Meyer raised his hand. 'Oberstgruppenführer'
Dietrich acknowledged Meyer with a nod. The young Panzer Commander regarded his boss for a second. The oak leaves with crossed swords on the collar framing the Knight's Cross briefly held his attention. Meyer was fighting for control. For years he had fought fanatically for the Nazi cause. What purpose did his life as an SS officer have if the Führer was dead. Then he looked his commander in the eye. They were Waffen-SS. 'Do we know these orders to be valid? And if so do we know what the Reichsführer SS has said about today’s events?'
'The orders come from Berlin (it was not necessary to trouble Meyer where in Berlin) The Reichsführer has chosen to stand aside, Meyer.' Dietrich snapped, more harshly than he had intended but it did the trick. 'In this hour of crisis he seems to think that visiting his Swedish masseur or some other bureaucrat is more important. If you ask me he, he is simply awaiting the outcome of events before siding with either side.' Damn that sounded good, and damn it was most probably true. Dietrich could see that with most of his men he had struck a cord. As frontline SS soldiers they more than most took their duty extremely seriously. The thinning of their original ranks had done nothing to curb that sentiment. Their sense of honour and duty was harsh, extreme even but that was what made them the best, arrogant, but the best. And as the best they had little time for those that avoided frontline duty by pulling rank or creating fictitious activities for themselves in safe areas. Recently, too many of Himmler's entourage had chosen that route for the SS Leader not to sink in their estimation. Dietrich took the offensive; they were his men.
'My suggestion is simple. Field Marshal Rommel is our commander. Anyone disagree?' He looked around, but did not wait more than a second to follow up.
'My intention is to follow him in doing our duty, even if that may at times in the next days seem unclear at this level. We are not politicians. We are soldiers. Our honour is loyalty! Loyalty to Germany! '
'Jawohl Oberstgruppenführer.' It was more than a dozen men speaking as one voice. Like him they took comfort in certainty.
Meyer, ever the inquisitive one had a query. 'Oberstgruppenführer' his eyes suddenly ablaze, ' are we still at war?'
'Yes' Dietrich smiled, 'yes Meyer, for the time being we most definitely are. But lets not do anything hasty just yet. Remember we do better on the defensive and we bled their men harder that way. ' He looked around the room spending seconds in each officers gaze. ' Thank you all. You have your orders and you have work to do. Go do it.'
And almost as an afterthought he added 'There must be some more British tanks we can crack today? '
July 20 18:30 hours
Prinz-Albrecht Strasse
Berlin
Donnerwetter – they had really done it! Schellenberg was so stunned that his hand stayed on the telephone receiver. They had really gone through with it. Wrong, he corrected himself, the old junkers had not done it – a young man from among the officers, a Colonel Count Stauffenberg seemed to have been the man who had acted. He did not have a file on the man to hand but somehow Schellenberg was not surprised. Generals and Field Marshalls whom he knew to at least sympathize with the Widerstand had had daily access to the Führer since before the beginning of the war. None of them had done much about it. Stauffenberg’s access was recent and he had acted. Possibly a new leader, the Nazi spy chief asked himself, only a year ago he himself had been a Colonel.
But was Hitler dead? That was the question on which everything hinged. If he was, Schellenberg might be able to make some moves that would ensure his place on the winning side – but how to find out. Forgetting the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray he lit another and started dialling again. What he need now was information. All he knew so far was that Himmler had despatched his bloodhound, SD-Chief Kaltenbrunner to East Prussia to lead the investigation into the assassination attempt. That meant the scar-faced Austrian would be out of communication for the next four hours or longer, an interesting situation given that his sources could also not exactly pinpoint the whereabouts of the Reichsführer-SS. Clearly others were awaiting events.
July 20 18:45 hours
20 Herman Goering Strasse Berlin
Private Residence of Reichspropagandaminister Goebbels
Armaments Minister Albert Speer smiled nervously at his host and fellow minister. Joseph Goebbels was fidgeting in the hot afternoon, lighting one cigarette after another. He had sent his family upstairs when the first soldiers had taken up position around his house. Now he and Speer needed to decide their next step. But in the absence of a clear understanding of the situation neither found they could. What had happened to the Führer?
