Levi's War

by Julie Thomas

  Hitler beckoned to him. ‘Magnificent. Come here, Hauptmann.’

  The reality of his situation hit Levi like a punch in the solar plexus, and he breathed in sharply as he crossed the large room.

  Hitler pointed to a chair in the corner. ‘Join us, you’ve earned it. Bring that chair. Would you like a glass of champagne?’ he asked.

  Levi took the chair and put it beside Eva, as far away from the Führer as he could get. Himmler and Goering exchanged glances of surprise and disapproval.

  ‘Thank you, Mein Führer,’ said Levi quietly.

  Eva took a glass from the tray on the table and poured from an open bottle of champagne. She gave him a warm smile as he accepted it from her.

  ‘Thank you, Fraulein.’

  Hitler scowled at Goering. ‘I am still thinking about Africa,’ he said.

  Goering coughed and moved uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Don’t worry so much, General FieldMarshall Rommel is a capable and battle-hardened soldier.’

  ‘More than I can say for you,’ Hitler said, still looking at Goering. ‘I used to say that in a time of crisis my Reichsmarschall was ice-cold, a brutal man with no scruples, but look at you now. All you do is tell me what a hero Rommel is.’

  Himmler nodded. ‘But he is, Mein Führer, as the Hauptmann will tell you, the darling of even the enemy’s news agencies.’

  Hitler turned his eyes on Levi.

  ‘Is that true, Hauptmann? Do you read about our Rommel in the English newspapers?’ he asked.

  Levi nodded. ‘Yes, Mein Führer. I believe they admire him because he beat them and they are surprised to see such brilliance in the desert.’

  Hitler nodded. ‘Well, we are sending him the supplies he has requested so urgently from the Italians. He better make good use of them.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘So,’ Hitler stirred, ‘you don’t know what to say to me, do you? We don’t mention the Soviet war because that goes badly, and we have failed to gain supremacy in the air.’

  Again he gave Goering a long hard stare. ‘There are spies in our own capital city and the resistance continues to blow up railways and disrupt the output in our factories. Someone, give me some good news,’ he continued.

  Himmler put his hand to his chin and stroked it. ‘The Final Solution is achieving its goals. Over three hundred thousand Jews have been transported in freight trains from the ghettos in Warsaw to Treblinka. And the killings by my death squads in the Soviet territories that we occupy continues at a tremendous rate, in Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, the Ukraine, hundreds of thousands have been exterminated.’

  Hitler gave him a slow smile. ‘All I ever need to do is threaten to hand my enemies over to Himmler . . . So, you are more successful at killing unarmed vermin than my generals are at killing trained soldiers in combat. What do you want, a medal to hang around your neck?’

  Levi studied his shoes and tried to make sense of what he was hearing. He wished he could report back, but that avenue was closed for the moment. The only way would be if he asked to go back to Berlin for a short time, and he had no reason to do that.

  ‘Tell me, Hauptmann, what do the English papers say about the war? Are they afraid of Germany?’ Hitler asked suddenly.

  Levi looked up. There was almost a plea for something to crow about in the clear blue eyes gazing at him.

  ‘Much of London was badly damaged by the bombing and the fires, many were killed,’ he said. ‘The people are suffering shortages. Our U-boats attack their supply ships and sink the food and fuel they need. And the airfields suffered, too; many planes were destroyed and runways blown up.’

  Hitler nodded. Goering smiled his approval at Levi.

  ‘And what do they say about the hopelessly Jew-ridden and Negrified Americans?’ Hitler asked, the bitterness in his voice plain to hear.

  Levi hesitated. ‘The war in the Pacific is turning, the Allies believe they will beat the Japanese. The British are relieved to have the Americans in the European war, they bring much-needed resources —’

  ‘Enough!’

  It was a roar of anger. The Führer rose to his feet and faced them all. ‘It is all I hear. Good news for the enemy and how much our forces are struggling. I will not have it! Germany will triumph. The Third Reich will reign for a thousand years, and if anyone doubts this they might as well take their pistol and shoot themselves now. You are all idiots! Rommel is a vain fool. Why am I surrounded by such people?’

