“Hitler’s promise to rein in the storm troopers was easily given but will not be so readily carried out. When Roehm and his SA officers find out he’s sold them out, there will be hell to pay. Hitler has now ordered all members of the Sturmabteilung to go on leave for the entire month of July.”
Hans whistled softly. “Really? And Roehm agreed?”
“Yes. Hitler also told him that they were not to wear their uniforms or perform any kind of official functions. As you can imagine, Roehm was apoplectic, but he finally agreed because he knows that Hitler now has the full backing of the army.”
“Go on.”
“Which brings us to what has been happening the last few days. About a week ago, Hitler decided to visit President Hindenburg to see if they couldn’t resolve the crisis. But the old man refused to see him. The reports are that he is furious with his chancellor for bringing them to the brink of another civil war. Instead, Hitler was met by General von Blomberg, minister of defense. Blomberg minced no words. Speaking for Hindenburg, he told the chancellor that if the present state of tensions was not immediately resolved, Hindenburg would declare martial law and turn over all powers to the army.”
That shocked Hans to the core. “Which means Adolf would lose everything he has fought so hard for, everything he’s done in the last year and a half.”
“You are very perceptive,” the voice said dryly. “Hitler was rattled when he flew back to Berlin. To further complicate the situation, Hermann Goering and Heinrich Himmler were waiting for Hitler when he arrived. They claimed to have proof of a secret plot by Roehm and others to assassinate the Führer and seize full power.”
Hans gasped. “And is that true?” he finally asked.
“Who knows? But that started the pot boiling. Yesterday, the Army High Command expelled Roehm from the German Officer’s League, which strips him of army authority. Blomberg, obviously wanting to make it clear where the army stood in this, published an article reaffirming that the army stood solidly behind Adolf Hitler. Then the day before yesterday, Hitler left Berlin to attend a wedding. Once he was gone, Goering and Himmler took it upon themselves to call up the elite units of the SS, the Gestapo, and the Prussian police and ‘hold themselves in readiness.’ Their words.”
“And does the Führer know that?”
“That’s not clear. But when the Führer arrived at his hotel yesterday afternoon, Joseph Goebbels arrived a short time later with ‘alarming news.’ According to him, storm troopers were preparing to launch a coup d’état here in Berlin on June thirtieth at five p.m.”
“But that’s today!”
“Yes it is. A short time later, the Führer got two more messages—one from Berlin confirming a possible coup this afternoon.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“I think it is a ploy by Geobbels and Himmler to goad Hitler into striking first, but the threat could be credible. Their second message was that the SA is going to launch a surprise attack on all major government centers in Munich.”
“Munich?” Hans gasped.
“Ja. That is when I decided I must call and warn you. Hitler is in the air as we speak. He’s coming to Munich. And he is raging. He sent an order to Goering and Himmler. ‘This is mutiny! Only swift, ruthless, and bloody intervention will stop the spread of this revolt.’”
Hans felt a sense of déjà vu sweeping over him. It was 1919 all over again, when the Communist uprising in Munich turned its streets into battlefields and nearly set up a Communist state in Bavaria. “So the SS and the others are mobilizing?” he asked.
“No, Herr Eckhardt. They are already mobilized! They are on the move as we speak. That’s why I called. You need to get you and your family out of there as quickly as possible. The storm troopers reportedly have lists of names, hundreds of them. They have designated targets they are going to hit, fast and hard.”
“But I’m out of it now!” Hans exclaimed. “I don’t work for the party anymore.”
“You are the personal friend of Hitler,” the caller shot back. “Do you really want to try to convince them that you are not part of this?” He lowered his voice. “Goering and Himmler have dubbed their plan Operation Hummingbird. But those closest to it have another name for it. They’re calling it Nacht der langen Messer.”
Hans turned as Emilee gripped his arm. “Night of the Long Knives?” she whispered, horrified.
The man on the other end of the phone went on. “Goering and Himmler have long memories. They’re not only going to put down the rebellion; they’re going to even up old scores, purge out anyone who is a threat to the Reich.”
