The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

The smaller one checked his documents carefully for a few minutes, and then passed them over to his colleague. ‘See what I see, Hans? What do you think?’

  The taller one examined them minutely, and then grinned. ‘Yes, they’re good…Very good. Even the photo’s a good match.’ He looked back at Steele. ‘Almost. But you’re not Hartmann’. His voice took on a hard edge. ‘Who are you and where do you come from?’

  Steele was beginning to tire of all this. ‘My name’s unimportant, but you may have heard of these – MI6 and London?’

  The smile disappeared from the taller man’s face. Both men momentarily froze. He dropped his right hand towards his pocket, but he was too late. A muffled phut erupted from Steele’s greatcoat. A red hole blossomed in the Gestapo man’s throat, pitching him backwards onto the floor. The smaller man twisted into action, arcing around to face Steele. Both guns roared simultaneously. Steele winced as something hot burned across his left side. The shorter man fell backwards onto a settee, twitched a few times, and then gazed up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

  He moved across to where the taller man lay choking on the floor, his hands clutching at his neck. The carpet was sodden with red ooze. Blood was welling out between his fingers in great gobs, flooding his mouth as he gasped and strained for air. Steele leant down painfully and spoke in his ear. ‘How did you know the papers were fake?’ But the Gestapo man was beyond caring. His eyes began to roll up in his ashen face, and his hands fell away. A few more spurts of blood, and then nothing.

  Footsteps raced down the stairs. Steele rifled the dead men’s pockets, extracting car keys and wallets. He stood up, as quickly as the pain in his side allowed him to, and moved to close the door behind him.

  You don’t want to go in there.’ Frau Hartmann and her two daughters looked at him in a mixture of shock and horror.

  ‘Who are you?’

  He winced again. The pain in his side was a damned nuisance, but he had suffered worse. ‘As I said, a friend. I’m here to get you away to safety. You can’t stay here now, especially with what’s just happened.’ He could feel blood trickling down his left side.’ I could do with some hot water, a bandage and some strapping, if you’ve got any…’

  ‘Yes, of course… ‘ She rushed past him into the kitchen. He grinned at the two girls in their school uniforms and pigtails. No more than nine or ten. They looked at him with scared, suspicious eyes.

  Hartmann returned with a bowl of water, a towel and box full of dressings. He emptied the contents onto the small table in the hall, slid his coat off and opened his tunic. The left side of his vest was caked in blood. Quickly he lifted it up and off. A collective gasp came from Hartmann and her daughters. The skin over the left side of his ribcage was gouged and torn open along the track where the bullet had creased him. It looked much worse than it felt.

  ‘Here, let me help you. I’ve done this before.’ She soaked some dressings in water, and began to clean up the wound . He took a deep breath in – painful, but not the searing agony of a broken rib. Another inch and it could have been much worse.

  ‘Thanks.’ He grabbed a large dressing and pressed hard against the wound track. Some surgical tape held it in place. ‘Looks like you’ve done this before.’ He smiled at her.

  ‘Yes. Once or twice. I’ve had some nurse training at the local hospital.’ She still looked scared. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘Leave, and quickly. I don’t know if these two thugs are due to be relieved soon, but I’d rather not take the chance and wait to find out.’ He buttoned up his jacket, slipped the greatcoat back on and fished out the Volkswagen’s keys. ‘We’ll use their car as for as long we can. After that we may have to walk. We’re heading west -how well do you know the side roads around here?’

  ‘Reasonably well. Are you sure you’re fit to drive?’

  Steele grinned. ‘I’ll have to be. But you may need to help out.’ He turned to look at the girls. You haven’t yet introduced me…’

  ‘Katrina and Hannelore.’ She pointed at her daughters. ‘This is…’

  ‘Call me Johann.’ It was close enough. Steele moved to where they stood uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs. ‘No school today, girls.’ He smiled. ‘We’re going on a little car journey to the countryside, and later on we’ll go to see your father. OK?’ They nodded, still wary of this stranger.

  ‘Good. Let’s go. We’ve quite a drive ahead of us.’ With that he led the way out of the house and across the road to where the car was parked.

