“Then…” Heydrich mused, thinking out loud “…either this Lowenstein somehow killed them, or at least was involved…?”
“A distinct possibility… or perhaps he saw something he should not… saw Schiller do something he should not…?” The Reichsführer suggested, making completely false assumptions yet ultimately coming up with an answer more accurate than he could ever know.
“There’s no way Schiller would be working on his own,” Heydrich shrugged, thinking the idea completely ridiculous. “He won’t even use the bathroom without the Reichsmarschall’s permission… but… then why would Reuters want to find this man so badly…? Why bring him back if he were witness to something so incriminating…?”
“Bring him back, or…?”
“…Or make certain the man is dead, and that no witness remains to accuse them…? Mein Gott, could it be possible? Did they perhaps discover what you suspect: that Reuters is a traitor?”
“Were I Reuters, I should have thought to have them shot even if I weren’t a spy,” Himmler almost chuckled, completely unperturbed by the discussion. “Their opposition to him was well-known, as you say, and their removal left his influence with The Fuhrer greatly strengthened. An extremely dangerous move however, necessitated by extreme circumstances, if indeed this is what has happened.” Himmler shrugged. “I am not entirely convinced of the possibility, but I do find it interesting enough to warrant further investigation. There are many other, far smaller pieces of unrelated information that – when gathered together – could give further weight to this idea, however there is one very recent incident in particular that stands out.” He took another sip of his wine. “As you would expect, there have been through interrogations of all Kriegsmarine personnel recovered after the escape from Ambon…”
“I have read some of the transcripts…”
“You’ll have noted then, that most were of a single, basically identical story: that during the confrontation with Australian forces within the hospital building at the Tan Tui camp, Oberst Ritter placed himself between the enemy guns and his Reichsmarschall and directly risked his own life to secure their freedom…”
“An act of singular courage…” Heydrich confirmed, yet there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that surprised even him.
“Indeed…” Himmler agreed, pausing for a moment before adding: “And why, do you think, did the Australians not simply shoot him on the spot and take the rest of them prisoner?”
“I…” Heydrich began, then stopped, momentarily stumped by the unexpected yet somehow painfully obvious question.
“Precisely…! We are enemies! We are at war! There was no valid reason why any Allied soldier shouldn’t simply shoot the man out of hand and round up the rest. You cannot answer…? But you do not have all the information yet!” He went on, becoming far more animated now that he’d reached the point of the entire meeting. “You have heard of an Allied organisation called ‘Hindsight’, yes?”
“I have,” Heydrich confirmed warily. “Lead by an Australian, Max Thorne: although its true nature has never been clear, everything we’ve learned so far suggests it is a quite powerful unit with far-ranging influence within Allied circles.”
“You have no idea,” The Reichsführer countered with a wry smile, knowing far more about Hindsight than he was letting on. “For reasons that I will explain shortly, this Hindsight unit is of great personal interest to Kurt Reuters, and was the reason for his presence in North Africa three months ago, during the final advance there. There were members of this Hindsight unit also present, in close proximity behind the enemy lines, and the Reichsmarschall at the time ostensibly gathered every resource available in an attempt to encircle and destroy them – an engagement that became what you would know of as the battle for Kibrit airfield. Significant numbers of ground and aerial forces were diverted from their primary objectives to participate in this fiasco, and yet – against all odds – this Hindsight group miraculously escape, supposedly in spite of the best efforts of the entire Wehrmacht!”
“It isn’t uncommon for the best-laid plans to go astray,” Heydrich observed, playing agent provocateur.
“Not uncommon at all…” Himmler conceded “…There were two primary members of this unit present at Kibrit,” he continued. “This Max Thorne that you have already mentioned, and one other: a female naval officer by the name of Captain Eileen Donelson. Donelson is believed to be Hindsight’s chief technical officer, as unlikely as that sounds…”
“A great shame that our efforts to capture or destroy them at Kibrit were unsuccessful, then…”
“What would you think if I told you that the ranking Allied officer present at that Tan Tui hospital was the very same Eileen Donelson?” The Reichsführer declared proudly, as if he were revealing an unbeatable lay-down Misere. “That it was on her command that Reuters and the rest were allowed to go free? That in the early hours of that same morning, a deal was made between this captain and the Reichsmarschall to work together to escape their imprisonment?”
