Secret Honor

by W. E. B Griffin

  A casket covered with a Nazi flag was on each trailer.

  The officers raised their swords in salute as each casket passed.

  The next shot showed the mourners and dignitaries following the caskets, headed by General Galland.

  “Major von Wachtstein is the fellow walking with Hauptmann Grüner, the two young Luftwaffe officers,” Cranz said. “Behind them, the chubby fellow is Gradny-Sawz, and the SS officer is Sturmbannführer Werner von Tresmarck, our man in Uruguay.”

  “I know the Austrian and von Tresmarck,” Himmler said.

  The next shot showed the procession moving through the gates of the cemetery. There were close-ups of von Wachtstein, Grüner, von Tresmarck, and Gradny-Sawz. Next came a shot of the Horst Wessel Monument, with the camera moving down it to reveal the caskets, now poised above the empty graves. The mourners and dignitaries were lined up at the head of the grave.

  Two clergymen appeared, one in Army uniform, the other in the vestments of a Catholic priest. Though there was no sound track, it was obvious that both were performing funeral rites.

  They were followed by two officers, first an Army generalmajor and then a Waffen-SS SS-Brigadeführer. They each delivered a brief eulogy, followed by the rendering of the Nazi salute.

  There were more close-ups of the faces of von Wachtstein, Grüner, von Tresmarck, and Gradny-Sawz.

  The next shot was of a small battery of 57-mm antitank cannon, which fired a salute. Then came a shot of the troops and the mourners—with the camera lingering a moment on each of their faces—and the dignitaries rendering the Nazi salute as the flags were removed from the caskets, and the caskets being lowered into the ground.

  This dissolved into a shot of Adolf Hitler, wearing his Iron Cross First Class, rendering the Nazi salute, and then the screen went white.

  “Interesting,” Himmler said, and then raised his voice slightly. “I’d like to see it again, Stabsscharführer. I am particularly interested in the faces of the mourners. Can you stop the film, or run it slowly, when those appear?”

  “May I suggest, Herr Reichsprotektor, that I put the film in a still projector? There is a risk that the film might be damaged if I ‘hold’ too long in the motion picture projector.”

  “Then do that,” Himmler said. “And tell the supply officer I want a motion picture projector in here that I can have stopped when I want it stopped without ruining the film.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor. It will take me just a second, Sir.”

  Himmler picked up the pad of paper and scrawled on it. “I am making a note to myself, Karl, about the Horst Wessel Monument. I don’t think it’s quite what it should be. Maybe Speer will have some ideas.”

  “I thought it was very impressive, Herr Reichsprotektor.”

  “Not impressive enough,” Himmler said flatly.

  There was a blur of images on the screen, and then the screen was full of a close-up of Hauptmann Grüner.

  The Stabsscharführer appeared with a small box connected to a cable. “With your permission, Herr Reichsprotektor,” he said, handing it to Himmler. “The top button moves the film rapidly backward; the button below, backward, one frame at a time. The next button moves the film forward, one frame at a time, and the lower button forward rapidly.”

  “Thank you, Stabsscharführer,” Himmler said, and began to experiment with the switch. He spent ten minutes looking at the close-ups, and then raised his voice: “How do I turn the projector off?”

  The screen went blank and the lights came on.

  “All right, Karl, tell me what you saw in the faces.”

  “Of the three, von Tresmarck, in my judgment, Herr Reichsprotektor, looked most nervous. Gradny-Sawz slightly less nervous, and von Wachtstein least nervous of all.”

  “Nervousness, or guilt?”

  “There was, I thought, some guilt on the face of von Wachtstein.”

  “And to what do you attribute the guilt?”

  “In my judgment, Herr Reichsprotektor, I felt that he holds himself responsible for the death of Oberst Grüner.”

  “You think he’s our traitor, then?” Himmler asked evenly.

  “No, Sir. What I meant to say is that he and Hauptmann Grüner are close friends, and he was—for lack of a better word—feeling guilty that his friend’s father had died in his company; that he had not been able to prevent it from happening, that he had somehow failed his friend.”

