Chapter 34-
The doctor grimaced when Falke walked into the hospital ward, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Falke didn't care- he knew the staff were tired of his constant visits, but their feelings were much less important than the reason he came by so often.
For the most part, the hospital was standard issue by naval standards. The equipment was a bit newer, the staff a bit more numerous, but little would have given a visiting doctor any pause upon first entering the facility.
It wasn't until one looked into the patients' rooms that the differences became apparent. Falke had visited this particular room dozens of times before so he only spared the machines that measured heart and brain activity a glance to make sure they were properly stowed and clean. The devices were rare in even the best German hospitals. Here, they were mandatory. These patients were very important indeed.
Falke walked to his usual seat by the bedside, sitting down and studying Deutschland's sleeping face intently. Asleep, her usual belligerence was absent. She breathed softly and evenly, eyes closed, expression peaceful. There were no wounds on her, no scars, not so much as a scratch on her pale skin. Despite this, the doctors were in agreement about her condition.
She was dying.
For a while after the battle, she had been lethargic and weak, but conscious and aware. She had even unleashed a flood of furious invective on Falke when he first went to check on her, though when she calmed down she gave him something that could pass for an apology. He had left thinking she would be recovering and causing headaches for him within a few days at most.
Instead, the condition of the proud shipgirl had worsened steadily. She was awake for fewer and fewer hours of the day. Her body temperature plunged. When she was awake, she seemed less aware of her surroundings, though she always recognized Falke. Sometimes, she tossed and turned in her sleep as Falke sat by her bedside, nightmares wracking her small body.
Years ago, Falke's daughter Nicola had contracted a fever. He had been on shore duty at the time so he'd been able to at least spend the nights with her, giving his wife time to rest. He remembered how his little girl had cried out during her fever dreams, and how he had held her hand to comfort her. She had recovered, returning to her usual cheerful self quickly once the fever broke. Only to-
His mind shying away from the memory, he reached out and took Deutschland's hand. It wasn't much, but when he felt her hand tighten on his it provided him with some hope. She wasn't gone yet.
Deutschland's eyes suddenly opened. For a brief moment, she looked panicky. "Where-"
"You're in the hospital," said Falke gently. "You've been ill."
"Kommandant?" Her gaze flicked to him, then to the hand he held. "What do you think you are doing, holding my hand?" Her tone was more perfunctory than anything, as if she felt obligated to protest. She tried- very half-heartedly- to pull away, but he simply held on.
After a brief effort, she gave up and sighed, avoiding his gaze. "Very well. If it gives you comfort."
"It does," said Falke with a smile.
She gave a high-pitched hmph but he noticed she tightened her grip. "Where am I?" she asked.
"The naval hospital-"
"No," she interrupted impatiently. "I mean, where is my ship?"
Falke frowned at her. "It's still at the bottom of the strait."
"Oh." Her reply was faint. She closed her eyes again.
"Deutschland," he said, a wave of fear washing over him. "Deutschland! How do we help you? We can't raise the ship-"
She shook her head, her eyes still closed. "I don't know." A single tear leaked from one eye. Her voice fell to a whisper. "I can feel it, down in the water."
She shifted her body a bit, and Falke suddenly noticed a reddish-brown smear on the bedclothes. Blood? He looked closer.
No. Rust.
No one knew exactly how the physical ships were connected to the girls. If one was sunk, did the other die too? He'd heard of an incident in Japan, but what had happened was not entirely clear. The Amagi had undoubtedly been damaged beyond all repair, but how that had resulted in the death of the shipgirl had never been explained, at least not to Falke's satisfaction.
He watched helplessly as Deutschland lapsed back into unconsciousness. He'd had a similar feeling when he had received the message about the attack that killed his family- a sense of helplessness, of failure and fear and anger.
Gently releasing Deutschland's hand, he stood up and walked decisively out of the room.
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The rooms assigned to the German shipgirls would have been considered spare by civilian standards- at least, by middle class civilian standards- but the bedroom and anteroom was more than sufficient for Bismarck's purposes. She'd requisitioned a small desk, a chair for her and two for potential visitors, and enough office supplies to allow her to work when the Kommandant made her leave her real office at the end of the day. No doubt if he knew just how much she was taking on during her "off" hours he would be furious with her. While he was strict about training and their other duties, he also believed strongly in the need for rest. Which, of course, he refused to take himself other than the bare minimum needed to keep functioning.
Right now, however, she was allowing herself to unwind a bit. That had been her intention, anyway, when she put down the latest readiness reports and started reading the newspaper. The news was anything but relaxing, however.
