The Twisted Patriot

by Pirate Irwin

  “Yes,” replied Sebastian.

  “No more cavorting among the party thugs at orgies; it is not very wise and could provoke moments of pleasurable indiscretion which could lead to moments of intensely unpleasurable agony at the hands of their minions,” he said with a distasteful look on his pale, somewhat crooked face.

  “And the second thing,” sighed Sebastian, irritated at his patronising attitude and also the fact that not even among the resistance was anything a secret.

  “When we say discreet we also would appreciate this extended to any questioning you might come under should you be taken in. Of course, there is always the option of keeping quiet permanently, though taken on your previous history I doubt you will choose that way out. Only this time you will not be given a range of choices by your captors, so the latter choice might well be the least painful. All we are saying is that you will be on your own if you are caught, and the larger cause being what it is, I am sure you understand we are counting on you, to put it bluntly, to keep your mouth shut,” said von Schlabrendorff firmly.

  Sebastian swallowed hard, realizing that he had gone too far for the second time in the space of two years, and while this time he had chosen the so-called decent route, he was still set on a course of betraying the uniform he was bearing. The side he had chosen also could not prepare an escape route should the plot fail – they were together till the plot succeeded but if it collapsed he appreciated it would be everyone for themselves and there was little chance, as von Schlabrendorff had put it so brazenly, of coming out alive.

  “I’m prepared to take that risk, gentlemen. Hell, I’ve gone too far in other respects since this whole bloody business started to not be able to afford completing a full house of risks. In any case, gambling doesn’t always lead you to the poor house,” he said with a great deal more bravura than he really felt.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sebastian took to his new duties, the official ones at least, with great enthusiasm and rather liked being able to use his brain in practical matters and strategic planning rather than relying on his nerves and wits out on the front, so much so that von Tresckow began to rely on him to brief von Kluge at times when the colonel had to drive up to see the real situation. Generally he would return depressed and convinced more than ever that Germany faced a crushing defeat, which led him to hide himself away with von Schlabrendorff where no doubt they discussed further plans to oust Hitler as one way of sorting out the catastrophe that awaited their beloved country.

  Sebastian enjoyed his moments in front of von Kluge, his self-importance almost matching that of the stocky shortish Field Marshal, who ensured he wielded his gold-topped baton as often as possible in typical “small man” complex mode. For Sebastian could never bring himself to think of von Kluge in terms of the Napoleon syndrome for that he certainly wasn’t, despite his pretentious airs and graces and self-belief. The man was a ditherer and Sebastian could see why von Tresckow was growing increasingly frustrated with his shilly-shallying from pro-conspirator back into slavish obeisance of the regime. He was certainly no von Rundstedt, Rommel or von Manstein, three of Hitler’s greatest military minds and he clearly knew it, though he hid it by being insufferably arrogant and condescending. It was also crystal clear he realized that Moscow would never fall and if he didn’t achieve that by the time winter set in he would be removed. It would only give him the grim consolation that his successor was unlikely to deliver it either and was more than likely to be fighting a grim battle of survival. They rarely raised their voices to each other but it took all of Sebastian’s limited reserves of patience to keep his temper in check while von Kluge tut-tutted at the very suggestion some regiment or even a battalion should be withdrawn from a position which was threatened with encirclement.

  “You haven’t been up to the front yet, have you, Murat?” asked von Kluge after yet another barrage of Sebastian’s advice that he did not wish to hear. Sebastian groaned as he saw yet another disastrous loss of a company was imminent. He surveyed the sharp-featured Field Marshal and remarked how like a chicken he looked, bird of prey he certainly wasn’t.

  “No, Field Marshal, I have not had the pleasure,” replied Sebastian somewhat tartly.

  Kluge let the impudent response drop with merely a deep sigh.

