The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

  The pain was still almost unbearable, but Simon slowly forced his head up degree by degree to meet Sammler’s gaze. He was greeted by a shower of saliva.

  ‘Not got much to say for such a self-important arse-licker, have you? Well, let me fill you in on some things that may have escaped your attention.’ Sammler puffed himself up. ‘The Reichsführer feels that the operation here could be run better, especially in the next few days when the great rocket offensive begins. Recent production has been most unsatisfactory. Also, factory discipline needs to be improved; it’s been far too lax of late. That’s why I’ve been appointed as commandant, effective as of today. My new rank is Standartenführer. How do you like that?’ He sneered. ‘Now you’ll take your orders from me, in what little time there’s left for you. As for this lump of shit’ – he pointed at the inert form of Hartmann – ‘he’s finished ancient history - just like you.’

  ‘Why are you bothering to tell me about all this?’ It was such an effort to speak.

  ‘Why?’ He laughed again. ‘I want you to go to your grave knowing that all your little plans have been uncovered.’ Sammler was enjoying his speech. ‘We know everything. It’s a little late now, but at last we’re getting to grips with all those closet traitors, flushing them out and giving them what they deserve. We should never have taken anybody into the SS who wasn’t committed to the Nationalist Socialist ideal from the beginning – certainly not those Luftwaffe morons after Kharkhov, and rejects from the Wehrmacht like the two of you. And how have you repaid us with that trust?’ Sammler spat at him again. ‘The Reichsführer has recently become concerned about the activities of one of his most trusted aides, someone at RSHA. He told me that there has been some very suspicious goings on -unauthorised contacts with the enemy, and so on. He’s not absolutely sure of this traitor’s identity, but at this stage of the war he can afford to take a few liberties with evidence. And he’s now convinced that somewhere at the bottom of it all is your dirty face.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Come on, Simon, don’t be a dummy,’ Sammler scoffed airily. ‘Even a tosser like you can’t be that stupid. Someone at Flossenberg got a communication off to RSHA this morning. You’re a wanted man. Killing a camp commandant and a loyal SS officer are fairly serious offences. Mix in high treason, and that’s an automatic one-way trip to a meat hook, with a little entertainment thrown in before you go. We’ve been checking - any known contact you’ve made recently is being taken in for questioning. That’s why we’ve been having this extended chat with your friend here, thanks to the loyal staff at the factory. We know that the two of you go way back, to your days in the Wehrmacht.’ Sammler grinned again. This was all highly enjoyable. ‘Shame about your father, isn’t it. But he’s met the same fate as that shriveled up old cunt Canaris. Like I said before, we’re finally dealing with the Reich’s riff-raff, once and for all. And now it’s your turn.’ He raised the Luger.

  How much time was left?. ‘I wouldn’t do that just yet, old boy.’ Simon was looking at death again. This time it amazed him how calm he felt.

  ‘Oh, and why not?’ Sammler knew he held all the cards. There was nothing to stop him. Total victory lay in his grasp.

  ‘The enemy is almost here. I saw them land a parachute force on my way here from Flossenberg. They’re no more than an hour away, at the latest.’

  The pistol wavered in Sammler’s grasp. For the first time doubt showed on his face, as well as a tinge of fear. But not for long.

  ‘Bollocks.’ Sammler stepped closer and slapped him hard across the face. ‘You’re just trying to buy more time. But just in case you’re telling the truth – Muller!’

  ‘Yes sir.’ The man on his left took his eyes off Simon and turned towards his leader.

  ‘Nip outside and find out if any of this is true. Gerhardt can help me deal with this little shit here.’

  Muller grabbed his coat and exited the office quickly. Sammler watched him go then turned back. ‘I think we’ll start off with your joints,’ he began casually, enjoying himself immensely. ‘Where would you like it? Knees, elbows and wrists in that order? Or shall we vary it, just to keep you guessing? And don’t worry I’ve got plenty of ammunition.’ He made a show of patting his jacket pockets. ‘Any last requests? Anything you’d like me to pass on to a loved one? I’d like to -’.

  The sound was deafening in the small room. A red hole blossomed in Sammler’s forehead. The far wall was smattered in a hideous pattern of blood and brains. Sammler’s body pitched backwards and onto the floor.

  Gerhardt gaped at the body of his commander lying spread-eagled on the floor in amazement – and for a split second too long. The gun boomed again, then once more. Simon twisted around in his chair. The swollen, distorted face of his friend winked up at him, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

  ‘That bastard liked the sound of his own voice a little too much, I think…’ Hartmann grinned then groaned in pain. ‘For Christ’s sake, man – help me up.’

  Simon ignored his aching body and rushed over to help him. He had just enough time to help Hartmann upright and into his seat when there was a sudden commotion outside, followed by a fusillade of shots. Then the door was flung open, and Barbara staggered in, her hair disheveled, a bright red stain on the left side of her uniform. She had a PPK in her right hand. The muzzle started to move upwards.

  Hartmann’s pistol boomed out once more. His former secretary was thrown backwards, hitting the floor with a sodden thump, and then there was silence.

