The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

  The new field headquarters was situated in a wood a few hundred meters south of the trig point he was standing on, carefully concealed beneath a mass of camouflage netting. OKH’s main headquarters was nearby, only a couple of kilometres away at Zossen. SS Technicians had already tapped into the Army’s communication apparatus, giving them reasonably secure telephone connection to what remained of the Reich. The radio transmitters were hidden further away, in a remote spot, theoretically a secure distance from where the main HQ lay. The enemy had directed quite a few bombing missions to destroy these transmitters, but so far they had only achieved limited results. Repair crews managed to mend the damage almost as quickly as it occurred, and the current aerial threat seemed to be quite limited. The Soviets as yet appeared not to have mastered the technique of precision pinpoint bombing.

  Mind you, all that would be for nothing when the long awaited, war-ending ground offensive came in. The Army’s Military Intelligence department, using what little was still available from Luftwaffe aerial reconnaissance, was of the firm opinion that the Soviets would start their final attack in the next two or three weeks, no more than that. The SS had concurred. Both reports had ended up on the Fuhrer’s desk. Unfortunately, and as was always the case at this stage of the war, the contents of both had to be suitably toned down. Nobody dared tell the Führer the real picture, if only to avoid provoking him into one of his well-known incandescent rages. These damn reports cannot be accurate! How can the Russians still have so many men, even after all the millions we’ve killed. He could just imagine Hitler standing there, ranting and raging, screaming at the top of his lungs while the generals looked on, powerless to do anything. He’d seen it so many times before. It was perfectly clear to him that the man was deranged. Hitler had simply lost touch with reality.

  He knew from his own analysis of the German defences that lay along the Oder that they might slow the Russians down for a few days, but the issue would never be in real doubt. He smiled grimly to himself. Germany was almost out for the count. The Allies had recently crossed the Rhine in overwhelming strength and were quickly closing in from the west. The knock-out blow from the east would be just as swift. The Russian offensive would be short, brutal, and implacably final.

  There was little more that he could do, now that they were all so close to the abyss. In theory Hitler still required the occasional intelligence assessment from him, but they were rarely asked for these days. Anybody with half a brain could see that the writing was on the wall. Himmler still went in to see him from time to time, mainly to provide some moral support and reassurance that all would turn out for the best, but his visits often went unheeded and probably even un-noticed. The atmosphere inside the Fuhrer bunker, hidden deep under the ruins of the Reich Chancellery, was becoming increasingly bizarre. It was almost like a travelling circus. There were all sorts of charlatans and other equally shady characters from all across the Party, all eager for a last brief interview with the Fuhrer before the final victory of the Third Reich. Or at least that’s what Josef Goebbels, Reich Minister for Information and Propaganda, kept on proclaiming. The Russians would be defeated on the Oder, he announced to all and sundry and the western Allies would soon fall out amongst themselves. This would lead to a miraculous and unexpected victory that would soon change the course of the war. Clearly Goebbels was just as mad as the rest of them. Martin Bormann was still running the show. A loathsome, odious thug, the eminence grise who ran Hitler’s day to day affairs remained with his Führer, weaving his own internecine plots and spinning webs of deceit like a particularly dangerous spider. You were never quite certain where you fitted in with his plans. Schellenberg couldn’t stand the man.

  No, he would no longer miss his trips into the city and the Fuhrer bunker. The sight of beautiful Berlin lying in ruins was far too depressing, no matter how quickly and tidily the rubble was cleared away. There was no need to return to the infamous building where he used to operate from. Number eight Prinz Albrecht Strasse was no longer fit to work in. Bomb damage had destroyed most of it. Only the prisoner cellars in Columbia House at the rear were still habitable, if that was the right word for them. He was secretly pleased. It was a huge relief not to return there, especially at night. He’d heard enough screams of agony to last him many lifetimes over.

  The spring winds whistled through the bare branches of the silver birches that crowned the hill he was standing on. Schellenberg shivered involuntarily. His thoughts were interrupted by a small convoy of cars that suddenly appeared along the road from Rangsdorf, less than a few kilometres away. That must be Himmler, back from his latest visit to the inmates at the asylum. Schellenberg turned quickly on his heels and strode towards his waiting car. Hansen was sitting behind the wheel.