  “Well, I think it would be better for the both of us if von Tresckow took you up there and perhaps then you will return with a more realistic idea of our state of readiness for the final push on Moscow. And maybe you will also be a little bit more optimistic than your prevailing pessimism which is having a disheartening effect on the rest of my staff,” sneered von Kluge.

  “But Field Marshal, I am only relaying what I receive back from the commanders in the field and if you want a sanitized version then I respectfully suggest to you, you rely on Berlin for your information because they always have good news to give you from thousands of miles away,” replied Sebastian grimly.

  Von Kluge snapped his head up from the table where he had been poring over the maps of the front and Sebastian could see that his pallid features had taken on a scarlet hue, so much so he thought he was about to have a fit or a seizure, which would suit both parties. Instead he awaited the inevitable explosion from “Clever Hans” but fortunately the ever-smooth von Tresckow broke the tension which had seen several of the other junior officers retreat from the table to the outer edges of the tent fearing the impending outburst by their commanding officer.

  “Murat, why don’t you step outside for a moment and have a cigarette and a cup of coffee while we get on with the business of the day,” said von Tresckow gently. Sebastian didn’t hesitate to take up the offer and stormed out of the tent, brushing aside the flaps forcefully enough that when they snapped back it sounded as if a grenade had gone off inside and at that moment he wished he had one to stop the fool inside from wasting any more lives. Outside he could overhear what must have been a forceful argument going on inside, though with the summer breeze blowing it was impossible to discern what each party was saying. He paced up and down in a fury, chain-smoking and gulping down the coffee which was thick and disgusting while he tried to calm himself and fearing that such an impetuous outburst might well lead to a return permanently to the front, though the thought of being reunited with Herzog, Berthold and the rest of what remained of the old company did hold a certain attraction, namely their camaraderie and cynicism. It must have been a good half hour before von Tresckow emerged from the tent, and he was relieved he was greeted by a wink and a smile, which meant for the moment the reunion was off.

  “Come on, we’re going up to the front as the Field Marshal ordered,” said von Tresckow.

  “What, is that two return tickets, or just one?” asked Sebastian drily. Von Tresckow laughed and directed him into the open-topped car while he ordered the driver as to the route they were to take. They sat in silence for the first part of the journey as they drove past the various troop companies, Panzer units and the ragged sections that were controlled by the Hungarians and the Romanians, whose willingness for the fight was distinctly questionable, which when you were winning was just about bearable, but on the run would be a liability. It was evident, though, that even the crack German units were starting to look worn while the replacements for the dead and wounded were getting younger and younger, which with winter getting closer left little time to train them up for what awaited them. These were troops, experienced or not, who were beginning to accept the unacceptable that victory would not come and soon they would be fighting for their mere survival and a retreat of unimaginable ferocity and savagery, both from the elements and a vengeful Soviet Army. What a future, thought Sebastian darkly, Eric, my boy maybe you were the lucky one because you have missed out on what is sure to be, even in the frozen wastelands, hell on earth. There is no hope of securing an orderly retreat command from the demented and deluded gang back in Germany, while von Kluge is simply awaiting the order for him to be recalled and he’ll be all right, sitting in some luxurious est
ate resting up before he gains the inevitable recall. But there will be no such luxury for the Herzogs and the Bertholds of this world, indeed perhaps Herzog will get what he wants and die out here, poor bastard.

  “What was that, Murat? I hope that wasn’t another piece of invective against the Field Marshal,” said von Tresckow. His interjection startled Sebastian, who realized he must have said the latter bit out loud. He laughed and shook his head. “No, I was just thinking about one of my former comrades who is probably still out there and thinking if the Field Marshal doesn’t accept the inevitable he will get his wish and die.”

  “What, another martyr for the Fatherland? I thought they were a dying breed,” laughed von Tresckow. Sebastian laughed too before adding: “More for his religion and for his own piece of mind, von Tresckow.” Henning understood the comment and lapsed back into silent reflection.

