The Night of the Generals

by Hans Hellmut Kirst

  “He’s only one of many. It was chaps like that who made me realize that I couldn’t evade my responsibilities. For all that, it’s become clear to me that if there are two Germanies one of them must be more—” he paused as if searching for the right word “—more worth-while than the other.”

  “Bravo!” exclaimed von Seydlitz-Gabler, deeply moved. “A very creditable sentiment.”

  Frau Wilhelmine said: “You can’t imagine how delighted we are to have you with us again. We’ve missed you.”

  “You’re very kind,” Tanz replied. He grasped her hand and kissed it with a convincing display of chivalry. “If there were more people like you, dear lady, it would make everything very much easier. As things are, I fear there will be awkward misunderstandings.”

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler leant back, savouring the blissful sensation of having lunched excellently in congenial company.

  “You must realize, my dear friend,” he began importantly, “that the Federal Republic has gradually regained its respect for real values and its readiness to listen to men of long experience. The days of namby-pamby self-recrimination and mental confusion, the days when it was fashionable to foul one’s own doorstep—well, they’re gone for good. Just after the war they taught children to look askance at us. Young people were talked into pouring scorn on us. Even some of our old friends started to waver. But that’s all over now.”

  “You can’t imagine how much we suffered,” put in Frau Wilhelmine, “though we kept a stiff upper lip, of course.”

  “It was absolutely humiliating in the early days.” Von Seydlitz-Gabler bowed his grizzled head. “I’m ashamed when I think of the drivel published by German newspapers, of the muck written by German authors, of the filth spewed out by the German radio—buckets of it, I tell you! Still, let’s forget it. A lot of misguided individuals have realized their mistakes and mended their ways. Open our newspapers today—they’ve regained their character. Read a good book—authors are no longer ashamed of referring to our glorious past. Listen to our radio broadcasts—you won’t hear a word uttered against the forces of reconstruction and tradition.”

  “That,” Tanz declared approvingly, “is what I call true national awareness—something really worth fighting for.”

  “I don’t wish to exaggerate my own importance.” Von Seydlitz-Gabler spoke with unaffected simplicity. “We’ve been through some hard times, but what are hard times for, if not to teach us the art of survival? Conscientious objectors and pacifists are as good as dead today. They can say and write what they please, but they’re not socially acceptable.”

  “It’s much the same over there—where I come from,” said Tanz, looking thoughtful.

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler’s voice took on a note of justifiable pride. “You’ll see how far the country has travelled back along the road to sanity when I tell you that people not only listen to old soldiers like us but actually seek our advice. For instance, they’ve snapped up these memoirs of mine. Negotiations for an English edition are complete and a big American magazine is bidding for the pre-publication rights.”

  “Splendid news,” Tanz said appreciatively. “That’s the sort of air a man can breathe in. I congratulate you. No one deserves success more than you.”

  “Of course, I’m not telling you this just to blow my own trumpet. I merely quote it as an illustration of how things are with us. There’s only one sphere of operations for men with ideas, and I hope you’ll have decided by now which side of the border it’s on. Tell me in all honesty, my dear fellow, wouldn’t you like to join us?”

  Tanz, who had been sitting there stiff as a poker but with his body slightly inclined, now drew himself up to his full height. His granite features seemed to be illumined by a gentle ray of sunlight. “My sense of duty comes first,” he said, punching out the words like a machine, “but it must be a spontaneous sense of duty. To me, service is not an end in itself. It must have a higher purpose.”

  “Does that mean you’ve already decided to make the break?” von Seydlitz-Gabler asked expectantly.

  “I’m not averse to the idea—given some guarantee of fair treatment.”

  “How wonderful!” Frau Wilhelmine laid her hand affectionately over Tanz’s. “I know you’ll feel at home with us. We have a wide circle of friends and our social functions are regaining their old cachet. Even cabinet ministers feel honoured to be invited.”

