The Night of the Generals

by Hans Hellmut Kirst

  “No rejection is the equivalent of approval,” asserted General Tanz.

  Sandauer did not dispute the point. Disagreement had an explosive effect on General Tanz.

  “Coffee,” said Tanz.

  The Divisional Commander’s current combat orderly, new at his job and destined never to grow old in it, sprang out of the staff car. Bustling round to the back he opened the boot, removed a Thermos flask, a china cup and the saucer belonging to it, wiped the two latter articles with a linen cloth, poured out some coffee and extended the result of his labours to the General with a slightly tremulous hand.

  “Too cold,” said Tanz after a brief appraising glance.

  The combat orderly froze in his tracks, realizing that he had committed some inexcusable blunder. Either the coffee had not been hot enough when he poured it into the Thermos, or the flask itself was defective, or he had paid insufficient attention to the external temperature. Whatever the reason, he was to blame. His hands started to shake so violently that the coffee slopped over the rim of the cup and flooded the saucer. However, he had ceased to be the centre of attention.

  General Tanz was contemplating, almost lovingly, the houses on the far side of the intersection. Major Sandauer was watching the General. Sergeant Stoss, sitting at the wheel of the Mercedes, appeared to see nothing but the street ahead of him. Behind the Mercedes stood two armoured scout cars, both equipped with wireless, and the Divisional Commander’s permanent dispatch-rider detachment, four soldiers encased in gleaming black leather and mounted on powerful B.M.W.s. For all of them, nothing existed save what lay ahead, least of all the trembling orderly, who slunk back to his place.

  “We’ll carry out a tactical exercise,” said Tanz.

  “Without the G.O.C.’s approval?” Major Sandauer, G. S.O.1 of the Nibelungen Division, asked the question in an undertone. His words were intended for the ears of the Divisional Commander alone.

  “An operation of this type,” said Tanz undeterred, “requires the most meticulous planning. I consider it vitally necessary that we first try out on a small scale what we shall have to carry out later on a large scale. Only then will we be able to operate with any guarantee of success. Alert the division, Sandauer. Code word: Waldfrieden.”

  Sandauer nodded, but permitted himself a small aside. “Is Corps to be notified?”

  “Later. The operation will be little more than a test exercise, but I regard the experience to be gained from it as absolutely indispensable. We’ll try out on four or five streets what we may have to do later with forty or fifty—without arousing any unnecessary attention. Afterwards we’ll see.”

  “Is the whole division to be alerted?”

  “Down to the last man. When I do a thing I do it properly or not at all.”

  “You must keep up appearances,” declared Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler. “People expect it of you. You owe it to your position.”

  “Of course.” The G.O.C. was convinced that he had possessed a marked talent for keeping up appearances ever since his infancy. His father, also a general and land-owner, had instilled it into him at an early age, and one of his earliest recollections was of shaking family retainers’ hands at harvest festivals and on Christmas Eve. He still remembered the moist and fleshy hand of the housekeeper, the dry leathery fingers of the first coachman and the soft, velvety little paw of the chamber-maid who used to sigh at him provocatively in the upstairs corridors.

  “You’re absolutely right, my dear,” he said, mustering a smile. “As always.”

  “An evening of convivial good taste,” she declared, as though issuing an edict.

  General von Seydlitz-Gabler groaned almost inaudibly. His feet hurt. The new shoes which his wife had put out for him that morning had a certain solid elegance, but they were too tight. Wilhelmine’s solicitude was something of a trial at times.

  “We ought to make the occasion a cultural event,” announced Wilhelmine. “I’m thinking of a reception for a few specially invited guests, with music.”

  “Excellent,” said the G.O.C. deferentially.

  “Not a big concert—no orchestra, not even a string quartet —just a pianist.”

  “We’ll dig one up.”

  “He must play some Chopin, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “We are in Warsaw, after all.”

  “True, my dear. Don’t worry, well arrange it—some time in the next few days.”

  “This evening,” Wilhelmine said blandly.

  The General nodded in reluctant but unequivocal agreement. “I’ll get Kahlenberge to lay it on.”