There was a long pause as Reinhard Heydrich struggled to assimilate that information and come to terms with the enormity of it all.
“You have proof of this?”
“An eyewitness account from a junior officer who was present on both occasions. His English is limited, but he understood enough to gather the gist of the conversation between them.”
“His men would protect him, of course,” Heydrich reasoned carefully, thinking of Schiller in particular. “They would see it as loyalty to their commander… that he was simply doing what must be done to secure their escape, regardless of the ‘sacrifice’ to himself. Why would they suspect for a moment that there might be some hidden agenda? They would never believe it: the man’s popularity within the Wehrmacht rivals almost that of The Führer himself.”
“Probably greater than that of The Führer,” Himmler observed with brutal honesty, “although I shouldn’t repeat that to anyone…”
“Do you know, there is a museum in Paris near the Place de la Concord…?” Heydrich began, seemingly heading off on a tangent. “The paintings of Claude Monet are shown there – the ‘Water Lilies’ collection, I think it is called. I am no expert, but I am told that his work is a quintessential example of the Impressionist Period.”
“I know there will be a point to this in the end…” Himmler observed drily, tilting his head at the younger man.
“I visited there not long after the city fell…” Heydrich continued, ignoring him. “It was a dull afternoon and I was at a loose end. In deference to my position, I was allowed a private viewing and was permitted to approach the works quite closely. I discovered that many of them don’t look like anything at all when one is in such close proximity…” he explained, raising an eyebrow as he reached the point of the story “…yet when one stands back and takes in the entire picture, suddenly everything becomes extremely clear…”
“Disturbing, isn’t it?” Himmler nodded in understanding. “Yet also somehow quite exciting to think what we may have stumbled upon.”
“A supposed ‘murder-suicide’ removes much of the Reichsmarschall’s direct competition in one fell swoop,” Heydrich mused, thinking much deeper on the situation now. “Two years later, the leaders of this Hindsight Group elude an assault force under Reuters’ direct command, and just three months after that, it seems that one of those same officers ‘returns the favour’ and intentionally allows the man to slip through their grasp. And then we also have this whole Kormoran incident, which has quite conveniently presented the Reichsmarschall with a casus belli to have another member of the Direktors executed for alleged treason. Was it not Schiller who was the nominal head of the RFR project researching these weapons?”
“He was a joint leader…” Himmler conceded, “…although Direktor Hegel was more involved with the daily operations.”
“Hard to believe however, that the man had no knowledge whatsoever of what was going on; that – if Reuters is to be believed – Hegel
and the RFR assembled two such weapons in complete secrecy without anyone being the wiser.”
“And there you have it: the bulk of my suspicions,” the Reichsführer declared finally, releasing a long sigh.
“Your ‘source’ for much of this… it was Eckhart, yes…?”
“Your powers of reasoning are superb, as always.”
“The man would sell his own grandmother for a suitable price,” Heydrich grunted, not necessarily finding the idea immoral by his own standards, “and he has no love for Reuters – none of the Direktors do. There is compelling circumstantial evidence in what we’ve discussed, however that’s all it is unless something more concrete can be obtained…”
“And that, in a nutshell, is exactly what I have called you here tonight to discuss, as you’ve no doubt already determined.”
“This will be a delicate matter…”
“Do you think so?” Himmler shot back with dry sarcasm. “A Reichsführer or an Obergruppenführer can have a car accident just as easily as a Royal mistress,” he observed coldly, referring to a successful Abwehr operation eight years before to assassinate Wallace Simpson, lover of the then Prince Edward, son of George the Fifth. “You will speak to no one regarding this. I expect you to investigate it personally!”