  ‘Back to the compound, Hansen, and don’t hang about. That was the Reichsführer’s entourage, and I expect he’ll want to see me very shortly.’ Schellenberg got in. Hansen started up the engine, and rapidly drove off towards the security checkpoint. It lay just inside the border of the wood.

  Himmler arrived a few minutes later. His car was waved through quickly, and within moments he was deposited outside his personal tent, a minute’s walk from the main complex that housed all the communications equipment. Schellenberg was waiting for him.

  ‘Good morning, Reichsführer. How was your trip?’

  Himmler emerged from the rear seat, grimaced sourly, and walked quickly inside. Schellenberg followed him in. A quick glance dismissed the guards to a safe distance away, well out of earshot.

  ‘A waste of time, as usual’, Himmler grunted moodily. ‘I simply cannot get through to him. The Führer refuses to listen to reality. He keeps on thinking that some last-minute miracle is going to save Germany. The enemy will fragment, their alliances will break down, and the Third Reich will go on to a glorious future.’ He sat down grumpily and snarled. ‘He seems to be entirely under the influence of that rat-faced little shit Goebbels. Our glorious minister for propaganda keeps on boring us about the similarities of our current predicament with that of Frederick the Great during the Seven Years War. The Americans, British and those Soviet snakes will fall out, just like the Austrians and Russians did back in the 18th Century. Can you believe it?’

  Schellenberg managed to look suitably worried and deferential. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Reichsführer. Is there anything that can be done?’

  ‘No…not directly. Not if the Führer carries on like this.’ He glanced around furtively, making sure that nobody was within earshot, and lowered his voice. ‘However, I think it may finally be time to do something about the mess we’re in. I’ve been thinking about this for some time. What do you think, Brigadeführer? What’s your real opinion? You must surely realise that the war is at an end. Miracles are no longer a possibility…or are they?’

  Schellenberg knew he was being put on the spot. Now, more than ever, a false step, a slip, could be fatal, especially for a senior officer in Hitler’s elite. Absolute unquestioning loyalty was the order of the day, and the slightest hesitation could easily sign a death warrant. But was now the time when Himmler at last began to open up and reveal his innermost secrets? This could be a rare opportunity to find out what really made the Reichsführer tick. He chose his words carefully.

  ‘I admit that things look grim, Reichsführer. The military situation is critical, especially since the western Allies crossed the Rhine. General-feldmarschall Model’s army in the Ruhr may well be in danger of being cut off and encircled if the Americans and British keep on advancing, as reports would suggest. Our Intelligence assessments indicate that the Soviets will attack us very soon, and with overwhelming strength.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘I do not wish to appear to be pessimistic, but it’s hard to see a miraculous turn-around in our present situation’.

  Himmler smiled, a rare event that did little to soften his persona. ‘Walther, I agree. That’s the obvious conclusion anybody with a rational mind would draw. But you needn’t worry. I’m not trying to t
est your loyalty. I know that you’re trying to follow your National Socialist duty and not appear to be defeatist.’ He pointed to a chair across from where he was sitting. ‘Relax. Have a seat.’ He waited while Schellenberg sat down, and then continued. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time. Your service has always been exemplary, and you have been a shining example to all in the Party who hold dear our ideals and goals.’ He smiled again, as coldly as before. ‘Considering our current circumstances I think we can talk frankly between ourselves and not be too concerned about any apparent deviation from the Führer’s wishes. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Absolutely. As you wish Reichsführer’. Schellenberg smiled back in return, all the while still aware that he was on very dangerous ground. His pulse quickened. What did Himmler really have in mind? He decided to wait him out.

  Himmler drummed his fingers on the table, all the while watching his subordinate carefully. ‘Very well then…I’m going to let you into a few secrets, things I’ve kept hidden in the last year or so…things that could prove dangerous for all concerned should they be whispered in the wrong ears.’ He paused, eyeing Schellenberg narrowly. ‘Do I take it that what I am about to tell you is utterly confidential and must not be told to anyone else… no matter who?’