  “Not because he was responsible for telling the Americans where the landing was to be made?”

  “After speaking with Kapitän de Banderano—”

  “Who? Oh, the captain of the Spanish ship?”

  “Yes, Sir. Kapitän de Banderano said that he was present on the ship when von Wachtstein learned from Goltz where the landing would be made, and that at the time, Goltz made reference to its being time for von Wachtstein to learn. He said that it would have been absolutely impossible for von Wachtstein to communicate with anyone on shore after he had the information. And he painted quite a picture of von Wachtstein’s courage under fire on the beach itself.”

  “I have to tell you, Karl, that I was surprised a moment ago when you said you thought von Wachtstein held himself responsible. I watched his face very carefully. That was not the face of a man who had anything shameful to hide. I could tell by the eyes, the lip movement…even the way he held his shoulders.”

  “Everything I have been able to learn about him makes the idea of treason sound unreasonable. General Galland thinks so highly of him that he will go to the Führer if necessary to have him assigned to the ME-262 project. And he is a close friend of Oberstleutnant von Stauffenberg.”

  “Who?”

  “Oberstleutnant Graf Claus von Stauffenberg, Herr Reichsprotektor. Who was severely wounded in Africa, nearly blinded, and who refused painkilling drugs in the belief they would slow his recovery.”

  “I heard about von Stauffenberg,” Himmler said. “Anything else on von Wachtstein?”

  “Well, we have a lady, using the word loosely, in Galland’s circle. She got him drunk—”

  “A man who has secrets would think long and hard before abusing alcohol, wouldn’t you say, Karl?”

  “With that in mind, Herr Reichsprotektor, the lady—her name is Trudi—made sure he got drunk.”

  “How? Prurient curiosity overwhelms me.”

  “One pours cognac in a wide-mouthed jar, or a measuring cup, something on that order. Then it is placed in a freezer for however long it takes to bring the temperature of the cognac below zero. The cognac does not freeze because of the alcohol, you see. Then you drop a chip of ice into the jar. The water in the alcohol/water mixture is attracted to the chip of ice and adheres to it. The ice chip is then removed. This is done several times. Eventually, the remaining liquid has a much higher percentage of alcohol. One drink equals two or three.”

  “And you can’t taste the difference?” Himmler asked.

  “If one’s first drink is ordinary cognac, one might notice a slight change….”

  “You obviously have put this to a personal test, have you, Karl?”

  “In the line of duty, of course, Herr Reichsprotektor. After the first drink of the special cognac, one cannot tell the difference.”

  “And what did Trudi learn from von Wachtstein?”

  “That he was very upset by the injuries suffered by Graf von Stauffenberg, and that he had been present when Oberst Grüner was killed.”

  “Huh,” Himmler said.

  “And also that even great amounts of alcohol in his system did not adversely affect his…romantic capabilities. I got the impression Trudi rather liked him.”

  “And what did we learn about Gradny-Sawz?”

  “That he had a lockbox in the Credit Anstalt bank in Vienna we had not previously known about, in whi
ch he apparently kept what was left of the family jewels. He apparently plans to take them with him to Buenos Aires. If he returns to Buenos Aires.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “The same sort of thing he does in Buenos Aires, ladies of the evening. Nothing extraordinary.”

  “And von Tresmarck?”

  “Although temptation was placed in his path, he went to bed with neither male nor female. Neither did he drink to excess at any time—hardly at all, as a matter of fact.”

  “From which you infer?”

  “I don’t know what to infer, Herr Reichsprotektor. Von Tresmarck is SS, so he would assume that he’s being watched. That doesn’t necessarily mean he sold out to the Americans. And doing so, I think, would be illogical. He is not in a concentration camp with a pink triangle on his jacket; he is making money. And from what we have heard from Montevideo, he has his friends there.”

  “Keep on,” Himmler said.