  The rant was conducted at such a pitch and with such ferocity that Levi shrunk back in his chair.

  ‘I will not stay in your treacherous company a moment longer!’ Hitler shouted as he stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Himmler turned to Levi. ‘Never tell the Führer that our enemies are relieved about anything,’ he said, and the coldness in his voice felt like a knife slicing Levi’s throat.

  Goering glared at Levi. ‘Stick to playing the piano, Hauptmann, you have much to learn,’ he said.

  Levi rose. ‘May I be excused, please?’ he asked.

  Eva nodded without looking at him. ‘Of course. Don’t worry, it will all be fine in the morning,’ she said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Berghof

  July 1943

  Levi’s nightmares had progressed from running between bloodied corpses with the death mask of Rolf to watching a naked Erik swing by a noose, his hands clutching at the rope and his eyes bulging, and then facing a raving mad Hitler who kept yelling at him that he a degenerate and a Jew and must die, die, die!

  He awoke sweating and gasping for air, his heart racing and his palms clammy. It took him a few moments of deep breathing to banish the images and still his chaotic thoughts. It was just a bad dream, he was safe in his bed and all those around him thought him to be Werner, a loyal Hauptmann and pianist. As long as he kept his head and watched his tongue he would continue to be trusted.

  His fear was not helped by the growing knowledge that Hitler was clearly insane. As the war turned ever so slowly in the Allies’ favour and defeat piled upon defeat, Hitler spent more time away from Berlin than he did in it. He frequently interrupted Levi’s playing to rant about the bombing of German cities by the English at night and the Americans during the day. The bombers, while concentrating on the military installations, and the petroleum, oil and lubricant plants in the north, had also wreaked havoc on the civilian population. When the Führer heard about the bombing of Hamburg and the firestorm it had caused, nearly destroying all of the city, he was enraged and rained his fury down on Goering because the Luftwaffe had been unable to shoot down enough of the nimble fighters escorting the bombers, or the great cumbersome planes themselves. July also brought the beginning of the battle of Kursk in the East, Operation Zitedalle.

  ‘This victory will reassert German strength.’ Hitler seemed to be assuring himself more than talking to Levi. ‘It will show all my lily-livered allies that we will not tolerate desertion. And the Soviet scum we capture can be put to work in the armament factories.’

  Levi sat at the piano and listened. He knew that Hitler was still smarting over the defeat at Stalingrad after months of hard-fought battle. Twenty-two generals had surrendered, including General FieldMarshall Paulus, the highest-ranking German officer to have ever surrendered. The battle for Kursk gave Hitler a reason to believe all was not lost in the East. Levi was careful not to comment on the war for fear of infuriating the Führer.

  He noticed that Himmler and Bormann visited only when summoned, and Eva and Gretl kept to themselves. Goering was conspicuous by his absence, and Levi listened to the gossip about him in the staff quarters, which said Goering spent his time at his country homes, hunting and admiring his collection of looted art. His long-term morphine addiction meant he took over thirty codeine tablets a day, and it seemed his interest in waging war had waned, much to the rage of the Führer. There was an ominous atmosphere at the Berghof, and Levi wondered what would become of them all if the war ended
badly.

  Sometimes he imagined the Allied troops swarming up the mountainside like vicious, furious ants and overwhelming the German soldiers. He could picture the way the staff and officers would be handled, and wondered how much time he’d have before the accusations flew, followed by the fists, boots and then the bullets. If some GI pushed him up against a wall, a gun to his head, what would he say?

  ‘No! You don’t understand. I’m not really one of them. I’m one of you. Check with British Intelligence. I’m a spy.’

  Would they laugh at him and shoot him anyway? Or maybe he’d be dragged back to Berlin at gunpoint to stand trial. It would be gratifying to see those smug bastards pleading for their lives, Goering and Himmler and Goebbels. But there was no guarantee anyone would bother to follow up on his claims of being a British spy. A guillotine, a hangman’s noose or rotting in a jail as a Nazi collaborator, none of these alternatives seemed fair — and yet any one of them was a real possibility if the war continued to go unfavourably for the Third Reich.

