The Night of the Generals

by Hans Hellmut Kirst

  “If that is so,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler after a brief pause, “I have been labouring under a temporary misapprehension. General Kahlenberge certainly regards the ‘Valkyrie’ order as genuine. He has taken all the appropriate steps.”

  “With your approval, sir?”

  “I firmly believed that I was helping to implement a genuine order, and General Kahlenberge encouraged me in that belief. I naturally assumed that my Chief of Staff would have double-checked. I can only hope I was not mistaken in that assumption. If I was, I shall call General Kahlenberge to account immediately. Surely no one can doubt my loyalty to Führer and Reich?”

  Tanz demanded to know General Kahlenberge’s whereabouts, but it appeared that the Chief of Staff was en route, inspecting the implementation of emergency procedures. When Tanz roundly condemned these measures as high treason von Seydlitz-Gabler did not contradict him.

  “You may rest assured that I know where my duty lies, General. If I have been deliberately misled I shan’t hesitate to deal severely with those responsible.”

  Tanz slapped the butt of his sub-machine-gun, with that one gesture assuming effective command of von Seydlitz-Gabler’s Corps. “There’s only one way to deal with them,” he said.

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler hastened to assure Tanz of his unqualified support. “This is an emergency. No one shall say that I failed my country in its hour of need.”

  7.04 p.m.

  Telephone conversation between Inspector Prévert and Lieutenant-Colonel Grau:

  Prévert: “I’m getting virtually nowhere with my inquiries, but I’m convinced that we must rule Hartmann out. The murder’s entirely out of keeping with his character.”

  Grau: “Who was it then?”

  Prévert: “Someone—but not Hartmann.”

  Grau: “Have you checked the generals’ alibis?”

  Prévert: “Yes, as far as it was possible to, with the hullabaloo that’s going on at the moment. As far as I can make out, von Seydlitz-Gabler and Kahlenberge were in conclave at Corps Headquarters during the time in question. General Tanz may have been at his hotel, but there’s no positive proof of that.”

  Grau: “Well, at least we’ve got something to go on.”

  Prévert: “My dear friend, I implore you to let the matter drop, for the time being, anyway.”

  Grau: “I’ll get the swine if it’s the last thing I do.”

  7.19 p.m.

  General Kahlenberge walked into the Hotel Majestic, headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief, France, and made his way to General von Stülpnagel’s office. The place was buzzing like a beehive, and Kahlenberge’s heart beat higher at the sight of so much bustling activity. He asked to speak to the G.O.C.-in-C.

  “I’m extremely sorry, General von Stülpnagel isn’t here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s with Field-Marshal von Kluge.”

  “Who’s deputizing for him?”

  “G.O.C. Paris-officially, at least. But he’s not available, either. He’s out somewhere on a special assignment.”

  “And Lieutenant-Colonel von Hofacker?”

  “Accompanying the Commander-in-Chief.”

  Kahlenberge swore roundly. He urgently wanted to get into touch with the main group. It would be folly to operate independently in a situation which called for concerted action, but there was no one he could turn to. The officers at the Majestic were a first-rate bunch, but without their generals they carried no weight.

  “Goddammit!” Kahlenberge said helplessly.

  7.52 p.m.

  Going in search of General Tanz, Lieutenant-Colonel Grau found him at Corps Headquarters. Tanz was sitting at the G.O.C.’s desk in full battle order except for his steel helmet. General von Seydlitz-Gabler, virtually demoted for the time being, was obligingly signing or confirming all orders issued in his name.

  It was clear that plan “Valkyrie” had been superseded, at least within this command. Von Seydlitz-Gabler had declared a state of emergency, relieved General Kahlenberge of his duties and ordered his arrest—as soon as he could be found. Like Mary’s little lamb, von Seydlitz-Gabler followed the flag wherever it went.

  Grau was admitted into Tanz’s presence at once, though his greeting could hardly have been called cordial.

  “Haven’t you anything better to do than get under my feet? Why aren’t you at your post?”

  “I’m looking for a murderer.”

  Tanz shook his head reprovingly. “This is absurd. The Reich is in danger and you waste your time on trivialities. I don’t understand your attitude.”