  “Well, he may well get his wish, Murat, and sooner than he thinks. The only hope is that matters may be taken out of Berlin’s hands and someone will assume those responsibilities,” von Tresckow said gravely. Sebastian nodded and they continued on in silence, both wrapped in their thoughts until they pulled in to the unit which formed the frontline of the rapidly declining power of the Army Group Centre.

  They returned even more depressed than they had felt after the commander had described the lack of ammunition, food and problems with morale as the men came to realize that the Soviets were not going to concede. With winter approaching they had been asking incessantly when the warm clothing was going to arrive, to which von Tresckow and Sebastian could only stare at the ground in embarrassment but tried to assuage him with reassuring words that the Luftwaffe were going to be dropping loads of greatcoats and blankets over the coming weeks. The captain was no green recruit, as his many decorations testified, but he kept his counsel while making clear to them he was neither convinced nor satisfied with their response, but like many on that particular theatre of war they had experienced so much savagery, deprivation and the dreadful climate that he didn’t bother to get into a full scale argument. They retired to his command bunker and took a tea with him, trying to raise his morale with the thought that the Soviets must be as beat up as they were and one final push could well deliver Moscow at last to which the captain, a man in his mid-twenties who looked early forties, sniggered and queried with what exactly could they capture the Soviet capital as he was only at half strength and if Napoleon was unable to control it even when he got in, how could they expect von Kluge to keep it. Von Tresckow told him off in harsh terms about his defeatist attitude and bade him farewell.

  “He was right, of course, Rupert,” von Tresckow said as they drove along the dirt track back to headquarters. “The whole bloody thing is about to implode. We are not strong enough to take Moscow and we cannot retreat because of our great leader in Berlin, so we are stuck like rats in a trap awaiting our inevitable fate. It’s a charming thought,” he said drily.

  “I will not stand for your impudence, Lieutenant. I order you to desist from your objections, otherwise I will be forced to discipline you,” whined von Kluge, who was once again duelling with Sebastian over refusing to withdraw some of his companies, including his former unit who had come under heavy fire from the Soviets and it was clear from the radio traffic that they were close to cracking.

  “For pity’s sake, Field Marshal, they are serving no purpose by being kept there except to serve as cannon fodder. You withdraw them and they can recuperate and then counter attack; don’t leave them isolated just because that is the standard order from Berlin. Show some flexibility for goodness’ sake,” stormed Sebastian. Von Tresckow placed his hand on Sebastian’s arm to curb his assault but it was to no avail and in any case von Kluge had had quite enough of this young officer who had caused him nothing but trouble since he was assigned to him. Von Tresckow’s continuing pleading with him over joining the resistance cell to Hitler was pressure enough for him to cope with and now with the Front in danger of caving in, he had to put up with being contradicted at every turn by this bizarre character, whose demeanour and behaviour was so unGermanic he could swear he was English, such was his arrogance. No, he would have to go, and as soon as possible, otherwise he would lose his authority.

  “Lieutenant Murat, I have had quite enough of your disrespectful attitude. I am in charge of this Army Group and it falls to me finally to take the decisions, not you. You may question my orders but ultimately it is for me to deliver and I am easy in myself that I am doing what is right. Therefore as you have not ceased to query my authority on nearly every tactical matter, I am ordering you back to Berlin as soon as an aircraft is available. What happens to you then and what duties you may be assigned will be up to central command. I, for one, will not be giving you a ringing endorsement and I would give you one piece of invaluable advice which you would do well to accept, and that is you are fortunate it was me who you contradicted because other officers would not have been quite so patient or accommodating as myself,” said von Kluge in typical “clever Hans” style.

  Sebastian sighed, knowing he had overstepped the mark, but satisfied that at least he had tried to save the lives of his former unit from the pathetic obeisance of the man in front of him but now he was being dismissed and what would await him back in Berlin was anyone’s guess.

