A late-night cocktail party had been laid on with full catering, again at the insistence of the Chancellor, and was now in full swing on the ground floor, in one of the mansion’s larger ballrooms. A 15-piece jazz band performed in one corner, while appropriately-dressed young women specially flown in by the BDM – the League of German Maidens – were on hand to dance with the officers and gentlemen of the Wehrmacht while excellent food and French champagne were served from all sides. There was good food, heavy drinking and much dancing, and many of those who’d been stationed at front lines for some time now in preparation for the invasion made the most of such a rare opportunity and enjoyed themselves greatly.
Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters hated every moment of the revelry and the celebrations. He was still far too tense and far too despondent over the loss of Carl Ritter for him to be in any mood for socialising, and in truth he’d spent the entire day stressed about the impending arrival of The Führer. That his appearance had now been rescheduled until the next morning had merely postponed his discomfort and had served merely to allow more time for increased anguish to build rather than any real relief. The reconnaissance flight had gone a long way toward assuaging everyone’s concerns regarding the continued existence of Hindsight as a coherent force at Scapa Flow, but there was still a lingering doubt at the back of Reuters’ mind that simply would not dissipate.
Another reason for his inability to enjoy himself that night was the obvious problem that a meeting such as the one they were holding that night also brought with it guests whom the Reichsmarschall had no interest whatsoever spending time in the company of. Both Ziegler and Strauss had arrived, representing their own interests and those of the rest of the New Eagles’ Directors, and the quite obvious camaraderie they’d displayed upon being greeted by Hermann Göring and Martin Bormann had both turned Reuters’ stomach and given him some cause for alarm: such an open display in front of him and the rest of his staff couldn’t be taken lightly, and he’d need to take care there was nothing behind it in the days and weeks to follow.
Right at that moment however, as the loud music played and people danced before him at the centre of the huge ballroom, all the commander-in-chief of the entire Wehrmacht could think about was getting some fresh air and seeking some solace in the company of real soldiers. Choosing a rare moment when there was absolutely no attention upon his presence or whereabouts, he slipped out of the room and made his way through a kitchen teaming with catering staff before finally exiting the rear of the building.
He stood for a moment once outside and took a deep, revitalising breath of well-needed fresh air. The skies above were clear that night and were alight with a mass of stars, while a waxing gibbous moon shone down from high above. Although it was quite cool out for someone wearing just regimental dress uniform, all in all it was otherwise an excellent night to be outside and spending time with the troops in that particular Reichsmarschall’s opinion.
He stood for a moment, turning his head to either side as he looked around to see what was happening in the general vicinity. Close in against the rear of the mansion to his left, a large tanker truck lay dormant, the driver clearly asleep behind the wheel. A frown momentarily flashed across Reuters’ face as he noted the scene. Parking in such proximity to the building was poor judgement on the part of the driver, not to mention being a potentially unsafe situation, and he paused a moment while he decided what to do about it.
He should walk straight up there and give the man a royal dressing down before sending him on his way, or at least report it a junior officer so he could do the same… yet in the end, Reuters simply couldn’t be bothered. The fellow was a simple private making the most of a few moments of spare time, and what career soldier could blame a man for that. At least someone was relaxed enough to get some rest on a night like that, and Reuters was a little jealous if anything. He decided to cut the man a little slack that night and perhaps bring the subject up with the officer on duty the next morning.
He instead spied a cluster of panzer crews a few dozen metres in the other direction, gathered around an oil-drum fire and all talking and smoking in front of a trio of P-3C tanks. A P-11A Wirbelwind self-propelled flak stood a little off to one side, its own crew hanging out of their hatches and joining in the conversation, although they remained in their vehicle as they were still technically on duty. Snugging his hat down upon his head, Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters strode off across the open expanse of grass behind the mansion on a direct line toward the men. He rarely smoked, but he badly felt like a cigarette right at that moment, and he was sure there’d be one to spare among the group if he asked.
Albert Schiller, trapped on the other side of the ballroom, standing beside Armaments Minister, Albert Speer as both were locked conversation with an incredibly boring NSDAP party official, had taken some time to extricate himself from the group, and by the time he’d rather callously broke free and abandoned Speer to his fate, Reuters had already been gone for some time. He’d normally not have been worried, but his friend and commander hadn’t been his usual self since Ritter had been lost, and Schiller didn’t like to see the man left alone with time to think too deeply. As he deposited his half-empty champagne glass with a passing waiter, he questioned several nearby staff officers regarding Reuters’ whereabouts to no avail, before taking it upon himself to leave the ballroom in search of the Reichsmarschall.
His first instinct was to head toward the large briefing room that was their usual haunt for meetings and private, relaxed conversation, and as he approached down a long hallway a few moments later, he at first thought he’d been correct in his initial assumption. From a distance he could clearly see light through the main dors, which stood slightly ajar, and could also pick out the faint murmurings of soft conversation. As he drew closer, however, he realised that it wasn’t Kurt Reuters’ voice he could hear. Instead, it was the unmistakeable tones of ‘Director’ Oswald Zeigler, and Schiller sincerely doubted Kurt would be willingly engaged in any kind of private discussion with the likes of him.