  “I think we can assume that von Wachtstein didn’t know the details of the landing. Goltz said so. And he is a junior officer, so I think Goltz would not have told him. Gradny-Sawz, on the other hand, is the number two in the Buenos Aires Embassy. Though he says he didn’t, he could have known the details of the landing. Even more likely, I think, is that Goltz did confide the details to von Tresmarck, perhaps accidentally. Von Tresmarck’s position is that he knew nothing about the special shipment except that it was coming. And I get back to why would selling out be in his best interests?”

  “To guarantee him refuge should we lose the war,” Himmler said. “Men like that are dangerous.” He chuckled. “They think like women.”

  “The same thing would apply to Gradny-Sawz, and we know he is willing to turn traitor,” Cranz said. “He’s done it once, why not again?”

  Himmler grunted, thinking that over, and then asked, “Presumably you have compared notes with Canaris’s man?”

  “I think he agrees just about completely with me.”

  “Unless he has other theories to be shared only with Canaris?”

  “That’s possible, Herr Reichsprotektor, but I think unlikely,” Cranz said, and then: “Would it be valuable for me to know what Oberführer von Deitzberg has learned in Buenos Aires and Montevideo?”

  “Ambassador von Lutzenberger confirms that Goltz did not tell von Wachtstein the details of the landing, and that he himself didn’t know the position, only the time and general area. It is also his opinion that the Argentines, who have a patrol and surveillance capability, were keeping an eye on the Océano Pacífico. Von Lutzenberger offers as a possible scenario that there would be a relatively senior officer—an oberst, for example—in charge of the surveillance. That such an officer would certainly have known Oberst Frade, and might well have been a close friend, and that when he saw Oberst Grüner and Standartenführer Goltz—whom the Argentine officer corps blames for the death of Oberst Frade—landing from the ship, he simply behaved like a Latin and ordered them shot. Knowing, of course, that we could not protest whatever happened to them without getting into what they were doing.”

  “Interesting. If that’s true, there would be no traitor.”

  “I don’t think we can take that as any more than a possibility. Although when I think of Oberst Juan Domingo Perón, I am tempted to believe an Argentine officer might behave that way.”

  “You’re suggesting Perón might have been involved?”

  “No. No. What I’m suggesting is that an officer like Perón would be capable of doing what von Lutzenberger suggests.”

  “I understand.”

  “Von Deitzberg also reports that Frau von Tresmarck doesn’t believe Goltz told von Wachtstein anything more than he absolutely had to know, and that she doesn’t think her husband would be involved, because he would be—as she is—afraid of the consequences.”

  “We seem to getting back to Gradny-Sawz, would you agree?”

  “I just don’t know,” Himmler said. “I have been thinking that if we do something about young von Wachtstein—without anything to go on—there is the problem of Generalleutnant von Wachtstein. He would demand a Court of Honor for his son, and I think Keitel and others would go along with him. And if we do something about von Tresmarck—without anything to go on—we will lose his valuable services in Montevideo. That makes it tempting to go after Gradny-Sawz, but without anything to go on…”

  “I understand, Herr Reichsprotektor.”

  Himmler looked at his watch. “We have enough time, I think, to watch the film of the Warsaw ghetto,” he said thoughtfully, and then raised his voice: “Stabsscharführer! How long is the Warsaw film?”

  “Twenty-three minutes, Herr Reichsprotektor,” the Stabsscharführer called from the projection room.”

  “Would you show it, please?”

  “Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor.”

  “I find the whole Warsaw ghetto business simply inexplicable,” Himmler said. “Inexplicable and inexcusable!”

  A moment later, the lights dimmed and an image of a battery of field howitzers lined up on a Warsaw street came onto the screen. They were firing at a block of apartment buildings, most of which were in flames.

  The film ended with a line of Jews, men, women, and children, their hands in the air, walking between rows of German soldiers toward a line of trucks.