“And my name is on that list?”
“I haven’t seen the lists, Herr Eckhardt. But are you willing to take the chance that it is not?” And then the line went dead.
Hans slammed the phone down and spun around to Emilee. But she was gone. He could hear her footsteps pounding down the hall. And then she started shouting. “Oma Inga! Wake up! Get the children. Hurry! Hurry!”
June 30, 1934, 1:21 a.m.
Hans swung around as Emilee appeared in the doorway. “We’re ready,” she cried.
“Find a place to hide the house key. We’ll call Ernst and Landra and let them know where it is so they can—”
A voice crackled on the phone. Hans jammed the earpiece against his ear again. “Yes, I’m still here.” He frowned. “Ja, ja! I know what time it is. This is an extreme emergency. It is imperative that I talk with Herr or Frau Zeidner immediately. I know they are staying in your hotel.”
He listened for a moment, cursing under his breath. “If you are not authorized to wake them up, then get someone who is. The concierge. Or the hotel manager. . . . Yes, I’ll hold.”
He turned to Emilee. “She’s getting the manager. Finally!”
“We have to go, Hans.”
“I know. But I have to let the Zeidners know.”
“We can call them later!” she exclaimed. “Once we’re safe.”
Hans took a quick breath to calm himself. “Emilee, I know this is not very likely, but there are a lot of people who know that I am best friends with Alemann. Suppose Roehm sends his men after them as well?”
She blanched. “But they’re in Moscow.”
“And they’re coming home day after tomorrow. They could walk right into a civil war.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Yes! Tell them.”
A voice crackled again over the phone. Hans leaned in and kissed her quickly. “Go get everyone in the car. I’ll be right there.” But as he turned back to the phone he saw that she didn’t move.
“Hallo!”
“Alemann! Wunderbar!”
“Hans! What’s wrong? Do you know what time it is?”
“Listen to me, Alemann. We have a grave emergency.” Hans let it all out in a torrent, not going into all the detail, but laying out the essentials of what he had been told. “You are probably not in danger, but—”
“No,” Alemann cut in. “You are right to warn us. Even if it’s only one chance in a hundred, we can’t risk it.”
“I can’t tell you what to do,” said Hans, “but if it were me, I’d check out of your hotel as soon as possible. And don’t come back to your house. Not until this is over.”
“I. . . . Yes. Good idea.” In the background, Hans heard Richelle’s voice ask who it was, but Alemann went on. “Where are you and Emilee going?”
“We don’t know yet. We’ll head south. Get out of Germany as quickly as possible. Then we’ll decide. We’re thinking Austria to begin with. Who knows after that?”
“What about Lisa and Jo?”
“We’re stopping at the camp. We’re taking them with us. They’re at risk too.”
“Gut, gut! I was just going to say that.” There was a brief pause as he whispered something to Richelle, and then Hans heard a door slam through the phone
line. Alemann came back on. “Richelle is going to wake up the girls and start packing. Listen, Hans. I want you to go to our home.”
“No, Alemann. That’s not safe. Too many people know that we are close friends.”
“I’m not saying hide out there. We leave a key to the back door of the house hidden under the large urn out by the toolshed. Inside the house, in the cupboard above the stove, is the key to our car. Take it.”
“What? No. Oh, wait. Are you thinking you’ll meet us somewhere?”
“No! It’s not for us. It’s for you! You can’t go hundreds of miles with eight people and all your belongings stuffed into your little car. Have Emilee drive your car, and you drive mine. We’ll take the train.”
Hans pushed away the temptation to protest more. Alemann was right. They would have a hard time fitting everyone comfortably in their car. “Okay. Thank you. But don’t come back to Munich at all. Bypass it altogether if you can.”
“We’ll try to come through Vienna. Do you have a pencil and paper close by?” Emilee grabbed the items quickly from the small desk in the corner. “Got it,” Hans said when she handed them to him. “I’m ready.”