At first, Schiller stopped and intended to turn back, continuing his search for his commanding officer, but as he paused for a moment, it suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t think of any valid reason for Ziegler to be holding a private meeting of any sort on the premises, and it might well be a good idea for him to take a quick peek and see what was going on. He moved quietly up to the entrance, the doors barely ajar but nevertheless open wide enough for him to get a good look inside and see exactly what was happening.
It was Zeigler all right, the slimy little creature arrogant enough to actually be seated in Reuters’ favoured chair on the opposite side of the Reichsmarschall’s desk, and the sight of it almost angered Schiller enough for him to burst right in there and demand to know what they were playing at. Yet common sense and curiosity took control in the end, and he instead waited patiently and listened, noting with interest the other members of the little cabal gathered there. Dieter Strauss was present, of course, and that was no surprise. Zeigler was rarely seen out in public without the rotund little rodent simpering pathetically at his side, and that evening was no exception as Straus sat to the man’s right, listening intently.
It was the sight of the other three in the room that caused Schiller to raise an eyebrow in surprise and brought a nervous lump to his throat. Hermann Göring, Martin Bormann and Rudolf Hess also sat together around that desk, and between them they constituted the three most powerful men in Nazi Germany save for Reuters, Himmler and Adolf Hitler himself. That the trio were all together there at the HQ in Amiens was no secret – the attendance of all would’ve been considered vital at such an event – however their presence in that room, deep in conversation with the likes of Oswald Zeigler was quite unexpected and a very dangerous situation indeed.
“…I’m sure I don’t need to remind the three of you of what’s at stake here,” Zeigler continued as Schiller watched unseen from the corridor beyond. “He’s almost impossible to
control now… how much worse do you think it’s going to become once Britain’s fallen and Western Europe is completely secure?”
“I suspect what’s ‘at stake’ for you and your associates is at greater risk at the moment than is the case for the Party,” Martin Bormann, Reichsleiter of the NSDAP observed with just the hint of sarcasm. The man’s so far provided the Reich with a string of runaway successes, and placed us on the verge of victory against the greatest Imperial Power the world has ever known… how much of this dissent revolves around his reluctance to attack the Bolsheviks?” The forty-year-old Bormann, a cold, hard-faced man with a personality to match, was effectively the equal to Kurt Reuters in terms of the power and access to Hitler that he commanded, and as such, his cooperation in whatever Zeigler had planned was vital.
“I don’t deny for a moment that his obstruction of the Neue Adler Directors’ designs for the USSR have influenced our plans,” Zeigler replied testily, fully aware of Bormann’s own personal dislikes of Reuters, and that the man was playing games for no other reason than his enjoyment of manipulating people. “Would you deny the Reichsmarschall’s extremely close association with Reichsführer-SS Himmler has been a continued source of discomfort for your own activities, and that of the Party’s?” The observation struck home, and Bormann gave no answer, although the flash of fire in the man’s eyes showed Zeigler how close he’d come to hitting his mark.
“We’re all here because we have issues with Reuters,” Hess cut in, mild exasperation in his tone, “but ‘having issues’ isn’t the same thing as an act of treason! What you’re suggesting is tantamount to staging a coup-d’etat against the head of our own military!” The deputy Führer was probably the most controlled and – truth be told – also the most sane of the group, but he was also a pragmatist, and had no love for the Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht. Like the rest of them in that room, he’d felt his own power and access to Adolf Hitler diminished and marginalised by the emergence and incredible success of Kurt Reuters. “How do you think the Führer will react if we make a move to decapitate the Wehrmacht?”
“You can leave those details to Neue Adler,” Zeigler assured with cold confidence. “We’ve collected some significant and quite damning evidence about the Reichsmarschall’s personal life that will be more than enough to convince the Führer of the rightness of our intentions in this.…” he gave a smug grin “…some of the ‘evidence’ we have is even true…!”
“I always believed the rank of Reichsmarschall was rightfully mine,” Göring snarled darkly from his seat to Bormann’s left. “I’d thought it perhaps just normal jealousy on my part, but you now tell me I’m actually correct! That I would be Reichsmarschall, were it not for this man and his meddling…” The commander-in-chief of the Luftwaffe could find many justifications to hold a grudge against Kurt Reuters, but the ‘theft’ of that one honour and promotion had been the greatest insult to his honour and pride. That being said, the man was neither stupid nor foolhardy, and as much as he’d like nothing more than to see Kurt Reuters dangling from a rope, he also recognised that making a move to topple a figure commanding such power was a dangerous game indeed. “Himmler will stand by Reuters… they’re too close now for him to back away from their alliance… and probably Goebbels too. That toxic little dwarf has been working desperately to get back into favour with The Führer for years – when he can find time away from shagging everything wearing a skirt that strays within reach – and we know he’s had a tendency to throw his lot in with Himmler of late.” He shrugged. “He could be a ‘dark horse’ to watch too… his wife and bloody kids are popular at Berchtesgaden, and it’s hard to gauge how much little things like that might sway The Führer toward a given way of thinking…”
“And who can we count on…?” Zeigler asked pointedly, coming to the most important question of the night. “One can’t turn over a rock in Grossdeutschland at the moment without finding someone who thinks our esteemed Reichsmarschall is wonderful… who can we rely on when we make our move?”
