Accidental Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  Schloss stepped into the elevator with Rainer and the SS colonel. Two of Schloss's guards followed them in. The colonel glared at them, but said nothing. The elevator operator manipulated the controls, and the machine moved smoothly to the fourth floor. Schloss watched the building pass by the iron grillwork of the elevator car and continued trying to place himself in this milieu. It brought back memories of his secondary school experience of being an actor in an amateur theater. He was consciously assuming the role.

  The colonel led them down the hallway to the Fuhrer's office suite. Schloss was glad he didn't have to demonstrate that he knew the way. He had read about it, but now viewed the massive granite table in the great study. The heavy maroon curtains and the deep colored wood lent a dark mood to the room.

  A thin medium height man with bushy eyebrows was already in the room, and walked quickly over to Schloss.

  “Heinrich, what are we going to do?” Rudolf Hess asked.

  “We are going to do whatever we must.”

  “That does not tell me anything.”

  Schloss stepped in close to Hess. “I do not know what we are going to do,” he hissed. “The Fuhrer is dead, Rudolf. You are his personal secretary. Do you have access to the Fuhrer's will? Did he even have a will?”

  “I... I don't know. This is a complete nightmare. All I know is that he stated that Goering would take over if something happened to him, but that was a year ago.”

  “And?”

  “You have seen how he has lost interest in the government. All he wants to do is dress in those ridiculous suits and decorate Carinhall. The Fuhrer knew this.”

  Schloss snorted. “Your point is taken.”

  “But what do we do?”

  “What I do know is this: If there was ever a time for us to keep our wits about us, it is now. The rest of the group will be here at any moment, and need I remind you how dangerous some of them are?”

  Hess stepped back. “I... I understand, Herr Partieleiter.”

  “See that you do understand. That is, if you want to survive the day.”

  Hess's pale countenance lost even more color. “Of course, Mein Herr.”

  Schloss thought for a few moments, then turned and walked over to the doorway where Rainer stood.

  “Karl. Things are very dangerous right now. If you identify an overt threat to either Hess or me, do not wait for my word to act. Do you understand?”

  “Of course, Herr Partieleiter. We will be ready.”

  Schloss tried to form a reassuring smile, and touched him on the shoulder. He raised his eyes at the sound of jackboots in the corridor. He decided then that the pictures he had seen of Heinrich Himmler did not adequately display the menace surrounding the man. It felt like the oppressive overcast which often enveloped Berlin during the winter.

  “What is the meaning of these guards you brought into the building, Herr Partieleiter?”

  The thin, reedy voice which Schloss would have thought of describing by using the British term milquetoast absolutely did not characterize Himmler. Schloss was frightened, and hoped he didn't show it.

  “Considering the events of this day Herr Reichsprotektor, I believe there was little to be left to chance. I note you have brought your own protection detail.”

  Himmler colored slightly, then swept past Schloss into the room without another word and with serpentine grace. Schloss decided that he had won that exchange and also wondered if scoring against Himmler might be dangerous in and of itself.

  Walking along the corridor in a dark suit was Foreign Minister Von Ribbentrop. Schloss also recognized him. Walking beside him was a weeping Hermann Goering.

  “I just cannot believe it, Joachim, the Fuhrer is dead! Whatever are we going to do.”

  The foreign minister had a disgusted look on his face. Out of the corner of his eye Schloss saw Himmler turn. When he looked at him, Himmler replaced revulsion with a completely blank expression. Apparently the histories were accurate – even at this early stage Hermann was not distinguishing himself among his peers.

  Apparently almost everyone had arrived. “Where is Goebbels?” Himmler asked. He sounded querulous.

  “Let us just begin,” Goering said. “He was on his way back from Munich. There is not telling when he will arrive.”

  The others in the room looked at Schloss and at the doors. He nodded to Rainer, who backed out of the room pulling the double doors closed. The click of the latch seemed magnified in the room. Schloss looked at Hess and nodded.

  Looking uncomfortable, Hess moved to the head of the table. “Let's get started. We have a lot to accomplish and not a lot of time.”

  “What makes you think you can just take charge, Hess?” Goering challenged. “The Fuhrer's body is not even cold.”

  “I am the Deputy Fuhrer. I normally chair meetings when the Fuhrer is... was absent. With all due respect Herr Reichsmarshall.”

  “I suspect you are maneuvering against me,” Goering said, “and I do not appreciate it.”

  Hess's eyes shifted to Shloss.

  “We do not have time to argue about who gets to sit at the head of the table,” Schloss said sharply. “The nation is in incredible danger right now. Let Hess run the meeting. I don't care. We will collectively need to decide on a course of action, of course.”

  Goering looked over at Himmler, who nodded fractionally. “Oh, very well.” He leaned back and folded his arms.

  There was a sharp rap on the door, then Josef Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda, walked in. “I apologize for being late, Mein Herren. I got here as quickly as I could.”

  “Very well,” Himmler said. “We are all here now.” He looked at Hess.

  “Yes, well,” Hess cleared his throat. “I have prepared an agenda of items that we need to address immediately. Allow me to list them, then we can have a discussion.”