  Levi let his fingers lift from the keys. He’d played a Beethoven sonata that the Führer loved, but Hitler seemed lost in sombre contemplation. Levi was about to start another when the Führer suddenly stirred and looked over at him.

  ‘Tell me, Hauptmann,’ he said softly, ‘do you believe we will win this war?’

  Levi was always on his guard for such questions, a wrong answer could have terrible consequences. ‘Of course, Mein Führer, it is a war of attrition and Germany has by far the stronger resolve.’

  Hitler nodded. ‘You are a true patriot. You should be in charge of some of my armies.’

  Levi smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’m not qualified for such an honour.’

  Hitler snorted. ‘My dog could do a better job than some of the generals I have promoted,’ he said.

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘Already some of my most senior advisers are talking of what to do if the war goes badly. Can you believe that? They come to me with plans for a secret escape route, to Denmark and then Spain by air, and then by U-boat to Argentina so that we can regroup and launch the Fourth Reich.’

  Once again Hitler seemed to be murmuring to himself. Levi sat very still. Every fibre registered that this was important. He should make note of this conversation.

  ‘Franco is a silent ally and he opens Barcelona to fleeing Germans. They think I don’t know. Low-ranking officials make some excuse to visit Spain and they stay there, instead of returning home to serve the Fatherland. It is disgraceful. Bormann and Muller tell me I should have a strategy in place to ensure that the top of the Nazi party lives on to fight again. This is monstrous! We will stand and fight in Berlin. We are Germans. We do not run away.’

  ‘Yes, Mein Führer.’

  Hitler looked over and seemed surprised to see Levi at the piano. He gave a deep sigh. ‘Play me some Wagner, Hauptmann — he knew what it meant to be patriotic. No first come, join me here.’

  As he spoke the Führer stood and walked to the window. Levi got up and went to stand beside him. Hitler extended his arm towards the mountains.

  ‘Is this not a spectacular view? Look at the way that ridge overlaps the one behind it. I feel I could capture that with my watercolours. Snow is hard to paint, the reflection from a summer sun . . . I wanted to be an artist, you know. I applied to art school.’

  Levi nodded. ‘You are an artist, Mein Führer. I feel very lucky to have two of your works on my bedroom wall —’

  He was interrupted by a knock at the main door.

  ‘Come.’ Hitler barked the order without looking over his shoulder. It was one of his aides, pale with trepidation.

  ‘What is it?’ Hitler asked when the man didn’t speak.

  ‘Mein Führer, GeneralMajor Alex von Halem is here. He has a special report on Operation Zitadelle from General Model. He insists he must see you at once.’

  Hitler waved in the direction of his aide. ‘Bring him, without delay.’

  Hitler turned to Levi. ‘He will bring good news. I knew when I woke this morning that today would bring news of victory.’

  The door opened again and a tall, broad-shouldered man in military uniform strode in. All Levi saw was a mountain of white, silver hair, very pale skin, flashing buttons, a hand moving from a trouser pocket. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl. The man cried out. ‘Death to the traitor! Germany without Nazis!’

  He drew a pistol and aimed it at Hitler. Levi saw the barrel of the gun while it was still climbing to a firing position and reacted without thinking. He threw himself in front of the Führer as a loud explosion filled the massive room. A searing pain tore through his right arm and blood spurted out through his uniform. As he hit the floor, he passed out.

  ‘Werner, can you hear me?’

  The voice came from far away.

  ‘Werner.’

  Someone shook him gently and he heard the noise more clearly.

  ‘Good. He’s coming round.’

  It was voice he didn’t know. His arm ached — not strong pain, he’d obviously been given some medication, more of a steady throb. He winced and opened his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Hauptmann.’ The man was smiling down at him. He had glasses and friendly grey eyes, a moustache.

  ‘How are you feeling, son?’ he asked.

  Levi opened his lips, but they felt dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth so he coughed.