The headline had been the first to catch her eye. The Reichstag had just passed the Enabling Act, giving Hitler "the tools needed to defeat the traitors and murderers who had assassinated the Kaiser." It hadn't taken Bismarck long to determine what that meant. Essentially, Hitler had just been given total power over Germany.
Falke had never said anything about what had passed between him and the Nazi Party Fuhrer when they had met, but every shipgirl knew of the resentment and contempt he'd held for Hitler since then. Political matters were of little interest to the girls, so they'd tended to take Falke's lead with regard to their stance toward the Reichschancellor. Bismarck herself wondered what her namesake would have made of the man.
Her own place was clear. She would be by Falke's side no matter what happened.
She glanced up from the paper at a knock on her door. "Come in," she said.
The door opened to reveal Prinz Eugen, with the three Koenigsburg-class light cruisers clustered around her. "Good evening, Lord Bismarck," said Prinz Eugen. Her tone was a touch more respectful than usual, putting Bismarck immediately on guard.
"What is it, Eugen?" Bismarck kept her tone polite, but was ready for anything. It wasn't that she didn't trust Eugen, exactly- it was more that Eugen always gave the impression that she had an ulterior motive in play regardless of what she was doing.
"I am sorry for disturbing you," said Eugen breezily. "But these three-" she indicated the light cruisers around her "-were asking if they could go into town briefly for some shopping."
Bismarck frowned. "The Kommandant would prefer we not expose ourselves to potential attack, especially since the assassination of the Kaiser."
"So long as we are close enough to the sea," said Eugen dryly, "Anyone stupid enough to make such an attack would not be around long to observe the effects."
"Nor would any civilians unlucky enough to be within the blast zone," pointed out Bismarck.
"The Kommandant did say that excursions would still be permitted, however," said Eugen, quickly changing tack. "I will accompany them to make sure no one gets into any unnecessary trouble."
Bismarck thought for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Do not get too far from the sea and do not stay out too long. And no drinking!"
Eugen looked a bit disappointed, but nodded. "Of course, Lord Bismarck. Thank you for your time." She closed the door and Bismarck heard the Koenigsburg girls chattering excitedly as they continued down the hall.
She turned back to the paper and inwardly groaned at the next article, a piece by Goebbels about the alleged Jewish plot that had led to Wilhelm's assassination. The last thing they needed was more-
Bismarck paused.
"What did she mean, 'unnecessary trouble'?" she suddenly wondered aloud.
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Erwin Kropf looked up from his till as the door of his sweets shop chimed.
The three girls that entered were in some sort of odd uniform, short red and black dresses with military-style caps, but they were certainly no kind of soldier. His second thought was that they were from a girl's school, but-
He blinked as he suddenly remembered where he had seen them before. He glanced at the newspaper he had left on the shop counter. A photo on the front page, half-covered by the ring of a coffee cup he had set down on it a few hours ago, showed several girls skating across the ocean under a cloudy sky. One of them was the spitting image of the most serious-looking one, a girl with glasses.
"Shiffmadchen," he muttered. "In my shop!"
He quickly made his way over to them as they were looking over some of the more expensive candies. "Good evening, ladies. Can I help you with anything?"
They quickly turned at his approach and smiled openly. "Chocolate!" said one, who looked to be the youngest.
"Manners, Karlsruhe," warned the girl with glasses. "You're the shopkeeper, yes?"
"Erwin Kropf, at your service," he said with a comically exaggerated bow. "Purveyor of the finest candies and sweets in all of Germany. No, in all the world!"
The girls giggled at his grandiosity. "I take it you believe strongly in your wares, then," said the serious girl. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Koln. These are my two sisters, Karlsruhe and Koenigsburg."
Kropf took their hands in turn for a gentle shake. "I have seen you in the papers, fraulein. You are even more charming in person."
Koenigsburg arched an eyebrow in amusement. "A flatterer, I see. I hope the words you are speaking aren't the only sweets in the shop today."
"I assure you, my dear, that the most pleasing compliment I can pay you in words is not worth a fraction of the compliment I can pay with my goods." He reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a few pieces of chocolate he carried around as samples. "Please, try one."
Karlsruhe practically snatched a piece from his hand, drawing a glare from Koln. The other two sisters took their pieces more demurely, unwrapping them and popping them into their mouths.
One by one, their eyes lit up. Kropf watched their reactions with satisfaction.
"Wow," said Karlsruhe, her eyes lighting up. "These are amazing!"
"It's very good," agreed Koln, only a bit less enthusiastically. "But how did you get chocolate of such quality?"
