‘How’s it going, Charlie?’
‘Bit of a bastard…’ Hofheinz grunted in reply, breathing heavily. There was a brief screech of metal on metal. ‘There… you sodding little bugger’, he panted, holding up a rusty wheel bolt so that Simon could see the cause of the delay. ‘This was the one that was causing all the problem. Some sloppy arse of a mechanic hasn’t been doing his maintenance checks properly, but that’s what we have to work with these days.’ He grinned, despite his tiredness. ‘Don’t worry. The rest should be a piece of cake. Only two more to go…’
‘Need a hand?’
‘No, Max. You keep an eye out on the road, just in case some awkward sod decides to drive up and investigate. I can manage the rest…’ Hofheinz bent down to apply his not inconsiderable brawn to the next reluctant bolt.
Simon moved over to the belt of trees, looking up and down the rutted, muddy forest track that ran away into the near distance. There was nothing to see or hear, not even birdsong. The silence was all-enclosing. Hofheinz’s grunts and muttered curses were clearly heard from where he remained hidden in the trees. He’d never been to this part of the Reich before, but in his experience the woods should be teeming with wildlife, and especially birds. Was it the same sort of silence he witnessed when that train was accidentally diverted into Auschwitz? He shuddered. His father and Canaris were close, and he hoped to God they were still alive. No doubt the rockets back at the underground factory were important, but his first mission, as far as he saw it, was to save his father and the old admiral. Once that was achieved, then he could concentrate on derailing Himmler’s madness and saving Germany from ruinous destruction…
He cast his mind back to the events of yesterday and the increasing anxiety of the last few days. Communications from the Panzer school to Berlin had become increasingly difficult if not damn near impossible, with only intermittent contact available at odd, unpredictable times - and then for only a few minutes at best. It was hardly surprising. Large sections of the country were now in enemy hands, and the rest was being bombed mercilessly, even now. The telephone systems were only functioning at a fraction of their capacity and the enemy dominated radio transmissions with its own, flooding large sections of the airwaves with coded signals and deliberate jamming. It was almost impossible to get through to anybody, let alone wherever RSHA was now. Despite this, Simon had expected Schellenberg to be in contact earlier in the week, but as each day passed there was nothing. What was he to do? Time was running out, and nobody was entirely certain how close the Allies were. He’d already formed a tentative plan in his mind, but that very much depended on any last minute information the Brigadeführer might be able to give him.
Then yesterday evening everything changed. The SS General arrived unannounced at the Panzer school in the early evening, as darkness closed in. Simon met him on the barracks square, a few meters away from his staff car. He clearly looked harassed. Once they were alone and out of earshot he briefed Simon at top speed.
‘I apologise for not being in contact before, but…well, everything’s in a complete mess. Communications have been badly interrupted by the enemy. It’s no longer safe to drive in daylight.’ Schellenberg wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. ‘We had a couple of very close shaves on the way down, similar to that little episode we had in the Harz last month. Listen carefully. There’s a lot to take in, and I haven’t much time.’
With that he launched into a rapid update on events in Berlin, and what he thought was happening elsewhere. ‘Himmler has ordered me to come down here and check that the Kohnstein complex is ready to fire the rockets. He knows time is pressing, and the Allies are not far away. The Russians will attack Berlin in the next ten days, and if he’s going to act it will be imminent. I’m to fly to Stockholm tomorrow and directly negotiate with the Western Allied representatives…but I think it will be a complete waste of time. How are things at the factory?’
‘That’s hard to say, sir. The area is being heavily bombed, and it’s too dangerous to get near to at present. But as far as I know, it’s still working satisfactorily.’
‘Good…or rather, bad. I was hoping that a lucky bomb might have finished off our work for us. I’m supposed to give it a final tour of inspection before I fly to Sweden.’
Simon shrugged. ‘That’s up to you, sir, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The roads are too dangerous’.
