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La Maison Rouge
Di L.W. Hewitt
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 352 pagine4 ore
- Editore:
- L.W. Hewitt
- Pubblicato:
- Mar 1, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9780463110263
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
“Take it all - the bottles, the barrels. Everything. Then burn the vineyards and destroy the vines.” The orders from Colonel Meyer sent shock waves through the Alsace. As the Allies advanced up the Rhône river valley the Nazi hierarchy demanded the total destruction of the French wine industry. The resistance fought back and violence erupted on the Colmar plain. In the grand wineries and elegant chateau’s the sommeliers plotted to save whatever they could of their precious treasures - the wines of eastern France. Bottle by bottle, barrel by barrel, the workers of the Château du Schoppenwihr hid their precious wines just as the Nazis descended on the place they called La Maison Rouge.
Informazioni sul libro
La Maison Rouge
Di L.W. Hewitt
Lunghezza: 352 pagine4 ore
Descrizione
“Take it all - the bottles, the barrels. Everything. Then burn the vineyards and destroy the vines.” The orders from Colonel Meyer sent shock waves through the Alsace. As the Allies advanced up the Rhône river valley the Nazi hierarchy demanded the total destruction of the French wine industry. The resistance fought back and violence erupted on the Colmar plain. In the grand wineries and elegant chateau’s the sommeliers plotted to save whatever they could of their precious treasures - the wines of eastern France. Bottle by bottle, barrel by barrel, the workers of the Château du Schoppenwihr hid their precious wines just as the Nazis descended on the place they called La Maison Rouge.
- Editore:
- L.W. Hewitt
- Pubblicato:
- Mar 1, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9780463110263
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
I have coffee most every morning at my "office" - a small table in a 1920s style restaurant and hotel called the Olympic Club in Centralia, Washington. Visitors assume I work there, some think I am the manager. I direct people to the bathrooms - the urinals in this place are a tourist attraction all by themselves. This is where I write. The chaos and atmosphere prep me for the day, and everyone in town knows if you need to talk to me, just drop by the "Oly Club."Most don't know that I have a master's degree in business, and have run my own technology company for nearly twenty of my last forty working years. I won a national championship on horseback, raced sailboats, wrestled octopus, baby-sat a killer whale, and once was a cook on a salmon purse seiner.I have read "A Soldier's Burial' aloud over General Patton's grave in Luxembourg, and said a prayer of thanks at the very spot at Magaret in Belgium where the German panzers were stopped outside Bastogne. I cried on Omaha Beach in Normandy and in the gas chamber at Dachau. I wear a silver Stetson and boots when I travel and answer to "Hey, cowboy!' in several languages.I have led an interesting life - married forty years, have three children, nine grandchildren, and thirty foster children, some with families of their own now. I am now free to pursue my passion for writing - especially about the two great wars of the twentieth century. So I cherish my role as "author-in-residence," or that crazy guy at the table by the urinals - it depends on your perspective.
Correlati a La Maison Rouge
Anteprima del libro
La Maison Rouge - L.W. Hewitt
Reserved
On the Edge
My characters didn't choose tragedy.
Tragedy chose them.
- Juliette Binoche
April 1919
We will keep the farm for you, for when you return. You have my word.
Landis Vanier and his wife Madolen stood in the courtyard at La Maison Rouge, tears streaming down their cheeks, as they helped their friends Hugo and Veronika Seiler pack.
Hugo reached out and took Landis by the arm, tightly.
With all this trouble, Landis, we cannot know what will happen. We may never get back.
The expulsion of Germans in the Alsace tore families apart and pitched neighbor against neighbor. The Seilers were given only two days to leave or face arrest.
Landis and Madolen Vanier worked the farm and lived in a small cottage on the premises with their baby, Garin. Landis was French. He and his family were safe.
Madolen could barely console her best friend.
It will end someday. You will see,
and she held Veronika close to her.
I hope you are right. But just in case … ,
She turned and lifted a young boy who had been sitting on the bench seat of the horse cart.
What are you doing? Veronika?
She handed Madolen Vanier her only child.
Willie must stay here. We cannot know what will happen to us. But my boy, he will be safe with you. I trust him to you, in God’s name.
She gasped for breath, desperately trying to hold back her tears.
No, Madolen, I cannot … ,
You must!
The desperation in her voice broke Madolen Vanier’s heart. My boy is my life! Willie must stay here with you.