"I have my sources," said Kropf smugly. The complex family connections that allowed him to get high quality chocolate even under wartime conditions was too difficult to explain, after all. "Is the chocolate to your liking?"
Karlsruhe nodded excitedly. "Yes! We wanted to get some for a friend who is feeling ill- I'm sure this will make her feel much better!"
Kropf smiled. He hadn't gone into the confectionery business simply to make money- no, it was the way sweets helped make the world a slightly more cheerful place that had attracted him to the trade. There had been plenty of ways he could have chosen to make money, but no amount of marks could buy the joy on a child's face when they got to eat something delicious. He decided to give the girls a bit of a discount. Not only would it help to ensure their custom, but there was something about them that cheered him up a bit. And in these times, that was especially important. "Well, please select what you want, and I'll ring-"
The door flew open and he looked up to see another girl, this one dressed in a black...dress? Skirt? Whatever it was, it covered very little and Kropf immediately looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed. He'd heard rumors of how some of the shipgirls dressed- and this must be another one- but it was quite another thing to see it. "Good evening, frau-"
"Koenigsburg, Koln, Karlsruhe," snapped the newcomer. "We must return to base immediately."
"Ok, but we were just buying some chocolates for Deutschland, Prinz Eugen-" said Karlsruhe.
Eugen glanced at the chocolates in their hands, then at Kropf. "You are the shopkeeper, yes?"
Her voice was polite, if a bit curt. Despite that, Kropf felt uneasy. She exuded an undefinable sense of power, of sheer will that made his answering nod a bit nervous.
"Here." As if by magic, a wad of cash appeared in her hand, which she thrust at Kropf. "I assume that will cover it?"
One quick glance was enough for him to tell that it would be enough. Indeed, it would have covered ten times the amount they had chosen. "Yes, fraulein, but I can't take all of this, please let me get your change-"
"There's no time," she said. She looked back at the other girls. "Come."
"What's going on?" asked Koln, looking around worriedly. "Is there something-"
"A riot," replied Eugen tersely. "Or there will be soon."
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As soon as she had escorted the Koenigsburg-class girls to the candy store, Eugen had gone in search of her own shopping list item. Schnapps, to be exact.
Ignoring the looks of the passersby as she made her way down the street, she had quickly located her usual store and made her purchases. On the way out, however, she heard a voice rising up from a nearby square. Curious, she had made her way toward it, finding a small crowd.
"For centuries," shouted the speaker, "We have allowed a cancer to fester in our nation. For years, we have striven for peace again and again, only to have it torn from us. It is no accident that we have found ourselves driven to war! I tell you now, there is a vermin infesting the Fatherland, and I will give you the name now."
Eugen managed to slip through the crowd far enough to see the speaker. He was wearing a brown denim shirt cut in a military style with brown riding trousers. Even if that had not been enough to mark him as one of Hitler's "Brownshirts"- the SA or Sturmabteilung- the swastika armband showed his affiliation with unmistakable clarity.
"The name of this pest, this vermin that carries war and destruction as surely as the rats of Medieval times carried the plague, is very simple.
"The Jew."
There were some shouts of agreement, led by men whom Eugen strongly suspected had been placed in the crowd beforehand.
"Every time you find a crime, if you search thoroughly enough, you will find a Jew. Every time you expose corruption, you will find, hiding within like a maggot in a corpse, the Jew. Every time-"
Eugen stopped listening to the bilge and started thinking quickly.
Ever since the Nazi Party takeover, there had been a few riots and pogroms already, mostly scattered ones that quickly ran out of steam. This, though- she remembered Joseph Goebbels's article which had been carried in newspapers across the country. This was planned.
It was time to return to base.
Anyone who knew her would have been surprised at the way she managed to blend into the rapidly growing crowds. Despite her appearance, she could be remarkably stealthy when she needed to be. Even as she moved quickly to the sweets shop where she had left the other girls, the situation worsened. Already, the first few windows had been smashed.
Eugen stumbled over something in the shadows, and felt a little ill when she saw what it was. An old man, curled up on the ground. A pool of blood already clotting on the pavement around his head. One touch was all she needed to verify that there was nothing she could do for the man.
By the time she had reached the sweets shop, she wasn't just worried.
She was angry.
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"A riot?" said Kropf in disbelief. "Over what? Food rations have been higher than ever!"
"Not a food riot," said Eugen as she began to usher the Koenigsburg girls out the door. "An anti-Semitic one."
"Anti-" Kropf went pale.
