The Valkyrie Option

by Markus Reichardt

  Dominique and the others did not see the official smile as he left. He was one of a dozen men from Speer’s ministry fanning out around Germany and the occupied territories visiting the more than 320 sites that made up the heart of Germany’s forced labour empire. He was grateful he had not been asked to visit the extermination camps, he was a mild mannered person who believed he had never hurt anyone. Now he hoped this duty would help build goodwill for Germany’s future after the war. He did not ask where his superiors in Berlin thought all this non-German currency would come from. He also did not know that the Berlin had also decided to continue operations of the Bernard camp at full capacity. The men in that camp, operating the printing presses and checking the quality of the forged banknotes would not be going home just yet, if ever.

  September 30th

  10 pm

  Harz Mountains

  Central Germany

  All of the seven men who gathered around the table of the small foresters hut deep in the Harz mountains had once worn the black uniform of the SS; now they were all dressed in second-rate civilians clothes. Most had not slept well in days. They had the looks of hunted men, men accustomed to power but now afraid.

  The leader, a tall, pale man who had shaved for the occasion, fixed them all with what a stern headmaster’s gaze. There were no drinks on the table only a candle.

  ‘Meine Ehre heißt Treue (My honour is loyalty)’ he said placing an SS ceremonial dagger on the table. The others slowly followed suit.

  ‘We are here because of the cowardly betrayal of our beloved Führer that led to his death and the abandonment of everything he and our Volk have fought so hard for over the past years. We the last of the true believers have a duty to avenge him and to save Germany from being sold down the drain a second time. We need to act. That is why we are here. ‘

  There were some furtive glances around the table. Not all of them were as confident of themselves as they would have liked to. Although the new regime was not actively hunting them, they knew that should they surface, chances were they would join the other senior surviving SS leaders in jail. The handover of the British SS men had not gone unnoticed. Most of the men around the table had been active in Aktion Reinhard, had made the key decisions about who would go to the camps, where the camps would be and what happened there. Three of them had been at the Wannsee conference where the Final Solution ‘s elements had been agreed upon. If they were caught, it was likely they would be travelling to Poland against their will.

  ‘What resources are at our disposal for action’ one the smaller, fatter men at the far end of the table asked.

  ‘There are many who have not lost faith, who but await a signal to rise against the treacherous junkers in Berlin.’

  ‘Numbers, we need to know whether we can do this. It would mean fighting or at least challenging the Wehrmacht. Not something we have done before, Brigadeführer.’

  The leader drew himself up to his full six feet height. ‘All of us have resources, all of us prospered during the good times. It is time to demonstrate the true courage of our convictions and to test those of others. What I am asking is that all of us leave here today and sound out those who we deem to have kept the faith. Above all we need to establish just how deep the rot has gone in the Waffen-SS units.’

  There were furtive looks all around. The fact that Dietrich, the first man of the Leibstandarte had openly sided with the plotters from the start, had sent a deep shock through the SS ranks. Dietrich, had always been popular, his authority and loyalty had never been in question. Even combined the men around the table knew they would not carry the rank and file against the first commander of the Leibstandarte

  ‘Dietrich talked Hausser and Bittrich around. There are those comrades in SS Totenkopf who would be with us but they are bleeding to death on the Eastern Front ‘

  Methodically they worked around the table and through the vast SS empire. One by one they eliminated the majority of the Waffen SS divisional and regimental commanders. Those few that could possibly be counted on, the commanders of SS-Totenkopf and SS-Wiking on were on the Eastern front fighting for their lives. The Gestapo seemed to be paralysed that its own methods would soon be used against it. The SD and the RSSHA, were in the process of being dissolved and their members sent to bolster the ranks of the Waffen SS units in Russia on the Balkans. The concentration camp guards were already en route to the front. Thousands of men on whose unquestioning loyalty these men had been able to draw were no longer available. The SS empire had been built on loyalty to Hitler through Himmler. With both gone, the men around the table found that the organisation had disintegrated. The Freundenkreis, a group of industrialists who had financed Himmler during the regime’s early years had happily switched their support to Goerdeler. None of them around the table had the clout or the profile among the fighting arm of the organisation to mount an open challenge to the new state. For that they were all realistic enough.