‘But what about you?’ Schellenberg looked concerned. ‘Can you get in? Will you be able to derail the planned launch? I presume you have the necessary equipment?’
Simon nodded. ‘Yes, I have what I need. As for getting in, they can’t bomb it twenty four hours a day. I’m sure I’ll find a way.’
‘I hope so. But I want you to move quickly. There’s little time to waste. And there’s something else you’re going to have to do. Tonight.’
Simon thought he knew the answer to this. ‘Flossenberg?’
‘Yes.’ Schellenberg looked grim. ‘Himmler has finally received permission to do away with those he really hates. Among them are your father and Canaris, naturally. Hitler has signed the paperwork and apparently everything has been taken care of. There are two legally qualified SS officers in RSHA that have been appointed to check all the paperwork, then drive down from Berlin and oversee the executions. They were supposed to leave yesterday, but a few last minute obstacles have delayed their departure. I had a hand in those.’ He sighed. ’It was the best I could do. As far as I know they are scheduled to arrive at 0900 tomorrow morning, and the sentences will be carried out shortly afterwards.’
He looked unhappy. For the first time that Simon could recall, Schellenberg looked almost guilty. ‘I’m sorry I could not have done more,’ the general said,’ but it’s the best I can do under these circumstances. You have about twelve hours to come up with a plan, get in there, rescue them and get out again before the party from Berlin arrives.’
‘That’s precious little notice,’ Simon snorted in exasperation. ‘Christ, how the hell am I going to be able to do this? I’m going to need people I can trust, trucks, weapons, ammunition, a plan of the camp…if I ‘m going to break in there and batter my way out by force, and hopefully without getting everyone killed in the process.’
‘I know. I’ve given this some thought on the way down. I don’t think force is the best way to accomplish this. Before I left I managed to come up with something that should help, something much better than your own private army.’ Schellenberg pulled an envelope from an inside pocket of his leather great-coat. ‘Read what this says.’
Simon slipped two folded sheets of foolscap from inside the envelope. Both letters were printed on embossed paper, with the watermark and headings of Himmler’s personal office at RSHA. Each specifically named him, Sturmbannfuhrer Max Simon. The first letter granted him unlimited powers within any area of Reich internal security, and in particular to remove the two named prisoners from custody for the purposes of ‘special treatment’. It was dated today, the 7th of April, and superceded any prior orders from that office. The second letter required any and everybody to assist the bearer in any activity deemed necessary for the Reich’s final victory, no matter what the price. It was a carte blanche get out of jail card, if ever there was one.
‘The first letter should get you in, without any questions asked. Using this you should be able to get Canaris and your father out before the lawyers from RSHA arrive. The second letter you may find useful, should someone doubt your authority. My recommendation would be to take only those you can trust, and to get in and out as quickly as possible before the alarm goes up. You’ll need to move quickly.’
Simon nodded. Suddenly a plan was falling quickly into place. ‘How did you manage to get hold of these?’
Schellenberg grinned for the first time. ‘I still have a few resources that the Reichsführer does not know about.’ He tapped his nose. ‘You may not appreciate it, but the signature is a particularly fine piece of forgery. Not by my fair hand, but somebody I know. Get
ting access to Himmler’s locked drawers was a bit more difficult, but nothing is impossible if you are sufficiently determined…’
The Brigadeführer turned to leave. ‘If what you say is true about the bombing, then I’d best leave now. It’s dangerous enough driving at night, but I have to be at Oranienburg airfield early tomorrow for the flight to Stockholm, and it’s a long drive.’ He offered his hand. ‘I’m afraid this is goodbye, Max. I’m glad to have known you, and I wish you well, especially in what you need to do in the next twenty four hours.’
Simon shook his hand. Schellenberg continued. ‘It always seems that I’m giving you difficult, if not impossible missions to carry out. This is the last time, I think. It seems unlikely we’ll meet again. Good luck. ‘
‘Thank you. What will you do?’
