Oberkommando der Wehrmacht
Bendlerblock Offices
76-78 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
19 November, 1942
Thursday
Dressed in his finest suit, Oskar Schindler waited patiently in the anteroom outside the Reichsmarschall’s office for his 8:00am appointment. He already felt tired and worn out: the flight from Kraków, although short, had been a rough one due to heavy storm spreading right across southern Poland, and he’d already been up at a ridiculous hour in order to meet the plane in the first place. His levels of nervousness were also exacerbated by the simple fact that he was away from the factory at all. Taking care of his labour force was a full-time job in itself, and he was always apprehensive about what the Hauptsturmführer Amon Göth might get up to in his absence.
Göth was the commandant of the Płaszów concentration camp, and it was Schindler’s informed opinion that the man was nothing less than a psychopathic sadist who would commit daily acts of random violence against the inmates. He was known to have regularly allowed his two dogs free reign in tearing apart defenceless inmates, would randomly shoot prisoners from his office window with a sniper rifle if he decided they seemed to be resting or moving too slowly, and had reportedly once even had one of the camp’s Jewish cooks shot for serving his soup too hot. Schindler generally managed to gain his compliance with regular bribes and with gifts of fine alcohol and other treasures, but he remained fearful what inhuman acts Göth might perpetrate while away from his influence.
An attractive, blonde secretary stepped into the room at that moment wearing the plain, faux ‘uniform’ of the Work, Faith and Beauty Society of the League of German Maidens. The female equivalent of the Hitler-Jugend, Bund Deutscher Mädel had originally been set up to prepare German girls between the ages of 10-18 for marriage and motherhood by instilling proper Aryan morals and values, along with providing physical exercise for good health and teaching appropriate practical skills such as cooking and housekeeping.
Since Reuters had begun to exert influence upon the armed forces and upon German society in general, the BDM had been first expanded to include training for secretarial and office studies and then, as his power grew, also added the teaching of processing and industrial-based skills, intended to allow young women to take on more roles originally intended for men in such areas as administration and manufacturing. Initially faced with great opposition even from Hitler, who still believed German women could best serve the nation by being the mothers for the next generation of German soldiers, the program had resulted in a vital release of available manpower into the armed forces as the country went over to full mobilisation for war in 1939.
“The Reichsmarschall will see you now…” She announced curtly, barely according him a cursory nod. Dressed in white blouse, black skirt and tie, the woman standing before him was clearly a member of the BDM, and it appeared that the importance of her position as the Reichsmarschall’s secretary was not lost on her Aryan-sized ego.
“Danke, fräulein…” Schindler replied immediately, rising from his chair and clicking his heels together in a faint, formal bow. With a single nod, he followed the direction of her outstretched arm and stepped through into the office below.
“Herr Schindler,” Reichsmarschall Reuters acknowledged brightly as he entered, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand before he could execute the usual Nazi salute. “So good of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit us…”
“A ‘request’ from the Reichsmarschall is hardly something to be ignored,” Schindler countered with a smile of his own, his eye catching that of Schiller and receiving a silent nod of acknowledgement as the man stood at the back of the room, behind Reuters’ desk. “It was my pleasure, of course.”
“Please… take a seat…” Reuters invited, moving around to sit down on the other side of the desk. “I know it’s a long way to come for such a meeting, but I promise we’ll not take up much of your time.”
“I must say, Herr Reichsmarschall, that I’m intrigued as to what might require discussion that can’t be set down in an official letter…” Schindler pointed out, not making any attempt to hide the fact that he was staring directly at Schiller as he spoke those words. It felt strangely empowering to note that the generaloberst seemed to squirm slightly as a result.
“There are some things that are better said in person, Herr Schindler... in person and somewhere safe…” Reuters countered evenly, a hidden meaning clear in his tone. “I understand you have plans for some additions to your factories in the Kraków area… that you wish to expand your enamelwork into munitions and other production areas, thereby dramatically increasing your capacity for industrial profit…”
“Fair pay for fair work is not profiteering, Mein Herr,” Schindler pointed out, perhaps a little concerned in that moment that he was being accused of something that could well see him shot.
“No one is accusing you of anything of the sort, sir…” Reuters assured with a wave of his hand. “On the contrary: it’s been reported that you seem to have a ‘way’ with the prisoners you employ… that the efficiency and levels of production at your factory are markedly greater than the amount of work most of the other forced camps have been able to get out of their inmates.”
“I generally find that treating workers with decency and respect often produces better results…” Schindler observed pointedly, deciding to test the water of the conversation.
“My thoughts exactly,” Reuters agreed quickly. “Far too many around me unfortunately think otherwise, however…”
There was a long moment of silence as each met the other’s gaze and held it, the 34-year-old owner of the Deutsche Emaillewaren-Fabrik staring down the most powerful officer in Germany, before Reuters ultimately broke first, releasing a long, frustrated sigh and leaning back in his large, upholstered chair.