  Flossenberg Camp, 0815

  ‘So, Sturmbannführer Simon, this is from the Reichsführer himself?’

  Max Simon nodded. He was standing in the camp commandant’s office, a well-furnished room with a good view of the camp and the rolling hills and forest that surrounded it. Seated across the desk from him was a tall officer in the field- grey uniform of an SS Obersturmbannführer, one rank above Simon. He had introduced himself as Max Koegel, a hard, spare-looking man with a thin, mean face and piercing glance. A scar ran a jagged course along his left cheek. Koegel looked more like someone you might have the misfortune to bump into in a dark alley by the docks rather than a ranking senior SS officer. He studied the document again, and then looked back up at Simon.

  ‘I’m a little puzzled. Here you are, waving this piece of paper that bears the seal of the Reichsführer’s office, and his own signature to boot. And I’m supposed to obey without question anyone bearing this letter? Is that it?’ Another hard, searching glance.

  ‘Yes, Obersturmbannführer. I have been ordered to remove two of your prisoners for further interrogation purposes. The names are listed there.’

  ‘So you say. But why? They have already been interrogated here, at length. And most persuasively, I might add.’ Koegel sat up in his leather chair and looked suspiciously at Simon. ‘I cannot see why this is suddenly so important. What will further ‘special’ interrogation reveal?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I cannot answer that question as I do not know the full story behind the Reichsführer’s decision.’ Simon was worried. This was not going as smoothly as he had hoped. He decided to exert a little pressure. ‘However, with all due respect, sir, I don’t think the Reichsführer would look too kindly on anyone going against his wishes.’

  ‘Aha!’ Koegel smiled at him, but only his mouth smiled. Nothing reached his eyes. The effect was more like a grimace. ‘So now you tell me that I should simply mind my own business and follow everything Berlin sends me without question?’

  Simon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sir, I can only pass the message on and obey my orders.’

  ‘Of course.’ Koegel shrugged, glancing at his watch. ‘We must all obey orders, even when at times they make no sense.’ He paused for a moment, and then reached for the buzzer on his desk and pressed it. ‘But a little checking never did any harm.’

  A few moments later there was a knock on the door to the commandant’s office. It opened, and a young blond Untersturmführer marched in, came to a halt and braced to attention. Koegel barked at him.

  ‘Fritsch, get on the phone to Berlin now. I need to speak to somebody senior at once – preferably the Reichsführer himself, if he’s available, or Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner. As quick as you can.’

  The adjutant saluted and raced out of the room. Koegel gazed out of the window for a few minutes, taking in the view of the low hills of the Sudetenwald beyond. The occasional shout echoed up from the quarry, no doubt where an SS guard was berating one of the slave labourers, or worse…

  ‘I would not normally question your word as an SS officer, and for that you have my apologies.’ Koegel resumed. The words were spat out, almost distastefully. ‘But, as you must surely realize, these are difficult times…’

  ‘Yes sir. Indeed they are’.

  ‘The funny thing is, Sturmbannführer Simon, that I have already had a visitation from two senior officers from RSHA. There are on a mission directly authorized by the Reichsführer, just like you appear to be. It
seems that he wants to be finally rid of some troublesome individuals that are guests of ours.’ Koegel was watching him very carefully now. ‘These officers arrived here earlier this morning, somewhat ahead of schedule, I may add. Funnily enough, two of the men on their list have the same names as the two you’re interested in.’ Simon’s heart lurched. He tried not to show any reaction, but inside he was sick with worry. Was he too late? Had the executions already been carried out?

  Koegel smiled again. There was something in Simon’s reaction that had caught his eye. ‘Bad news, perhaps?’ He paused. ‘It’s perhaps a coincidence that one of the prisoners has the same surname as you, eh?’

  ‘That may well be, Obersturmbannführer. But that’s entirely coincidental. No relation whatsoever.’ He was beginning to sweat freely under the camp commandant’s close scrutiny. But there was one last thing he could try. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of this, sir, but there’s something else you should consider.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘The Americans will soon be here.’ The change in Koegel’s self-assured pose was dramatic. .