  “He is already doing so.” Wilhelmine subjected her husband, who sat slumped exhaustedly in his arm-chair, to a look of searching tenderness. “Take those new shoes off if they’re pinching you, Herbert. Be comfortable while you have the chance.”

  Major-General Kahlenberge was organizing things. As always, he made it his first concern to organize the organizers. Otto the Fat was detailed to make the reception rooms look festive. Captain Kraussnick, an acknowledged specialist in the field of entertainment, was made officially responsible for the guests’ comfort, and Melanie Neumaier, the Corps Commander’s “Iron Maiden,” was entrusted with the compilation of the guest list.

  Having got his plans safely under way, the chief planner found himself sitting around with time on his hands. He decided to send for Lance-Corporal Hartmann.

  Hartmann duly appeared, but stood in the doorway eyeing Kahlenberge mistrustfully. Kahlenberge’s initial reaction was a long paroxysm of almost soundless laughter. Then his face grew abruptly serious.

  “Well,” he asked, “have you got things straightened out? Do you see why one wrong answer would be enough to send that handsome head of yours rolling? You must learn to be practical, Hartmann. Right, tell me this: have you ever had the smallest contact with the Russians, that’s to say, the Communists?”

  “Never!” protested Hartmann vehemently. “How could I have?”

  “Wrong first time!” Kahlenberge shook his head. “Ringing assurances always sound fundamentally suspicious. If you want people to believe something, say it simply—unless of course you’re addressing a political rally. It’s always a mistake to bellow one’s convictions in private, so don’t yell ‘never’—just say ‘no.’ And remember: look them in the eye like a good German and hold yourself like a proper soldier, confidently but with respect. That’s what counts.”

  “Yes sir,” said Hartmann promptly.

  “Think carefully before you answer these questions—you’re bound to be asked them. Have you ever been in contact with Communists? Did your father belong to the Party? What about your brother, your uncle, your brother-in-law? Has your sister or fiancée ever had an affair with one?”

  “No,” Hartmann answered simply. The General’s admonitions were beginning to sink in.

  “That’s right. Stick to the word ‘no’ wherever possible,” Kahlenberge recommended. “Never say ‘I don’t know’ or give a qualified answer. It sounds suspicious.”

  Hartmann began to smile for the first time, sensing the goodwill Kahlenberge felt for him. “I think I’m beginning to get the hang of it, sir.”

  “To help strengthen your position a little, I propose to take you on to my staff. You’ll work in my department until further notice—Otto will break you in. But just remember—make one mistake and you’ll never get a chance to make another. What’s more, you’ll be endangering me as well. Is that clear?”

  Hartmann understood. He nodded, breathed a sigh of relief and withdrew, rightly concluding that the interview was at an end.

  General Kahlenberge did not watch Hartmann’s departing figure. Instead, he picked up the ‘phone and asked for Major Sandauer. Kahlenberge and Sandauer entertained a mutual regard for each other’s tactical skill, which meant in effect that they intrigued against one another only when circumstances rendered it unavoidable.

  Without special preamble, Kahlenberge asked whether General Tanz wou
ld be prepared to answer some questions which a certain Major Grau of local Intelligence proposed to ask him. The questions involved might well be of an embarrassing nature, to say the least. Indeed, said Kahlenberge, defamatory or insulting might be a more appropriate description.

  “General Tanz,” said Sandauer, wholly unimpressed, “is not in the habit of dodging an issue. However, may I draw your attention to the fact that the General is a man of very strong views and that he never hesitates to express them forcibly?”

  “I’m aware of that—in fact I’m counting on it.”

  “With respect, General, may I ask what you’re driving at?”

  “Certainly,” answered Kahlenberge with equal frankness. “I should esteem it if a certain gentleman could be reminded of the golden rule which states that subordinates may normally ask questions only when expressly requested to do so.”

  “That,” said Sandauer, “is a view which General Tanz unquestionably shares. I shall hardly need to remind him of the fact.”

  “In that case I shall send our inquisitive friend to see you at a particularly suitable time. What has your General got in mind for this afternoon, my dear Sandauer?”