  ‘If we cannot win openly for the moment, we must go underground and begin our work again. The same kind of spirit that saw us gain victory after years of struggle in 1933 will have to guide us again. The time will come when we will strike and strike hard at the heart of the treacherous conspiracy that has seized control of our country. We will meet again in a month time.’

  With that the leader stood up saluted and withdrew his dagger. The rest followed his example before quietly filing out of the hut and disappearing into the warm autumn night.

  6pm, 1st October

  SS Fallschirmjaeger Battalion 600 Base

  Near Posen airport,

  Prussia

  With his 7-foot frame and scared face SS- Colonel Otto Skorzeny was rarely intimidated by anybody. But this was different. Claus von Stauffenberg - the man who had killed Hitler - did not give him the advantage of height, gesturing towards a chair in the small office of the unit barracks of SS Fallschirmjaeger Battalion 600. The unit had moved into the barracks in June 1944 after being savaged badly by Yugoslav partisans during their attempt to take the partisans headquarters in Drvar and their leader Tito in May.

  Skorzeny had read the orders which called for his remaining 500 men to drop onto three separate railheads deep in Russian-held territory. If they succeeded in destroying the railways and the marshalling infrastructure, the Soviets would have only limited means of reinforcing a 250 kilometre stretch of their front when the German offensive crashed into them. Everything about the plan was good, his men had the skills, the targets selected were the right ones but what was missing was a way to get the commandoes out after they had accompanied their mission. Even in the rugged mountains of Yugoslavia there had been a way out. When he had queried this, he had been told that an officer was arriving from Berlin to clear up everything. That officer, to his surprise, had been Stauffenberg himself.

  Travelling as usual without an entourage other than the loyal Werner von Haeften, Stauffenberg had slipped into the camp almost unnoticed and surprised the SS commander. Stauffenberg had come for one reason – Skorzeny, like Hitler an Austrian, was just the kind of hothead that could ignite serious strife between the SS and the Wehrmacht. And after a few moments of confusion, Skorzeny had true to form resorted to instinct. He attacked.

  'You are sending my men out there to die. Why, there are other ways of knocking out those rail points and they will not mean the end of my unit.'

  Stauffenberg sized up Skorzeny for a few moments while pushing aside a pile of paper on the wooden desk.

  'Yes Colonel, there is great likelihood that few of the men on this raid will come home. What I am here to explain is why I am sending your men, like so many others, to almost certain death these days.'

  The tall Austrian stared. Straight-talk from a staff officer, that was new. He paused.

  'Your unit,’ Stauffenberg went on,' contains a large number of men who have participated in anti-partisan activity over the past three years and therefore they are on a number of wanted lists that the Allies and in particular the mi
nor ones, like the Yugoslavs and Greeks are compiling. Assuming this continent finds peace soon, they will become political footballs. Their names will be dragged through the mud by Yugoslavs, French and other politicians who will be expressing a need of revenge. Their countries were overrun so quickly three years ago, the next generation of their politicians will need someone to blame. They will also have some scores to settle concerning some events that happened since then. Your men will be the prizes these small shits will need to aggrandize themselves to their people. There will come a time when this Government will need to sit down with the Allies, all Allies and make peace - these people could derail it. Naturally we would find it difficult to hand them over. So they must leave the scene.'

  'So why don't you just let them disappear. There are ways to create new identities - even for that many.'

  ‘They swore an oath as soldiers; Colonel.'

  'Ja but that was to another leader.' Skorzeny let that one stand in the room between them for a few seconds as he rose to his full height.