‘Probably seek internment from the Swedes, once my diplomacy fails, as it’s bound to do. I can’t see the Allies chucking in the towel at this stage of the war, no matter what Himmler may throw at them. Besides, my fiancé is already there. I got her out a few weeks ago.’
Simon nodded. ‘There’s one thing you never told me – why do all this in the first place? Why risk everything, especially for a man in your position? It must have been very dangerous.’
‘Danger? Yes, sometimes,’ Schellenberg nodded. ‘But a general can’t always hide behind his rank and let others get their hands dirty. I would like to be able to look in the mirror and recognize myself staring back, and not someone who didn’t have the guts to do something about all this we’re caught up in… Besides, the only person I ever spoke to, about how I really felt about the war and the way our country was going, was the Admiral himself. And I don’t think he ever quite believed me.’ Schellenberg chuckled deprecatingly for a moment and then grew serious again. ‘No, I’m no hero. I’ve done what I can. If there’s anyone who deserves that title then it’s Canaris and others like him.’ He sighed heavily, and was silent for a few moments. ‘I used to know a couple of girls quite a few years back. Anna and Margareta. They were identical twins, bewitching, enchantingly beautiful, vivacious, all the best things a woman can be. I never was entirely sure which one was which – they used to dress identically. It was all part of their little game. The only time you could ever be entirely sure was when you undressed them – Anna had a small mole on her left breast. And I loved them both…then the day came when they were taken away in those trains that went East and never returned.’ He stood quietly for a few minutes, his face in shadow. ‘They were gone before I realised, before I could do anything about it, but that’s no excuse. Could I have saved them?’ He shrugged in the darkness. ‘Probably not. But in the end I did nothing to stop it…’ A hint of disgust crept into his voice. ‘Maybe that’s the real reason, a bad conscience. It’s something I can never forget.’
The image of the woman and her children in the line that led to the gas chamber at Auschwitz suddenly flashed into Simon’s memory. No, there was nothing he could have done at the time, but that didn’t make the memory less real, less painful. Maybe it was the same for Schellenberg.
Hofheinz’s grunt brought back to the present. ‘All done. The spare’s on.’
Simon turned away from the road and moved back to where the Kubelwagen stood, now back on four wheels. He took a deep breath. ‘OK, Charlie, let’s get this over with.’
Barby, Magdeburg 0745
The derelict gästhaus stood at the corner of an intersection. Steele had left his shelter in a bombed-out house before the sun had come up, and was now sheltering behind a large oak that stood in the grounds of what used to be a small hotel. In the early morning light, the suburb appeared almost completely normal – a few pedestrians, the usual signs of life, nothing too much out of the ordinary. Only the fogged up windows of the Volkswagen parked across the street indicated the presence of any unusual activity.
From where he stood there was a clear view in all directions. There were no other watchers, as far as he could tell. But it might not be too long before the day shift turned up, perhaps with reinforcements. Two he could handle – beyond that, things might get more complicated. It was a risk he was unwilling to take. He looked at his watch. OK - now was the time. The girls would be up and getting ready for school. The occupants of the car would probably still be bleary and tired from a cold and uncomfortable night. He knew just how they felt. He’d spent many a night on similar stake-outs, and the one thing he had never succeeded in doing was getting a decent few hours’ kip in a car. Far too uncomfortable, even with the seats reclined as far as back as they could go.
A blustery wind ruffled the bare branches of the tree above him. He shivered involuntarily, despite the heavy overcoat. Steele briefly cast his mind back to the events of the last few days. The briefing in Berlin had been routine. His contact had supplied him with an address, new rank badges and paperwork to go with it, hair dye to help match his looks to the photo on the ID card - enough to get through any documentation check. It had worked well – nobody had dared to question an SS Standartenführer on the numerous checkpoints he had passed through on the way here. The photo was barely looked at. Just a respectful ‘Heil Hitler’ and he was on his way. This was the final stage, the tricky bit. He had been warned there might be surveillance, but he could take care of that. As long as there weren’t too many of them…
He straightened his cap, slid out from the cover of the tree and walked up to the intersection, glancing casually at the parked car. No movement as yet. He crossed over, walked a few more meters and then turned right and up the garden path towards the front door. Thankfully this one had been spared from the horrors of the bombing campaign against the Reich. The garden was neat and tidy and the house looked well-cared for, at least from the outside.