“I’m going to give you the combination to the safe in my office. I keep about eight or nine thousand marks there in case of an emergency.”
Hans gave Emilee an incredulous look. Eight or nine thousand marks? Their emergency fund was about a hundred and fifty marks.
“Richelle also keeps some of her jewelry in there. Bring that too. Leave the papers. Are you ready for the combination?” Not waiting, he gave Hans the numbers.
Hans scribbled the combination down and read it back to him. “And how do we make contact with you? You won’t know where we are and—”
“Write down this name. Adelboden. It’s a tiny village up in the Bernese Alps, about forty miles southeast of Bern. Richelle’s parents owned a chalet there. Now it’s ours. We often go there for a week or two. It is very isolated. Far off the beaten track.”
“That’s what we’re looking for. How do we find it?”
“Uh . . . when you get to Bern, find the telegraph office. I’ll wire you the directions. But I’ll send it in care of Herr Heinz Gruber. Don’t give them your real name.”
“Good idea. Will you and Richelle come there?”
“Yes, but it may take a few days. I’ll wire our caretakers—a husband and wife—and tell them to expect you before we get there. I’ll have them stock up with food. They are thoroughly trustworthy and very discreet.”
“Discreet is good right now,” Hans said. “Anything else?”
“No. We’ll see you in Switzerland.”
June 30–July 1, 1934
As events unfolded in the early morning hours of the last day of June and on into the following days, the reports of Ernst Roehm’s Sturmabteilung launching a nationwide putsch against the National Socialists proved to be greatly exaggerated. But that stopped nothing. Acceding to Hitler’s demands that the SA stand down for the whole month of July, Roehm and several of his top SA leadership left Munich. They headed for a popular lakeside resort in the Bavarian Alps. While they had plans for a wild party, they were certainly not preparing for a revolution.
By the time Hitler’s plane landed in Munich around four o’clock that morning, loyal party members there had already taken the first action. The head of the SA in Munich, who was also Munich’s chief of police, was in jail by the time the Führer arrived. In a rage, Hitler ripped off the man’s Nazi insignia and cursed him for being a traitor. As the SS men raised their pistols, shocked and confused, one of them cried, “Gentlemen, I do not know what this is about. But shoot straight.” The “traitor” died in a hail of bullets.
By the time the sun was coming up, a long column of cars, with Hitler’s in the lead, was racing south. They surrounded the hotel where Roehm’s party was staying and then rushed inside, guns drawn. Instead of an armed camp plotting revolution, they found Roehm and his party all asleep in their beds. The awakening was swift, brutal, and merciless. Edmund Heines, leader of the SA in Silesia, was with his companion sleeping in one room. The two men were dragged outside, where Hitler ordered them shot.
Ernst Roehm was rousted from his bed and dragged off to the Stadelheim Prison in Munich. Later that day, Hitler sent two SS men to Ernst Roehm’s cell. Roehm calmly but defiantly denied any plot to kill Hitler. In what was deemed to be an act of grace, the SS men laid a pistol on the table and told Roehm he could take the honorable way out. Then they turned and left. Roehm refused to commit suicide, so the men returned, and he was shot. His last words were, “Mein Führer, mein Führer.”
In Berlin, Goering and Himmler moved swiftly as well. The SS troops, along with the Gestapo and Prussian Police units, rounded up a hundred and fifty of the leading SA leaders in Berlin, took them to the Cadet School in Lichterfelde, and put them before firing squads. Other small squads of men spread out across the city. General Kurt von Schleicher, the last chancellor in the Weimar Republic, was shot dead when he opened the door to his villa. When his wife appeared, they shot her as well.
Gregor Strasser, once second to Hitler in the party, was seized at his home and shot a few hours later in a Gestapo jail.
Franz von Papen, vice chancellor to Hitler and close confidant of President Hindenburg, was spared, but his office was ransacked by an SS squad and his private secretary murdered at his desk. The leader of the Catholic Action group, which had opposed Hitler’s rise to power, was slain in his office. His staff were arrested and carted off to a concentration camp.