The horse began to prance nervously, and Veronika Seiler climbed up in the cart. Her husband climbed up on the bench beside her her.
Landis Vanier stepped forward and grabbed his friend’s hand.
Willie will be as my own son. I give you my word … on my life.
Hugo Seiler shook the reins and the cart rolled out and turned toward the L'Orchbach Creek bridge.
January 1934; University of Munich
Gerhardt’s work habits are sloppy. His research methods are at best primitive, and he arrives at conclusions before evaluating the evidence.
Professor Reinmann lit a pipe and sat back in an exquisite leather chair, his office reeking of elegance and privilege.
He simply lacks the appropriate discipline, Herr Meyer. Rumors suggest has a problem with alcohol.
Walter Meyer sat across from the professor, angry and frustrated his son Gerhardt had still not graduated - now an entire year behind his classmates.
If he cannot pass his examinations again I will be left with no choice but to dismiss him.
Discipline. Herr Meyer had heard that complaint before. His only son Gerhardt had proven once more to be an embarrassment.
Herr Meyer, if I can make a suggestion.
Please do, Professor. I have run out of ideas.
Perhaps a more closely controlled environment will focus Gerhardt’s attention. Herr Hitler has vowed to rebuild the armed services. Perhaps an enlistment would provide your son with the discipline he requires.
The army? Yes, yes. That is a good idea. With my connections I could get him an appointment to the officer corps. And besides, Herr Hitler has promised peace for Germany. A career in the army during peacetime sounds like a perfect position.
I will contact the registrar and see he is discharged promptly to avoid any further expense on your part, Herr Meyer.
The professor stood, and Herr Meyer knew it was time to move on.
Good luck to you. I hope Gerhardt finds his calling, Herr Meyer.
Chapter 1
I flew commercial back from Buenos Aires. The coach seat was painfully uncomfortable but I was glad to have missed the reception the authorities planned for me as they surrounded Roland’s jet at Ministro Pistarini airfield.
I had tried to book a first-class ticket only to discover, much to my embarrassment, that my Guardian credit card no longer worked. Apparently Tom Clarendon finally got his way … and you can take that to mean I was out of a job.
Sandwiched between a nervous Italian businessman who spoke just enough English to be a nuisance and a Parisian student who buried her face in her smart phone the entire trip, I abandoned any hope of conversation. I tried to make sense out of the Hotel Lancaster story, but I had to reluctantly admit Angus McDonough was right - no ending, no story.
Monique met me curbside at Charles de Gaulle Airport in the Audi. She and Roland beat me back to France by a whole day.
That’s my car. How did you get my keys?
She tossed off my question with a flip of her hair.
Really, M. Larry. When you went off to South America your wife asked me to stay at the beach house. She told me where you keep the key. Did she not tell you?
Rhonda? She’s back from the states?
Monique gave me one of her patented looks.
A little behind on our email, are we?
and she pulled out onto the causeway. No, she is not. Not for at least two more weeks. But she asked me to stay at the beach house while you were away to keep an eye on things.
I gave her a sharp look.
I suppose Donovan is with you?
Relax. He promised to change the sheets,
she replied with a mischievous grin.
I wasn’t used to having company.
Then tell them to go home!
Duval Racine groused as I took up a table at L’Hôtel de Paris the next morning with just a cup of coffee and my laptop.
It’s not that simple,
I protested.
Duval just threw up his hands and stormed back to the kitchen.
Nothing with you is ever simple!
I missed you, too,
I muttered as I opened my email. Two-hundred and twenty-two messages.
I guess Monique had been correct. I hit Command-A
- all messages - and pressed DELETE.
There. All caught up,
and I sat back with my coffee and watched out the front window as several fishing boats made their way out of the lock toward the bay.
I bet he wouldn’t want you going through those.
Donovan Craig walked up the back steps into the kitchen for a cup of coffee as Monique busied herself in my office, a stack of files on the desk.
Of course he would not. That is why I waited until he went to the restaurant to annoy M. Racine.
Donovan walked into the office and stepped closer to the desk.
Those are the OSS files.
Monique looked up with a sarcastic grin.
Amazing. And it only took you two years to make detective.
Very funny. You told me he kept those files locked away.
Monique just grinned.
Don’t tell me. What are you looking for?
She closed one of the folders and set it aside, then opened the next.