  “And so they should!” cried von Seydlitz-Gabler in high good humour. “But you will be especially welcome, my dear Tanz. There are any number of possibilities open to you. You can relax in private, or do a bit of writing for the papers, or go into industry with our friend Kahlenberge’s assistance, or write memoranda for government departments, or become a military consultant, or even return to the active list again—the choice is unlimited.”

  Tanz nodded curtly. “My motto has always been deeds rather than words, as you know. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.”

  “Your wishes shall be respected, rely on me. This evening, subject to your approval, we plan to give a small private reception. Only eight or ten people—a dozen at the most-including men with influence in the right quarters, friend Kahlenberge among them. You’ll be able to explore the ground—entirely without obligation, of course. What do you say?”

  “I shall be glad to come,” said Tanz. He sounded almost moved. The glass which he was holding shattered between his clenched fingers and blood started to drip from his palm, but he appeared not to notice. With formal courtesy, he added: “I’m greatly indebted to you.”

  INTERIM REPORT

  FURTHER DOCUMENTS, INCLUDING EXTRACTS FROM MANUSCRIPTS, TELEPHONE CONVERSATIONS AND LETTERS

  The following are excerpts from the draft of the lecture which Kahlenberge planned to give before an invited audience in Berlin:

  “… it is my intention, so far from putting the concept of soldiership on a par with that of war, to make a deliberate distinction between the two. If you train a man for war alone you are automatically training him for murder; but if you claim, in all sincerity, that you are training him to preserve peace you must train him to be a human being. You have no other choice.

  “To train a man in blind obedience is tantamount to fostering stupidity. It may be the most convenient form of man-management, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with leadership. An attempt to inculcate culture and knowledge, on the other hand, presupposes culture and knowledge on the part of the teacher. Building up an army must be a mental process, not a piece of routine planning. An army should not be in the hands of adroit power politicians but in those of equally shrewd but responsible men.

  “If the course of history conforms to any so-called historical rules, then we have reached the end of the road. If it means learning and experience, then we must finally acknowledge the necessity—the vital necessity—or making a radical break with the past. As long as the soldier is only a fighter, a warrior, a recipient of orders, a gunman and a potential murderer, he will always be at the mercy of bloodthirsty and unscrupulous war-mongers…”

  These remarks had been heavily deleted in red pencil. The same pencil had written in the margin: “Too late!” but the exclamation mark after the words had been replaced by a mark of interrogation.

  Extracts from a letter written by Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler to her sister-in-law, whose husband, Frau Wilhelmine’s brother, was head of a government department:

  “… I’m sure you still remember General Tanz. I told you so much about him. You know I never enthuse about people, but I’ve always had a soft spot for General Tanz. He’s a man of action—perhaps the last of his kind. If only he would take Ulrike off my hands. I’m so worried about her.

  “… Fate sent General Tanz to the East. He made every effort to do his duty even there, and he succeeded. What a price he paid, though! You can see it in his face.

  “… He has boundless faith in Herbert—and in me as well. If ever a man followed the dictates of his conscience, it i
s he. Do tell Adalbert about him. Something definite must be done. It’s none of my affair, but when I think what those Russians have done…”

  Verbatim notes of a telephone conversation between Detective-Sergeant Hornträger of Dresden:

  Liebig: “I’ve come across an interesting memo in my files —something of yours. I gather you found some witnesses who saw a saloon car parked in a side street near the scene of the crime.”

  Hornträger: “That’s right, sir. It was there for some time.”

  Liebig: “Well, did you follow the information up?”

  Hornträger: “Of course—as far as it seemed necessary. The driver was a chap called Wyzolla—a sergeant in the National People’s Army.”

  Liebig: “Go on.”

  Hornträger: “Well, nothing came of it—at least, nothing that seemed to have any bearing on the case. I naturally made the usual routine inquiries, discreetly, of course. His superiors had nothing but good to say about him. They gave him an excellent report. He turned out to be the G.O.C.’s personal driver.”

  Liebig: “Damnation! What’s the G.O.C.’s name?”

