The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

  He quickly realised that everything that came in or out of the factory moved under cover. Even with the protection from aerial reconnaissance, this would mainly occur at night, unless the daytime cloud cover was low and thick. Simon judged it unlikely that the Allies would ever spot this place from up above. The undulating cluster of densely wooded hills that surrounded the area would make them think that there could be nothing here worth bombing, nothing that looked like a military installation or heavy factory.

  The guard was coming back.

  ‘All clear, sir. Only essential vehicles are allowed inside, so please get your driver to park over there in the trees.’ The guard pointed to a covered area over to the right. ‘The CO’s expecting you. One of his staff will meet you inside.’

  Simon returned the salute. Shortly afterwards the Kubelwagen was driven away to be parked. As he turned towards the hillside several tired and emaciated looking men in shabby civilian attire and carrying heavy brushes emerged from the tunnel entrance. They were double marched from the main gate to where the Kubelwagen had driven up. It was soon clear that their job was to cover up any evidence of activity that could be seen from the air. The guards gestured harshly and the men sprang into action, working vigorously to brush away all evidence of vehicular activity.

  He was met just inside the gates by a young, slim, blond Untersturmführer who quickly introduced himself and led the way inside the darkened entrance. As soon as Simon entered the tunnel his ears were almost overwhelmed by deafening noise. The cacophony came from several mobile diesel-powered generators that stood lengthways along the corridor. The racket was unbelievably loud, but mercifully did not last long. After a hundred meters progress an intersecting tunnel opened up on both sides, and his guide took a right turn. The noise suddenly dropped to a far more manageable level, much to his relief.

  ‘Sorry about that bit, sir. That’s the worst - the rest of the underground area is much easier on the ears.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Simon grunted. ‘I’d go mad if I had to work down there for any length of time without ear protection.’

  ‘I know what you mean, sir.’ The man gave a cheery smile and winked. ‘Quite a few of the prisoners who work there do. We ship ‘em back to Buchenwald where they’re taken care of, if you know what I mean.’

  Simon looked momentarily puzzled.

  The Untersturmführer laughed callously, sensing Simon’s lack of comprehension. ‘They’re all Jews, sir. The usual Untermenschen scum along with a few Russians and Frenchies thrown in for good measure. Ah, here we are. This is the Administration section. The CO’s office is at the far end. Follow me please.’

  He led Simon into the office area. Almost immediately he noted that the air temperature was much more pleasant than the cold air in the dank tunnels. They passed through a wide open- plan area of desks and filing cabinets, populated by uniformed men and women, each busy with their own tasks. At the far end a partitioned area was sealed off from the main administration. The Untersturmführer led him into a short corridor. At the far end he knocked on a solid steel grey door.

  ‘Sir, the CO will see you now’.

  Simon walked into the brightly lit room, and glanced down at the officer seated behind the large desk. He was busy reading a large report held in front of his face. As he lowered it Simon gaped in surprise, before quickly recovering and offering the obligatory salute.

  It was Harald Hartmann.

  Broadway Buildings, London 1100 15/3/1945

  ‘Is everything OK Charlie?’ Menzies asked. He was in a very good mood. Such was his general demeanour these days. The war was going extremely well, MI6’s star was in the ascendancy, and at long last the end was in sight. He was already planning and thinking about the next set of tasks, specifically those against the Soviet Union. While the Russians might still be allies for the moment, he was under no illusions as to who the next enemy was going to be. Once Nazi Germany was destroyed and peace had broken out in Europe again, then the Russians would become enemy number one. His natural anti -Communist tendencies, carefully curbed during the wartime period to satisfy his political masters, would almost certainly be allowed a fuller expression - as long as Churchill won the post-war election, that is. It was no secret that the current PM distrusted Stalin, and was utterly convinced that the Soviet Union wished to dominate Europe, politically and militarily, for many years to come.

  ‘Yes, Chief’, Monkton replied. ‘The weather forecast is reasonable- partly clear skies over central Germany tonight, although there’s a cold front from the east approaching that might move in tomorrow. The RAF anticipates a straightforward insertion over the target area. Luftwaffe defences around the Harz area are minimal and what’s left of their night fighter force is going to be busy elsewhere- what with the Russians bombing Berlin into more rubble, and the Americans and our air forces flattening everything else.’

  ‘Excellent. What about our man Steele?’

  ‘He’s all taken care of, Chief. Mission, briefings, equipment - the works just like his previous trips to the Fatherland. Nothing’s been left to chance. We’re all ready to go. He flies out from RAF Northolt at midnight.’

  ‘Is there any more information from our source in Berlin?’

  Monkton shook his head. ‘No - nothing as yet. And no joy with our aerial surveys either. The RAF has sent several daytime reconnaissance missions to the area, but hasn’t been able to get any decent photos. Either the area is covered by thick cloud cover or on the few occasions where the skies are clear they are unable to pinpoint the location. Jerry must have an excellent camouflage operation in progress.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Menzies sat back in his chair, and lapsed into thought while his deputy made his excuses and left the room. Nothing had changed appreciably in the last few weeks. The information coming from Germany had not altered in any way, and there were no new developments.