I do not know. Just looking. M. Larry was pretty upset when he talked to me from the plane. That incident at the hotel - scaring that old man like that … ,
And barely getting out of the country to avoid an arrest. That may have had something to do with it. I won’t even mention the extradition order and that phony stay you and Roland showed up with.
Monique smiled as she turned her attention to the next folder.
We do what we must … ,
she muttered mostly to herself as she began scanning the pages.
Now, this is interesting. Ever hear of the Treasure of Alsace?
It’s actually called the Colmar Treasure. And yes, Interpol has on several occasions served as a security advisor as the traveling exhibition moved from city to city. Why do you ask?
She looked up, a smile on her face.
"It seems our dear friend Sid was asked at one time to investigate something referred to as ‘the stash’ somewhere in the Colmar area.
Look here … a signed travel order with a typed note on OSS letterhead attached … listen to this.
15 SEPT 1945, BRIEFING NOTE: The Colmar Treasure or Colmar Hoard
- a collection of precious objects buried by Jews at the time of the Black Death pogroms. A cache of jeweled rings, brooches, and coins was found hidden in the wall of a house in Colmar, France, dated from the 14th century.
Possibility of a cache of similar items near Chateau de Schoppenwihr, Colmar area. Coordinate with SOE and advise.
That should be ‘Château’ , and ‘du Schoppenwihr’ not ‘de’,
she muttered.
Donovan moved to look over her shoulder.
That last part is circled.
Monique scooted over to make room for him.
Look at the date of these travel orders - 15 September 1945. That’s just about the time the OSS was dissolved. Looks like he never followed up with any of this.
Donovan sat back down in the leather side chair and took a sip of his coffee as Monique looked through the rest of the file.
I can’t imagine what the OSS was interested in. The Colmar Treasure has been in a museum since the early 1920’s. I don’t recall any issues of it disappearing during the war.
That is probably why M. Sid never did anything with this. All he left was a few notes. Scribbles, mostly … Like most of Sid’s files, a form of shorthand … except this … ,
In the lower-middle of the page written in faint and fading pencil was … a name. ‘L. M. Rouge.’
L. M. Rouge? Initials? A name, some guy named ‘Rouge.’ Or perhaps ‘The Red something?’
I do not know … ,
as Monique grabbed her iPad and began to type into her browser.
L. M. Rouge … brings back ‘Moulin Rouge,’ ‘Baton Rouge’ … let me take a guess … add ‘Colmar’ to the search … ,
You have not had breakfast yet?
Monique’s voice interrupted my quiet morning as she and Donovan Craig came in from the back door of the restaurant and joined me - without an invitation, I thought to myself.
No, not yet.
Good,
Donovan smiled, and he pulled out a chair for Monique.
Working on our manners, are we?
Monique just smiled at my juvenile sarcasm.
He has a long way to go, but he is American after all,
she smiled.
Hey!
I did manage to get Donovan to pay for breakfast.
So what are you going to do now?
Monique asked as we walked back up the beach. Angus does not want the Lancaster story, and for sure M. Clarendon has pulled your plug.
Pulled THE plug, Monique, not my plug.
Whatever,
she dissed me. In any case, you have some free time before Rhonda comes home.
And your point?
I have a great idea!
Château de Schoppenwihr, Alsace; 1933
Out! Allez!
The cook burst through the pantry door brandishing a rolling pin and shook it high above his head at the three boys.
Thieves! I will call for the police!
Philippe Rodin stood, frozen with fear. His friend Willie stumbled back, almost knocking him to the floor.
Run, Philippe! Run, Willie!
laughed Garin Vanier as he pushed past the two, a loaf of bread in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.
Willie turned and smacked himself on the door as it closed behind him. Philippe grabbed his arm and half-dragged him through the door as they ran frantically for the safety of the hedgerow.
Did you see the look on his face?
Garin cried out as the boys ran through the gardens, crossed the road, and made for a patch of woods less than a kilometer away.
He will tell my papa!
Philippe stammered, gasping for breath as they slowed to a walk, heading toward the River Ill bridge. I told you we would get caught!
Willie just fell to his knees, trying not to vomit.
Oh, you worry too much,
Garin laughed. Come on, I still have the bottle. I will beat you both to the bridge.
He took off at a run.
Papa!
the boys cried out in unison.