  [THREE]

  The Private Projection Room

  The Office of the Reichsführer-SS

  Berlin

  1605 22 May 1943

  “What are we doing in here?” Admiral Wilhelm Canaris asked as he—the last man to arrive—walked into the small, well-furnished miniature theater, trailed by Fregattenkapitän Otto von und zu Waching and Korvettenkapitän Karl Boltitz.

  Already present were the Reichsführer-SS, Heinrich Himmler; Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop; Parteileiter Martin Bormann; Feldmarschall Wilhelm Keitel; and SS-Obersturmbannführer Karl Cranz.

  “We are going to see a short film the Propaganda Minister intends to have in every theater in Germany by the end of the week,” Himmler said with a smile.

  “Do we have time for this?” Canaris asked, not bothering to conceal the disgust in his voice. “What kind of a film?”

  “It has a dual purpose,” Himmler said. “Goebbels is quite excited about it. He feels that those whose family members have made the supreme sacrifice for Germany can vicariously experience the honor they would have been paid had circumstances permitted.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m afraid,” Canaris said.

  “Actually, this was Cranz’s idea,” Himmler said. “A picture is worth a thousand words, so to speak, right, Karl?”

  “As I told you, Sir, inasmuch as some of the gentlemen have never seen the people we brought back from Buenos Aires, I thought seeing what they looked like—how they behaved in this particular circumstance—would have merit.”

  “The film was shot by Propaganda Ministry cameramen,” Himmler went on, obviously pleased with himself, “after Cranz telephoned to Goebbels and suggested that the interment ceremonies of Standartenführer Goltz and Oberst Grüner might well have a certain propaganda value. Goebbels immediately saw the possibilities, and ordered the interment filmed.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Canaris said. “But let’s get it over with.”

  “Herr Admiral,” Cranz said, “the idea is that many German families who have lost people naturally wonder where they are buried and how. The unknown is often unpleasant. What I suggested to the Herr Propaganda Minister was that this film would leave in the minds of such people images of a dignified ceremony in which the deceased were honored by the Fatherland.”

  “Let’s see the film,” Bormann said.

  Himmler snapped his fingers. The room went dark, and after a moment the projector came to life.

  “There wil
l be, of course, a narrative, and appropriate music, and some final editing,” Himmler said. “Goebbels’s people are working on that as we speak.”

  The film of the funerals played.

  The screen went blank, then white, and the lights in the room came on.

  “I can see why this excited Goebbels,” Martin Bormann said, “but I cannot see what the film has to do with the purpose of this meeting.”

  “The Reichsprotektor believes that one can often learn a great deal by looking at people’s faces,” Cranz said. “And I am convinced he’s right.”

  “To get to the point,” Bormann said, “has the investigation turned anything up?”

  “Nothing concrete. I think Korvettenkapitän Boltitz will agree with me.”

  “I’m afraid that’s true, Herr Parteileiter,” Cranz said.

  “In other words, you cannot tell me—so that I can report to the Führer—whether or not Operation Phoenix has been compromised?” Bormann replied, just a little nastily.

  “We have learned nothing, Martin,” Himmler said, “either here, or from von Deitzberg in South America, that suggests Operation Phoenix has been compromised.”

  “You don’t think that the murders of the military attaché and your man Goltz has anything to do with Operation Phoenix?” Bormann pursued, sarcastically.

  “It is entirely possible that both were killed in revenge for the death of Oberst Frade,” Himmler said. “And that those who perpetrated that barbarous act did not know, or even suspect, anything about Operation Phoenix.”

  “And that’s what I’m supposed to report to the Führer?”

  “Inasmuch as I was given responsibility—together with Admiral Canaris—for conducting the investigation, that’s what I will report to the Führer,” Himmler said. “And I am extremely reluctant to go to the Führer without something concrete.”

  “Canaris?” Feldmarschall Keitel asked.

  “The incident on the beach at Samborombón Bay, Herr Feldmarschall, is consistent with the character of the Argentine officer corps. They deeply resented the murder of Oberst Frade.”