“I’ve no stomach for talking in riddles, Herr Schindler,” he explained finally, exasperation showing in his tone that was in response to the necessity of the discussion rather than the people involved. “This office is checked daily and is safe of any recording or listening devices. Only the three of us are party to any conversation held here, and as such you may your mind and speak freely. This also means…” he continued, cutting off Schindler’s initial response, “…that we too will speak our mind…”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mein Herr…” Schindler dodged, having clearly caught the warning in that last sentence.
“Then I shall make it plain, sir…” Reuters countered sharply. “It is well known to me that you have been engaged in unusual practices regarding the prisoners working in your factory… unusual in the sense that you continue to treat them with far more respect and care than almost any other factory manager directly involved with manpower derived from our forced labour camps. We believe this is particularly the case with Jewish prisoners, something I have no doubt you’re aware might well result in you being charged as a sympathiser, should such information be made known to the wrong people.”
“You – you have no proof of any of this…!” Schindler snarled defensively, completely missing the direction in which the man was taking the conversation. “Gossip… malicious rumour...! You have no evidence…!”
“Herr Schindler, this is Nazi Germany,” Reuters pointed our bitterly. “What need have the Gestapo or the Sicherheitsdienst for such trivialities as ‘evidence’…?”
“You’ve brought me a long way simply to accuse me, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Schindler countered angrily, rising from his chair as Schiller also took a step forward, momentarily concerned that the young man might seek to do Reuters some actual harm. “You could have had me arrested in Kraków and saved us all such trouble…!”
“It is not your arrest I am seeking, Mein Herr: it is your help…!” Reuters explained quickly, raising a single palm in indication he should calm himself. “Sit down and we will explain… retake your seat, sir…!” He added sharply as Schindler hesitated, the force of the
tone surprising enough to shock the man into compliance.
“By the time we’re finished here, Oskar, you’ll have enough ‘gossip and rumour’ to have us charged,” Schiller noted, speaking for the first time as he moved away from the back wall, dragging across a random chair to sit beside his superior. “The Reichsmarschall is not trying to accuse or blackmail you… he is merely trying to point out to you the dangerous nature of the game you’re currently playing.”
“Respectfully; the life or death of several thousand human beings is no game, sir,” Schindler shot back, nowhere near ready to trust the pair seated before him.
“Nor is the fate of millions,” Reuters suggested, that remark finally gaining the man’s silence and full attention. “The current policies of the Herrenvolk are not something that either I or Herr Schiller support. We are just two voices however, and notwithstanding my own high rank, neither voice is powerful enough to hold any sway in these matters under the ‘current administration’. We’ve found that on occasion it has been necessary to use more subtle means in influencing decisions regarding these areas of policy, if for no other reason than the protection of our own positions and lives. As you can no doubt understand, my role as Reichsmarschall is one that by very nature produces a multitude of powerful opponents and enemies.”
“I – I am not sure how I fit into all this, Mein Herr,” Schindler ventured, desperate to reach the point of the meeting, even if only to relieve the current fear and tension he was experiencing.
“I intend to grant you your expanded industrial concerns,” Reuters explained finally. “In fact, I intend to see to it that you are placed in charge of all state manufacturing in the Kraków region. Officially based on your Abwehr service prior to the war, you will be commissioned with the SS rank of standartenführer and placed in command of the Kraków section of Amt W of the SS-WVHA. This should place you in a perfect position to oversee manufacturing and forced labour camps throughout southern Poland. I have already spoken with SS-Reichsführer Himmler on this and have obtained his tacit approval.”
“Why – why would you do this…?”
“The reasons behind it are simple, Mein Herr… you get results, and you save lives into the bargain. My intelligence sources tell me that so far, this has forced you to dispose of a significant portion of your own fortune in exchange for bribes and gifts, all used in obtaining the continued safety of those who work under you. You will be provided with personal letters of authority from me and the Reichsführer that I hope will negate any further need for such personal sacrifice, and that will also ensure your orders are obeyed by Wehrmacht and SS alike without the need for such ‘unofficial’ dealings.”
“You will still need to be cautious in your approach,” Schiller pointed out seriously. “Probably moreso, as you will be operating on a far larger scale… but it is the Reichsmarschall’s intention that the official authority you will have from us should be sufficient to ensure you are asked no awkward questions in the performance of your duties…”
“…That is, of course, so long as you continue to obtain the same excellent results that have been shown so far…” Reuters warned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What were are proposing will place you in charge of a great number of forced labour camps and the factories they support… factories involved in munitions, aircraft production and a wide range of other strategic areas vital to the ongoing security of the Reich. So long as results are good, there will no reason for the SS to ask questions as to the methods used in their production… should standards fail however, there would be no letter or guarantee anyone could provide that would keep you safe.
“What your factories produce must be of the highest standard.” He continued, intending to make it crystal clear what was expected. “There will be no unexplained malfunctions, no unusual evidence of poor quality or negligence or any other sub-standard practice that might possibly be construed as an intentional attempt to sabotage our war production. Do you understand what I am saying…?”
“Completely, Mein Herr…” Schindler assured hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry.