  He cast his mind back towards the beginning of the year, and his surprise secret trip to Spain. The contact had come in December, through a roundabout neutral channel. An unknown senior German officer had wished to meet up, entirely off the record, and propose a deal. Menzies was initially sceptical. He suspected that it was probably some disaffected Nazi who’d had enough of Hitler’s rabble, a man with an eye to the future and most likely the main chance. He had a good idea of how the meeting would unfold. A deal would be proposed, almost certainly involving some form of immunity from prosecution once the war was over. In exchange Menzies would be offered some supposedly priceless information, something that would possibly alter the course of the war.

  At first, he had almost dismissed the whole idea as some sort of desperate ploy. What could this German possibly have that the Allies did not know about, now that the war was nearly won? The last German offensive in the West, the Battle of the Bulge, was in its final despairing throes. Once the Allies fully recovered, they would resume their general offensive and Germany would be overrun. That would be that, the end of six years’ slaughter. What else could happen?

  In the end, despite his rather jaundiced point of view, he had decided to go. There might just be something worthwhile for him to hear. One should never look a gift horse in the mouth, or so the old saying went. Menzies was also well aware that, even at this late stage of the war, the Allies did not have a complete understanding of everything that was going on inside the German High Command and Hitler’s mind. The recent surprise German attack in Belgium was a case in point. It had fooled everybody, all the way up to the top. Even SHAEF’s senior intelligence staff, and Kenneth Strong in particular, had absolutely no inkling of what the Germans had in store for them when the attack came in. It was contrary to all their expectations and assessments. They’d all assumed that Nazi Germany was nearly finished.

  Besides, the Britain in winter was a miserable place to be. He quite fancied a few days break in the sun of southern Spain. Now that most of the occupied territories in Europe were liberated, MI6’s normally hectic pace of work had slowed d
own to a far more reasonable and steadier rhythm, and a few days’ absence from his normal routine would not be catastrophic. Monkton was quite capable of running the show while he was away.

  He was glad he had gone. His German counterpart, whoever he was, had chosen the venue and the terms of the meeting, from which he could not be dissuaded - a shady restaurant in the harbour area at Cadiz. The British were given carte blanche to inspect the rendezvous and ensure that they were satisfied with the security arrangements. A secluded table with a view of the harbour was chosen. Menzies would arrive first and take the chair facing the sea. The German would then arrive by car, alone, and take the opposite seat. No photographs or records would be taken by either side, to ensure security and anonymity. The German was obviously paranoid that his position could be compromised if news of the meeting was leaked to the wrong people.

  Unsurprisingly his bodyguards and MI6 minders in Spain were not happy with the arrangements. What if the German pulled out a gun or a snatch team whisked him away before help could arrive? Menzies had dismissed their concerns. There was a certain thrill to be had from working in the field again, out on your own with just your wits to survive on - something that had been duly submerged in all his years of office work at MI6’s HQ. He was looking forward to the challenge. Besides there was a safety net in place, just in case the worst should happen. The area would be discretely cordoned off and subject to careful scrutiny by Colonel Cruz and a team of his Spanish heavies, just to ensure fair play and prevent dirty tricks by either side.

  The day in January was cool but clear. The bright sun in the cloudless blue sky provided some warmth even at that time of the year. A blustery wind swept across the city and out to sea, but from where he sat, he was safely sheltered from most of the elements. The harbour view from the restaurant terrace was quite superb. Much of the busy port area was away to his left and out of direct view. To his front he could see a flotilla of yachts close up against their moorings, while a constant stream of trawlers and smaller boats headed in through the breakwaters, fresh from their early morning trips to the fishing grounds further out to sea, gulls wheeling and flapping overhead. The medieval walls, ramparts and fortifications of the port area dominated the scene. Beyond them endless ranks of white horses foamed and marched out towards the darker blue of the deep ocean, whipped up by the stiff offshore breeze.

  But, as edifying as it was, he was not there to admire the view. A little after 1230 a black Mercedes pulled up outside the restaurant and a heavily wrapped up man of medium height got out. He wore a dark hat and overcoat, with the collar turned up. The car pulled away, and the stranger made his way over to where Menzies was seated. All the tables nearby were empty. Beyond that, Ruiz’s men occupied the remaining seats and studiously scrutinised their menus.

  The man sat down. Menzies studied his appearance carefully, trying to commit every feature of his opponent’s face to memory. It looked vaguely familiar, but he could not immediately place it. The youthful face was slim, dominated by a heavy moustache, but Menzies concentrated on the eyes. Moustaches could be faked, but the look in a man’s eyes often held a clue as to his real identity. Before he left for Spain he’d studied the photographs on file of all the leading Nazis, but this man’s face did not immediately stand out in his mind. MI6 had a reasonably complete collection of photos on all the top officials inside Germany, but there were some notable gaps. This man must be one of those. No matter. He waited for the German to open the conversation.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to attend this meeting, Colonel Menzies.’ The stranger smiled affably, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He spoke excellent if slightly accented English. ‘I’m so glad you managed to persuade your colleagues here in Spain to agree to the terms of this meeting. It looks like Colonel Cruz has done his usual thorough job.’