  Hornträger: “Tanz.”

  Liebig: “That settles it. I want you to interrogate Wyzolla at once—no holds barred, mind you. Squeeze him like a lemon and don’t worry about the consequences. Keep a mobile squad on call and ‘phone me as soon as you’ve got something to report. I’ll wait for your call here.”

  From the memoirs of General von Seydlitz-Gabler. The following passage is taken from a chapter entitled “The Path of Duty”:

  “There were certain problems which I, personally, never evaded. I say this not out of vanity but as a matter of plain fact. I always strove to be a father to my men and never contemplated surrendering to Corporal Hitler. In that way, I not only helped my men to lead a comparatively worthy existence but also managed to protect many of them from the more unpleasant aspects of our situation. By refusing to desert my post I was serving the future of Germany.

  “Similar, though not identical in every respect, was the position in which one of my highly esteemed and often-decorated brother officers, General Tanz, found himself after the Second World War. Whatever he did, his thoughts were centred upon Germany, upon Germany as a whole, upon the German as a soldier and an individual, upon the need to safeguard the achievements of the Western world…”

  Verbatim report of a further telephone conversation between Detective-Sergeant Hornträger of Dresden and Detective-Inspector Liebig, temporarily in East Berlin:

  Hornträger: “I tried to get hold of Wyzolla, as you requested, but it proved to be impossible. Sergeant Wyzolla is away on an official trip at the moment. He’s escorting General Tanz to Berlin. Tanz’s chief staff officer told me that he’s attending a conference at the Ministry of Defence, but that’s all I could get out of him. He left at about two o’clock yesterday afternoon and they don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  Liebig: “Damn and blast!”

  4

  Rainer Hartmann opened his eyes, blinking sleepily. His bedroom curtains were drawn, but the subdued afternoon light hurt his eyes. He was lying fully clothed on his bed in the Pension Phoenix. It might have been minutes or hours since he dozed off—he didn’t know. Something seemed to be groping for him, oppressing him, enveloping him. He couldn’t identify it, but it was there. Shaking off his lethargy With an effort, he sat up abruptly.

  A squat, dimly defined figure was standing at the foot of his bed. It looked familiar, even in the half-light

  “So it’s you!” Hartmann grunted.

  Prévert pulled up a chair and sat down. “My dear Hartmann, don’t pretend you’re surprised to see me.”

  Hartmann leant back against the bed-head, almost as if he were flinching away. “Considering what’s happened to me in the past few days, I should have guessed that you were behind it all. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe you were capable of such a dirty trick.”

  “It’s part of my job,” said Prévert. “How do you imagine I could deal with unscrupulous individuals effectively if I were a mass of scruples myself?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Why ask a question you know the answer to—subconsciously, anyway. All right, if I must be explicit: it’s time.”

  “I suppose you’re waiting for me to say ‘Time for what?’ Well, I won’t. I just don’t care. The only thing that matters to me is that you’ve seen fit to take advantage of a number of decent people, including our mutual friends in Antibes, my mother and Ulrike.”

  Prévert settled himself comfortably on the hard wooden chair. “My dear Hartmann, that’s what friends are for. I’ll give you some good advice: don’t underestimate a mother’s unselfishness—and as far as Ulrike is concerned, I can only congratulate you. That girl has the sort of courage most men only dream of.”

  “Do you mean Ulrike’s in on this, too? Do you mean she’s playing your game—letting herself be used for the sake of something she doesn’t understand?”

  “My dear boy,” Prévert said patiently, “that remarkable young lady of yours immediately grasped what it has taken me weeks and you years to realize: the past cannot be dismissed; it has to be overcome. A man can’t always do that on his own. He needs people to help him—in your case, Ulrike and—please believe me—myself.”

  Hartmann hitched up his socks, straightened his trousers and buttoned his shirt—all mechanical acts designed to gain time.