Goebbels eyes came to rest on the green phone of his desk. His direct line to the Wolf's Lair. His direct line to the Leader - Adolf Hitler, Führer of the German People and of the Party. But he not dared lift the receiver out of sheer fear. What if he learned that Hitler had indeed been killed. Without Hitler, Goebbels knew he would not be able to function. It was not a question of Hitler controlling his every action. Rather Hitler's presence, the Führer's position at the head of the Reich had for more than ten years now provided the framework within which men like Goebbels operated and thought. Indeed this was Goebbels principal creation - the mystification of the Führer; the Leader from whom all flowed; solitary, remote and omnipotent. Irreplaceable. In part his creation. And Reichsminister Goebbels believed in his creation, in his myth. He was bound to it.
He and Speer had used his other phones to contact other Nazi big shots. Most were in Rastenburg with their beloved Leader. Goering, Dönitz, the Army High Command, Ribbentrop; none could be reached.
In Berlin Goebbels had reached von Hase and had gotten only evasive answers. He had reached the Berlin chief of police who had played a waiting game. 'I cannot fight the Bendlerstrasse with traffic police, Herr Reichsminister.' The bastard. Had he joined the enemy or had he always been one of them. The uncertainty terrified Goebbels most.
He would have been even more worried if he had known that earlier that morning when Speer called Olbricht to complain about the soldiers outside his ministry he had gotten an apology. 'The armaments ministry, Herr Speer, Olbricht had replied, that is a mistake. Not to worry, I will rectify that immediately.' Speer had almost dropped the receiver. For Olbricht, a top Commander to make such a remark meant not merely that he was part of the conspiracy but that he Olbricht thought that Speer was too. At the time Speer could not know that on one of the lists for future cabinet posts his name had been listed with a question mark next to it. Speer had hurriedly left the Ministry and after a few detours come to Goebbels.
Goebbels was onto the next cigarette, the ashes of the old one spilling on his white suit as he lit the new one with it. His adjutant, dressed in the colourful fantasy uniform of the Propaganda ministry coughed softly at the door.
'There is a Lieutenant Hagen here to see you, Reichsminister. He says it is urgent and vital that he speak with you.' A lieutenant. Goebbels was briefly confused. Surely they would not only send a lieutenant to arrest him. Surely he was more dangerous or more important than that. He suddenly had a feeling then that this would be something else.
'Show him in.'
Upon entering the room Hagen clicked his heels and did a Nazi salute that would have made any parade ground NCO proud. 'Heil Hitler, Herr Reichsminister.' He was so fixated on Goebbels he did not notice Speer retreating into the corner of the room.
'My apologies for disturbing you, Reichsminister. I am Lieutenant Hagen, political education officer of the Guard Battalion.' He looked expectantly at Goebbels, assuming to be interrupted at any second. When no interruption was forthcoming he continued. 'Herr Minister I respectfully request guidance. On orders from Bendlerstrasse, the Guard Battalion has occupied and cordoned off strategic positions across the capital. Our orders speak of a plot against the Führer by the Party and the SS. Our orders say that the Führer is dead and that executive powers have passed to the Wehrmacht.'
&nb
sp; 'What are you here for then, Lieutenant.' Goebbels was still suspicious.
'Hagen stood at attention like at statue - only his lips moving. 'Herr Reichsminister I could not help wondering...'
'If this is all a dirty trick ?' Suddenly the old was fire was back. 'The Führer lives. He is not dead Lieutenant. Whoever gave that order is behind the plot to overthrow him. Not the Party.' He did not add nor the SS - with Himmler you never knew what he was up to and until he knew different that’s what he would stick with. Who knew how wide and high this conspiracy went. But the Führer was not, could not be dead. Of that certainty he needed to convince Hagen.
'The Führer is not dead, Hagen! He remains our leader to whom you have sworn an oath of loyalty. Withdraw the troops and hunt down the traitors in our midst.'
