Credo
in unum Deum
I believe in one God
V-Mann
1940–41
MEMEL, EAST PRUSSIA. JUNE 14, 1940. Falk Harnack, in the uniform of a Wehrmacht officer, strolled along the Memel harbor on a fine summer afternoon. A breeze blew in from the Baltic and set the water glittering like a cache of jewels. The ferry from Stockholm emerged from behind a pack of gray minesweepers. Passengers thronged the railing, waving their arms gaily or holding white arms to their foreheads to ward off the glare of the sun. Falk paused a moment to enjoy the scene, smoking a cigarette as he rested one foot upon a wooden pile. Then he checked his watch and walked on, leaving the harbor and heading into the heart of the city until he reached a quiet street bordering a green park. Here he turned into the beer garden of the Café Weiß Schwan, removing his cap and tucking it under his arm as he passed beneath a flowering arbor. He stopped and surveyed the crowd, enjoying the mild weather and the good local beer. Many were men in uniform—sailors, soldiers of the Wehrmacht, and officers of the SS, on leave now that the Polish campaign was done and attention had shifted to the troops fighting in the West. Four merchant sailors from neutral Sweden sat near the bandstand and flirted with some pretty Memel girls at the next table. Here and there a businessman in shirtsleeves read the afternoon paper over plates of sliced ham and hard-boiled eggs and a stein of beer.
Then there was the man Falk Harnack was looking for.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer sat alone in a corner that had already lost the afternoon sun. The nearby tables stood empty, the other patrons happy to avoid the shade as long as possible. Falk sighed and wished he could ignore Bonhoeffer and sit close to the Swedes and their giggling quarry. But he had an assignment. It was a strange business. When asked by his brother, Arvid, to make contact, he had expected to travel to wherever Bonhoeffer might have been posted. Instead he had learned from his aunt in the Wangenheimstraße, who had contacted her former neighbor Paula Bonhoeffer, now living in the Marienburger Allee, that Dietrich was spending several weeks in East Prussia. This was convenient, since Falk was stationed in Warsaw and need not use so much of his leave. But it was also odd. What was Bonhoeffer doing all the way over in East Prussia? And it seemed, according to his aunt, that Dietrich was still a civilian. How, in the middle of the invasion of Norway and the Low Countries and France, had he managed that?
Bonhoeffer stood, offering his hand. He was a large man, though thinner than seven years earlier, and looking more fit, tougher somehow. “It’s been many years,” he said.
“Yes,” Falk agreed, “and for me some years were longer than others.” He referred, they both knew, to Dachau.
“Well,” Dietrich said, “now you have a chance to atone for all that.”
Falk sat down, pretending to smooth his uniform jacket in order to hide his surprise at the remark. When he looked at Bonhoeffer again, the other man was smiling.
“An Oberleutnant, I see,” Bonhoeffer said approvingly. “And where are you serving?”
“In Warsaw just now, though I’ve heard I may be transferred soon to Vienna. I’m a cultural officer. Responsible for entertaining the troops, and also liaison with cultural organizations in cities under our, ah, jurisdiction.”
Dietrich nodded. “Good, good. Things getting back to normal in the East after so much upset. And you are able to use your talents as well.”
Falk said nothing, just studied Bonhoeffer through narrowed eyes.
Dietrich continued, “So. How did you find me in Memel of all places?”
“Through my aunt, of course. I was quite surprised to learn you were here. And not in uniform,” Falk added significantly.
Dietrich shrugged. “The Wehrmacht wouldn’t have me. A medical problem.”
“But a chaplaincy, surely?”
“No. I applied, but they only take you on as a chaplain after you’ve got in the Wehrmacht. Still, I am able to serve the Fatherland in my own way.”
Which is? Falk longed to ask. But he reminded himself to be patient. Arvid had been most emphatic. As a senior civil servant in the Reich Ministry of Economics, Arvid had his ear to the ground. And as members of a clandestine Communist cell reporting to the Soviet Union, Arvid and his wife, Mildred, were also very much in danger. In Berlin at the beginning of Falk’s leave, Arvid had said, “Something has to be up with Dohnanyi in the War Ministry. I know it. I remember Hans from the old days, and so does Aunt. I can’t believe he’s just going along.”