Proof that the SA was not undertaking a coup that night was Karl Ernst, the young leader of the SA in Berlin. When the roundup started, he had already left for his honeymoon with his new bride. SS gunmen caught up with him as he and his bride neared Bremen, where they had tickets to sail to Madeira, a resort island off the coast of Portugal. Ernst was executed, and his bride and chauffeur were both wounded in the battle.
Gustav von Kahr, who had been made minister of Bavaria during the crisis of 1923, and who had, more than any other single man, thwarted Hitler’s Beer Hall Putsch in November of that year, had retired from politics years before. His body was found in a swamp. He had been hacked to death with pickaxes.
Father Bernhard Stempfle, who had helped Hitler edit Mein Kampf, was found with his neck broken and three shots to the heart. It was widely rumored that he knew some personal secrets about Hitler’s private life. Three SA men, who supposedly had been the ones to set the Reichstag building on fire, were also dispatched.
Dr. Willi Schmid, a cellist and eminent music critic for Munich’s leading newspaper, had no involvement in politics. He was playing his cello that evening in his home. His wife was in the kitchen, his three young children in a nearby room. When he answered a knock at the door, four SS men grabbed him and dragged him away without any explanation. Four days later his body was returned in a coffin. It turned out that he had been mistaken for Willi Schmidt, a local leader of the SA, who had already been arrested and shot.
Most of the killing was over by the afternoon of Saturday, July 1. By that time, Hitler had flown back to Berlin in order to host a tea party in the gardens at the chancellery. On Monday, the aging president called his chancellor and Hermann Goering to the presidential palace and thanked Hitler for “his determined action and gallant personal intervention, which have nipped treason in the bud and rescued the German people from a great danger.” He also commended Goering for his “energetic and successful action in suppressing high treason.”
The next day, General von Blomburg, minister of defense, extended the congratulations of the entire cabinet and basically legalized the slaughter by saying that the Night of the Long Knives was a necessary defense of the state. Blomberg also issued an order to the Army High Command to begin establishing “cordial relations” with the new SA now that Hitler would lead it.
Thus, the president
, the national cabinet, the Reichstag, and the Army High Command publicly sanctioned Hitler’s decision to act as accuser, judge, jury, and executioner in the purge of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. A great sense of relief swept over the German people. A bloody, prolonged civil war had been avoided. So what if individual rights had been trampled under the feet of their leader? Strong, courageous leadership had saved the day.
On July 26, Hitler fulfilled his promise to the army. The Schutzstaffel, or Protection Squadron, referred to by most people simply as the SS, was separated from the storm troopers and put under the command of Heinrich Himmler, who reported directly to Hitler himself. The SA continued to exist, but its membership quickly dwindled as young men chose to join the army, the SS, or the Gestapo, where the real power now resided.
Less than a week later, at nine o’clock on the morning of August 2, 1934, President Paul von Hindenburg, who had led the German military forces during the last half of the Great War, passed away quietly. Three hours later, an announcement was made over the national radio network that on the day previously, the national cabinet, led by their chancellor, had passed a new law stating that upon the president’s death, the title of president would be abolished, and the powers of that office, which included being head of state and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, would be combined with the powers of the chancellor, who served as head of the government. This went contrary to the provisions of the constitution, but no one seemed to be paying attention to that. Hereafter Adolf Hitler would be known as Führer, Reich chancellor, and commander-in-chief of the armed forces. Immediately, Hitler made all officers and men of the Fatherland’s armed forces swear an oath of fealty, which bound them absolutely and unconditionally to their new commander. It read: “I swear by God this sacred oath, that I will render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, and will be ready to be a brave soldier to risk my life at any time for this man.”
Only one thing remained to be done to cement all of this in place. On August 19, a vote was held giving the people a chance to weigh in on the changes in government which had been effected on Hindenburg’s death. Ninety-five percent of those registered to vote went to the polling booths. Ninety percent of the voters approved the changes.
Fire and Steel, Volume 6 Page 18
