Standing motionless at regular intervals around the Mosaic Hall were twelve SS Leibstandarte guards each holding a Schmeisser machine pistol in his white-gloved hands.
“Please find the place that has been allotted to you and be seated, gentlemen,” smiled von Muller-Rechberg.
Spaced around the table were red leather folders with the name of each delegate embossed on the cover. Peter Fraser was at the top on the right hand side, seated next to Walter Nash and Frederick Jones. Stuart and Brendan were seated opposite each other at the far end. When each of the delegates had found their place and sat down, the Baron clicked his heels, gave a brief bow in the Prime Minister’s direction, turned and strode out, leaving the sound of his footsteps resonating from the Hall’s cold marble walls.
The dying echoes were followed by an eerie silence. No external sounds penetrated the Mosaic Hal. The stillness was made more intimidating by the presence of the motionless armed guards. For a few moments each of the delegates sat staring at the door through which the Baron had exited, and then one by one they began searching each other’s faces for reactions or some guidance. As the width of the table made it impossible for Stuart to talk quietly to Brendan he contented himself with a shrug and a raised eyebrow.
After about a minute had elapsed, Fraser cleared his throat and addressed his colleagues. “Gentlemen,” he began, looking down the table, “I’m not sure what is supposed to happen but in the meantime I suggest that each one of you opens your folder and begins to inspect the contents.”
Murmuring in agreement the delegates reached forwards.
“Achtung!”
The order was barked from the far end of the room. Instantly the Leibstandarte guards snapped into a ‘present arms’ position. Slowly, but emitting no sound, the huge mahogany doors swung open. Standing motionless in the doorway his chin tilted upwards was a slightly portly man with a receding hairline, dressed in an elegantly cut pinstriped suit.
“Gentlemen of the New Zealand delegation!” the voice of Baron von Muller-Rechberg echoed from the marble walls and ceilings. “The Foreign Minister of the Third Reich, Joachim von Ribbentrop.”
Stuart stared at the figure who began walking slowly towards the head of the table. He’d always been intrigued by the man who was reportedly one of Hitler’s favourites. Married to the heir to the Henkell champagne fortune, Ribbentrop had acquired the aristocratic von in his name when in his early thirties he persuaded an aunt with a titled husband to legally adopt him. Appointed as German ambassador to Britain in 1936 and German Foreign Minister in 1938, many allied diplomats had regarded him as a man of more vanity than ability. Rumour had it that his nickname among his German colleagues was ‘Ribbensnob’.
Two men appeared in von Ribbentrop’s wake carrying a podium, surmounted by an elaborately carved eagle. They placed the podium at the head of the table and rested a red leather folder on the bird’s extended wings.
“Wouldn’t look out of place in an Anglican cathedral,” thought Stuart.
As the Foreign Minister approached the table Peter Fraser, followed by the other delegates stood up. He extended his right hand. Von Ribbentrop accepting it, bowed briefly.
“Good morning, Herr Fraser.”
Fraser turned to his left preparing to introduce the other delegates but von Ribbentrop indicating with a wave of his arm that they were to be seated, turned his back on Fraser and walked over to the podium. Another well-dressed man had now appeared and stood a metre away to the Foreign Minister’s right.
Speaking in German, von Ribbentrop addressed the assembled New Zealanders.
“Germany has great admiration for New Zealand and its people,” he began. “During the recent battles in the Western desert, Field Marshall Erwin Rommel gained a great respect not only for the fighting quality of New Zealand troops but also the excellent treatment given to the German soldiers that were held as your prisoners - temporarily.”
Von Ribbentrop paused and smiling benignly at the listening delegates, nodded to the interpreter on his right. On the word “temporarily” the German foreign minister’s faint smile grew broader.
“New Zealand is a stable country populated by well educated people,” he continued. “It is our intention to develop a special relationship with your people based on the principles of mutual respect and cooperation. After all your country has a socialist government; our country has a National Socialist government.”
Stuart noticed that Fraser and Nash immediately exchanged uneasy glances.