  “Last night,” said Grau, “a woman was brutally murdered in the Rue de Londres.”

  “Colonel Grau,” snapped Tanz, “earlier today someone tried to murder the Führer. A clique of unprincipled and reactionary officers was at the bottom of it. That should be your sole concern at the moment. Do your duty accordingly.”

  “I intend to do my duty,” replied Grau. “However, what concerns me is not an attempted murder but a murder which has actually taken place.”

  “Why bother me with it?” Tanz asked impatiently.

  “Somebody must have committed this murder. This circle of potential suspects is small, and my investigations have narrowed it down still further.”

  “So what?” said Tanz. “At a time when the Fatherland calls us you seem to be more interested in the fate of a French tart. Kindly don’t smirk at me, I forbid it! Get out of here!”

  “Certainly, as soon as you’ve answered a few questions.”

  “How dare you interrupt my work with your ridiculous flights of fancy? Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  “Where were you last night between midnight and 3 a.m.?”

  “That’s nothing to do with you. I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  “A refusal to make a statement usually means only one thing.”

  Tanz drew himself up, his eyes glacial.

  “Colonel Grau,” he said majestically, “at this moment I am the embodiment of the Führer’s will. An attack on me is an attack on Greater Germany, and anyone who tries to hinder my work automatically stands revealed as an enemy of the Third Reich. I would go further: anyone who tries to destroy me must necessarily be trying to destroy the sacred ideals which inspire our great nation.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Grau in a choked voice.

  “No, true! That is why I have no alternative but to arrest you, Grau. You will leave this room a prisoner. You have shown yourself to be an enemy of the people. In a state of national emergency, there can be only one penalty for that.”

  8.20 p.m.

  At the operational headquarters of Army Group West in La Roche-Guyon, Field-Marshal von Kluge turned to General von Stülpnagel and his companions. “Well, gentlemen,” he said tersely, “they’ve bungled it.” With that, the Field-Marshal had said all he had to say. His mind was made up. General von Stülpnagel turned deathly pale.

  A short while before, von Kluge had exclaimed to Hofacker: “If only the swine were dead!” A short while later, the following congratulatory letter was on its way to Hitler:

  “The dastardly and murderous attempt on your life, my Führer, has failed, thanks to a gracious dispensation of Providence. …

  … I congratulate you and assure you, my Führer, of our unswerving loyalty, whatever may come.”

  signed: Field-Marshal von Kluge

  8.57 p.m.

  General Kahlenberge went to look for Inspector Prévert. He found him not in his office but in a bistro near the Sûreté, whither Prévert’s secretary had directed him after a brief glance at her notebook. “Ask the landlord for Henri” were her exact words.

  The landlord jerked his thumb in the direction of the door leading into his back room. Here Kahlenberge found Prévert leafing through a wad of papers and drinking crème de cassis diluted with white wine.

  “I put a call through to Corps,” Kahlenberge reported, “but I couldn’t reach the G.O.C. Tanz seems to be in charge there now.”


  “Are you surprised?”

  “Von Seydlitz-Gabler is obviously burying his head in the sand.”

  “He’s not the only one.”

  “What’s the form now—in your opinion?”

  Prévert shrugged. “Your resistance movement seems to have been a flop.”

  Kahlenberge thumped the table with both hands. “It’s easy for you to make snap judgements. What do you know about Germany?”

  “Nothing,” Prévert conceded readily. “I don’t even pretend to know much about France.”

  “We’re blown about like drift sand from one dune to the next.”

  “Sounds almost poetic,” said Prévert. “What sort of excuse is that?”

  “It’s an explanation, not an excuse. Even so, there were men among us who were prepared to push Hitler off his pedestal. That’s something, anyway. But what I can’t get over is the way this whole fiasco has proved me right—me, Prévert!”

  “You sound almost like our mutual friend Grau.”

  Kahlenberge raised his hands in protest. “What do I care about the theories of that sleuth-hound? All I know is, the masses are just as hair-raisingly stupid or criminally indifferent as I always thought they were—and generals are one degree worse.”

  “You’re a general too.”