Landis Vanier pushed open the door to the farm’s tool room and stood with his hands on his hips, the hulking figure of the château’s caretaker Michel Rodin standing behind him, a serious frown on his face.
So! This is what we have raised, Michel. A gaggle of petty thieves!
Vanier reached down and snatched a half-empty bottle of wine from his son Garin.
Willie, you let him talk you into this?
Willie Seiler just stared at the floor, afraid to look his stepfather in the eyes.
And you!
M. Rodin pointed a stern finger at his son Philippe. You would steal from my kitchen?
I am sorry, papa, but it was … ,
Enough!
cried M. Vanier. To the manure pile … all of you. I want it spread by nightfall or there will be hell to pay.
Oui, M. Vanier,
Philippe replied, sheepishly.
Willie? Garin?
Oui, papa,
whimpered Willie, and Garin shot him a nasty look.
Maintenant!
The two men kept a close eye on the boys as they followed them out into the farm’s courtyard. Garin gave Willie a shove in the side, nearly knocking him down.
Both men struggled to contain their laughter.
Ah, to be a boy again,
Michel Rodin smiled. Philippe can walk home when you are finished with him.
He took a look at the half-empty bottle of the chateau’s wine M. Vanier had handed back to him.
Hah! The Private Reserve! At least they have excellent taste in wine!
He took a swig and handed the bottle to Landis Vanier.
They must be punished, Michel.
M. Rodin just laughed.
As if you and I did not do the same at their age,
and they turned and began walking back toward the farmhouse. Send your boys to the chateau tomorrow. All three can work off their thievery … ,
and he smiled, … and I will pay them for their efforts.
The two men shook hands as Michel Rodin slipped behind the wheel of his car.
A fine day to you, Landis.
And you as well, mon ami.
Present Day
All day? With Donovan?
He looked at me and frowned as he poured coffee in my kitchen.
Uh, I am standing right here.
Monique dismissed my outrage.
It would not be like you had to actually sit with him. I have reserved kayaks for both of you. Six hours or so, down a wonderfully pleasant little river. You will love it. And … ,
she sipped her coffee and bore down on me with her eyes scrunched together, … your wife agrees with me - you need a break. A real vacation.
I took that to mean I had no choice.
I have booked two rooms at L’Hôtel des Berges in the town of Illhaeusern. It is right on the river, and you can stop your trip right there. They have a wonderful restaurant - two Michelin stars. Roland personally called M. Haeberlin, the manager to make the arrangements.
Roland - that figures.
You and Donovan paddle down the river then soothe your aching muscles in their spa while I sample the fantastic regional wine.
Do I have a say in any of this?
No, not really,
she smiled.
OK. And just where is this little jaunt taking me?
Why, the Alsace, or course. You will enter the water at Colmar and follow the River Ill all the way to Illhaeusern. You stop halfway for a catered lunch at a place called La Maison Rouge.
Alsace? Colmar?
The Alsace was where Antoine was born, where he was conscripted into the German army in the Great War. And Colmar was the center of one of the WWII’s bitterest battles - called Operation Grandslam, the assault on the Colmar Pocket. It was where my father’s generational hero Audie Murphy fought and was awarded a Medal of Honor near a town called Holtzwihr.
What are you doing?
Monique interrupted me.
What?
"You have that look. No, you are not going to do whatever you have churning in that funny brain of yours.
This is a vacation!
Chapter 2
It’s the Colmar Canal. It cuts East from here. It was the main objective of the battle that took place here in the winter of ’44 - ’45.
M. Larry! No history lectures. You promised!
Monique stood with her hands on her hips giving me a nasty look as Donovan and I walked across the parking lot off the D-4 where our river trip guides made the kayaks and canoes ready. The shallow water and large quiet pool made this an easy place to launch for the trip north on the Ill River.
Yeah, yeah,
I muttered as I walked to the edge of the riverbank.
A lot of action here?
Donovan asked, quietly enough not to call attention to ourselves from the hovering Monique.
"It’s been called the ‘Forgotten Battle’ because of the focus on the Ardennes. But even though the area is relatively small it held strategic importance for both sides. The Germans needed Colmar to protect the supply bridges across the Rhine. The Allies needed to clear the pocket before they could launch attacks from Strasbourg across the Rhine. Otherwise it left their right flank and supply lines exposed.