  “You’re welcome to go on living as you have been doing—if that’s what you really want. There’s a ‘plane leaving for Nice via Munich and Geneva in just over an hour’s time. You can catch it comfortably.” Prévert spoke like a ticket-clerk giving information. “My car’s waiting outside. You only have to say the word and you’ll never see me again, or Berlin—or Ulrike, probably.”

  “Or General Tanz either, I suppose?”

  Prévert chuckled gleefully. “He’s in the bag,” he said. “I only have to pull the string, but I can’t do it unless you help me.”

  “And what’s likely to happen if I do?”

  “A lot of things,” Prévert conceded. “Loaded pistols sometimes go off and typewriters can be just as dangerous in their own way. Wherever there’s power there are men who abuse it. Human beings are the most unreliable creatures in the world. For all that, there are such things as friends.”

  “And are you one, Prévert?”

  “Where my friendship for you is concerned, all I can say is—try me.”

  Hartmann drew a deep breath. “All right. Maybe I’ve nothing more to lose. If I’m wrong, at least I’ll know how much I did have.”

  “How I envy you,” Prévert said softly, “and how well I understand you. Life has dealt you one slap in the face after another, but you still cling to your faith in human nature. You’ve lost nearly everything that makes a normal person’s life bearable—and yet, when I claim to be your friend, you don’t hesitate to return the favour. Ah, my dear boy, what have I done to deserve this moral incubus? Fundamentally, even I believe in the existence of goodness. How do you account for that?”

  Frau Wilhelmine was making the necessary preparations for the reception in honour of General Tanz, aided by Wyzolla, who had been made available to her for the purpose by Tanz himself. Wyzolla had proved an able assistant, instantly carrying out anything that sounded remotely like an order. Frau Wilhelmine watched him with a tinge of nostalgia. The dear dead days were not so dead after all.

  “You’ve been extremely helpful,” she told him.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Wyzolla replied with ingenuous self-assurance. “I try to be.”

  The hotel management had reserved the so-called “Green Salon”—also known as the “Hunting Room”—for the von Seydlitz-Gablers’ reception. Frau Wilhelmine checked the arrangements in person and then telephoned Kahlenberge. He seemed delighted, and promised to come, adding: “I’d very much like to bring a friend of mine—a Frenchman.”

  “Is he an influential person?”
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br />   “Definitely,” Kahlenberge assured her brightly. “You might describe my friend Prévert as a power behind the throne. He can make careers and break them. Given the right combination of circumstances, even the President of France would find it hard to evade his clutches.”

  “In that case, bring him by all means.” Frau Wilhelmine sounded impressed.

  Her next victim was a junior minister who happened to be visiting Berlin. Being a man who accepted all invitations on principle, he proved easy meat, as did a visiting diplomat from the Benelux countries. The latter was reputed to be a very minor force in the Council of Europe, but Frau Wilhelmine threw him into the pot for good measure. His function would be mainly decorative.

  The next name on her list was the managing director of a famous electrical engineering firm. After putting up a brief but fruitless struggle, he weakened when Kahlenberge’s name was mentioned, reflecting that Kahlenberge’s firm manufactured special vehicles for transporting turbines and marine cable.

  Frau Wilhelmine then proceeded to rope in a member of the Berlin Senate, who was noted for his vast network of contacts. He was also noted for his slightly wry sense of humour, which he took care to display when accepting her invitation. “I shall be delighted to come, dear lady, and so will my latest wife.”

  The last remark drew Frau Wilhelmine’s attention to a problem of secondary but undeniable importance: the so-called gentler sex. Since no great reliance could be placed on Ulrike and the Senator’s “latest wife” was an unknown quantity, she would have to hunt up two or three females, preferably attractive.

  The appropriate source of supply in this case could be defined by the collective term “show business” in its widest sense, i.e., television, radio and films. Within a few minutes Frau Wilhelmine had secured acceptances from a much-misunderstood film actress of Scandinavian origin, an uncommonly attractive “pop.” singer and a junior woman announcer from the local television station.