  Schellenberg nodded dutifully. ‘Yes Reichsführer. You have my word as a loyal officer in the SS.’ He breathed heavily. There was no point mentioning his blood oath to the Führer. That no longer seemed to be appropriate.

  His promise appeared to satisfy Himmler. The leader of the SS leaned closer.

  ‘I think we have now reached the stage where we must consider every option Germany still has available, whether the Führer approves it or not. As far as I can see, there are several choices that are available to us. We can fight on, and almost certainly be overwhelmed from both East and West. Being overrun by the West is the better option, as I’m sure you would agree. I would rather not live to see the day when the Russians hoist their flag over the Reichstag and conquer Berlin. It takes little imagination to work out just what sort of future Stalin has in mind for us.’ Indeed. They both knew what had happened under the joys of Soviet occupation. The horror stories from the overrunning of East Prussia and Pomerania were known to many. An orgy of rape, murder and brutal occupation had been visited on those unfortunate German civilians still living there – those who had been unable to flee in time…

  ‘As I said, being overwhelmed by the British and Americans without Soviet interference would be the least unpleasant. But I cannot see any chance that Germany’s enemies will fight amongst themselves and disintegrate at the last moment. They are much too near to total victory to do this.’ He paused, again carefully searching Schellenberg’s face for any reaction. ‘So let’s explore some other possibilities. Why not try to do a deal with America and Britain? It’s not altogether out of the question, from what I can see. We could form an alliance, right at the death, so to speak.’ Himmler grew animated. ‘Our combined forces could match up against the communist hordes from the East. After all, what’s going to happen if we are conquered? A Europe split down the middle – on one side, the Americans, with their British and French lapdogs... on the other, Stalin, and his allies from Eastern Europe.’ He pursed his lips. ‘That’s a recipe for future world conflict, if ever there was one. Surely Churchill and Roosevelt must realise this? That is why I have been in contact with the Swedish embassy. I have sent a message to the Prime Minister and President exploring this possibility. The Führer would almost certainly not approve, but I feel this is a road we must explore. What do you think?’

  News of Himmler’s illicit visits to the Swedish embassy was indeed known to Schellenberg, but it would not be wise to reveal this secret information, not just yet.

  ‘I agree, Reichsführer. It is a possibility worth exploring. But sir, do you really think this has a chance? I know the Western Allies distrust Communism, as do we all, but could this happen at such a late stage?’ Privately, Schellenberg was extremely doubtful. A hidden source deep within the former Abwehr had hinted that this was something Canaris, that sly old fox, had already discussed with MI6 and the OSS several years ago – an anti-Hitler plot that would destroy the top Nazi hierarchy and leave Germany free to fight the Russians. Nothing had ever come of it then, and it was even less likely to be successful now.

  ‘I don’t know, but the chance is worth pursuing, especially in our current predicament. However, I have added a small inducement to help concentrate their minds.’ Himmler watched Schellenberg’s face like a hawk. ‘I have threatened them with a war-winning weapon of destruction that should command their attention - the ability to unleash biological weapons that could destroy Britain and America.’

  Schellenberg pretended to be amazed, if not suitably mystified. It was vital that Himmler did not suspect for one moment that he had prior knowledge of such a development. ‘What…? But Reichsführer, surely that is against the Führer’s wishes. He has a horror of such weapons. He once told me that the consequences to Germany if we used those sort of weapons first would be catastrophic. ‘

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Himmler, ‘that is what he said to me, too. At the time I think he was referring to the poison gas shells used in the trenches in the Great War. He was there, and knows what it’s like to experience such an attack. But he did not mention biological weapons, only chemical ones’. Himmler smiled slyly. ‘There is a subtle, but nonetheless important distinction. I realise the use of these weapons is not without risk, but I believe we have the element of surprise. Our intelligence assessment of enemy capabilities leads me to believe we have outstripped them in this field of research, just like our jet aircraft and our V1 and V2 rockets.’