The fighting in the Colmar Pocket was as vicious as anything in the war. Three soldiers were awarded Medals of Honor here, including Audie Murphy.
I’ve heard of him.
"The movie To Hell and Back, among others. He became a movie star after the war - the most decorated soldier in American history. He was probably the most famous soldier of my parents generation."
You said there were three?
Private Jose Valdez, near Rosenkrantz just a little north of here. And a recent award, Garlin Conner for action near Houssen.
A recent one?
A long story. I can fill you in once get away from Mother Monique,
I said, looking back over my shoulder as she approached, a look on her face.
"All right you two, I am leaving for the hotel and a bottle of wine. I expect you to relax and enjoy yourselves for a change.
Or else!
After she drove away Donovan turned to me.
They have a golf course around here?
This was ground zero for the Germans,
remarked one of our trip-mates, a retirement-aged accountant from Amsterdam and his wife paddling one of the canoes. We had come to a bend in the river where a small island split the Ill into two fairly shallow paths.
Houssen to the left, Holtzwihr to the right. Colmar Canal behind us. The Germans had their headquarters in a great chateau called Schoppenwihr - the Americans reduced it to a pile of rubble. This was where it all took place.
Godfried, please. Spare us the history lecture,
his wife protested. Leave these poor people alone, for god’s sake.
I just looked at Donovan and grinned.
Another Monique,
I smiled.
God help us all,
he grinned as the guide steered toward the right channel.
We will lunch at the bridge,
the guide turned and called out, pointing to the eastern shore with his paddle. We will have to portage here. There is an irrigation dam ahead and rapids below. The water is too shallow to paddle past this time of the year.
We pushed toward a flat grassy area next to a large reddish-pink farm house.
La Maison Rouge,
Godfried With No Last Name proclaimed.
The Red House?
asked someone in the group.
The bridge was the first strategic objective for the American infantry. They crossed the river a few kilometers downstream and worked their way along the eastern edge then drove off a small squad defending the bridge.
Flat ground, not too difficult,
someone commented.
I just laughed. I could not resist.
Sub-freezing temperatures. Snow drifts up to 3 feet in the fields. The ground too frozen to dig foxholes. The Germans occupied the only buildings in the entire area. Pretty brutal.
We walked up to a table set up in the shade and selected from a spread of sandwiches, cheese, and wine.
The house was empty so they took it over and set up a radio,
announced Godfried.
I turned to look back at the farm buildings.
I want to take a closer look.
Just then the guide climbed up from the river bank where he had helped one of the paddlers with their canoe. He no doubt had heard me.
"The owners of La Maison Rouge have graciously allowed us to stop here. But please respect their privacy.
The house and grounds above are off limits.
OB-West Headquarters; July 1942
An urgent dispatch from Berlin, Herr Feldmarshall.
The field marshal’s aide, Hauptmann Luts Fausbinder interrupted his commanding officer who had been studying a red file folder, now closed.
Generalfeldmarschall von Witzleben read the dispatch and sat back with a fine cognac.
Urgent? In Berlin they issue urgent orders every time a bird shits on the Reichstag windows. And now instead of preparing to defeat England we are to play wine steward to their highnesses, Göring and Himmler.
He tossed the order in disgust onto his desk.
You will consider the acquisition of the French wine resources in the Alsace a top priority. New quotas for annual shipments from the vineyards will be directed from the Ministry of Food Production and Agriculture. Your command is expected to facilitate these quotas with extreme prejudice.
The cable was countersigned by both Reichsführers Herman Göring and Heinrich Himmler.
Who is the commandant in the district?
The Alsace is commanded by only a temporary junior officer, Herr Feldmarshall. This directive will require an officer of command rank.
You have a recommendation for me, Fausbinder?
The captain handed his superior a report, then stood dutifully waiting for a signature. Even after two full years of the occupation the Alsace region of eastern France languished without a proper Wehrmacht commandant. A string of junior officers rotated through the post - most ended up transferred East as the German army rolled through the Ukraine and into Russia. With the German army poised to capture the strategic city of Stalingrad all Wehrmacht senior officer assignments in the West were on temporary hold.
All the officers are qualified, Herr Feldmarshall. The staff, however, favors Major Meyer.
Meyer,
and the field marshal read down through the list. I recognize many of these names, but I do not know this Meyer.
"He has no combat experience, Herr Feldmarshall. His assignments have been administrative. He is currently
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