  ‘Yes,’ Menzies replied coolly, ‘so it seems.’ An awkward silence followed for a few moments. Menzies then decided to take up the challenge. ‘I may be interested to hear what you have to tell me, but please don’t waste my time. As for whatever you want in exchange, I can’t give you any assurances. This is purely a preliminary meeting, with nothing on offer. From the point of view of Ml6 your safety here is guaranteed - for the moment. That’s the only guarantee I can give you. We have followed your stipulations precisely.’

  ‘Good’. The German smiled again, ignoring Menzies’ somewhat abrupt manner. ‘I know. Thank you for your cooperation. The same guarantee applies from my side. I’m sure you can summon a team of agents to your assistance at the drop of a hat. So can I, but I sincerely hope that neither action will be necessary. And so let’s get down to business.’ The stranger looked at him intently, his casual manner gone in an instant. ‘This will not be a waste of your time. I rather think that you will be most interested in what I have to tell you.’

  ‘Ah. Some information then. And in exchange?’

  ‘You probably think you know what I’m looking for, but you may well be mistaken. Not money, or false passports or a new identity. I could organize these myself, if I wanted to - if I wished to run and hide, that is.’

  ‘I see,’ countered Menzies, knowingly. ‘Then it must be immunity from prosecution. Could it be perhaps that you have secrets that you wish to conceal, secrets that would be better off hidden from the light of day?’

  ‘No’, the German replied, firmly. ‘I don’t have any dirty laundry, as your American friends would say. Just the usual military intelligence secrets - I’m in the same line of work as you. I have a clear conscience, as clear as any man can have in the circumstances I find myself in. You may find it hard to believe, but decency and integrity are not entirely absent for some of us in Germany.’ He sighed. ‘But let’s be realistic for a moment - within six months, the Reich will be no more. You, the British, your American allies and the Russians will see to that. I have no illusions as to what life under Russian occupation will be like. Also, I’m well aware that the victors always write the history - at least, their version of it. People in my organization will be labelled as criminals and mass murderers, and given short shrift. I doubt that justice will be entirely fair and unbiased - it usually isn’t, in my experience. So I would like to alter the scales to weigh a little in my favour.’

  So he’s a Nazi, one of the SS undoubtedly. ‘I’m not sure that could be arranged.’ Menzies grunted, his expression entirely non-committal. This was very much along the lines he had suspected. The man in front of him was most likely to be involved in some of the more brutal aspects of Nazi Germany, and wished to wriggle off the hook. His sense of justice began to rebel at the thought of making a deal, but at the same time he was pragmatic enough to realize that sometimes such compromises needed to be made, no matter how distasteful the individual circumstances might be. ‘All I can say is that I will listen to what you have to say. If what you tell me is worth my time here and if it checks out, then we may have an understanding as long as my superiors agree. That’s all I can say at present.’

  ‘Agreed.’ The German nodded, equably. ‘I would say exactly the same if I was in your position. But I somehow think that what I tell you will be considered as priceless - possibly the most important thing you’ve ever heard. It will be even better than Rothermere’s report in May.’

  Menzies face must have betrayed him for an instant, for the German briefly chuckled. ‘I see that’s not exactly news to you. Then tell me what you think of this.’

  The information that followed was breathtaking. It concerned a top-secret underground weapons facility in the Harz Mountains in central Germany, heavily guarded with limited access and stringent security. It was in the process of producing deadly biological weapons that would be delivered by rocket. The overall plan was a deadly aerial offensive - a combination of short-range tactical weapons for the battlefield and centres of communication and supply behind the front lines, combined with longer-range missiles targeted against large cities in the rear. Menzies was immediately aware of how dangerous this could be.
Already a rain of V2 rockets had pounded London and Antwerp over the last few months, and their permanent elimination was a top Allied priority. But so far, almost no progress had been made in that direction. Nobody knew exactly where the rockets were being constructed. The other alarming fact was that these missiles could be launched from anywhere, and at very short notice. Aerial reconnaissance had identified that the rockets used mobile launchers that could launch from a forest clearing, a patch of woodland or any similar secluded and hidden location. It would be a chance in a million for an Allied aircraft to pinpoint the launch and destroy the missile on the ground. And once the rockets were airborne, they could not be shot down - unlike the V1s, they were far too fast and flew much too high to be tracked and caught.

  That was bad enough, but this revelation sounded much worse. Apparently, some of the newer rockets would have a much greater range than the already formidable V2s. There were hints that one of them was called ‘Amerika’, and that New York and Washington were likely targets.

  Menzies was shocked beyond the capacity for words. The effects of such an attack would be devastating - widespread illness and death among the advancing armies, not to mention the disastrous effect on civilian populations throughout Europe and even America. It could quite easily change the course of the war.

  ‘I thought you might be interested,’ the German said quietly. ‘I think you would agree that the use of such weapons would be a disaster for humanity. I, for one, would not wish to see this happen, nor would my saner compatriots. Too many have already died. But Himmler is different. He’s like a mad dog. He cannot be reasoned with and when these weapons are ready he may be crazy enough and desperate enough, to use them.’