  ‘But Reichsführer, how can you say surprise if you’ve given them this warning? And why should they believe you?’

  ‘Simple, Walther, very simple.’ Himmler grunted. ‘I have given them a deadline. If we do not receive a suitable reply from them by midnight on April 12th, then I will give the order to commence our rocket offensive. This deadline will not give them enough time to mobilize their own stocks and attempt to pre-empt us. Besides, I am sure that they have no idea where our production facility is and even if they did, it would be impossible to attack from the air. This is completely different to Peenemünde, when they tried to destroy our rocket research base and all our best engineers and scientists.’ Two years ago RAF bombers, using information passed onto them by Polish Resistance, had severely derailed missile development by almost a year. Although that factory was heavily protected it was still relatively easy to bomb. The Harz mountain base would be a far more difficult, if not impossible target by comparison.

  Himmler continued. ‘As to why they should believe us, well…I am arranging to give them a little demonstration.’ A grim look of satisfaction washed over his features. ‘We will target Birmingham. It’s a good choice, easy enough to target and essential to the British war effort. Otherwise, it’s unremarkable – factories, workers’ housing, little of historical or sentimental importance, nothing for them to get too upset about. We will only use a small to medium dose, nothing like the full load should we need to launch in anger, but enough to demonstrate to them our reach and capability. That will happen in the next day or two. That may not in itself be sufficiently persuasive, so we will also target New York…’

  ‘What?’ Schellenberg hoped his astonishment was sufficient to be convincing. ‘Good God…We can reach America...?’

  ‘Yes’ Himmler smirked exultantly. ‘Von Braun, our leading rocket expert, is confident that we have developed missiles that are capable of crossing the Atlantic. Their production is only days away – another fine example of German technology! This is, of course, top secret – not a word of this must be mentioned to anyone. But we can do it, so he assures me.’

  ‘But is there enough time left? Won’t it take time for an epidemic to develop and spread?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not so important. The British will know where the rocket wi
ll land. Their air defences cannot stop it – our rockets fly too fast and too high to be intercepted. It will only take a few days for them to discover that we are serious. Once they realise that they are powerless to stop us, then we will convene a meeting on neutral territory to call a halt to their advance, and conclude an alliance, on our terms…’

  Himmler sat back in his chair, a look of triumph and utter certainty on his face. Schellenberg did his best to appear enthusiastic, but inside he was worried. Christ, he is truly mad…Does he really think the West will stop now? This will only galvanise them into even more determined action to seek out this menace and destroy it once and for all. I’ve got to act now…

  ‘Reichsführer, this is absolutely brilliant…wonderful news,’ Schellenberg gushed enthusiastically, ‘the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. This is all down to your forward thinking and vision. How can I be of service?’

  ‘Thank you, Walther’, Himmler waved a hand, basking in the reflected glory of his brilliance. ‘The first steps are already in motion. I want you to read this file.’ He pulled a key from out of his pocket, unlocked a desk drawer, took out a thick folder and dropped it on the desk top. ‘Familiarise yourself with these details. I want your thoughts and observations. Look for any weaknesses in the plan, let me have any options you recommend and appropriate solutions.’

  ‘At once Reichsführer. I’ll get on to it straight away.’ Schellenberg got up from his seat, braced to attention, and then turned to leave.

  ‘Good.’ Himmler paused for a moment. ‘Walther, there is one more thing.’ Schellenberg turned back. ‘You remember all those traitorous bastards we have incarcerated at Flossenberg – Canaris, and all those other subversives? I think I have at long last convinced the Führer that now would be a good time to deal with them, once and for all. If I can get his final approval then he will order their executions by the end of the first week in April.’ An evil smile slid over his features. ‘It will all be quite legal, and covered by the appropriate documentation. I think it would be an excellent idea to get rid of them at the same time, purge ourselves of this scum while at the same time concluding a deal with the West…or wiping the British and Americans off the face of the earth. Liaise with Amt II. I want to be sure that there are no problems when I present the Führer with their death warrants. See to it’.