  “I’m a soldier,” Kahlenberge said bitterly, “but I suppose it took me too long to realize that soldiers forfeit the right to exist as soon as generals start jockeying for position.”

  “It’s an old, old game, General.”

  “Yes, but we’ve turned it into a sort of national sport for the ruling classes. All you have to do is anesthetize the masses by telling them they’re an élite, that they’ve got a mission, that they’re making history, that they’re fulfilling their destiny and fighting for a better world—and they swallow it like lambs—even when a guttersnipe says it.”

  The proprietor of the bistro opened the door a crack and poked his head in.

  “ ‘Phone for you, Henri.”

  Prévert nodded and disappeared. When he returned three minutes later he said:

  “I’ve left orders that I’m only to be informed of major developments from now on. My men know what that means. The latest major development is that two single cells have been reserved at Sous-Bois, one of them for Lieutenant-Colonel Grau. He’s been arrested by General Tanz, and General von Seydlitz-Gabler countersigned the order.”

  “Who’s the second cell meant for?”

  “For you, I imagine, my dear General.”

  9.20 p.m.

  Inspector Prévert’s influence had so far remained unimpaired. The police departments under his supervision still obeyed his orders and his network of contacts appeared to be functioning as well as ever.

  However, certain changes had taken place during the evening, and this was nowhere more apparent than at a local prison which had the merit, or disadvantage, of being close to the headquarters of a Corps—to be precise, the Corps commanded by General von Seydlitz-Gabler but temporarily controlled by General Tanz.

  Even under prevailing circumstances, Tanz tried to maintain a façade of extreme rectitude. He saw to it that his orders were signed by the G.O.C. and made sure that every action he took was confirmed, though generally after the event. One of his first steps was to ensure the safe keeping of Lieutenant-Colonel Grau and possible accomplices by requisitioning a number of cells in the neighbouring prison at Sous-Bois and detailing a subaltern and twelve men to guard them. When Prévert reached the prison he found that the usual division of labour prevailed: the German soldiers detailed for the job were striding around barking orders while the experienced French prison staff did the actual work. It didn’t take him long to realize that the subaltern in charge was a typical product of the Nibelungen Division—hard as nails, unimaginative and unswervingly obedient.

  Prévert circumvented the subaltern with some finesse by getting the governor of the prison to engage him in conversation on an appropriately official matter.

  “Don’t get any wrong ideas,” Prévert told Grau when he had gained admittance to his cell. “It’s not in my power to get you out of here.” He grinned. “The most I can do is smuggle your ideas out for the benefit of posterity.”

  Grau stood with his back to the wall, smiling. “Well, Prévert, you’re looking at a traitor. How do you like that?”

  “You find the role amusing?”

  “The German Army has become a tragic joke. This is just one more proof.”

  “My dear Grau, when you talk like that you remind me of Kahlenberge. You were brothers under the skin, not that either of you ever realized it. It’s a crying shame. Together, you might have achieved a great deal. Still, this isn’t the time for edifying speculation. It wasn’t easy to get in here. There are two battalion commanders and a staff officer locked up next door and the cell opposite is probably reserved for Kahlenberge, but you, cher ami, appear to be a sort of public enemy number one.”

  “I’m the one who knows who the murderer is. Since the murderer knows I know, he means to murder me, too.”

  “Plausible enough,” Prévert conceded. “That’s why you must get out of here. But how? I can’t take you with me. Your personnel have presumably been black-listed, Engel included, so they’ll be under surveillance—that is, if they haven’t already been locked up. We need at least twenty stout lads to crack this little nut.”

  “There’s always my ‘flying squad’,” said Grau. “It’s a special branch of our organization which I recently formed against just this sort of emergency. They’re all reliable chaps and armed to the teeth. No one but me knows about them. Give me a pencil and paper.”

  Prévert tore a sheet out of his notebook and unscrewed-his fountain-pen. He handed them to Grau, who wrote:

  I am being forcibly detained. The bearer will give you

  more details. Mobilize the whole squad at once. My

  guards are almost certain to resist.

  Grau, Lt-Col., 20.vii.44, 21.30 hrs.