  “A sort of dress rehearsal, sir,” replied Sandauer. “That is to say,” he added prudently, “he plans to try out a new technique on a very limited scale and for a very limited period.”

  Kahlenberge concealed his disapprobation and astonishment at Tanz’s high-handed decision. As Chief of Staff, he would normally have intervened at this stage, but he was not a man to make two mistakes in succession. One ill-considered question was enough for the moment, so he contented himself with asking: “Is what you have just told me an official report or merely for my personal information?”

  Sandauer was not slow to take Kahlenberge’s point. “I thought we’d just been having an informal little chat, sir.”

  “Exactly what I thought too.”

  “But to return to your suggestion, I think the most unfavourable time and the most inconvenient place to ask General Tanz questions would be at fifteen hundred hours this afternoon, on the south side of Promenade Square.”

  Having concluded his business with Major Sandauer, Kahlenberge made another telephone call, this time to Major Grau of the Abwehr. He informed Grau that the G.O.C. was unfortunately prevented by social obligations from placing himself at Grau’s disposal and would therefore have to forgo that pleasure for the time being. He, Kahlenberge, was also unable to spare the time, and for similar reasons, but Grau would be quite at liberty to see General Tanz at fifteen hundred hours on the south side of Promenade Square.

  Major Grau extended his thanks for this information. Kahlenberge was irritated to detect a trace of a smile in Grau’s voice, but he had no time to dwell on such things because the evening’s arrangements once more claimed his full attention.

  Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler was scrutinizing the preparations for her soirée, in particular the activities of Melanie Neumaier.

  “You’re doing an invaluable job as usual,” Frau Wilhelmine told her. “My husband and I appreciate it so much. I know the General’s extremely fond of you. No, don’t blush, my dear girl, I’m sure you’re fond of him too.”

  “I admire the General immensely,” breathed Melanie. “He’s a great man.”

  “But a very human one.” Frau Wilhelmine conducted this exchange as though she were discussing clothes, the weather or National Socialism, running her eagle eye over the list of invitations meanwhile. Not a name escaped her, and she discovered three or four important omissions which Melanie Neumaier dutifully added to her list. Frau Wilhelmine nodded approvingly.

  “My husband, dear Fräulein Neumaier, has led an arduous life in the service of his country. He isn’t the strongest of men, you know, and it has taken its toll of his health. Unfortunately, I can’t always be with him. This posting in Warsaw is a fortunate exception to the normal rule. If he ever falls ill, can I rely on you to look after him?”

  “I should be honoured, madam!” said Melanie fervently, welling over with gratitude. She felt like the recipient of a sacred trust. “You can rely on me. I’ll do everything within my power.”

  Frau Wilhelmine was entirely satisfied with this reaction. She thought she knew her husband far too well to be uneasy about the passionate devotion of a doubtless highly inhibited girl. In fact she had no scruples about amusing herself—in a well-bred way, of course—at Melanie’s expense.

  In high good humour, Frau Wilhelmine decided to seek out the second of Kahlenberge’s organizers, Captain Kraussnick, the recreation officer. Kraussnick hailed from the restaurant business (dancing and entertainment section) and was destined to return to it after the war.

  Kraussnick was quite equal to introducing a little culture into his programmes of entertainment when so desired. On this occasion he had paid a visit to the Warsaw Conservatoire, lined up the entire establishment, staff included, and issued the simple order: “Pianists stand fast! The remainder, dismiss!” He was left with a round dozen individuals of either sex, none of whom disclaimed a special ability to play Chopin, especially as it had been announced that the fee was to be a parcel of “fodder.” Looking them over with the eye of a connoisseur—though not of music—Kraussnick had settled for a firm-fleshed, lusty-looking brunette named Wanda.

  Wanda now stood before him with Lance-Corporal Hartmann at her side. Hartmann had been assigned to Kraussnick by General Kahlenberge, who had hinted in confidence that the young man was something of an art historian and had pretensions to culture. Accordingly, Kraussnick had detailed Hartmann to discuss Wanda’s recital programme with her.