  'Indeed that was to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of Germany. Tell me Colonel Skorzeny, does the removal of Hitler release you and your men from your oath to Germany ? ... I do recall that even the Nazi Party always stressed the point that Germany was Hitler and Hitler was Germany. '

  The scar on Skorzeny’s cheek twitched. Like so many Germans at the moment he had no answer. Under Hitler there had been no need to interrogate this concept, having it turned around was not something the propagandists had considered. With a deep sigh Stauffenberg continued.' I do not enjoy sending men to their deaths, but the nation needs their sacrifice if it is to have a chance against the Bolshevik hoards. Will you give us that chance?'

  Skorzeny's face hardened, his eyes slits and the scar on his cheek bright red. For a long time he said nothing. Hitler was Germany, Germany was Hitler. All that had been so straightforward. The new oath of the regime had also been administered in this camp. In theory they were bound to the Constitution. His duty was clear but would his men see it that way.

  'My duty is clear Colonel Stauffenberg, my duty is to Germany. I do however ask that the plans be altered.'

  Claus’s eyebrow went up. Inside he thought, funny that you, Skorzeny, an Austrian should put it that way.

  'If you include a realistic airborne evacuation rescue attempt in the plans or a realistic effort to extract them in other ways, my men will follow me into hell and we will give your offensive the edge it needs.' He was not afraid of dying, but he had one last card to play.

  Stauffenberg relaxed visibly. For a few moments he held the others gaze. 'Thank you Colonel Skorzeny. You have my word that a real effort will be made to get the survivors out. I will personally see to it that Feldmarschall Rommel amends the plans to that effect. You will be informed of its details by the Feldmarschall’s chief of staff personally and requested to make changes as you see fit.' Only then did Skorzeny notice Stauffenberg’s injuries. No this was no staff jockey. Skorzeny for a second felt he had overplayed his hand with this man. Claus von Stauffenberg had fought and bled in battle. Nevertheless, there was one point to make.

  ‘There is however one other thing.' Skorzeny's voice was hard.' Colonel, I will lead my men on these raids, but in return you will ensure that their families will all be taken care off, that they will suffer no disadvantage from whatever deal you eventually reach with our enemies and their slimy politicians. If you fail, I promise that our ghosts and possible some real men will be back to haunt you and your children and their children.'

  In response he got a military salute. 'My word of honour. The peace we will make will leave the honour of Germany and that of every one of its soldiers intact. Thank you and good luck.'

  That night Skorzeny threw himself into the planning of the operation at hand. Hell if he could go out in a blaze of glory – why not.

  1st October

  former SS Training Academy

  Bad Toelz, Bavaria

  The office on the second floor of the cloister-like main building of the former Kadettenschule of Bad Toelz felt eerily neat and quiet to Sepp Dietrich. The room’s white-washed walls and lack of SS décor was almost striking. But compared to the dreadful pile of paperwork on his desk, that was nothing. If there was something that Sepp Dietrich hated almost more than anything else, it was paperwork. Usually he had staff officers who dealt with the bulk of this but they were away trying to manage the intricacies of getting the Leibstandarte re-equipped during its brief transit stop on the way from France to the Eastern Front. The thought stopped him. ‘Usually’ It was frightening that after nearly 5 years of war he thought of it as normal; war was the usual, peace the exception. Had they come that far?

  His meaty hands rubbed his face. There was none of the usual stubble of one or two days growth of beard. Why he had even had three baths in as many days.

  Don’t get used to it you sentimental fool, he grunted to himself ‘you’ll be at the Ostfront within ten days again fighting the Red Tide.’

  There was a knock at the door

  ‘Come in’ he called

  Panzer Meyer, also almost unrecognisable in a smartly pressed Waffen-SS uniform, clean boots and for once, a shaven chin entered and snapped a Nazi salute.

  For a second Dietrich did not quite register that fact. But before he could mention anything. Meyer stepped aside to reveal a short, slightly plump man in civilian clothes who quietly entered the room.

  Panzer Meyer’s eyes met those of his commander. “This is the man we spoke about Oberstgruppenfuehrer.