  ‘What?’ Suddenly he looked alarmed and shocked. ‘What kind of treasonable, defeatist talk is this?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort, sir.’ Simon needed to press his luck as far as it would go. ‘You may not be aware of this, but the Americans have crossed the Rhine and the Main Rivers and are now rapidly moving east. The Panzer school where I’ve just come from is preparing for all round defence, even as we speak. I would have arrived here earlier, but we had to take several detours to avoid contact with enemy reconnaissance units.’ None of this was true, but it couldn’t be long before the Americans penetrated the area - no more than a day or two. Simon was banking on the fact that Koegel would be unaware of this, being stuck in an out-of-the-way camp with little contact with the outside world. RSHA was a long way away…

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘Yes, Obersturmbannführer. I’m not exaggerating. I received my orders from RSHA yesterday evening. They were in no doubt as to the deteriorating situation.’ He paused, weighing up the odds. ‘This probably explains why the Reichsführer issued these orders to me. I would imagine that they supersede any instructions these officers have recently received. It appears that the situation has changed rapidly. Do you really want to risk going against his wishes?’

  Koegel looked worried for the first time.

  ‘No. Perhaps…’

  It was time for the trump card, the killer blow. ‘There is one more thing you should consider, sir.’ He struck home. ‘I don’t think the Americans will look kindly on anybody found in charge of a camp – a camp like this.’

  Simon let the words sink in. The man in front of him was obviously not a real soldier, just some rear echelon thug in a uniform. He doubted that Koegel would have any real courage in a tight spot. There was a flicker of fear in Koegel’s eyes. Good.

  Just then there was a knock on the door. ‘Yes?’

  Fritsch entered and saluted, addressing Koegel. ‘I’m sorry sir, but we can’t get through to Berlin. All the telephone lines are down. The radio is unable to pick up anything – nothing but static.’

  Koegel appeared distracted, his mind elsewhere. After a while he finally spoke. ‘I see. Keep trying’, he said mechanically, then stood up and addressed Simon. ‘We’d better go and see how they’re getting on - if it’s not too late,’ he muttered. ‘Follow me.’

  They were in a small courtyard at one end of the camp, not far from the main gate. The sight that greeted him almost made Simon stagger with shock and disgust, but even so he could not look away. The diminutive, emaciated figure above him swung idly in the cold breeze. The naked body was emaciated and badly bruised, but it was the angle of the head and blackened face that told him he was too late. The admiral had been viciously strung up from a meat hook that was crudely attached to a gallows. There were several other bodies stacked in a heap nearby – all lifeless, some of them horribly mutilated and disfigured.

  One of the guards marched up to Koegel and saluted smartly. ‘Just a few more, sir, and then we’ve finished. I-‘

  Koegel cut him off. ’Is that Canaris?’ He pointed at the suspended body.

  ‘Yes sir.’ The guard had a brutal , rough face. ‘The old bastard took some time to die, probably the longest of all of them so far.’ He grinned. ‘But we made sure it was nice and slow. Took over an hour for him to croak – just as the orders said to.’ The guard seemed pleased that he had obeyed his instructions to the letter.

  ‘Who’s left?’ There was a new-found urgency in Koegel’s question.

  ‘That fairy Bonhoeffer. Also, Canaris’ mate, Simon. We’re just about to get them, Obersturmbannführer.’

  Koegel turned to Simon. ‘Well, it appears that you’re too late for one of them. But at least we can save your namesake.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. You’ll have to tell the Reichsführer that the mistake was unavoidable, thanks to these conflicting orders. But you can’t have Bonhoeffer. He’s ours, and besides his name is not one of the two on your list.’

  Simon forced himself to look away from the scene of death. He felt sick to his soul. All the old Admiral’s courage and integrity had not been able to save him from this grisly end. A feeling of rage and helplessness almost consumed him, but he knew that his mission was still not over.He steeled himself to keep his voice normal.

  ‘I hope, Obersturmbannführer, that for your sake Himmler will take a reasonable view on this. But I doubt it. He does not like to be disappointed, no matter what the reason. You’d better show me where you have Oberst Simon locked up. I hope he is in a reasonable state.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out. Reichel – ‘.