“But what am I looking for?” Falk had asked.
“Anything. You know the younger Bonhoeffer brother better than I do. Isn’t he the best bet?”
“It’s been years,” Falk had said. “But if you’re wanting information from someone, then yes, he might know some of what Dohnanyi knows, and he’ll be much more approachable.”
“An innocent,” Arvid said. “At least that’s how he struck me the few times we met.”
The innocent Dietrich had ordered two steins of beer. Falk tipped his until he got past the head, wiped a line of froth from his upper lip with a discreet knuckle. He asked, “So what are you doing in East Prussia? It’s a long way from home.”
“Last night I delivered a sermon to a local congregation. Twenty people in attendance. Today I addressed a church conference. Three elderly clergymen and four laypeople.”
Falk laughed, lightheartedly, he hoped. “And did you come all this way only for that?”
“I have never before seen this eastern corner of the Reich,” Dietrich said. And added amiably, “And why did you come all this way to see me after all these years? Perhaps you want news of Suse. She’s married and has a child. But then you would know that from your aunt, wouldn’t you?”
Falk felt as though he were standing on one leg and trying to keep his balance, had felt that way ever since he sat down. “You’ve changed,” he said, for lack of anything better, and felt a complete fool.
“Have I? You haven’t. You seem to be getting on. And why not? After all, Comrade Stalin and our own Führer are now partners, are they not?” And Bonhoeffer raised his stein in a mock salute.
So it was Falk who must be reminded of his past and defend himself, at a risk, or else deny everything and pretend he had come all this way on a social call. “Unlike some of my acquaintances,” he said, “I take no pleasure in the present coalition.”
“Ah,” was all Dietrich said.
A band of elderly men dressed in folk costume—white blouses, brightly embroidered belts and suspenders—had climbed onto a low stage and launched into a rousing rendition of “Rosamunde,” playing so loudly it was difficult to talk. Falk drummed his fingers on the table in irritation and considered his next move. But it was Bonhoeffer who leaned close and said, “People here are very nervous. The rumor is that Stalin is going to move into Lithuania soon. So close by. But our armed forces don’t seem particularly concerned, do they? All these men on leave. Therefore the Soviets will stop at the border. I imagine it’s all been agreed upon, don’t you? There will be no unpleasantness between ourselves and Stalin, at least for now. Other more pressing matters to tend to.”
“You mean the war in the West.”
“I mean—” Dietrich leaned closer still—“what do your Wehrmacht comrades in Poland say about the atrocities being committed by the SS? Civilians murdered. Jews especially, but also a wholesale slaughter of the Polish clergy and professional classes. Lawyers, doctors, teachers. People forced to dig mass graves, then lined up and shot. Do your fellow officers like what the SS is doing, and would they obey orders to intervene? It would be interesting to hear this from a man who has just claimed to oppose the Führer’s friendship with Stalin. Some people would be upset to hear you question the actions of the Führer. As if he might be mistaken.”
And so. Falk patted his pocket to see if it had been picked as well. Dietrich, mistaking the gesture, offered a cigarette.
“Morale is low,” Falk said, and dug in his pocket for a book of matches. “
Even in the SS. Some of their men are going mad and are being shipped back to Germany in straitjackets. But most of them carry on, though they drink like fiends in order to do what they’re being asked to do. There’s a joke you can tell how long an SS man has been in Poland by how much he drinks. The army stands by and watches, like useless children. Some of my superiors are upset, but they’re also afraid. Until some general gives an order, they won’t intervene.”
“Names,” Bonhoeffer said. “I want names of the officers who are upset.”
And soon he had names, scanning the list Falk scribbled inside a matchbook and handed to him. But before he could offer any thanks, the band stopped playing, shushed by the manager of the café, who was waving his arms frantically and calling for attention.
“The official announcement has just come over the radio!” the man cried. “Paris has fallen to our glorious armed forces!”
