The Night of the Generals

by Hans Hellmut Kirst

  INTERIM REPORT

  EXTRACTS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS

  Letter 1, written eighteen years after the events described here.

  Sender: Professor Dr Kahlert. Resident at Münster, Westphalia, between 1945 and 1946. Active in the field of popular education and contributor to several periodicals. Moved to Berlin in 1947, where he has since been closely associated with nationalist groups. The following are excerpts from Kahlert’s written depositions, reduced to bare essentials:

  “I was attached to General von Seydlitz-Gabler’s staff, first as a lieutenant and later as a captain. One of my duties, which I still recall with pride today, was to keep the Corps’ war diary.

  “The General trusted me implicitly, a sentiment which was fully reciprocated. I regarded him as a born commander-in-chief, and history has confirmed that he was one of the Fatherland’s greatest strategists.

  “Apart from that, however, General von Seydlitz-Gabler was what might be termed a philosopher. His utterances, which I was privileged to record in writing, were couched in global terms. This has become clear only in latter years. As he told me during the Polish campaign, for instance: ‘To be the dung of humanity is a tragic thing but a useful one.’ Again, when we were alone once, during the conquest of France, the General said: ‘The impulse towards what is good and right is comparable with the pangs of childbirth: we must overcome it if it is not to destroy us.’

  “I can provide you with further striking examples of his insight, and shall be glad to do so in my humble capacity as an historian. I shall never forget something he said during the Russian campaign, one evening when we were sharing a bottle of Mâcon together. I recorded it verbatim. ‘We have a weary road to tread,’ he said, ‘and it may well be that only posterity will fully understand us. What seems a daring pipe-dream today will go down in history as a piece of modest realism.’

  “You make repeated inquiries about his wife. I can assure you that, whatever the occasion, she showed herself worthy of him. I was privileged to see them together at many crucial moments, and I can only say that I have never met a finer embodiment of the phrase ‘Whither thou goest I will go’. Their relationship was one of mutual dependence. I shall always remember the time she turned to him one evening after a Chopin recital and said: ‘Real human values, Herbert—how could we recognize them if they weren’t within us?’

  “As to the child of this fortunate marriage, I fear that I cannot give you very much information. The young lady’s name was Ulrike, and I regret to say that she was living proof of the age-old theory that prominent men rarely produce offspring worthy of them. There was something ill-starred about her. She had a father who left his mark on history, but how many children are capable of recognizing parental greatness?”

  Letter 2, also written nearly eighteen years after the events described here.

  Sender: Otto, occasionally known as Otto the Fat. The following passages are also in extract form:

  “General Kahlenberge was quite something, you can take it from me. I was with him for years and he never gave me a dull moment. He had X-ray eyes and ears like wireless aerials. I often used to think—that fellow could hear a sparrow fart at ten paces!

  “Kahlenberge had a sort of sixth sense for everything that went on round him. He could always tell when the G.O.C. was on the war-path or when he was going to be easy meat. He was the sort of chap who could give you tomorrow’s weather forecast or next week’s casualty figures in advance. He was so sharp it took my breath away sometimes.

  “He was probably the only brass-hat who never tried to shoot us a line. If someone started talking about dying like a hero he’d say it was all a question of keeping a tight arsehole, and when he saw a slogan like ‘The Fatherland Calls!’ he’d say ‘They’re after our money again.’ He also liked to talk about ‘the Greater German sewer-rat’ (meaning our revered Führer and Supreme Commander)—and when he said ‘shit’ you could smell it!

  “Kahlenberge could twist anyone round his little finger. He was a ball of fire. The G.O.C. may have had big ideas, but where would he have been without Kahlenberge? He really ran the show, and I helped him do it.”