  Whatever problems Hess had, Schloss thought, he was well organized and seemed to be thinking clearly. He had a page of notes in front of him on the table. No one else had that much.

  “Will someone be making a record of this meeting?” the foreign minister asked.

  “I should have thought of that myself,” Hess said. “Who do we trust to sit in on this meeting?”

  Schloss held up a finger. “My adjutant Rainer is just outside the door. I believe he has proven himself trustworthy.”

  Himmler glared at Schloss, but said nothing. Schloss looked around the table and now one seemed likely to object, so he stood and walked to the door. Rainer immediately turned when he opened it.

  “Yes, Herr Partieleiter?”

  “Karl, we need you to take notes in the meeting.”

  “Of course, Herr Partieleiter.”

  He followed Schloss into the room, and Schloss pointed to the empty chair next to Hess. “Sit there please.”

  Rainer pulled a small notebook from an inside coat pocket and uncapped his pen. He looked expectantly at Hess.

  “First of all,” Hess said, “we will need to quickly determine the succession. The government will grow more unstable if we delay. Secondly we need to form a plan for determining the cause of the crash. Thirdly we need a plan for announcing the new Fuhrer, and what we are doing about the crash. Fourthly we need to begin planning on a strategy for continuing the war. Is there anything else?”

  “Perhaps we should review the status of our plans for the Final Solution,” Himmler said. “I do not believe we can afford any delays.”

  There was silence around the table for a few moments. Then Hess spoke. “So noted.”

  “What about Barbarossa?” Von Ribbentrop asked.

  Hess looked at Schloss. Apparently he was not going to be the one to mention it.

  “Hess and I consulted about this a while ago,” Schloss said. “We agreed to send the stand-down order to the Wehrmacht. We don't want some fool pulling the trigger before we have our act together.”

  “You have unquestionably exceeded your authority, Heinrich,” Goering said.

  “Yo
u and Hess have had reservations about Barbarossa from the start,” Himmler said. “I believe you owe us an explanation.”

  “Our authority came from the Fuhrer,” Schloss said. “He's dead. Without him guiding our armed forces, any initiatives at this point would be suicidal in my opinion.”

  “You should have consulted with us,” Goering said.

  “Maybe so, but we had no idea what might happen next. Once things settle down again, we can make a decision about whether to proceed.”

  “And I repeat; you have far exceeded your authority in making such a decision. You have always been against Barbarossa. We all know you took this opportunity to kill it before it could get started.”

  “And I repeat, my big Hermann, after this morning's accident I have been doing everything possible to safeguard the stability of the state, which each of us in this room should have been doing as well!” Schloss said, his voice raising to a shout.

  Schloss, the actor, stood off to the side and observed his performance. Even Himmler looked cowed, which Schloss found interesting. From his historical studies, he had thought Himmler feared no one.

  “Are you going to shoot me, like you did Bormann, Herr Partieleiter?” Goering asked softly.

  That was a new piece of information. Apparently Schloss had killed Bormann, or at least everyone in the room thought so judging by their looks. Schloss thought quickly. Almost unbidden, the words came to his mouth.

  “Is it going to become necessary, Herr Reichsmarshall?”

  “Of course not,” Goering said.

  Schloss looked around the table. “Enough of the arguments. We are all badly frightened by this morning's events. Let's get down to business.”

  Something like a sigh of relief settled in the room. Schloss had always been something of a student of human dynamics. He had played at manipulating his fellow academics in the faculty meetings. He had been amazed at how easy it was to do... and how much fun. He was now playing on an entirely different stage against men who were masters of that trade. And they were afraid of him. Even as he rubbed his chin with his hand and considered this observation he could see the others around the table watching him and wondering what he was thinking. If they only knew.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  June 10, 1941 7:00 PM

  Nazi Party Headquarters, Berlin

  Schloss struggled with the contents of his desk along with calls from party members seeking reassurance and information. He was not in a position to accomplish anything. He had been making snap decisions all day since landing in this world. He was, if anything, more terrified of the consequences of any one of those choices.

  He had found a small notebook in the desk, and on several pages he had noted the names of the people in his office, as he had become aware of them. Fortunately, he did not need to describe them. Once he wrote the names down, he easily associated the names with the faces. After fifteen years of facing classrooms of non-emotive German young people, he felt like he was good at making quick judgments about his employees.

  As far as the other Schloss – the one he had replaced – he was at a loss. That man was clearly ruthless – absolutely so. If he had indeed murdered Martin Bormann, and it seemed he had, then he had a short way with rivals. Hess and Goering feared him, and Himmler showed unwilling respect. Most importantly the fact that Hitler had not immediately ordered his death after Bormann's said something too.

  On the other hand, Alter-Schloss, as Schloss thought of him, was a good manager. The party offices were a smooth running instrument. While his staff did not take liberties with him, it seemed they had been trained to speak their minds. Several had given him searching looks at things he had done or said during the day. He thought they attributed it to his being rattled at the death of the Fuhrer. They were almost right.