People cheered wildly, some jumping up and down, some climbing onto chairs, all offering the Nazi salute. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was among them, leaping up with arm outstretched, calling Sieg heil! Sieg heil! He pulled a stunned Falk Harnack to his feet, grabbed his arm, and forced it up in the air. And as the band broke into “Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles” and the crowd began to sing, he said in Falk’s ear, “There are things worth dying for, my friend, but a salute is not one of them.”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Hans von Dohnanyi said, his voice edged with anger. “Some kind of V-Mann? A secret agent in a film?”
“I was trying to help,” Dietrich said. “I didn’t plan this, you know. But when Falk turned up, I thought why not see what I can learn.”
They sat alone on the veranda of the Sacrow house watching the sun set beyond the Havel, sky and water stained dark orange. In the dense light Dohnanyi seemed a figure in a Renaissance painting. He had delicate, sharp features, a boy’s face grown canny rather than middle-aged. “You will be most helpful when you do what you are told and only what you are told.” He picked up the matchbook cover, squinted at it in the waning light, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “Think if you’d lost this or if it had somehow got into the wrong hands.”
“Anyone working for the Abwehr would have to be careful with names,” Dietrich said stubbornly, “not just me. And I am not a careless person.”
“The point, Dietrich, is that you took a chance for this information when it wasn’t necessary. We have our methods of identifying sympathetic officers. In fact, every name on your list except one is already known to us.”
“Then that is one more name I have got for you,” Dietrich said, but more sheepish now, for he knew Hans was right.
“This is no game,” Dohnanyi said. “You don’t know anything about Falk Harnack’s activities these days. He may have been taken in by the SD, Gestapo foreign intelligence, for all you know. Or he may be working for the Soviet Union. Certainly I have my suspicions about Arvid, though I don’t tell anyone. If the Harnacks are undermining the regime I don’t give a damn who they’re working for. But I don’t want them anywhere near our operation. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Dietrich said. He thought a moment. “Though I must say, I don’t think you need worry about Falk. I got the impression he’s more of an amateur than I am, if that’s possible.”
Dohnanyi laughed. “It’s possible. And you’re probably right. My guess is Arvid sent Falk to see what he could get out of you. It seems he didn’t get much. So. Stay away from them in the future, agreed? Not so much as a good morning, how are you.”
“Agreed,” Dietrich said. “But it remains…” His voice trailed off.
“Yes?”
“You give me nothing to do. No, don’t deny it.”
“If I were only interested in your protection I’d never have agreed to your return from America. You were already safe there, and a lot less fuss about it.”
Dietrich ignored this. “You knew I’d return no matter what you said, so you had to think of something safe for me. Well, you’ve certainly found it. You send me to Pomerania and Königsberg and Memel and tell me to keep my eyes and ears open. I live on the hospitality of the Prussian gentry and pick up a little about troop movements here, which you will already know from other sources, and a little peasant gossip there, which can never be believed, and if any of it were useful, most of it will only help the government and not hurt. Meanwhile those families I’m visiting, the von Kleists and von Tresckows and von Wedemeyers, all have husbands and brothers and son and cousins in the army, they’ve already buried some of them, and there I am, safe. You can imagine what they are saying about me. Why is Bonhoeffer here instead of serving in Poland or France? My own students from the Finkenwalde seminary are serving with the army. Two of them have died. And I don’t know what would be worse, to serve alongside them knowing that I served evil but might comfort the afflicted, or to be where I am now and not doing a damned thing to help anyone.”
Dohnanyi was silent for a time, then said, “You mustn’t think I am unsympathetic. You do us great good by being our pastor, by giving us counsel and encouragement. Most of us are religious men, though we may not show it.”
Dietrich understood what he meant. He had been allowed to attend many of the meetings of the resistance, a motley collection of Abwehr operatives and officers, attorneys and men from the Foreign Office. He had been present when Oster came to discuss the most delicate matters. He was trusted, was acknowledged one of the conspirators, that he could not deny. On a number of occasions after a hard decision had been taken, one or another of those present—a lawyer or a junior officer—would seek him out and ask for prayer, or wonder in a voice taut with worry what Dietrich as a pastor thought of God’s judgment or God’s mercy or God’s compassion. Or simply ask for a passage of scripture to meditate upon.
Dietrich thought upon all this, was grateful for it, but now he said, “It is not enough.”