  Letter 3, also written eighteen years later. Sender: ex-Colonel Sandauer, currently a senior provincial government official. Owns a private residence in the Swabian Alps near Geislingen-Steige. Sandauer’s written remarks are reproduced here unabridged:

  Geislingen-Steige, November 9, 1960

  “Dear Sir,

  I must apologize for the fact that pressure of work has prevented me from replying to your letter until now. Although I am only too willing to answer your questions, I fear that my answers will prove of very little value because my knowledge of the more intimate details is extremely limited.

  “You are correct in saying that I served under Lieutenant-General Tanz in the Nibelungen (Special Operations) Division. I was his G.S.O.1 for nearly two years, from 1942 until 1944, successively holding the ranks of major and later lieutenant-colonel. My duties were not of the easiest, but I did my best to perform them conscientiously and efficiently.

  “No form of personal contact existed between myself and the General, a fact which would surprise no one who had any knowledge of that unusual man. He was unapproachable in the truest sense of the word. He had no private life and was completely wrapped up in his work.

  “At the time, General Tanz struck me as an ideal soldier, but I should like to emphasize that I can only judge by what I saw during the two years I served under him. Moreover, my observations must necessarily be subjective and incomplete. General Tanz would not tolerate weakness or contradiction. He gave his orders and we carried them out. Suggestions were offered only when he asked for them, and any sort of discussion was unthinkable.

  “You make a point of asking about the General’s human qualities and mention the incident in Potocki Avenue, when he gave the Polish children his rations. I can only say—he was like that. He enjoyed eating in field kitchens surrounded by his men. On more than one occasion I saw him give a dying man a last drink from his canteen, and he once offered an old woman a lift from one village to the next in his car. He always treated women with exemplary courtesy. Although he never drank spirits or smoked himself, he made a practice of sharing out his cigarette ration among the troops or members of the civil population. You can read further details of a similar nature in army newspapers, of which I should be glad to send you any particular copy on request.

  “I should be genuinely grateful if you would make every effort not to abuse my confidence. Misunderstandings of a painful and even dangerous nature can arise only too easily these days. It is true that we have not yet been as successful as we could wish in overcoming our past, but it is surely incumbent on us all to do so as speedily and effectively as possible.

  “Trusting that you will understand my position,

  Yours very truly,

  Sandauer”

  3

  The intimate little luncheon party to be given by the Corps Commander, General von Seydlitz-Gabler, was evidently a function of some importance, for Frau Wilhelmine had taken all the preparations under her personal supervision. The orderlies were having a dismal morning of it, and they were not the only ones. A.D.C., staff supervisor, head cook, orderly officers and female personnel were all going through hell.

  “I wonder if I might ask you?” was the mode of address normally adopted by Frau Wilhelmine on such occasions. The Generalin did not exactly give orders or issue directives. She had no right to. She merely requested, but when she made a request it had all the force of an order of the day issued by the G.O.C. himself.

  “Dear Fräulein Neumaier, I wonder if I might ask you to arrange for a fresh tablecloth and matching napkins?”

  Melanie Neumaier, the General’s personal assistant and long-time chief secretary, was Frau Wilhelmine’s favourite victim. Melanie cherished a profound and transparent devotion for “her” General and probably dreamed about him at night, but she hardly represented much
of a danger. Her potential attractions were to a great extent nullified by an ample nose. What was more, her inordinate shyness with men had won her the nickname of “the Iron Maiden.”

  “Dear Fräulein Neumaier, I wonder if I might also ask you to look around for some glasses that harmonize with each Other? It would be so nice if we could have four matching sets. We need hock, claret and champagne glasses, as well as tumblers. Would you mind doing that for me?”

  No one could have withstood Frau Wilhelmine’s frosty courtesy. Besides, past experience indicated that the General’s mood was largely dependent on that of his wife, and the General’s well-being was very close to his subordinate’s hearts.

  “I wonder if I might ask you to polish these glasses?”

  This time the victims were Lehmann, the General’s batman, and two orderlies detailed for the occasion. They polished away, possibly consoling themselves with the thought that when the war ended—if it ever did—they would emerge as trained hotel staff.

  Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler seemed to be everywhere at once: in the kitchens, where a capon was sizzling fragrantly; with General Kahlenberge, who as Chief of Staff was theoretically responsible for organizing the lunch; with Melanie Neumaier, who wrote out table-cards, arranged flowers and made telephone calls; and with the staff superintendent, who was persuaded to part with special stores of various kinds after a short struggle.

  “I wonder if I might ask you to find some ice-buckets for the wine—silver ones, if possible?”

  The Generalin was not one to shy at fences, most of which she took at the first attempt. She had wasted no time in combing the multitudinous rooms of the Liechnowski Palace for articles of value and gathering them around her, well aware that the effect of a painting is often determined by its frame.

  By the time she had finished, the suite occupied by her husband and herself resembled an inhabited museum. It was filled with damasks from Lyons, marble from Carrara, paintings from Paris, furniture from Rome and, scattered among these, fine examples of Polish craftsmanship, notably a massive and elaborately decorated table from a Cracow workshop of the late eighteenth century.

  Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler’s majestic features grew stern as her daughter Ulrike entered the room.

  Ulrike was a slim, bony girl with an air of extreme reserve. If her father’s prayers had been granted she would have been a boy, but Ulrike resolutely emphasized her femininity. Her hair-style, for instance, was downright provocative—a long smooth creation which enclosed her head like a silken curtain.

  Ulrike was a source of some worry to her parents. She was largely devoid of the sovereign self-confidence which might have been expected in a general’s daughter, nor was she particularly choosey about her friends. So, Ulrike had to be watched, and that was why, when she took up war-work, she was always “posted” somewhere within her parents’ reach. At the moment she was working at garrison headquarters.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear,” said Frau Wilhelmine. “You must be wondering why I sent for you.”

  Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler was young. Her eyes were blue and untroubled as a Mediterranean sky in summer. “I suppose I’ve put my foot in it again,” she said sweetly. “What have I done wrong now?”

  “My dearest child,” said Wilhelmine, all mother and general’s wife, “I worry about you more than you give me credit for. I worry about your future, too.” She indicated one of the tall chairs that stood round the table. “After all, you’re a woman now.”

  “Maybe,” said Ulrike, almost sadly. “Sometimes I think so too. It’s the war, probably.”

  “You’re not an innocent girl any longer, Ulrike. We needn’t pretend to each other.”

  “Why should we? Nobody’s to blame. It’s not your fault or Father’s either. I’m doing war-work here because you insisted on it, but when you do war-work you meet a lot of soldiers—and they’re not all as old and respectable as a Corps Commander.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Ulrike. I’ve no intention of reading you a moral lecture. On the contrary, we all have to learn from our mistakes. I’d like to know whether you’re happy, that’s all.”

  “Is it essential to be happy with things the way they are?”

  Frau Wilhelmine brushed the question aside. “I’m no stranger to this sort of situation, my dear. When I was your age I gave myself to a lieutenant—one summer night in the park. I need hardly add that he was an exceptional man, but who was I to tie myself to a young, impetuous lieutenant? Later I met a captain, a much more balanced, mature and stable man. He became your father.”

  Ulrike crossed her legs. It was a defiant gesture, but her mother refused to be distracted. When Frau Wilhelmine could see the winning-post ahead she pressed on regardless like the thoroughbred she was.

  “We women,” she pursued, quite unperturbed, “have our occasional moments of weakness, but when the hour of decision comes we choose a man of solid worth, the man who seems worthiest of our love.”

  “And who do you suppose that might be in my case?”

  “A general at the very least, Ulrike. That’s why I asked you here today. I think it’s high time you settled down. I’m thinking of General Tanz, of course.”

  ‘Tanz! You want me to marry a war memorial?”

  “What could be finer than to become the wife of a unique man like that?”

  Frau Wilhelmine spoke with immense conviction. She had a hundred arguments at her finger-tips, each one more cogent than the next, but she was not given a chance to produce them because at that moment the generals entered the room.