  Simon took a quick look outside. Barbara’s office was deserted. Nothing moved in the administration suite outside. On the floor lay Muller, a pool of blood oozing from his side. A few meters away lay the gaunt zebra-striped uniform of a camp inmate. The right arm was outstretched, grasping at the silenced pistol that Simon had given him only a few minutes before. It seemed like days ago now.

  Well, whoever he was, he’d always owe him a huge debt of gratitude. He must have followed him here, just in case…

  There was no time to lose. Simon limped back as fast as he could and helped Hartmann up on his feet.

  ‘… never really trusted her, you know. That’s why I kept a pistol taped to the underside of my desk - just in case there was trouble.’ Hartmann grimaced.

  ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘Yes…just about,’ His friend gasped. ‘What’s all this hurry?’

  ‘This factory’s about to go up big time, and we’ve got to get out of here before we go up with it.’ Simon eased his friend’s arm over his shoulder and got him moving. They staggered out, moving slowly towards the exit. He glanced at his watch. 1420. The factory gates were no more than three minutes away at a brisk walk, but Simon knew they’d never make it at this speed. His friend was moving far too slowly. Just then he spotted a trolley by the outer door of the suite. Someone had probably been using it to load files and distribute them wherever they were needed. He lost no time.

  Hartmann was bundled onto it in a flash, despite his protests. Simon swung the trolley around, out through the doorway and into Tunnel A, and pushed it as fast as he could. They careered down the tunnel, dodging mounds of equipment and sections of rockets awaiting assembly. Simon ignored the pain in his sides. His lungs were beginning to burn but that would be nothing if they were caught in side when the plastic explosive went off. The concussion and shock wave would smear their bodies flat in an instant, like jam spread thinly on a piece of bread.

  The mouth of the tunnel grew nearer. A great mass of figures in pyjama suits was blocking the way. They were pushing forward, trying to get out, but something was stopping them. Suddenly there were shouts, followed by a few blasts of automatic weapons, and then silence.

  With almost the last of his strength Simon pulled the trolley to a halt. He grabbed the pistol from Hartmann’s hand, fired two shots into the ceiling and pressed forward. The crowd parted instantaneously, like Moses commanding the Red Sea.

  A squad of guards was outside the main doors, f
acing inwards and blocking the exit, their weapons leveled at the mob. Half a dozen slave labourers lay on the ground, covered in blood, dying if not already dead. Simon pushed the trolley in front of him and halted in front of the guards. The sound of battle was near, only a kilometer away. The SS men gaped at him in amazement.

  ‘There’s no time to lose! The factory’s going to blow up any second now. Enemy agents have planted a bomb. They nearly killed the CO.’ He pointed at Hartmann’s bloodied and bruised body.

  ‘What about this lot?’ One of them pointed at the inmates. ‘We’re under orders to shoot them all in case of sabotage.

  Hartmann sat up and croaked. ‘New orders, Ludwig. I’m still your commanding officer - now get your men out of here on the double, and go help your comrades. You heard the Sturmbannführer. There’s a -’.

  A deep boom rumbled behind them, followed almost instantaneously by several more explosions. The ground shook. ‘Run!’ Simon screamed, pushing his friend away and to one side of the entrance.

  A roaring blast shook the side of the hill, followed by an enormous shock wave that slammed forwards and outwards, scattering both guards and prisoners like leaves in a storm. The pressure lifted the two of them off their feet, threw them forward, and then thumped them into the ground.

  A huge eruption of dirt and dust roared out of the tunnel entrance. High above them a black cloud poured high into the skies. The hillside was covered in smashed trees and debris where the explosions had blown upwards, toppling the camouflaged ventilation stacks and air vents and scattering them far and wide. The ground heaved again as several more blasts issued from deep inside the hill, and then all was quiet. Even the sounds of fighting had stopped – for the moment.

  Simon rolled over and turned to where his friend lay. One eye opened and looked at him. The battered face twisted into a tired grin. ‘That was cutting it a bit too bloody fine, if you ask me…What did you do? Get the wrong fuse? Or were you too busy lying down on the job again?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. As for lying down on the job- ‘. Simon glanced around. Most of the inmates were beginning to stir. Others lay unmoving, still concussed – or possibly worse. There was nothing he could do for them now. A few guards were groggily getting to their feet and staggering off, following the rail tracks away south. ‘Come on. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here.’

  He rose wearily to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting. In a moment he helped Hartmann up on his feet, and propping each other up they limped away, ignoring the scenes around them. Simon led them west, and slightly north – well away from what was left of the factory. The going was slow. Several times they had to stop and pick an easier way, or scramble slowly over felled trees and around large craters. The sounds of gunfire slowly eased off behind them. After about an hour and a half they reached the edge of the tree line.

  ‘I need a break,’ Hartmann gasped. Simon helped him sit down, easing him against the shelter of a large oak. It was getting cooler. He slipped off his greatcoat and wrapped it around his friend’s bruised chest and shoulders.