“Not enough,” Dohnanyi echoed. He was himself still keeping the diary of Nazi crimes, a log he kept hidden in a Wehrmacht safebox along with grainy film of SS troops committing murder in Poland, obtained from a sympathetic communications officer. “There is little enough for any of us to do just now. All these damned victories. A general trains all his life to win a war, and suddenly he is master of the entire continent. Even the ones who despise Hitler are stunned.”
“Must we wait on the generals?”
“Without them a coup would be hopeless.” Dohnanyi sighed. “It is a terrible thing to stand against one’s own country in time of victory.”
“Somehow we must,” Dietrich said. He looked out over the darkening mosaic of water and forest. “Because in the meantime, the Jews—life in Germany is becoming impossible for them. Can we do nothing?”
Dohnanyi waved his hand. “Things will get better for the Jews when Hitler is gone. That is what we can do.”
“What you can do,” Dietrich said. “I can do nothing, it seems.”
And he found himself back at the beginning of the argument.
They had already lost one opportunity, their best chance, Dohnanyi feared. Before the invasion of the West, Oster had been secretly negotiating with Churchill’s new government in London. He was convinced that had Churchill and not Chamberlain been in charge in 1938, the British would have stood firm on Czechoslovakia and Hitler could have been brought down. With the conquest of Poland complete and the invasion of the West not yet begun, Churchill was at last in charge and Britain had finally taken a stand.
The German generals were frightened again. It was one thing to attack a weak Poland, quite another to take on the greatest power in Europe. Even the pact with Stalin did not calm their fears, for who trusted either Hitler or Stalin? They were ready to listen to those who spoke quietly against the government. Even the commander in Chief, Generalfeldmarschall Walther von Brauchitsch, sat down with Oster and pledged his support to overthrowing Hitler.
On Dietrich’s return from New York, he had met with Dohnanyi and Oster at the War Ministry in the Tir
pitz-Ufer. The building overlooked the pleasant Landwehrkanal on the edge of the Tiergarten. But the demands of the war effort had brought an influx of new employees crammed into makeshift cubicles in a series of row houses connected to the main building. Most of the cubicles had no windows to enjoy the view of the canal. Dietrich maneuvered from cubbyhole to cubbyhole, past women hunched over typewriters in artificial light, haunted by invisible lindens above slow-moving green water. At last he came to a room slightly larger than the broom closets of the typists, but it at least had a window that let in a meager afternoon light. There Dohnanyi waited with Oster. It was the first time Dietrich had seen the Abwehr second-in-command since that long-ago day at Niemöller’s church in Dahlem, when Elisabeth had pointed out a man accused of cheating on his wife, a man ostracized by his fellow officers for this sexual indiscretion. A world away. Oster had made his way back to power by sheer ability and his deep roots in the old Prussian ruling class. He had the taut, tanned look of a man used to the saddle, the hunt. Fit, alert, not inclined to show age.
Dohnanyi said little, let Oster do the talking.
“Welcome, Pastor Bonhoeffer. We are pleased you have chosen to serve the Fatherland through your affiliation with the Abwehr.” This with a significant glance at the door, but no change in the expression on his face or the inflection of his voice. “Our work is most sensitive, as I’m sure you appreciate. Intelligence gathering is highly specialized. The expertise you bring is not easily come by, so we believe you will fill a niche that will be most useful to the Reich. You have contacts among religious organizations in the West which should prove useful both for gathering information and for spreading disinformation through counterintelligence work. Though we don’t have an immediate assignment for you. Meanwhile, we will introduce you to our agent in charge of liaison with the Vatican, Dr. Josef Müller. You shall be his Protestant counterpart. We also understand you are familiar, through your work with the Confessing movement in the 1930s, with many of the established families of Pomerania. Of course, we have no doubts about the loyalty of these families, but their lands in the East put them in a position to see and hear things that may be useful. Many of these estates are now in the hands of women, since their husbands are off serving in the Wehrmacht. It would be a great comfort to those families, and possibly useful to us, if you would visit Pomerania and East Prussia from time to time. Simply to reassure, and to assess the situation there. Who more trusted for such a task than you, Pastor Bonhoeffer? After all, you have preached to these families, instructed their children for confirmation.”
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