  There were five at table. The G.O.C. presided over the gathering with Lieutenant-General Tanz on his right and, since they were an odd number, his wife on his left. Ulrike was seated between Tanz and Kahlenberge.

  Frau Wilhelmine led the conversation, keeping an eagle eye on the mess waiters meanwhile. “Major Grau of Abwehr will be joining us for coffee,” she announced. Her tone hinted that this was a piece of skilful planning—first the generals and their womenfolk, then the lower ranks—but the real reason was rather more prosaic: the capon would not stretch to more than five.

  “I’m no slave to the pleasures of the table,” declared General von Seydlitz-Gabler, plying his knife and fork with gusto, “but I appreciate my food.”

  “It’s all a question of refinement,” said Frau Wilhelmine, always quick to corroborate her husband’s pronouncements whatever the subject under discussion. “Don’t you agree, Ulrike?”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” said Ulrike carelessly, “the main thing is to have enough. I’m always hungry. The kitchens at garrison headquarters don’t produce food like this.”

  “We also live frugally here,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler in a tone of mild but unmistakable reproof, “but we enjoy offering hospitality. This is a special occasion. We often have nothing but bread and butter with artificial honey for breakfast.”

  “A man can conquer the whole world,” interjected Major-General Kahlenberge, busying himself with a chicken-leg, “without ever being able to satisfy all his acquisitive urges.”

  Remarks of this sort obviously irritated Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler, who liked to steer conversation along less abstract lines. Pushing back her plate, which was not entirely empty, she said: “Whatever our normal standard of living, we must always be prepared to do without things when occasion demands, as it does in times like these. Don’t you agree, General Tanz?”

  “I do indeed,” he replied tersely.

  These were the first words that General Tanz had uttered since his arrival. He had endured the preliminaries in silence and had wordlessly offered Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler his arm when they went in to lunch. He had not seemed particularly interested in his table-companions’ conversation and devoted all his attention to the business of eating. He drank water instead of wine, but no one was surprised at that. The General was known to be a man of iron self-discipline.

  Frau Wilhelmine regarded him with a frank blend o
f tenderness and admiration. “Ah yes, we all have to make sacrifices, don’t we?”

  “And what sacrifices do you make, General?” asked Ulrike casually.

  “I am a soldier,” said General Tanz, who evidently considered this a sufficient answer.

  “My dear child,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler, gently reproving, “it’s about time you realized that you were born into a world of self-denial. I’m a soldier too, and so were my ancestors before me.”

  “I happen to be a woman,” said Ulrike.

  “I’m aware of that.” The G.O.C. smiled like a perfect host watching one of his guests smashing a priceless heirloom. “But the female members of our family have always married soldiers.”

  “And never regretted it!” put in Frau Wilhelmine.

  “Some soldiers lie and rot on the battlefield, so I’m told,” Ulrike said defiantly. “They aren’t all lucky enough to rot in comfortable staff jobs.”

  “You’re mistaken, Fräulein,” said General Tanz in measured tones. “For instance, the members of my staff are given every opportunity to train the healthy body on which the healthy mind depends. In my command, even staff officers take part in early morning sports, cross-country runs and field training. Nobody rots with me.”

  “Nor with us,” remarked Kahlenberge. “We practise club-swinging with bottles and dig trenches with knives and forks. Our conferences are marathon efforts. Anyone who wants to survive with us has to be an all-round athlete.”

  Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler endeavoured to inject a more friendly note into the proceedings. “General Tanz,” she said, “to my mind, you’re a model man in every respect save one: you’re not married. May I ask why not?”

  “No opportunity,” replied the General. “Greatly regret it.”

  “Perhaps you’ve had plenty of opportunities and just let them slip?”

  “Maybe,” said General Tanz, with the look of a man surveying a battlefield. “We cannot choose the age we live in, but it’s our duty to shape it. That leaves us precious little time for what is commonly known as private life. We live in a period which makes great demands on us.”