“Both are based on the principles of giving strength and happiness to our peoples,” continued von Ribbentrop through his interpreter. “We will therefore be establishing a New Order in New Zealand that will be of benefit to all your people.”
He paused, brushed a speck of dust from the sleeve of his dark suit and beamed at his audience. When the interpreter had finished he then invited the delegates to open their red leather folder at the title page.
Peace Talks
Berlin
11 July 1941
Terms and conditions
of the
Final settlement of hostilities
between
The People of New Zealand
and
The Third Reich of the People of Germany
There were only two additional pages. The first elaborated on von Ribbentrop’s earlier sentiments regarding the mutual respect between the two nations and the principles of cooperation that would be the cornerstone of the New Order. The second page briefly spelt out the ‘peace terms’. As the delegates read through each point, it became painfully obvious that room for negotiation was limited. Clearly the German government had already decided on the type of regime that was to be established in New Zealand.
For several minutes von Ribbentrop remained silent but watchful as the delegates perused the document. Then, ostentatiously clearing his throat he continued.
“Tomorrow, gentlemen, you will be given full details of the peace treaty. Unfortunately the Third Reich has received unjust criticism for its disciplined occupation of Poland and other countries. Of course, these are lies manufactured by our enemies. The New Order that we will establish in your country will be based on the principles of mutual understanding and respect. Our prosperity will be your prosperity. Our progress will be your progress.”
When the interpreter concluded, von Ribbentrop swept his eyes slowly round the delegates and drew a deep breath. For the first time he raised his voice and, speaking in English, he intoned, “Gentlemen of New Zealand, together we will build a new and glorious tomorrow!” He paused and thrust his right arm stiffly into a horizontal position. “Sieg Heil!” he shouted. Instantly the Leibstandarte guards stationed round the perimeter of the hall shouldered their weapons and thrusting their right arms forward echoed the Nazi slogan. As the repeated cry resonated from the marble walls and ceiling, the New Zealand delegates sat uncomfortably on their chairs exchanging uncertain glances.
Abruptly von Ribbentrop lowered his outstretched arm. The chanting ceased immediately and the echoes died slowly away. Holding both sides of the podium he frowned at the seated New Zealanders then smiled thinly.
“Gentlemen,” he said in soft, measured English, “it is a common courtesy among diplomats to acknowledge the culture of other nations and join in their celebrations.” He paused, his smile vanished and his eyes narrowed. “Gentlemen, please stand and join with us in a salute to our beloved Führer.”
Each delegate turned his eyes towards the New Zealand Prime Minister. There was a long pause and then, signalling to his colleagues to remain seated Peter Fraser stood slowly to face von Ribbentrop. His face was pale and behind his thick-lensed spectacles he was blinking nervously. He coughed, swallowed and began speaking in his soft Scottish tones.
“Mr. Foreign Minister, on behalf of my colleagues, I thank you for your courtesy and hospitality.” He paused and glanced at the interpreter but von Ribbentrop gestured impatiently. “I understand, Herr Fraser. Contin
ue, please.”
Fraser swallowed again. “We thank you also for the compliment that you have paid to the fighting quality of our soldiers and their treatment of your soldiers.”
He paused and met the ambassador’s unwavering gaze. “Earlier you spoke of implementing a New Order based on the principles of mutual understanding and respect between our two nations.”
He paused again and looked down at the tense upturned faces of his colleagues. “While we respect your right to salute your leader, at this present moment such methods are not part of our New Zealand culture. I will therefore ask my colleagues to confine themselves to standing as a mark of respect between our two nations.”
Fraser made a short gesture with his upturned palms and the members of the New Zealand delegation rose uncertainly to their feet and stood silently. Colour had drained from every face.
The interpreter leaned towards von Ribbentrop but was waved impatiently away.
“You will not salute the German Führer?” asked the ambassador with deliberate slowness.
“We are standing as a mark of respect to you, to the German people and Chancellor Hitler.” The delegates close to Fraser could see that his hands were trembling and that he was making a considerable effort to maintain his self-control. “That is all we are able to do at present,” he concluded looking directly at von Ribbentrop.