'I have not forgotten my oath Herr Reichsminister.' Hagen felt more comfortable now. 'However only my commanding officer can withdraw the troops.'
'Have him come see me immediately, Hagen. Heil Hitler'
July 20 19:20hours
Hitler’s Headquarters 'Wolfsschanze'
Rastenburg, Eastern Prussia.
Morell’s endless sprinkling of sulpha powder had finally convinced even the thickest SS guard that he was out of his inconsiderable depth. Those parts of Adolf Hitler not covered in yellow powder were distinctly pale. Together, the orderly and the camp’s doctor, Hasselbach, had bungled the stinking SS-doctor out of the door with orders to a guard to hold him for questioning. Hasselbach had immediately begun probing for deeper injuries and the results were devastating. One of the wooden splinters that had ostensibly been removed by Morrell had in fact fractured while still inside the Führer’s abdomen. Hasselbach suspected that it had punctured the digestive tract. It was not the morphine or the sulpha powder that was making the Führer more sedate; Adolf Hitler also had a damaged main artery in his upper leg and he was bleeding to death internally. Blood had been steadily seeping from the leg for over two hours though in small amounts. If that was not killing him then some form of blood poisoning was in progress. Either way it was too late to stop this internal bleeding. Both men looked at each other as they felt the pulse fade, and the colour drain from the already pale skin. They had waited too long.
By twenty past seven it was all over. There was no heroic finale, just a battered body maltreated by Morrell’s dubious ministrations, burnt out by years of setbacks, unhealthy habits and finally bled white by the splinters of wood that had torn into it. Apart from Hasselbach and the orderly there were only a few guards present when it happened. Adolf Hitler died alone, and quietly. There was little external bleeding. There was no Wagnerian finale just a series of shivers that ran through the body before it went limp and voided its bowels. Gratefully the volumes of sulfa powder covered the stench.
Within seconds of pulling a blanket over the body, both men had commandeered the guards. ‘Arrest Morrell! He delayed treatment of the Führer until it was too late. He must be part of the conspiracy.’ They knew perfectly well that there was no evidence for this; it was a matter of self-preservation. The guards must have thought the same thing because Dr Morell was stripped of his uniform and bound in seconds.
Minutes later Bormann and Göring got into a shouting match with each ordering the arrest of the other. Neither had been present at the death at the leader, neither had believed it actually possible. Both had been jostling for position meters away from his death throws. With Himmler on a plane ostensibly to fly to Berlin to crush the putsch, there was impasse. With the Reichsführer in the air for the critical period no action was taken in Rastenburg. Both Bormann and Göring needed time to adjust to a world without their leader.
Once in Berlin, however, Himmler did take steps. He knew the extent of the conspiracy or at least guessed at it. It took him less than two hours to discern that the tide had turned in Berlin during his time in the air. Unsure of his Führer’s fate he stood aside. Apart from a call to his main office instructing his staff to call the weekly pre-lunch meeting of the SS leadership the next day he did nothing. Not knowing whether his Führer lived or not he sat immobilized by indecision and waited. He would not hear of his master’s death until late that evening and by then it would be too late.
July 20 19:40 hours
20 Herman Goeringstrasse Berlin
Private Residence of Reichspropagandaminister
Remer stood in the same doorway through which Hagen had entered Goebbels living room. 'Heil Hitler, Reichsminister.' In the last hour more troops had arrived in Berlin and with them more rumours. They had added to his uncertainty. No tall man he nevertheless towered over the five-foot Propaganda Minister.
'Those are your men out there Major?'
'Yes Reichsminister'
Goebbels felt more confident. Remer was clearly not a conspirator otherwise he would have come to arrest him. It remained only to convince this thoroughly loyal, soldier, the perfect product of the National Socialist military system. This called for decisive action.
'On whose orders are they acting?'
On order Valkyre One issued by the Bendlerstrasse.'
'Why?'
'Those are my orders Reichsminister.' The Knight's Cross on his neck showed clearly that he was brave and would follow any order, even those that were likely to get him killed. But it was exactly this principle, the sanctity of the orders that posed the problem. This was where the system was self-limiting. Without the leader, the Führer, the system did not work.