  ‘Sore.’ It was barely above a whisper.

  ‘You’re a hero, young man, you took a bullet for the Führer.’

  Levi tried to remember. He could see the mountains, the Führer standing beside him, a loud noise, and then nothing.

  ‘I did?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Dr Fridsburg and we have taken a bullet from your arm. You need to rest now, sleep. Your arm will mend.’

  He looked over his shoulder. The rows of chairs behind him were full of emaciated men and women scowling furiously. Some shook their fists at him. All wore a yellow star on their clothing. In front of him was a high wooden bench. His father sat behind it, his head shaven and his sunken eyes glowing with hatred.

  ‘Levi Micah Horowitz, you are charged before this people’s court that you did take a bullet for that most evil of men, Adolf Hitler. How do you plead?’ his father intoned.

  Levi tried to speak but his voice was non-existent. A large weight seemed to be pressing on his chest. He glanced down and saw that a bullet had ripped him open and blood was streaming out. He could see his heart beating.

  ‘How could you?’

  He raised his eyes and there was Erik standing in front of him, a rope around his neck. Erik’s eyes were glassy and protruding and his bloated face was full of rage and pain. Levi reached out but couldn’t grasp him. Slowly he felt the life running out of him in time with the blood that pumped from the cavity in his own chest.

  ‘You will stand before our G-d condemned by your actions,’ his father bellowed at him. ‘You are no son of mine!’

  That was the question he couldn’t answer. How could he? Why had he? What would it mean to the world that the Führer was still alive? All he would have had to do was stay completely still and that bullet would have hit Hitler. Maybe it would have killed him, maybe it would have wounded him. No one would have blamed Werner for not reacting with split-second precision, he wasn’t supposed to be a trained commando. And yet, he had. Without even thinking about it he’d reacted. Did that mean he’d betrayed all his fellow Jews, his family, everyone who suffered because of this lunatic’s policies? Or had he done what he’d been trained to do? The questions haunted him as he lay in bed, his arm strapped and throbbing and a gentle fever raising a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  When he felt strong enough, Levi went to see the Führer. Hitler embraced him lightly, then indicated he was to stand in front of him. Hitler took a box from the table and opened it.

  ‘This is the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords. It is awarded for outstanding bravery,’ he said. Before Levi had time to gathe
r his thoughts he was bowing his head so the Führer could tie the medal at the back of his neck. Then Hitler took a step back and saluted.

  Levi returned the salute. ‘Thank you, Mein Führer, I am overcome with gratitude.’

  Hitler shook his head. ‘The gratitude is mine, Hauptmann, you may well have saved my life. How is your arm feeling?’ he asked. Levi could hear real concern in his voice.

  ‘A little sore, Mein Führer, but it will heal.’

  ‘Fridsburg says you were lucky, it nicked the bone but missed the major artery. But it will be a while before you can play the piano again.’

  Levi nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m sorry about that, Mein Führer.’

  Hitler shook his head. ‘It can’t be helped. We might have lost you all together. Or if you had not been so fast, it might have killed me. You were very brave, Hauptmann, and I shall not forget that.’

  Levi didn’t know what to say, so he just gave a little nod.

  ‘I spoke with Reich Minister Goebbels last night and he suggested that since you can’t play the piano, maybe you would like to go back to Berlin and work at your job in the propaganda ministry while you recover?’

  Back to Berlin? It was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip.

  ‘Yes, Mein Führer, I would like that very much if that is acceptable to you.’

  Hitler nodded. ‘So be it. You can fly back tomorrow.’

  Berlin, July 1943

  When Levi walked into the propaganda office in Berlin everyone was waiting to say hello to him. They applauded as one, which he found extremely unnerving. Throughout the day his workmates kept stopping by to shake his hand and tell him how much they appreciated his action.

  When he got home to his apartment building, the same thing happened. Fellow officers wanted to shake his hand. He wondered how many felt the need to be seen to be doing this, and if any of them secretly wished the assassination attempt had succeeded, but their faces betrayed nothing.