“You will not salute?”
“We are standing as a mark of respect to you, to the German----.”
Von Ribbentrop, while still holding Fraser’s stare, made an almost imperceptible movement with his right hand. Instantly two of the Leibstandarte guards sprang forward. White-gloved hands gripped both of the Prime Minister’s arms. Von Ribbentrop made a second gesture and the guards snapped to attention while maintaining their unwavering grip. A collective murmur of protest rose from the New Zealand delegates. Instantly a tight circle of soldiers, holding their Schmeissers conspicuously in front of them, surrounded the table.
The ambassador’s smile was devoid of mirth. Still holding Fraser’s gaze he spoke very softly.
“Herr Fraser, I invite you to reconsider your position. The cooperation of you and your fellow New Zealanders is very important to the continued success of the peace talks.”
“Do as he says Peter,” muttered Frederick Jones.
“We’ve got no choice, Peter,” echoed Walter Nash.
Fraser made a supreme effort to control his trembling. Then he spoke rapidly. “Mr. Foreign Minister, you referred earlier to the lies about your occupation of Poland. My people know that the Germans carried out mass executions of thousands of unarmed, defenceless Polish citizens within weeks of the surrender.”
Von Ribbentrop opened his mouth but Fraser determinedly pressed on.
“These actions defy every accepted practice of human decency. Therefore, sir, until you are able to demonstrate that such actions are no longer practised by your government, I must advise my delegates to confine themselves to merely standing.”
Fraser’s Scottish accent and speed of speech was beyond von Ribbentrop’s linguistic ability. Beckoning the interpreter forward with a jerk of his head, he listened intently to the rapid, whispered translation. At the conclusion his head snapped upwards. His cheeks had visibly flamed.
“Herr Fraser, I assure you that within the next 24 hours you will have cause to regret your words.”
Turning his head sideways he signalled to the German officer standing behind the ring of troops. The man barked a curt order. In a clearly rehearsed movement, the two soldiers kicked both of Fraser’s legs from under him. As the Prime Minister began to fall backwards one of the soldiers drove the butt of a machine pistol into his stomach and with a groan of pain he lurched forward. A blow to the back of his exposed neck immediately silenced him and, with a scattering of chairs his two captors dragged the limp Prime Minister through the huge mahogany doors. Their slamming echoed round the marble chamber.
Several of the New Zealand delegates collapsed into their chairs. Others remained uncertainly standing staring into the emotionless faces of the soldiers who circled them with drawn weapons. The German officer snapped another order and the delegates who were still standing were thrust back into their seats.
No sound interrupted the heavy silence that followed. Then von Ribbentrop heaved a long sigh and, in English, spoke again.
“Gentlemen, I am bitterly disappointed in the behaviour of your former Prime Minister.” The emphasis on ‘former’ was not lost on the listening New Zealanders. “We will resume negotiations tomorrow. Unfortunately, in the light of today’s events, it will be necessary to make some adjustments to the peace treaty documents.”
He paused and sighed. “You will now be escorted back to your hotel where I invite you to think carefully about the day’s events and to resolve that tomorrow, your cooperation with us will be…”
He turned to the interpreter and held a brief whispered conversation.
“Full and unequivocal,” said the interpreter.
“Full and unequivocal,” echoed von Ribbentrop.
After fixing the silent delegation with a long stare he turned abruptly and strode briskly from the room.
“You will all please leave now,” said the interpreter.
The soldiers immediately grasped the back of each delegate’s chair and exerted a backwards pressure causing each occupant to lurch hastily to his feet. The chairs were then swiftly pulled back and the delegates escorted to the exit.
On returning to their hotel the delegates were instructed to immediately assemble on the balcony. The German ‘peace delegates’ were seated at each table and in addition, three soldiers were stationed at each of the balcony’s four corners. Jugs of water, some bottles of beer, and plates of German sausage and sauerkraut had replaced the previous day’s generous repast. Awaiting the New Zealanders was Baron Muller-Rechberg. His smooth smile had been replaced by a frown of deep concern. As soon as everyone was seated he addressed the group.