Eugen paused and glanced at him, then at the store's sign. Closed on Saturdays. She looked a question back at him.
He shrugged. "Eh, so I'm Jewish. But I'm a loyal German. Why would they do anything to me?"
She walked over, grabbed him by his shoulder, and started dragging him with them. "This isn't about you being a loyal German. It's about you being a convenient enemy. You can come with us to the base for now."
The shopkeeper struggled to break free, but the much smaller shipgirl had more than enough strength to handle him. "But, but- my shop!"
"Shops can be rebuilt," said Eugen, tugging him outside. She stopped abruptly as she smelled the unmistakable odor of smoke.
"Prinz Eugen," said Karlsruhe nervously. "There's a fire." She pointed to a shop down the street where a sizable crowd was gathered. The roaring of the flames was audible even at this distance.
"Why isn't anyone trying to put it out?" asked Koln. She straightened her shoulders and began walking toward the fire. "I'll deal with this-"
"Halt!" Eugen's voice was sharp. Koln stopped so fast she nearly tripped. "We are going back to the base immediately."
The mob was slowly making its way toward them, so Eugen turned everybody around and headed down the street in the opposite direction. She hoped they'd leave Kropf's shop alone, but if they didn't- well, at least it would give them the opportunity to slip away.
They started to turn the corner and found themselves faced with another mob. A number of Brownshirts stood in the front ranks, hefting clubs and a few knives. The mob slowed to a stop as the front ranks caught sight of the shipgirls and shopkeeper.
"That's Kropf!" shouted someone. "He always undercuts my prices, the dirty Jew! The Sirens always let his goods go through!"
Kropf shook his head desperately. "No, no, that's not true-"
One of the Brownshirts stepped forward. He had a massive plank in one hand, which he held over his shoulder confidently. "You girls can leave. We only have business with the Jew."
Eugen eyed him, then looked back at Kropf.
"Prinz Eugen," said Karlsruhe in a low tone. "Please don't them hurt Herr Kropf. He was nice to us. I don't think he's a bad man."
"The Kommandant wouldn't want us to get involved in a fight," said Eugen.
"The Kommandant wouldn't want us to abandon a German civilian," retorted Koln.
Koenigsburg said nothing, but watched Eugen with steady eyes.
Eugen smiled and shook her head. "Oh, well, I suppose it won't be the first time the Kommandant has reamed me out." She took a few steps toward the mob as the girls exchanged puzzled glances. "This man is under the protection of the Imperial German Navy. Disperse immediately and go home."
"You know, there are a lot of rumors that the Navy is full of Jews," said the lead Brownshirt. "Are you sure you want to add fuel to that particular fire?"
Eugen cocked her head, studying him. "One hundred meters."
There was a brief moment of silence as the mob's leaders hesitated, looking confusedly at one another. "One hundred meters? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't want to find out. So I will give you one more chance. Go. Home."
Scowling, the Brownshirt stepped forward and swung the plank at Eugen.
There was a flash of light, a bang, and a cloud of smoke. For a moment, everyone other than Eugen couldn't tell what had happened.
The first clue they got was when a crunching sound behind them made everyone turn.
What was left of the Brownshirt- a shattered, bloody mass- peeled off the wall of a building, taking a fair amount of the facade with it. It fell with a wet splat onto the ground below, leaving a roughly human shaped hole in the building's facade.
"About one hundred meters," said Eugen. "I'd say that's roughly the distance my shot threw him, yes?"
Koln adjusted her glasses, mentally gauging the distance. "Probably closer to ninety."
Eugen shrugged, then turned back to the mob. She pointed to another Brownshirt. "You. One hundred twenty five meters."
He paled at the sight of her outstretched arm, glanced back at the remains of his former leader, then turned tail and ran.
In short order, the rest of the mob followed.
After that, the group managed to get back to the base with no further problems.
Behind them, however, the city burned.
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"Can't be done," said Speer, not looking up from the document he was reading. He made a couple of quick notes on the paper.
Falke forced himself to stay calm.
When Hitler had come to power, he had moved quickly to secure control over the shipgirl project. While he hadn't directly interfered with the Navy's control, he had assigned one of his inner circle to oversee the program on the civilian side. Falke had found Albert Speer to be efficient, intelligent, and infuriating.
Despite the lateness of the hour, he had found Speer working in his office still and demanded to see him. It was rude, even boorish, but Deutschland's condition was deteriorating too quickly for niceties.
"The Americans have raised sunken ships on multiple occasions," said Falke. "Why couldn't we do the same with the Deutschland?" It was a legitimate question- he had read the feasibility studies and it seemed to him that the Americans had undertaken larger and more complex salvage operations.