  At this moment Frau Wilhelmine entered the room. Kraussnick hurried over to her, came to attention and delivered a semi-military report. He bent over her graciously extended hand and kissed it with near reverence. Then he drew the attention of the “verehrte gnädige Frau” to sundry details of organization, pointing to the numerous baskets full of bottles, the battery of glasses, the piano, Wanda, and Hartmann.

  Frau Wilhelmine assumed an air of unwonted interest and approval. She even nodded benevolently, though with a touch of condescension, at Wanda. Then, looking down from the invisible platform on which she always stood, she directed an inquiring gaze at Hartmann.

  “Are you new here?”

  Hartmann did not reply “Yes ma’am.” He merely bowed, but with a grace and deference which made an immediate impact on Frau Wilhelmine. The young man not only made a pleasant impression. He obviously had manners too.

  “You mustn’t let me detain you, my dear Captain Kraussnick. Please finish what you were discussing.”

  “Certainly ma’am!” The recreation officer obediently turned to Wanda and Hartmann. “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he said briskly, “what are we going to give them afterwards? Frau von Seydlitz-Gabler wants Chopin and her wish is our command—but which pieces by Chopin?”

  “The Polonaises,” suggested Wanda.

  “Sounds a good idea,” said Kraussnick approvingly. “Polonaise—that’s a sort of dance, isn’t it? Plenty of go. No one’ll doze off, and that’s an important consideration.”

  Frau Wilhelmine looked at Hartmann. “What do you think? Do you agree with the suggestion?”

  “Chopin’s Polonaises are superb,” Hartmann observed politely, “but not perhaps what might be termed appropriate under present circumstances. The Polonaises are patriotic compositions. In fact Robert Schumann once described them as cannon garlanded with flowers.”

  “Out of the question!” exclaimed Kraussnick. “If we’re going to have cannon they’d better not be Polish ones. And garlanded with flowers, too! That’s all we need!”

  “You’re a very alert young man,” Frau Wilhelmine told Hartmann, “and obviously not without talent. I leave it entirely to you to find a suitable programme for this evening’s recital. When you’ve done so, come and report to me. Would you be so kind? I’m only expressing a wish, of course, but I know you’ll do me this little favour.”
She smiled benignly. “Good, then I look forward to seeing you later.”

  “Promenade Square, south side!” Major Grau called to his driver.

  As he spoke the sun broke through the clouds, dazzling him a little. He leant back in his seat and bunked at the road ahead. “Are you armed?” he asked.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “We’re on our way to see General Tanz,” said Grau affably.

  The car swept through the almost empty streets of Warsaw, its engine humming like a swarm of bees. Glancing skywards, Grau saw that the sun had disappeared behind the clouds again. They looked like a thin pall of smoke, and for some reason he was vividly reminded of the fact that he had gained his first real success as a policeman in the old days by solving a case of arson.

  “They’ve sealed off the approaches to the square,” announced the driver.

  Major Grau emerged from his reverie with a start. He now saw what had been apparent to his driver for some time. Fighting units were deployed everywhere, dressed in mottled grey-brown-green denims and equipped with small arms. An oppressive silence enveloped them. Hardly anyone spoke, and no one spoke loudly. They stood there like a herd of cattle waiting for someone to open a gate.

  “Men from Tanz’s division,” said the driver.

  “Some exercise, probably,” said Major Grau. “When they’re not in action they’re training and when they’re not training they’re asleep. Take no notice, the regulations don’t apply to us.”

  Grau’s expression did not change. It was as though he merely registered what was going on round him but was not particularly interested or impressed by it.

  “Halt!” cried a clear, incisive voice. “No vehicles beyond this point.”

  A tanned, hard-bitten face appeared at the car window, half obscured by a jutting steel helmet. Dour determination was written in the pale blue eyes that stared into Grau’s and in the grim slit of a mouth beneath. Any obstacle erected by Tanz had to be dislodged by force.

  Grau attached no importance to complications of this sort. He calmly got out of the car and completed the hundred odd yards that separated him from the south side of the square on foot. There he caught sight of General Tanz, a powerful figure despite his rapier-like build, standing aloof from the men who surrounded him.