“Gentlemen, I am having difficulty in finding the words to express my disappointment at this morning’s proceedings. My colleagues and I have done all we can to welcome you to our great country. In return we expected a much greater level of cooperation from you and your leader.”
“What has happened to our Prime Minister?” demanded Walter Nash.
“Be assured, Mr. Nash, that your former Prime Minister is being taken care of.”
“Jailed and tortured you mean?” snapped Nash.
“Easy, Walter,” murmured Frederick Jones.
“Be assured, Mr. Nash that although we regard Mr. Fraser’s attitude as unacceptable, he will still be treated fairly by us.” He paused and looked round the group.
“We Germans are not barbarians, not the Huns of your propaganda material. And, gentlemen, I invite you to remember that the war is over, you surrendered and therefore we are the victors.” He paused and looked pointedly at the armed soldiers. “It is therefore obviously in your interests and the interests of your country to cooperate fully with us.”
Abruptly Brendan stood up. “Herr Baron”, he began, “Wir haben Ihre Aussage zur Kenntnis genommen, wollen uns aber versichern, das Herr Fraser sobald wie möglich entlassen wird.”
He repeated the words in English. “We have listened to your statement but we seek reassurance that Mr. Fraser will be released as soon as possible.”
“Young man,” replied the Baron in English. “You have my assurance that Mr. Fraser will be returned to New Zealand. I cannot say when but I can give you my word as a German gentleman.”
Brendan opened his mouth to reply but the Baron held up his hand. “The matter is now closed. Please be seated as we have some more German cultural activities that will increase your knowledge and understanding of the peoples of the Third Reich.”
Brendan glanced uncertainly at Professor Sterling. With a quick jerk of his head he signalled the younger man to sit down.
“Well, done, mate,” murmured Stuart. “But keep your head
down for a while.”
Barely had he finished speaking when a loud rumbling was heard from the far end of the street. Looming into view came two huge Tiger tanks followed by ranks of goose-stepping soldiers. No music was playing and no orders could be heard. Nevertheless, rank upon rank, the soldiers staring straight ahead goose-stepped down the street in a persistent hypnotic rhythm.
The delegates watched in silent awe as the endless ranks strutted past.
Finally, Frederick Jones, addressing no one in particular muttered, “It’s incredible. There must be thousands of them.”
“Not necessarily, Mr. Jones,” responded Stuart. “It may just be the same bunch of jokers marching round and round the block.”
The burst of laughter was spontaneous and served to relieve the tenseness that had permeated the group since the assault on Peter Fraser. Stuart had deliberately spoken rapidly in an exaggerated Kiwi accent causing the Baron, confused by the speech and the laughter, to whirl round and glower at him. Meeting the stare Stuart immediately raised his half-filled beer glass in the Baron’s direction and smiled.
“I was saying to my friends, Herr Baron, that if our soldiers marched as well as yours we may not have lost so many battles.”
The other delegates immediately smiled and laughed. Muller-Rechberg stared uncertainly at the group for a moment and then smiled and nodded before turning to watch the parade.
“Very smooth, mate,” murmured Brendan. “But take note of your own warning.”
By late in the afternoon the last of the troops tramped past. Taking their cue from Walter Nash, the delegates stretched and slid back their chairs preparing to leave.
Noting the stirrings, the Baron rose. “Please, gentlemen, do take a moment to, as you say in English, stretch your legs. You can see that the light is fading. This provides us with the opportunity to arrange a special spectacle that is an integral part of German culture. After a short break you will be invited,” he smiled slightly, “to witness a Nazi torchlight parade.”
Ten minutes later, when the New Zealand delegates had reluctantly returned to their places the lamppost speakers crackled into life with a military anthem. Simultaneously, rows of young Germans appeared, wearing an assortment of brown uniforms, under a forest of swastika flags. All were singing in unison with the anthem.
Uncommon Enemy Page 10