  The guard braced to attention. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Tell those two gentlemen over there from RSHA that we’ll be back in a moment with the last of them.’ Koegel pointed to the far corner of the execution yard where the two stood. ‘Then send one of your men over to me. We’ll be at the cell block. Understood?’

  ‘Zu befehl, Obersturmbannführer!’ He saluted and hurried off.

  The cell block was a dirty grey concrete pile that oozed a vile mixture of sweat, terror and pain. The smell was awful, as if a million rotting corpses were stacked inside its walls. The young Sturmmann that Reichel had sent led the way. All the usual guards were back in the courtyard, enjoying the agonies of the prisoners they had guarded up until now. The door to the last cell along the ground floor was unlocked and opened. Slumped in the far corner was what was left of a man who had once been powerfully built, but was now a shadow of his former self – skeletal, bruised, matted in filth, and clothed in the usual zebra-striped garb common to all those who had displeased the masters of the Reich. Simon’s heart sank at the pitiful remnants of his father, but thank God he was still alive – the head moved, one of his eyes slowly opened and focused on the new arrivals.

  ‘On your feet, scum!’ The young soldier stepped forward and aimed a vicious kick at the legs stretched out on the dirty floor. It was the last time he would inflict any more pain. Simon’s bullet caught him across his spine, lifted him up for a moment, and then slammed him into the far wall. The silenced pistol made very little sound in the confines of the cell.

  Koegel turned towards him, a look of surprise and shock across his features. The Luger was pointing at the centre of his chest.

  ‘You heartless piece of shit!’ Simon stepped forward and kicked him hard in the stomach. All the pent-up rage and disgust had made him see red. The commandant jack-knifed almost in two, slumping to his knees and gasping in pain, his hands clutching at the area where the boot had slammed into him. Slowly, very slowly he began to straighten up, climbing centimeter by centimeter from the pit of pain that threatened to drown him.

  Simon risked a quick look at his father. The sight tore at his heart. His nose was broken, and the left side of his face was matted with dried blood. The right eye was closed up, and there was a mass of purple bruisin
g around the jaw and neck. Beyond that, there was little to see apart from blood-stained hands and feet. Could he walk?

  Koegel finally stood straight, his breathing still labored. A look of vicious hatred flashed across his face. ‘You’ll hang for this, Simon,’ he gasped. ‘You traitorous scum…’

  Max stepped forward and thrust the muzzle of the pistol hard under Koegel’s chin. The pressure rammed his head back. At the same time he deftly relieved Koegel of his pistol. ‘Maybe, but not just yet. In the meantime, you’re going to help me get this man up and out of here, just like that bastard Himmler wants. So if you want to live a pain-free existence, you’d better start cooperating – right now. Otherwise, it’s a bullet in both knee-caps and no cock and balls for starters. That would be a lot of fun, don’t you think?’ He pressed the gun in much harder. ‘Your choice.’

  Koegel gasped in pain. ‘Yes…OK, I’ll do what you say. Just take that gun off me.’

  Simon stepped back, all the while keeping the pistol trained on the commandant. ‘Get on with it. Be as gentle with him as if he was your father. Move’.

  Almost there. They were nearing the Kubelwagen, parked just inside the main gates of the camp. He’d left Hofheinz in charge of the vehicle and in reserve, just in case there was trouble. The aim of the exercise had been to get in and out as fast as possible, bluffing his way past camp security using the power of the forged document. His father was half-dragged, half carried by a very reluctant Koegel, with Simon’s pistol dug into the small of the SS officer’s back - as a gentle reminder.

  ‘Stop here’. Simon halted them at the corner of the last blockhouse, at the intersection of one of the main paths that traversed the camp. He risked a quick look to his right – nothing but endless rows of low-roofed buildings that housed the inmates. Far off, a few prisoners were being marched away, probably towards the quarry. To his left, about a hundred meters away were the camp gates, heavily protected by barbed wire. They were closed, unsurprisingly. Two or three guards stood close by the guard post on the other side. Above them a sentry in a watch-tower with a machine-gun looked out over the entrance. The gun pointed inwards, in their direction.