  The meeting in the Reich Chancellery had run for three hours. After the first hour was spent in circular discussion, Schloss had firmly put his foot down and insisted on dealing with each item on Hess's agenda in order. The item Schloss had feared would be impossible had turned out relatively easy. Hess had been appointed Acting Fuhrer. Upon further thought, Schloss decided it made sense. Everyone knew Hess had no real power base. Therefore, as Fuhrer he was no threat to anyone in the room. This freed Himmler, Goering, Goebbels and presumably Schloss to scheme against one another. Schloss thought it interesting that Von Ribbentrop was not considered a threat either.

  His musings were interrupted by a light tapping at the door, and Rainer peeked in. Normally the repeated visits by his staff would have driven him to distraction. However, each time someone considered it important enough to come into his office, it added another piece of information for him to add to the framework of his new world view. And he badly needed that information.

  “What is it now, Rainer?” Schloss snapped.

  “Herr Partieleiter, Margrethe received a call from Frau Marsden.”

  Margrethe was one of the office girls, generally the one who managed the telephones and visitors. Schloss said nothing, but merely raised an eyebrow.

  “She asked,” he continued, “if you were planning to take dinner with the children. She would otherwise feed them and send them to bed.”

  Schloss's heart skipped a beat. He thought about Trudy for the first time during that long day. He and Trudy had no children, and they were not particularly close. But she was a comforting presence in his life. He wondered if there was a Trudy analogue in this world where he landed, whatever it was. Clearly he had children. It also occurred to him that he did not feel the loss of 1982 Berlin. Then he was surprised to discover that in addition to the terror, he was having more fun than he had ever experienced in his life. He wondered if whatever force that had transported him to this place had also infused him with the insanity that had gripped these Nazi butchers.

  He had pondered things too long, and Rainer was beginning to look concerned. Schloss mentally shook himself. If Frau Marsden, whoever she was, had called about the children, then they must be something he valued highly.

  “I'm going to be here all night, Karl. I might as well take an hour and see the children. And I apologize for being rude.”

  Rainer looked surprised, and then made a throwing away motion. “It's been a long day, Herr Partieleiter. I will have the car brought around. Five minutes.”

  A few minutes later Schloss stepped from his office belting his coat. Rainer walked up.

  “Richard Lodz will be your driver tonight, along with several guards,” Rainer said. I thought I should remain here.”

  “A good idea, Karl. I think we should staff the offices all night. But don't keep everyone here. We will need some of us to be fresh tomorrow.”

  “I understand, Herr Partieleiter.”

  “Thank-you. I will return within the hour, two at most.”

  # # #

  June 10, 1941 7:30 PM

  Schloss Residence, Charlottenburg, Berlin

  The white-haired septuagenarian who opened the door was as tall as Schloss, but considerably broader. She brought another surprise to a day of surprises. She intimidated him. Himmler, who was without question the most frightening man in the Third Reich, had not bothered Schloss. But this woman somehow brought him to a halt.

  “I somehow think you have experienced an unbelievable day, Herr Schloss,” she said. Her complete self-confidence set him to wondering.

  “It has been all of that, Frau Marsden,” he said. “I'm very glad you called. It was a good opportunity to get away from that madhouse for a while anyway.”

  “And you will return to the office tonight.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Hans-Friedrich and Anna-Lisa are waiting at the table. I thought you might not have a lot of time.”

  “Thank you for that,” he said as he unbuckled his coat. He hung it on the rack by the door, and then shrugged out of the shoulder holster.

  “Are things that dangerous?” she asked, nodding at the gun.

  “Likely not,” he replied. �
��But things are very unsettled. I don't want some fool getting ideas.”

  She nodded. “I set dinner in the dining room.”

  He followed her, hoping that was where she was going. “I will likely return early in the morning for fresh clothes.”

  “I will have something laid out for you then, Herr Schloss.”

  “Thank you, Frau Marsden,” he said as they walked into the dining room.

  “Hello Poppa,” the thin blond boy said. He looked to be about seven years old.

  The girl was not much beyond a toddler. “Poppie!” she squealed.

  He swept her up out of her chair and gave her a big hug. He looked over at the boy, whose eyes were round in surprise. Apparently Alter-Schloss was not demonstrative.

  “And how's my little man?”

  “Teacher sent us home from school early today. She was crying. Is the Fuhrer truly dead?”

  Schloss tried hard for an appropriately sad look. “Unfortunately yes. His plane crashed coming in to Tempelhof.”

  “I am sad,” the boy said. “The Fuhrer saved Germany. What will we do now?”

  Schloss carefully set the girl back in her chair, then rested his hand on the boy's shoulder.

  “It is a terrible thing. But your poppa and the other men are working to keep Germany safe.”

  “Frau Marsden said you had to go back to the office tonight.”

  Schloss slid into the chair at the head of the table. Hans-Friedrich sat at his right and Anna-Lisa at his left. He was glad the choice in chairs was so obvious. He was well aware it was the small things that would eventually catch up with him.

  “Yes, Hans, I must return to the office tonight.”

  “So then we will have to sleep in the basement again? I hate to sleep in the basement.”

  Schloss was momentarily puzzled, the nodded. British bombers ranged over Germany at night. So far the damage to Berlin was minor, but a chance hit would end the war for the children.