And take the fall personally also, no doubt, should anything go wrong, Heydrich thought silently, knowing full well how the system worked and not feeling at all perturbed by that fact.
“Where would you suggest I start?”
“My thinking is that there’s one avenue that’s not yet been explored,” Himmler ventured, already prepared for that question. “Oskar Zeigler never went anywhere without Dieter Strauss, and that rotund little fool was noticeably absent during the night of the Amiens bombing…”
“The man turned up in a Paris psychiatric ward,” Heydrich shot back, unimpressed. “They left him with barely the mind of a five-year-old! What possible information could he provide?”
“That is exactly the kind of attitude that has so far left the man unquestioned,” Himmler pointed out. “And to whose benefit is it if this remains the case? Since Hegel died, Strauss has been held up at Hartheim, awaiting his turn to be euthanized. I have had that order stayed so that you might have the opportunity to investigate further. Strauss was separated from Zeigler that night, two years ago, and I want to know why. I want to know what he may have seen or heard that resulted in his disappearance… that resulted in having thousands of volts of electricity blasted through his brain by some blundering, French psychiatrist.” With drink in hand, he pointed a finger at Heydrich in that moment. “My instincts tell me; you follow that trail, and you will find something worth the effort. There is something funny…?” He asked sharply, frowning as the other man chuckled suddenly and looked away for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Mein Herr… it’s just the delicious irony…”
“…Of…?”
“Of the fact that you – the man considered by everyone – to be Reuters’ greatest ally may also become his greatest enemy.”
“I’m aware of my reputation regarding this…” the Reichsführer conceded reluctantly, not sound particularly pleased by the fact.
“Mein Gott, Heinrich, there were rumours that you two were queer for each other! How disappointed Gruppenführer Barkmann will be to find no substance to these ‘dark tales’!”
“Such impudence!” Himmler declared, feigning anger but stifling a smirk of his own. “For God’s sake, don’t even joke about that! Can you imagine that little toad’s reaction? He’s insufferable as it is: if the man weren’t a family friend of Margarete’s, I should have had him locked up in Hartheim years ago!”
“And what does Klaus Eckhart get from all this?” Heydrich asked coldly, never having been a believer in the concept of human decency.
“He gets power and influence with me… and with The Führer by default…” Himmler answered honestly, then added: “…and revenge. Let’s not forget that, either…”
“Always such a strong motivator,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “Not always a trustworthy one, but powerful all the same. Then again, one does not need altruistic motives to tell the truth any more than good intentions exclude the need to lie.” He raised his scotch. “I shall begin with Strauss, and see where that leads… Prost..!”
“Prost…!” The Reichsführer repeated with a smile, completing the toast.
Passing Loop No. 86 Otpor
Chita Oblast, SE Siberia, USSR
Save for the village behind him and the lights of another, larger town perhaps two or three miles ahead, there was nothing to see in any direction other than wide, open grassland… at least, that was what would have been visible in all directions had it not been a little shy of 0500 and still several hours before dawn. As Georgy Zhukov turned to take in his surroundings, it also occurred to him that the thin coat of crusty snow that currently covered everything wasn’t helping all that much either.
Rising fully out of the main hatch of his KBT-7 command tank, he shivered against the bitter cold in spite of his thick jacket, gloves and standard-issue ushanka hat, its long, fleecy side flaps secured over his ears and secured beneath his chin. Exhaled breath swirled around him in crystalline clouds, and he gave a soft, heartfelt moment of thanks that the overnight temperature had remained at a ‘mild’ ten degrees below zero.
Passing Loop Number 86 – the last Russian station on a branch line running into Japanese-occupied Manchukuo from the Trans-Siberian Railway, 300 miles to the north-west. Originally little more than a platform, it had been expanded into a significant border guard station in the years following the Sino-Soviet Conflict of 1929, during which it had gained the nickname ‘Otpor’ (‘Repulse’).
