The third member of the Democratic Executive was Hanna Kirchner, a grandmother and the leading woman politician in all of Germany. She had fled to Sweden early in the Nazi era, kept a liaison with the first cousins of the German Democrats, the British Labor Party, and the Social Democrats around Europe. During the war she worked for the International Red Cross.
The Communist/People’s Proletariat Executive consisted of Rudi Wöhlman, Heinrich Hirsch, Deputy Mayor Heinz Eck. The fourth man was there for no other purpose than a naked display of police terror. He was Adolph Schatz.
“Comrades,” Rudi Wöhlman said, smiling his toothy smile to all sides of the conference table, “we have requested this meeting to put forth a proposal which we know will benefit Berlin and help clarify the political confusion. We are now pulling in separate directions. Soon, a new Constitution will be granted. It is time for us Berliners to work together to put this city on its feet.”
Berliners, indeed, Falkenstein thought. None of the four Communists remembered Berlin, they had been in Russia so long.
“It is our proposal that we form a single political group ... one great anti-Fascist front. With such solidarity and strength, the Nazi elements will never again be able to rise and destroy the German people.”
So that was it! It was so transparent, Ulrich had all he could do to keep a straight face as Hirsch and Eck added their voices. When they were done, Ulrich quickly averted an open discussion. “We will talk about it and reach you,” he said.
The three remained after the Communists left.
“It is an outrageous attempt to swallow us up,” Hanna Kirchner said, “under a guise of unity. Oh, certainly, they’ll put us in a few posts as window dressing.”
“Why must we suspect the worst,” Hollweg said.
“Because this is the worst,” Ulrich answered.
“But what can we do to stop it?” Hollweg retorted. “You know the pressure we are going to come under. We are not strong enough to stand against the Russians and the Americans are not going to lift a finger in our behalf.”
Berthold Hollweg had come out of a shack on the Teltow Canal to assume an important role in the rebirth of the Democratic Party. Much of his old iron had been taken by the humiliations of the Nazi years, but still Ulrich knew that he spoke truth.
When Ulrich and Hanna left, Heinz Eck, the deputy mayor, came to his office.
“It was a good meeting,” Eck said. “I have a feeling you see the merit of the plan.”
The gambit had begun. Hollweg knew they were to be singled out now and brought under pressure. Heinz Eck was an automatic functionary, a robot—a man with neither mind nor soul.
“It would be comforting for us to know you intend to support the anti-Fascist front,” he pressed.
“I must think it over carefully.”
“By all means, examine all aspects. Only then can you realize it is the only way for Berlin. How else are we to build? How else can we stop the rebirth of Nazism which the West fosters in our midst. May I say more? We in the People’s Proletariat Party have long recognized you as the true strength of the Democrats.”
A detestable lie, Hollweg thought. I am a relic of the past, living on past glory.
“Speaking with frankness, Comrade Hollweg, we would support your candidacy as Oberburgermeister again in the election.”
No doubt with you as my first deputy, Hollweg thought. “A fair price for services,” he mumbled.
“Can we say that we can depend on you?”
“I said, I would think it over.”
Immediately following the meeting the Action Squads, supported by the political section of Schatz’s police, began to single out Democrats to “convince” them of the merit of the unity plan. Those who were “convinced” set up a demand for an open meeting of delegates to vote in the form of a referendum.
Ulrich and Hanna knew that such an open meeting staged in the Russian Sector of the city would put a rubber stamp on the anti-Fascist front and be the death warrant of the Democrats.
Neither the Christian nor Conservative parties were in a position to do anything but follow the Democrats. They were too weak by themselves and Wöhlman had maneuvered to lop them off one at a time.
When Berthold Hollweg announced he supported the open meeting, Ulrich knew he was being brought under heavy, heavy pressure. He also knew he was out of maneuvering room.
Sean greeted Falkenstein at American Headquarters. Each made half-hearted apologies for not seeing more of the other since they had been in Berlin.
“We have followed your work with great interest. You’ve done a hell of a job of putting the Democratic Party together.”
“Which may all prove in vain,” Ulrich answered. “We always spoke to each other straight-out in Rombaden, Major O’Sullivan.”
“Shoot.”
“The Communists are trying to force us into a political union. It is an old trick.”
“We know all about it,” Sean said.
“Good. Now, what do you intend to do?”
“Nothing.”
“I have always known the Americans are naive.” He held up his hand to stop a retort. “How long do you expect the free parties to survive?”
“Officially, we have to consider this a German family affair.”
“Nonsense. The Communists are no more German than you are. They are men with German names being backed up by Russians guns. How do you conclude it is a German affair?”
“Herr Falkenstein, freedom is not something that can be presented to you, compliments of America, in a neatly wrapped package.”
“Your country has never been exposed to the ugly facts of life we face.”
“I challenge that, Herr Falkenstein. We won our spurs in a bloody Civil War and we have fought the German people twice in a lifetime because of ideas.”
“Do you really think then that you can stay here and keep from getting your hands dirty? I am telling you how this works. I have seen the terror before and it is all coming back. The Action Squads used to be called Brownshirts and there is no difference, sir, between the NKVD and the Gestapo. They will single out weak men, break their spirit, convert them. The slogans and speeches are all the same. You Americans have to know there are Germans here who speak for the West and you cannot conveniently turn your backs on us.”
Sean knew what was taking place. But how many were there like Falkenstein, ready to stand up and be counted?
“The fact of life is this, Herr Falkenstein. I could not convince a single man in authority to trust a German politician no matter what label. We do not believe in your people.”
A dull throb pained Falkenstein’s chest. His voice grew harsh. “You are making a grave, grave mistake.”
“Are we? If you truly believed in the courage of your people, you would not come running for help at the first threat. You know they are weak, but your freedom is not something to be handed you at the end of an American bayonet. If we are ever to be convinced, it will be because you earn it with the blood of men willing to die.”
Falkenstein was sallow. “Seeing all this happen again is like being an observer at your own funeral. I plead with you, make a gesture so I can rally my party.”
“You told me the first day we met in Rombaden that Berliners are different.”
“They are! This is the birthplace of free thought!”
“It is also the birthplace of Prussian militarism. Sure, Berliners are different They just happen to like a parade.”
Ulrich Falkenstein pulled himself to his feet heavily. Tears welled in his eyes. “You will see!”
Chapter Thirteen
A MEETING OF THE Democratic Party was licensed by the Soviet Union to be held deep inside the Russian Sector for the purpose of voting on the anti-Fascist front referendum.