In the Presence of Mine Enemies Read Free

called the Air and Space Ministry the Reichsmarschall ’s Office, in memory of Hermann Göring, the only man ever to hold that exalted rank. Willi Dorsch used its more common name when he nudged Heinrich and said, “I wonder what’s happening in the Jungle these days.”
    â€œCould be anything,” Heinrich answered. They both laughed. The roof of the ministry had been covered with four meters of earth, partly as a protection against bombs from the air, and then lavishly planted, partly to please Göring’s fancy (his private apartment was on the top floor). The Reichsmarschall was almost fifty years dead, but the orgies he’d put on amidst the greenery remained a Berlin legend.
    Willi said, “We aren’t the men our grandfathers were. In those days, they thought big and weren’t ashamed to be flamboyant.” He sighed the sigh of a man denied great deeds by the time in which he chanced to live.
    â€œPoor us, doomed to get by on matter-of-fact competence,” Heinrich said. “The skills we need to run the Empire are different from the ones Hitler’s generation used to conquer it.”
    â€œI suppose so.” Willi clicked his tongue between his teeth. “I envy you your contentment here and now. I almost joined the Wehrmacht when I was just out of the Hitler Jugend . Sometimes I still think I should have. There’s a difference between this uniform”—he ran a hand down the front of his double-breasted greatcoat—“and the ones real soldiers wear.”
    â€œIs that your heart talking, or did you just remember you’re not eighteen years old any more?” Heinrich said. His friend winced, acknowledging the hit. He went on, “Me, I’d fight if the Vaterland needed me, but I’m just as glad I don’t have to carry a gun.”
    â€œWe’re all probably safer because you don’t,” Willi said.
    â€œThis is also true.” Heinrich took off his thick, gold-framed glasses. The street outside, the interior of the bus, and even Willi next to him turned blurry and indistinct. He blinked a couple of times, then set the glassesback on the bridge of his nose. The world regained its sharp edges.
    The neon brilliance of the street outside dimmed as the bus went past the shops and theaters and started picking up passengers from the Ministries of the Interior, Transportation, Economics, and Food. More uniforms that don’t have soldiers in them, Heinrich thought. The buildings from which the new riders came were shutting down for the day.
    Two ministries, though, like the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, never slept. A new shift went into the Justice Ministry to replace the workers who left for home. German justice could not close its eyes, and woe betide the criminal or racial mongrel upon whom its all-seeing gaze settled. Himself a thoroughly law-abiding man, Heinrich still shivered a little whenever he passed that marble-fronted hall.
    The Colonial Ministry stayed busy, too. Much of the world fell under its purview: the farming villages in the Ukraine, the mining colonies in central Africa, the Indian tea plantations, the cattle herders on the plains of North America. As if picking that last thought from Heinrich’s mind, Willi Dorsch said, “How many Americans does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
    â€œThe Americans have always been in the dark.” Heinrich clucked sadly. “Your father was telling that one, Willi.”
    â€œIf he was, he sounded more relieved than I do. The Yankees might have been tough.”
    â€œMight-have-beens don’t count, fortunately.” Isolation and neutrality had kept the United States from paying heed as potential allies in Europe went down one after another. It faced the Germanic Empire and Japan alone a generation later—and the oceans weren’t wide enough to shield it from robot bombs. Now it was trying to get back on its feet, but the Reich