Just a few miles further south – across the border – the Inner Mongolian town of Manzhouli was the northern beginning of the Manchurian Railway, running south toward Harbin and on into the Chinese heartlands. Across the short, open expanse of frozen grassland between the two towns, Zhukov knew that they were faced by the Japanese 6th Army, a force estimated at around forty thousand men, 150-odd light tanks and tankettes and over 400 aircraft. Not the IJA’s finest fighting force by any stretch of the imagination, but a formidable obstacle to be overcome all the same.
Behind him, and out across the open plains to the west and east for many miles, the entirety of the Soviet 17th Army waited patiently for the signal to advance as at least twice as many men waited patiently in their tanks and armoured cars, or stood about makeshift fires in groups, smoking and stamping their feet. The general had no intention of waiting long: in such low temperatures, the amount of time a soldier could spend standing around doing nothing before beginning to suffer from the cold could be measured in minutes, and sickness and eventual death weren’t far behind.
Zhukov knew that his opposite number, General Kita Seiichi, would already have observers watching them from across the border – someone was always watching anyway – but it was nevertheless unlikely that they would be garnering anything other than a general interest. Notice had been given two weeks before of planned large-scale military exercises throughout the Trans-Baikal Military District and in any case, the complicated three-way of agreements between Germany, Japan and the USSR (The Berlin Pact, the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact and the Soviet–Japanese Neutrality Pact) stood as a strong deterrent against any kind of offensive action from either side.
They’d even been maintaining the farce by actually engaging in manoeuvers over the last three days, churning up the snow-covered grassland of the vast, featureless steppes that extended for hundreds of miles in every direction. Having returned to the great, makeshift bivouac at the Otpor railhead every evening, the great army’s presence was not viewed as anything suspicious by the watchers looking on from their watch towers on that nearby border.
“Comrade General!”
He turned to take in the sight of the 17th Army’s commander, Major General Anton Gastilovich, calling from the upper hatch of his own comm
and tank a few yards away, his broad, round face gleaming in the stark moonlight beneath his own ushanka.
“You have news, Anton Iosifovich?”
“Hitler has given his speech! As Moscow expected, he has denounced the Japanese and dissolved the Tripartite Pact!”
“And the General Secretary?”
“Comrade Stalin is addressing the STAVKA as we speak,” Gastilovich announced excitedly, lowering a radio headset from one ear. The Neutrality Pact is no more!”
“Not a bloody moment too soon, either!” Zhukov grumped, thinking of his men in the extreme conditions. “Bad enough they ask us to fight in such conditions at all, let alone standing about, scratching our arses while politicians warm themselves with their own hot air!”
“You’re referring to Hitler, of course, tovarishch…” Gastilovich observed automatically, on the off chance some GRU or NKVD informer might be within earshot.
“Oh yes… of course…” Zhukov muttered gruffly in return, barely bothering to hide his sarcasm.
He cared little for the tedium of petty scare tactics. Declared a Hero of the Soviet Union following his success during the Battle of Khalkhyn Gol, three years before, the forty-six year old had since been promoted to the dual positions of Chief of the General Staff, and Deputy Minister of Defense of the USSR. It was only at the STAVKA’s personal request – in light of his prior combat successes and experience in that same region – that a pleasantly-surprised Georgy Konstantinovich had accepted his current posting as overall commander of the coming campaign. His name was associated with power and success within Moscow circles, and it would be a brave man indeed who accused General Georgy Zhukov of defeatism, sedition or unpatriotic activities.
That being said, it nevertheless paid to at least make some effort to behave. His own commander during the Khalkhyn Gol engagement, Grigori Shtern, had been equally lauded and awarded for his part in Soviet success, and that hadn’t been enough to save that particular Hero of the Soviet Union from being arrested during the great Stalinist army purges of 1941 and shot as a Trotskyist and German spy, having had a ‘confession’ tortured out of him first, naturally enough. Certainly, Shtern had probably already been under the eye of the NKVD at some stage, coming as he had from a Jewish family, but the fact remained that ability success or fame were no sure guarantee of immunity if Comrade ‘Great Father’ Stalin developed a sudden dislike.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 112