He knocked on the front door and waited. Somebody had rubbed clear part of the Volkswagen’s windscreen, but he still could not make out how many were inside. The door opened. An attractive blonde in her early forties looked out at him.
‘Yes? Who are you?’ There was a hint of fear behind the green eyes.
‘I’m sorry to bother you at such an early hour, ma’am. My name is Standartenführer Akkermann. I’m from RSHA. It’s about your husband. May I come in?’
‘Oh my god…What’s happened? Is he alright?’
‘Yes, ma’am. He’s fine.’ Steele put on his best, most reassuring smile. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. But I need to speak to you urgently – inside, as quick as you can.’ His voice dropped. ‘We’re being watched.’
‘Of course…’ Her eyes flickered over his shoulder, across the street. ‘Come in.’
There was a small porch that led into a hallway. She led the way through into an open-plan lounge, with a dining area at the far end. He could hear the sound of light footsteps racing around upstairs. She turned to face him, a mingled look of anxiety and query on her face, but he gave her no chance.
‘Quick – there’s not much time.’ He slipped forward to stand behind the drawn curtains, careful not to move them. A glance out told him all he needed to know. The doors of the Volkswagen were opening. He turned back to her. ‘OK. Here’s what you need to do – go upstairs immediately and pack, and don’t hang about. Same goes for the children. A small suitcase each – no more. You know you’re being watched?’
‘Ye – yes,’ she quavered. ‘Who are they?’
‘Gestapo, or some Sicherheitsdienst goons. It doesn’t matter which. How long have they been watching you?’
She gasped. ‘I’m not sure - months, I think. There’s always somebody who keeps watching the house, following me around. The Kriminalpolizei say it’s nothing to do with them, and told me to stop asking questions – for my own good. Why are they here? We’ve done nothing wrong. ’
‘I’m sure. But it’s not you they’re really after – it’s your husband.’ He took another quick glance. Two bulky figures in hats and leather trench coats were approaching from across the street. ‘You have to move now,’ he grated urgently. ‘I’m a friend
. Believe me - this house is no longer safe for you and your daughters. I’m here to get you to a place of safety. Besides, it won’t be long before the Russians get here, and you really don’t want that experience.’ She suddenly looked very frightened. Her husband must have told her about the Eastern Front. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll deal with these thugs. Now go!’
She nodded, suddenly turned and fled upstairs, just in time. A few moments later and there was a heavy knock on the front door. Steele took a deep breath, walked back to the porch and opened the front door. ‘Akkermann’ was now consigned to the rubbish bin, at least for the moment. The new disguise and false papers would just have to do. He opened the door.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. May I help you?’
‘Kohl, ‘stapo.’ The shorter one grunted out of the slash that was his mouth. There was a quick flash of some form of ID. ‘Are you Hartmann?’
‘Standartenführer Hartmann, if you don’t mind. Come in’. Steele led the way into the lounge. No guns were visible as yet. He turned to face them. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the factory in Nordhausen. Gone AWOL, have we?’ He smirked nastily.
Steele smiled back, without a care in the world. ‘No, gentlemen. A loyal officer of the Reich would never desert his post. Especially now in our time of greatest need. Naturally, I have permission from the Reichsführer himself.’ His left hand eased slowly towards the lapel of his open greatcoat. ‘May I?’
The taller Gestapo man’s hand slid towards his coat pocket. ‘Nice and slowly, Hartmann. No sudden moves .’
Steele kept smiling. He slowly pulled out his papers and handed them over. The other two watched him very carefully. ‘My ID, and something else you may find interesting’.
The Fall of the Father Land Page 23