  Sepp blinked at the civilian who took another two steps and when the door behind him slammed shut thrust out his right arm “Heil Hitler Oberstgruppenfuehrer” Dietrich instinctively returned the salute, realizing too late that both Meyer and his partner would read too much into it.

  Without any small talk the civilian seated himself in a chair on the other side of Dietrich’s desk, reached in his pocket and retrieved a small medal which he pushed across the table at him. It was a small swastika encircled by a band of red and gold, the medal awarded to party members who had joined before the abortive coup of 1923. They called them the Alte Kämpfer, the old fighters. ‘Gruppenfuehrer Meyer said that he had vouched for me, Oberstgruppenfuehrer, but I believe it necessary that you see this, because you have one of these yourself.

  Dietrich did not look up at the man. Instinctively his hand went to where his golden party badge had been. He had taken it off sometime in the last two months. At this moment he did not even know where it was. Funny, it had been a source of fierce pride to him before that. It troubled him that something that had for years been a symbol of his loyalty to Germany and Adolf Hitler, now seemed forgotten. Was it just a symbol? Should it have meant more? Why did reality have such a powerful ability to impose itself in whatever new form it chose?

  Without waiting for a response, or noticing the absence of Dietrich’s golden party badge, the man across the table launched into a monologue about the betrayal of the Reich and the death of Adolf Hitler at the hands of assassins. These assassins now ran the Government and had repaid the patriotism of thousands of SS men who had laboured so hard to rid Europe of the Jewish scourge and were now fighting the Bolshevik hordes, with imprisonment. There were still those who had not forgotten their oaths of loyalty and who would stand with others who would resurrect the Reich on the ideals that Hitler had fought for. Theirs was a need for the loyalty of the Waffen SS. They needed his support to restore the Reich.

  Dietrich listened to the man, unsure of himself, his mind partly still searching for where he could have left the party badge.. The imprisonment of many SS and RSSHA men who he knew personally bothered him but only because he had time to worry about it. Had he been still in Normandy fighting the overwhelming might of the Allied armies he would not have had that luxury.

  The man’s voice droned on about Fatherland and the party and Dietrich lost the thread. There was no power in the voice, the charisma of Adolf Hitler completely absent. W
ithout that charisma, that passion and purpose even the same phrases sounded much less impressive, even banal. But maybe that was just because he had spent too long at the front fighting for his life and that of his men to worry about the ideals. This was a school teacher, lecturing, hoping to convince by droning on. His thoughts wandered as they often did when the imagery of patriotism was invoked. Then suddenly he snapped out of it because there was silence.

  Across the table the other man looked expectantly at him. ‘Will you think about what I have said Oberstgruppenfuehrer?’

  Dietrich had no idea what had been asked but had a sense of where this all was leading. Meyer had been rather direct about what this visitor would be about.

  ‘Yes” Once again it was out before he had thought about it. And once again the other man misinterpreted it. “I will think about it,” was all he could add to avoid a real misunderstanding.

  ‘Thank you Oberstgruppenfuehrer. I will depart and await your more considered response. Thank you for seeing me. Heil Hitler.’ He retrieved his party badge and turned to leave.

  Sepp Dietrich just nodded, training, conditioning and common sense at war inside him. His eyes suddenly focussed on the man’s crumbled civilian suit, his non-military posture. This was no soldier who had gone through some character-building basic training and shellfire; just another clerk. Without the uniform you are nothing. Without the black uniform no-one would know you in the street. He thought about the men his visitor had named; those SS commander who still kept the old faith. Not one of them, bar the thuggish Theo Eicke, who commanded the SS-Totenkopf Division, were Waffen-SS or had served at the front. No. They were nobodies who wanted their power back. Power that was not his to give without a price. Power based upon a dream built by Adolf Hitler. But Hitler had thrown it all away by taking on every nation of the world at the same time. Then he had started messing with the authority of his soldiers. There were so many instances where Sepp remembered fuming at the crap that had been sent down from the Fuehrer’s Headquarters that had tied his hands. It had long since worn out the loyalty that the Fuehrer of the street fighting days in Munich had earned.