Chapter Two Thousand One Hundred Seventy-Two
31st August 1972
Munich, Bavaria
King Albrecht of Bavaria had given a brief speech during the Opening Ceremonies of the 1972 Munich Games. He had talked about how in the Ancient Games the City States of Greece had put aside all their differences during the Games. All warfare ceased for the duration. They had even gone so far as to sanction their own countrymen for continuing a war against a foreign adversary during the Games. Albrecht had said the need for that was just as true now as it had been then.
The Olympic Games were far more than either Niko or Bas had imagined when Opa had told them they were going. This was especially true because Opa liked congratulating every medalist regardless of nationality or meeting with the various competitors. Of course, many of them also wanted to meet the legendary, or infamous depending on one’s perspective, “Red Barron.” The result was that they found themselves meeting dozens of athletes from around the world. There had been an African Marathon Runner who had been surprised to discover that Opa knew some of the language of his home country or the bubbly Russian Gymnast who had spoken incredibly fast, she was incredibly happy just to be in Munich who stood out in Niko’s mind. It was a dizzying kaleidoscope of people and events that they were shuttled between.
There had been some concern that recent events would cast a pall over the Munich Games, what Opa said was the result of skullduggery and Bas’ late paternal grandfather being a bit too good at his job. That was news to Bas, what he knew about his grandfather was the side of him that his grandmother preferred to remember. The fact that he was a spymaster who had orchestrated the insertion of an agent into the very highest levels of the US Government was amazing. Opa had said that it wasn’t something should necessarily be celebrated. He said that organizations like the BND and BII necessary evils. Their very existence was a threat to the honor of individual men and States alike by offering simple solutions to complex problems. The idea that a crisis could be solved with a single rifle shot, a knife in someone’s back, or a bit of poison in the right cup was enticing. All one had to do was look at the current mess with the Americans collectively huddled in fearful crouch and basically taking an meataxe to their own institutions because Johann Schultz and Jacob Schmidt had been a bit too clever a few decades earlier. Everyone knew that this wouldn’t result in a war, but the resulting distrust was going to linger for the next several years.
That was why Niko had taken particular interest in the Men’s 300 Meter Rifle Three-Position competition. An American had dominated the event and was running up a record-breaking score in the process. When Opa talked to him after the event concluded for the day, he had happily shaken his hand and spoke with an accent that Niko had only ever heard before in movies. Apparently, he was from a place in Arkansas, but taught Marksmanship for the US Navy and Marine Corps in Virginia these days. That was what he told Opa.
“I think that Manny could have beat you” Bas said to the American.
“Who exactly is that?” The American asked.
“Manfred the Younger” Opa replied, “My oldest grandson and namesake. These two have idolized him since they were old enough to walk.”
“Can he really shoot the way your boy says he can?”
“Probably better than you can imagine” Opa said, “It has been said that he is possibly the best living shooter in the Heer, comparable to Heinz Thorwald.”
“Interesting” The American replied, “Tell him that if things ever get straightened out between Washington and Berlin, Ol’ Carlos would be happy to put that to the test in a friendly match.”
With that, the American walked off.
“Let that be a lesson to both of you” Opa said.
Silesia
Laying in her bed, the events of the day kept replaying in Mathilda’s head. That was keeping her awake, even before the storm had blown in with the wind and drumming rain.
Everyone assumed that Mathilda was supposed to be great friends with Anna and Gretchen because she fit neatly in age between the two of them. That had turned out not to be the case. Anna had told Mathilda that she was embarrassing. On the other hand, Gretchen lived to be oppositional to every expectation that was given to her, so she had given Mathilda the cold shoulder. That was why Anna was unhappy to learn that Mathilda would be starting at her school a year behind her.
“She worships trees” Anna had wailed in a rather poor understanding of what Mathilda believed. “Do you have any idea what a laughingstock that will make me?”
And all at once, Mathilda knew exactly why Gretchen had opted to go to the Prussian Institute. There she would only have to put up with harsh rules and the awkward position of being one of only a handful of girls there. As opposed constantly having to fight the urge to bludgeon Anna to death with the first heavy object that she could lay her hands on.
It was Mathilda who would go with Anna to the Tzschocha Gymnasia, considered the Sister Institution to the Wahlstatt Institute. When Ilse and Ina had taken Mathilda to visit the place a few days earlier, the Headmistress had made it very clear that academic rigor were what the school stressed and that any excuses for failing to live up to the school’s high standards would not be accepted. The Headmistress had also known that the Emperor himself was Mathilda’s patron. In her thinking that meant that she had an even higher standard to live up to, because Mathilda’s personal failures would reflect on him. She had made that very clear to Mathilda.
There was flash of light, and Mathilda counted down the seconds until there came the crash of thunder. She had always loved the idea that it was Thor riding his chariot across the sky through the storm clouds and the flashes were from Mjölnir. Perhaps he should be so kind to spare a bolt of lightning or two for Anna, Mathilda thought to herself. Not to hurt her, but just to knock some sense into Anna’s head.