraw from the air battle due to his airplane’s malfunctioning
armament. The Herr Geschwaderkommandeur is certain that the Herr Sergeant will understand that the former could not remain
in battle with just one functioning machine gun.
Goldstein let the scrap flutter to the floor.
The orderly quickly snatched it up. “You’ll want to save it, of course. I’ll see to it that it’s put safely with your personal
items.”
Oh, that bastard Goering
, Goldstein thought. He could just see Goering’s eyes glinting with swinish malevolence as he’d dictated that note. How it
must have aggravated Goering when he’d found out that Goldstein had survived!
Goldstein hoped the fact that Goering’s cowardly strategy hadn’t managed to kill him festered in the Oberleutnant’s fat gut.
Goldstein knew that was all the revenge he would ever have against Goering. As Richthofen had made plain long ago, an officer
and a gentleman is not to be challenged by a Jew.
“I had hopes of being a flier, myself—” The orderly was blushing.
“What?” Goldstein muttered. “What did you say?”
“I wanted to fly, but I couldn’t pass muster.” The boy tapped his spectacles. “Weak eyes, you know. I hope there’s an opportunity
for you to tell me about some of your adventures before they ship you out.”
“Ship me?…” For a moment Goldstein didn’t understand. “You mean home?” he asked tentatively.
“Home to Germany,” the orderly confirmed. “As soon as the doctors have set your fractures. Herr Sergeant, for you the war
is over.”
It was only when the orderly was gone that Goldstein thought to ask how the war was proceeding. Later he found out that the
news was bad. The Allies had broken through all across the line and had crossed the Marne. Last night, while Goldstein slept,
huge bonfires lit the sky as German soldiers burned everything they were unable to carry before pulling back.
The constant traffic outside the window was the sound of the German army running away.
Chapter 4
----
(One)
Berlin, Germany
12 June 1919
It was a cool night. The breeze blowing down the Unter Den Linden smelled of smoke. Goldstein zipped up his brown leather
jacket and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his loden trousers as he walked slowly, minding his steps across the rain-slicked,
iridescent cobblestones. The sidewalk was crowded, and now and then someone would grumble an insult as they pushed past Goldstein,
which he ignored.
He’d been out of hospital a couple of months, but when the plaster casts came off Goldstein had to relearn the art of walking.
The doctors assured him that he would eventually walk as well as he ever had, but for now using his legs delivered the same
thrill, and required the same amount of concentration, as had flying.
Goldstein kept his head bowed as he passed the disposed Kaiser’s palace and the sentries at the entrance who watched the street
from behind their tripod-mounted machine gun. One man wore an army infantryman’s uniform and helmet, the other was nattily
attired in a velvet-collared, gray tweed suit and matching fedora. He had on pearl gray, calf-skin gloves that looked intended
for handling a furled umbrella, not ammo belts. Both men wore the armbands of the Social Democratic Party, which had swept
the January elections for a New National Assembly to replace the exiled Kaiser’s Imperial Government. The newly elected Assembly
had met in Weimar to elect as President of the Reich the Socialist Freidrich Ebert. The hope was that the Weimar Parliament
would end the months of vicious street fighting in Berlin and other major cities between rival political factions on both
the left and the right.
Peace born of political stability was the hope, but the new government was taking no chances. The harsh provisions of the
Versailles Treaty had stirred up bitter resentment all over the country. Nationalist politicians were making
armament. The Herr Geschwaderkommandeur is certain that the Herr Sergeant will understand that the former could not remain
in battle with just one functioning machine gun.
Goldstein let the scrap flutter to the floor.
The orderly quickly snatched it up. “You’ll want to save it, of course. I’ll see to it that it’s put safely with your personal
items.”
Oh, that bastard Goering
, Goldstein thought. He could just see Goering’s eyes glinting with swinish malevolence as he’d dictated that note. How it
must have aggravated Goering when he’d found out that Goldstein had survived!
Goldstein hoped the fact that Goering’s cowardly strategy hadn’t managed to kill him festered in the Oberleutnant’s fat gut.
Goldstein knew that was all the revenge he would ever have against Goering. As Richthofen had made plain long ago, an officer
and a gentleman is not to be challenged by a Jew.
“I had hopes of being a flier, myself—” The orderly was blushing.
“What?” Goldstein muttered. “What did you say?”
“I wanted to fly, but I couldn’t pass muster.” The boy tapped his spectacles. “Weak eyes, you know. I hope there’s an opportunity
for you to tell me about some of your adventures before they ship you out.”
“Ship me?…” For a moment Goldstein didn’t understand. “You mean home?” he asked tentatively.
“Home to Germany,” the orderly confirmed. “As soon as the doctors have set your fractures. Herr Sergeant, for you the war
is over.”
It was only when the orderly was gone that Goldstein thought to ask how the war was proceeding. Later he found out that the
news was bad. The Allies had broken through all across the line and had crossed the Marne. Last night, while Goldstein slept,
huge bonfires lit the sky as German soldiers burned everything they were unable to carry before pulling back.
The constant traffic outside the window was the sound of the German army running away.
Chapter 4
----
(One)
Berlin, Germany
12 June 1919
It was a cool night. The breeze blowing down the Unter Den Linden smelled of smoke. Goldstein zipped up his brown leather
jacket and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his loden trousers as he walked slowly, minding his steps across the rain-slicked,
iridescent cobblestones. The sidewalk was crowded, and now and then someone would grumble an insult as they pushed past Goldstein,
which he ignored.
He’d been out of hospital a couple of months, but when the plaster casts came off Goldstein had to relearn the art of walking.
The doctors assured him that he would eventually walk as well as he ever had, but for now using his legs delivered the same
thrill, and required the same amount of concentration, as had flying.
Goldstein kept his head bowed as he passed the disposed Kaiser’s palace and the sentries at the entrance who watched the street
from behind their tripod-mounted machine gun. One man wore an army infantryman’s uniform and helmet, the other was nattily
attired in a velvet-collared, gray tweed suit and matching fedora. He had on pearl gray, calf-skin gloves that looked intended
for handling a furled umbrella, not ammo belts. Both men wore the armbands of the Social Democratic Party, which had swept
the January elections for a New National Assembly to replace the exiled Kaiser’s Imperial Government. The newly elected Assembly
had met in Weimar to elect as President of the Reich the Socialist Freidrich Ebert. The hope was that the Weimar Parliament
would end the months of vicious street fighting in Berlin and other major cities between rival political factions on both
the left and the right.
Peace born of political stability was the hope, but the new government was taking no chances. The harsh provisions of the
Versailles Treaty had stirred up bitter resentment all over the country. Nationalist politicians were making
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