  ‘Thanks…You got here just in time. That bastard from RSHA took me by surprise. Barbara was in on it, no doubt – stupid bitch. She must have been communicating with Berlin all the time.’ Hartmann paused to get his breath. ‘They were trying to find out about you – where you’d been, who you were communicating with…I think they must have drawn a blank at the Panzer school and then tried here. Nice work with that bomb. Where did you plant it?’

  ‘In the fuel stores, next to the Bio-weapon labs. Bit of a stupid place to store such dangerous chemicals, don’t you think?’ Simon grinned. It was just as well. There would be little if anything left inside from an explosion in such a confined space.’

  Hartmann grunted. ‘Nothing to do with me. That little shit Ohlendorff wanted to make sure that anything explosive was hidden deep in the hillside – just in case the Allies got lucky, found out the factory’s location and slipped a bomb inside. Highly unlikely, a chance in a million – but not worth the risk.’ He stretched his aching arms. ‘Well, at least your timing was spot on. Another day or two and then all the bio-weapon warheads would have been ready to fly. I still can’t believe that Himmler would have been mad enough, and desperate enough, to use them.’

  ‘Well, at least my boss was convinced. That’s why he sent me here.’

  ‘So, who is he – that Schellenberg character, the one who signed the orders confirming your appointment?’

  ‘Yes. A man with a conscience, unlike so many who fought for Germany. I was never really sure of where his loyalties lay, but he came good in the end. Almost as brave as Admiral Canaris, the real brains behind the fight against Hitler.’ Simon paused for a moment. ‘I think Canaris will rest easy now.’

  ‘What happened at Flossenberg?’

  Simon looked away. In all the excitement he’d almost forgotten the pain. ‘I was too late,’ he said quietly. ‘Canaris was already dead. My father died during the breakout.’

  Hartmann was silent for a few minutes. He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry, Max. You’ve lost so much…Your wife, now your father. I hope those Nazi bastards get everything they deserve.’

  ‘They will, Harald. I’m sure of that. And here’s something to help cheer you up – Elke and the girls should be safe. I sent an agent to get them away from Magdeburg and bring them west. His instructions are to surrender them into Allied custody. They’ll be safe there – hopefully you should see them soon.’

  Hartmann breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, my friend. I’ve been worried about their safety for some time. I long suspected that Himmler kept watch on them, as leverage – to make sure I did my job the way he wanted it done. How did you know?’

  ‘My boss again. Somehow he got to know about how factory security was organized. That included keeping an eye on the men in charge, - a veiled threat against their families would keep them sweet. He passed the details on to me. My other boss helped out as well.’

  ‘Other boss? I don’t understand.’

  Simon smiled. ‘I’ve been working for British Counter-intelligence for some time now.’

  Hartmann’s jaw dropped – and not without some discomfort. He looked bewildered. ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘I’ll tell you all in due course. Right now, we have other things to worry about. Look over there.’ Simon pointed to the fields beyond the trees. A skirmish line of troops was moving closer, in their direction. ‘They’re either American or British, I think. They should be here in five minutes or so. I think we’d better move away from the tree line so that they can see we’re alone.’

  His friend instantly looked worried. ‘And what happens when they find out I was commandant of that factory? They’ll shoot me out of hand.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Harald. I have a favour or two that the head of MI6 owes me. I’ll testify on your behalf. The war’s over for us.’ He grinned. ‘Come on, let’s go and meet our new friends.’

  He hoisted Hartmann up to his feet. Together they moved slowly towards the open fields.

  Postscript

  Much of this novel is based on historical fact. The action at Korsun, the diverted train into Auschwitz, Canaris’ actions against the Nazis, Kurt Gerstein’s testimony, the death of Michael Wittman, the plot against Hitler, the rocket factory at Nordhausen, to name but a few – all of these are documented historical fact, and are well-known to students of military history. Equally so are the divisions amongst the Allies, the personalities and foibles of their senior political and military figures, and the bitter controversies that shaped Allied strategy from 1942 to the end of the war. Both the Germans and Japanese, as well as the Soviet Union, experimented in bacteriological warfare, as did the Allies. The only known use of these agents was during the German offensive in Southern Russia in the summer of 1942.

  The German lead in rocketry, far in advance of anything the British and Americans had achieved, was the basis of the post- war race between
Russia and America that led to Neil Armstrong setting down on the surface of the Moon in July 1969. The Germans had plans for further development of the V2 rocket program that did include a long distance ballistic missile, code- named ‘Amerika’. It never flew, as far as we know.

  Naturally, the main characters in this story are fictional, with the exception of the historical figures of Menzies, Schellenberg and Canaris, amongst many others. The purpose of this novel was to try my hand at writing a book, and, perhaps along the way, help bring back to the minds of my readers (if I am lucky enough to have this novel published) remembrance of the sacrifices and heroism of our predecessors, who fought for freedom and shaped the world we live in today.

  Someone once said that if we do not learn the lessons that history has taught us, then we are bound to repeat the mistakes of our forefathers. I would like to add to that the sure fact that the victors always write the history. These days we hear far too little about those who detested the evils of Nazism in Germany. Men like Admiral Canaris have not received the accolades and widespread recognition that they are overwhelmingly due. It is to the memory of men and women like him that this novel is dedicated.