Speer put down the paper he was reading and looked across his desk at Falke. "Quite frankly, Kommodor, the money just isn't there. Such an operation would be expensive-"
"Less expensive than building a new ship," argued Falke.
Speer shrugged. "That may be true, except we're not dealing with the old method of ship construction. For the cost of raising Deutschland, we could finance the awakening of two or three additional Wisdom Cubes. Since we've learned that we can awaken ships that were not even built, only planned- well, the cost and benefits analysis is clear. It makes far more sense to try to awaken even more advanced ships, rather than invest in a ship that's already a bit out of date."
Falke clenched his fists. He decided to try another angle of attack. "The propaganda value, however- raising Deutschland from the grave- that would be quite the coup." He hated the idea of Hitler using Deutschland for such a purpose, but he would grin and bear it if it meant saving her.
"The German people would rather have a new ship of immense destructive power than an older ship, I am sure. Kommodor, I sympathize with your position-" Speer's eyes showed no sign of any sympathy as they met Falke's "-but the reality is that we are working with a limited budget. Projects must be prioritized. Sacrifices must be made. Perhaps in the future we can devote the funds to raising Deutschland as a sign of our growing prosperity."
And who knew how long that would be. Even if it happened sooner rather than later, Falke doubted that Deutschland would survive the wait. "Herr Speer, there is a young girl in the hospital who-"
"A young girl?" Speer stood up, suddenly out of patience. "Are you referring to the warship, Falke? Because if you are looking at her as a warship, then the arguments I just laid out should answer your question. But if you are referring to simply a young girl, then I could direct your attention to a great many other young girls and boys that are starving or sick across Germany. How does your young girl merit more attention than they do?"
Falke stood too, surprised at the normally imperturbable Speer's outburst. "I-"
He paused. The truth was, Speer had a point. If he was going to treat Deutschland as a weapon, his decisions had to be based on the cold logic of war. If he saw her as a young girl in need- the resources to save her ship and her life could save thousands of young lives just as deserving.
Even so, he wanted to save her.
"You are too close to them, Kommodor," continued Speer. "You are losing your objectivity. Hard times require hard decisions. I take no pleasure in denying your request, but I will not compromise the war effort simply to save one little girl, when all of Germany's children need us." His tone softened. "I am sorry."
For a long moment, Falke and he stared at one another. Falke looked into the other man's eyes and saw no sympathy to match that he had put in his voice. Instead, he saw a mind full of cold calculation, one that saw people as tools to be used or discarded according to their purpose and usefulness.
"I think you are a dedicated man, Kommodor, so I will say this much. The next few weeks will be pivotal ones for Germany," said Speer after a moment. "The Fuhrer has plans to revitalize Germany. The rewards for our nation and people will be tremendous. But every good thing must be earned, ja? Accustom yourself to difficult decisions, Falke. Because you will be making them."
Falke stared at him, trying to divine the meaning behind his words. Obviously Hitler was up to something. But what? He didn't care a bit about his own popularity in and of itself, but suddenly he was glad for the public adulation that had been showered upon him for the past few months. Perhaps it would shield him from the storm that he was now certain was coming. How he would use the protection he had- well, Speer was right about that much. Whatever he decided, it wouldn't be easy.
He turned and picked up his coat and hat from the rack beside Speer's office door. "Thank you for your time, Herr Speer. I apologize for intruding upon you at this late hour."
Speer relaxed, apparently taking his politeness for subservience. "Not at all. I understand that this is an issue that must be weighing greatly on your mind."
"Indeed. Hab noch einen schoenen Abend."
He left before Speer could reply.
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Speer looked thoughtfully at the door after Falke had left, turning the encounter over in his mind. It was clear Falke was too attached to the Schiffmadchen but there was also the larger question of his loyalties. He was not privy to everything the Fuhrer was planning, but only a man of considerably smaller intellect than Speer's would miss the signs. Germany would soon forever be changed and Speer intended to change along with it.
Falke was of the old breed- proud and honorable, but too resistant to necessary change. Such men were useful, in their way, of course. The Junkers had seen the two major forces of change- Communism and Nazism- and had chosen the one that seemed less likely to threaten them directly. Falke would soon have to make a similar choice.
Speer sat down and pulled a piece of paper toward him. The memorandum he was about to send was far too sensitive to entrust to a secretary.
Yes, Falke would be useful. All they needed was a bit of leverage.
Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world, Archimedes had boasted. It wasn't surprising, given that, how small a lever could move a mere man.