“Keitel and Lammers have indicated they’ll stand with us,” Bormann began in a blunt, emotionless tone. “We can of course expect the Party to fall into line with whatever direction I choose, but the feel I have is there’ll be precious few from the Wehrmacht willing to come across: certainly Canaris, Raeder and Dönitz will side with Reuters, and I suspect there’ll be some like Jodl and Von Brauchitsch who’ll sit on the fence and stand with whomever comes out on top at the end.”
“I know we have Von Ribbentrop in our camp,” Göring continued, adding “more’s the pity…” softly under his breath. “…And Herr Bormann’s quite correct about not seeing many allies in the military.” He gave a rueful smile that carried little real humour. “I doubt there’d even be much support from my own Luftwaffe, such has been the man’s meteoric rise. I think Milch is with me, but you can forget Üdet and the rest… most of them would kiss his arse given half a chance. You can forget about Speer too… he’s made it quite clear on several occasions that he considered Reuters a personal friend, and he’s another one we need to keep a close eye on: he’s a relative unknown, and he’s popular with The Führer as well.”
“Ultimately, gentlemen, our success really depends on how quickly and how comprehensively we carry the whole thing off,” Zeigler observed after a long, thoughtful pause. “I’ve no doubt we’ll come up against resistance, but in the end, there’ll be significant numbers who’ll change sides without a second thought if we can prove we hold the upper hand… feel free to correct me if I’m wrong…” He left the statement open for discussion, but there were no takers.
“After the British Surrender, you think…?” Bormann queried, not so confident in the timing of military matters.
“I doubt we’d have any opportunity before then,” Zeigler shrugged, “and I should think the Führer would definitely block any move anyway… Reuters has him so terrified of a free Britain he’d pay any price to see the country knocked out of the war for good.”
“And you don’t think the increase in prestige and accolades that brings will make things more difficult…?” Hess this time, with what seemed an extremely pertinent question, at which point Zeigler simply turned to glance at the man beside him.
“Take it from me, gentlemen,” Strauss answered without hesitation, “with the documented ‘evidence’ we’ll be able to bring to bear upon Kurt Reuters, the Lord himself would doubt the man’s honour!”
Schiller was still listening at the gap between the doors as he suddenly heard the ring of approaching footsteps from the far end of the corridor. His reaction was instinctive and immediate, and as a guard on patrol appeared around the corner, he was already standing upright once more and moving as if he’d been walking toward the man the whole time.
“Mein Herr,” the junior NCO declared immediately, halting and snapping to attention with a salute as he caught sight of the generalleutnant.
“At ease, unteroffizier,” Schiller instructed immediately, trying desperately to hide the dismay in his voice over the loudness of the man’s greeting. “I’ve been looking for Reichsmarschall Reuters… have you seen him by any chance?”
“I haven’t myself, sir, but I did hear another of the guards I passed a few moments ago mention he thought he’d seen the Reichsmarschall talking to some of the panzer crews outside. I’d try out there if I were you, sir.”
“Very good, unteroffizier,” Schiller replied, managing to feign a grin, “I shall do just that. Thanks for your help.” He came to attention and saluted, turning on his heels and moving quickly off the way he’d come as the man returned the action.
As he passed by the doorway to the briefing room once more, the main doors were this time wide open, and the opening was filled with the imposing bulk and stern face of Martin Bormann, open suspicion clearly evident I his expression. An equally surprised and apprehensive Zeigler could also be seen, his substantially greater height allowing him to easily stare out from over the man’s right shoulde
r.
“Reichsleiter Bormann… Direktor Zeigler…” Schiller nodded the barest recognition in greeting as he passed by without slowing his pace. “Meine Herren…” It was in his own opinion the best acting he’d ever managed in his life, and the generalleutnant didn’t dare stop or allow them to draw him into conversation, lest he give away the fact that he knew something of what they’d been discussing in that room. Instead he strode on at a fast but even pace, never looking back until he’d rounded the corner at the far end and could release a held breath of fear and adrenalin.
“Did he hear us?” Zeigler stared at Bormann, searching the man’s impassive features as fear rippled through him. “How long was he standing out there before that guard showed up?”
“If he’d heard anything, he’d have stormed in here with a gun in his hand,” the NSDAP secretary dismissed the question with a shrug as he returned to his own seat, and Zeigler made sure the doors were this time properly closed.
“And do what…?” Hess pointed out, also a little apprehensive at the thought Reuters’ aide and confidant might’ve heard what was being discussed. “Waltz in here and arrest the Reichsleiter, the Stellvertreter des Führers and the Oberbefehlshaber der Luftwaffe single-handed and accuse us of treason…? That’s exactly what he’d have to charge is with: how do you think he’d like his chances alone, when we have so many witnesses here to corroborate our own stories? The man would have to be an imbecile to burst in here, even if he did hear everything.”
England Expects (Empires Lost) Page 75