“I do not make this point with the intention to threaten,” Reuters explained quickly. “I only wish to highlight the tenuous nature of the security anyone holds at my level in Deutschland… security that rest solely on the provision of satisfactory results. Speak with Armaments Minister Speer if you have need of advice or assistance; I have mentioned you to him, and he understands your ‘peculiar’ situation. He is a brilliant and talented man whose advice and counsel may be trusted implicitly. Do well in your new position, Mein Herr, and we will make sure you have all the resources you need to support your workers and keep them safe…”
Schiller followed him out as he departed a few minutes later, catching the stunned and confused Schindler at the door to the corridor outside.
“Oskar… a private word if I may…?”
“More private that what was just discussed…?” Schindler asked wryly, shaking his head as if to clear the jumble of thoughts swirling about inside. “But I know what you’re about to ask, of course…” he continued, nodding as his hand paused on the doorknob. “You seek news of the children you asked me about.”
“I do,” Schiller confirmed.
“Then I am sorry, Mein Herr…” Schindler replied with sincerity, seeing no way to avoid the bad news as the other man’s stomach lurched in sudden fear. “I made my enquiries as promised and we were able to identify the parents’ names you supplied.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head sadly. “All four were killed weeks ago during sweeps of the Kraków ghetto. What little information I was able to obtain suggested that both couples had indeed recently given birth, and that although the names of these children was unknown, both are also believed to have died at the same time.”
There was a long, silent moment as Albert Schiller fought desperately to conceal the sharp stab of anguish that tore through his psyche at that moment and failed utterly. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes and he wiped at them self-consciously, as if removing their presence might also remove the deep feelings of loss and guilt they represented. Although Schindler couldn’t possibly fathom the link this Wehrmacht staff officer had with families of two common-born, Jewish Poles, there was no denying the genuine nature of the pain the man was currently experiencing.
“I am truly sorry, Albert,” he repeated, turning and laying a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Had they been at the camps already, there might’ve been something I could have done…”
“There’s no fault in this…” Schiller whispered hoarsely, ignoring the strange look he was receiving from Reuters’ secretary as she sat at a small desk near the door in the opposite wall. “No fault of yours in any case,” he added bitterly, self-loathing clear in the tone. “Thank you for your efforts…” he managed eventually, forcing a thin smile as he continued to wipe at his tears. “Your help won’t be forgotten…”
Just a few miles away, Carl Ritter stood at the mirror above his bathroom sink, making final adjustments to his uniform prior to his usual morning departure for work. Maria and her widowed mother, Hanna, had been busy getting the boys up and fed, and it was only in the last fifteen minutes or so that the house had become quiet once more following the cacophony of sound that usually surrounded any effort to get his oldest off to school.
Finally pleased with the effect as he took one last look and patted down his jacket, he stepped back out into the main bedroom to find Maria already seated on the bed, wearing a woollen blouse and functional trousers that spoke more of comfort than style (although he nevertheless thought she looked stunning anyway, as always). The most surprising things about the scene before him were the expression on his wife’s face and the automatic pistol that lay on the bed beside her, the bedspread protected from its light sheen of oil by a piece of thick cloth.
“Mama’s looking after Kurt,” she began, making it clear to him that her mother was taking care of their youngest and that they weren’t likely to be di
sturbed.
“Darling, what are you doing?” He asked quickly, some concern in his voice. “Why do you have that out…?”
“It was my father’s gun,” she explained softly, glancing down at the FN Browning 1910 that lay beside her.
“I know what it is, my love…” he continued, almost smiling in faint exasperation, although the concern remained. “What I’m asking is why you’ve taken it out of its box in the attic?”
“You’ll be leaving soon…” she began, a sad, hollow tone in her voice that Ritter instantly disliked – one that struck him with a sudden sense of personal guilt. “Gone for who knows how long, with us left here alone to fend for ourselves.”
“Maria, we’re hardly living in a war zone,” he pointed out gently, hopping to assuage whatever fears she was experiencing. “This is Schönberg, not Belfast…”
“You think we are safe here?” She demanded sharply, her voice cold as she recalled the conversation had almost three weeks earlier; a conversation in which her husband had opened up about what he knew of the death camps and the atrocities being committed against Jews and so many others. “Safe like Anna and Moshe and all the others they’ve taken away…?”
“We’re not Jews, Maria,” he countered, immediately hating himself for even making that distinction, as if it explained everything so simply.
“Can you promise me that being an officer makes you immune to them? That it can protect all of us from those animals, when they arrive at our door in the middle of the night…?”
Ritter thought to answer quickly – to dismiss such fears as ridiculous and unfounded – but he too knew in his heart that any such dismissal would be false, and he could never lie to his wife. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he moved across to the bed and sat down beside her on the opposite side to that of the pistol.
“No… no, it can’t…” he admitted eventually, leaning in against her so that their shoulders touched. “No one is safe from them once they have your name. But they do not have ours…” He continued bravely, trying to remain optimistic. “I have friends also – powerful friends. Although we’ve never know why, it’s been clear for some time that I am in the favour of the Reichsmarschall… he has helped me – us – far too many times now for there to be any doubt about it, and that fact means that we have powerful allies also… allies that neither the Gestapo or the SD would dare offend.”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 37