'But despite those orders you are here. Is it to arrest me.' Remer's eyes darted to and thro, anyway but look into that steely gaze.
'Reichsminister, I am here because of the advice of my political education officer Leutnant Hagen.'
'Do you normally take advice from subordinates.'
That stung. Remer glared at Goebbels. You miserable, pompous ass, so comfortable, so far way from the front. Out there you take advice from whoever has the most experience. But you wouldn't know shit about that now would you, Herr comfortable, womanising Reichsminister. The only way you'd fight is with words and with the buttons on women's dresses. Despite his anger Remer kept his temper.
'No, but my discussion with Leutnant Hagen made me notice that events in Berlin do not seem to bear out the claims of the order.'
'You remember your soldiers oath, major.' It was not a question.
'The oath is my life, Reichsminister. But my orders say the Führer is dead, therefore....'
'And you think that gets you off the hook. Major that oath is far more serious than that.' He took a deep, audible breath, measuring the mood of the officer in front of him.
'Your oath, Major. Surely the Führer could countermand the orders from the Bendlerstrasse. '
'My orders say the Führer is dead.' Remer insisted stubbornly.
Suddenly Goebbels was on a stage; the green telephone was no longer threatening, instead it offered salvation. In a swift motion the receiver was in his hand. His eyes never leaving Remer he barked 'Get me the Führer, this is Reichsminister Joseph Goebbels.' It took nearly a minute to get through to Rastenburg. When he did he repeated his order, irritation rising in his voice.
Remer stood impassively, watching the small man whose voice had mesmerized millions of Germans, whose exhortations had again and again spurred to people on to greater sacrifices. Who even now with death raining down on German cities every night exhorted victory. Goebbels eyes were darting around the room, ash fallen from the cigarette still held unconsciously in his hand.
No one noticed the large army officer with the Iron Cross on his chest calmly but determinedly push his way past Goebbels flustered adjutant in the corridor. The drawn Walter side arm ensured the man's silence. A hard face with deep scars on one side, he stood quietly for a few seconds, taking in the scene.
Goebbels, was the first to notice the figure and with his attention focussed on the other end of the line unthinkingly waived him away. Remer turned, acknowledged the fellow officer's presence and remained where he was. On the
far side of the room, Goebbels now leaning on his desk was getting agitated. 'What is happening there? ' He barked 'I repeat, This is Reichsminister Goebbels. I need to speak to the Führer. '
Someone on the other end said something that did not please him. "What do you mean I cannot speak to the Führer, you moron. This is Reichsminister Goebbels get me your Commanding Officer and start packing for the Eastern front.'
This time the connection was made very quickly. Goebbels took a deep breath. 'You are the Commanding Officer of the Wolfschanze? … Yes? Good. Now listen to me, this is Reichsminister Goebbels. Do recognize my voice? .... Good! Now put me through to the Führer. I wish to speak to the Führer. One of your underlings just told me that was not possible. I ....
None of the other people in the room could hear the trembling voice that shattered Goebbels world. 'Reichsminister, ... the Führer ... is dead.'
All colour left his face. The hand holding the receiver went limp, dropped to the desk. Goebbels stared at Remer. Like a fish gasping for air his mouth opened and closed but no sound came forth. His world was spinning it could not be, it was impossible. Images of rallies, of parades of Hitler standing on platforms addressing the German people, endless lines of tanks, the cathedral of light at the Nürnberg Rallies, the masses of outthrust arms, Adolf Hitler standing in their midst.....
Then he noticed the other officer again. Briskly the man stepped forward in his hand a sheet of paper. Goebbels did not take it. His gaze settled on the drawn Walter PPK.
'What do you want?' whispered the Propaganda Minister. In his minds eye he say the tens of thousands that had marched past the Führer at the Nürnberg rallies; the rallies an orchestration of the German will, the power of the German nation, the destiny of the Race ...the spectacles he had organized and directed.
The Valkyrie Option Page 9