  “I’ll arrange their visit personally,” promised Prévert, making for the door.

  “One more thing, Prévert. If I don’t get out of here alive, do your best to get Hartmann away. I’m certain he knows all about the murder, and his evidence could be vital.”

  “From his behaviour I’m inclined to agree with you.” Prévert gave a mock bow. “Your wish shall be granted. Let’s hope it’s not your last!”

  9.35 p.m.

  An “order of the day” issued by the Commander-in-Chief of the German Navy reached Paris. It opened with the words:

  “The treacherous attempt on the Führer’s life fills each and every one of us with righteous indignation against our criminal enemies and their hirelings. Divine providence has saved the German people and the Armed Forces from this indescribable misfortune. In the miraculous preservation of our Führer we see fresh confirmation of....”

  This order of the day was signed: Doenitz, Grand Admiral.

  10.30 p.m.

  The military commander of the Greater Paris area, Lieutenant-General Boineburg-Lengsfield, directed operations against the S.D. and S.S. in person, escorted by members of his staff. He was bold enough to wait until this juncture because Retreat was at 10 p.m. and he wanted to bottle up as many men as possible simultaneously.

  Surprise was complete. The S.D. and S.S. allowed themselves to be disarmed and taken prisoner without offering the slightest resistance. Barely an hour later, twelve hundred men were under lock and key, some in the military prison at Fresnes and others in the casemates of the Forts de l’Est at St. Denis. Senior officers of the S.S. were detained in custody at the Hotel Continentale in the Rue Castiglione.

  All this happened just as the Bendlerstrasse end of the conspiracy had degenerated into a bloody shambles. Hitler, Goering and Goebbels were composing their speeches to the German people, and General von Stülpnagel, Commander-in-Chief, France, had been relieved of his command by Field-Marshal von Kluge.

  10.38 p.m.
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  Grau’s flying squad drew up outside the prison. His picked men overran the sentries and stormed into the cellars, where they came up against the battle-seasoned detachment from the Nibelungen Division. The two parties flew at each other’s throats like beasts of prey—or, in more prosaic language: fierce hand-to-hand fighting took place.

  Tanz’s shock-troops retreated step by step, blazing away savagely in all directions. It was like a battle in the Warsaw sewers, and although the Nibelungen Division had been well-grounded in Warsaw techniques, Tanz’s men were picked off one by one.

  Having served his apprenticeship under General Tanz, the young lieutenant acted precisely as he had been ordered to act under such circumstances. He called for covering fire, crawled into Grau’s cell, and shot him.

  Grau collapsed without a word. His eyes were wide open as he fell.

  11.23 p.m.

  Side by side, Generals von Seydlitz-Gabler and Tanz listened intently to their Führer’s words. It was a soul-stirring moment. Von Seydlitz-Gabler, in particular, registered deep but manly emotion.

  The Führer yelled: “A small clique of ambitious, unscrupulous and criminally stupid officers…”

  “Quite right!” said General Tanz.

  “A small gang of criminal elements, who are now being ruthlessly exterminated…”

  “Serve ‘em right,” put in General von Seydlitz-Gabler.

  An A.D.C. poured champagne into two waiting glasses. After Hitler came Goering and, after Goering, Doenitz. As the last impassioned phrases died away, von Seydlitz-Gabler declared solemnly: “To our Führer, guided and guarded by Providence.”

  General Tanz drained his glass.

  General von Seydlitz-Gabler drafted a telegram conveying his humble respects to the Führer and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. He expressed his full and unqualified appreciation of Lieutenant-General Tanz’s services and composed a report to that effect. Furthermore, he proclaimed General Kahlenberge a traitor and deserter and issued a warrant for his arrest.

  “Well,” declared von Seydlitz-Gabler with an unclouded brow, “I think we can congratulate ourselves on coming through a trying time with flying colours.”

  “Casualties were unavoidable,” said Tanz. “The attempt to rescue Grau had to be foiled at all costs, especially as he was in close touch with traitors like Kahlenberge. He also appears to have been in contact with the French Resistance. We had no choice in the matter. Don’t you agree, sir?”