  Just as he was making his exit from the tent after his final clash with von Kluge there was a flurry of excitement as a radio message was passed to the Group Commander, whose demeanour turned from one of anger to a self-serving smile spreading over his hawklike features. He turned to von Tresckow and von Schlabrendorff and the other staff officers and drew himself up to his full stature.

  “You see, gentlemen, we are to be honoured with a visit by the Führer himself. He is coming to see for himself how well we are carrying out his strategy, no matter what some may say,” he said casting a self-satisfied glance at Sebastian.

  “Lieutenant Murat, your last day here will be a special one and no doubt the Führer will be most interested in your observations on the current situation. I doubt somehow that you will be quite as forthright with him as you were with me, his poor simple servant,” said von Kluge with a tone laced by sarcasm.

  Sebastian saluted and left, but having returned to his quarters he was interrupted by von Tresckow and his constant companion von Schlabrendorff and another of the staff Lieutenant von Boselager.

  “Now is our chance and we will put it into effect tomorrow,” said von Tresckow. “What we need to know is, are you with us?”

  Sebastian nodded and with that the quartet of conspirators got down to discussing the plan for the morrow. All were agreed that this would be their only chance to assassinate Hitler as he would not in all likelihood be coming back, given the worsening military situation. Sebastian was not given a set role as it was uncertain when he would be leaving but he was to stick with von Boselager, who would be in charge of a unit tasked with attacking Hitler’s entourage as they sped past in their cars, provided von Kluge was not in the convoy. Sebastian argued against this saying they should take their chance even if the Field Marshal was in the car, but he was disabused of this by the other three who said regardless of his low estimation of von Kluge he was the only man who could bring the Army Group over to their side once Hitler was gone. Sebastian reluctantly agreed and bade them goodnight, but even though he was exhausted, the anticipation of what awaited the next day and the thought of the irony of an Englishman dressed in German uniform delivering the prize the Allies wanted was not lost on him. Most important of all it would give him the way out of his problematic situation, should the Germans lose the war. Ah, Sebastian, he mused to himself as he sat on his camp bed chain-smoking, you are a survivor of the highest order.

  His hopes of escaping from his uncomfortable position were dashed soon enough as von Boselager’s scout relayed back the information he did not want to hear.

  “Von Kluge’s in the car!” and with that his role was over, trust that bloody peacock to
get into the same car as their target – von Kluge’s misjudgement was not just confined to the battlefield but to his place in history as well. A different decision and he would have been in overall control, but misplaced pride in being close to his Commander in Chief had forced him into taking his place alongside him and ruined their plans. He was stunned, though, when he was told that von Kluge had got him a place on an aircraft out of the theatre but not to Berlin; he was to be taken to Hitler’s headquarters in Rastenburg and on his plane to boot. It was von Tresckow who gave him the astonishing news just before the senior officers went to lunch.

  “Don’t worry, Rupert, he hasn’t condemned you to death! He wants you out of here and he used his influence with the Führer to get you a seat . . . you will be taken on to Berlin afterwards. Reassigned to other duties, is the rather hackneyed phrase they are employing for you.”

  Sebastian didn’t like the sound of it at all; why couldn’t he just get one of the ten a penny army flights back to Berlin, or was he to be used as a propaganda tool as an Engländer fighting in good old Jerry’s army in what he reflected drily would be the perfect sequel to a Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Why else would the hierarchy and their steel-like security around Hitler allow him on board his personal aircraft?

  “That reassures me, Henning,” he said, using the utmost sarcasm he could muster.

  Von Tresckow laughed softly and patted Stuart on the shoulder.

  “Really, Rupert, don’t worry, as far as they are concerned you are Lieutenant Rupert Murat, an obstinate, obstreperous, talented son of a bitch of a staff officer! You’ll be fine, really you will, and I look forward to seeing you in Berlin for a cocktail in a short time,” von Tresckow said.

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it. I’ve got no other option, have I?” he shrugged resignedly.

  “That’s my boy. Don’t worry, you can still do your bit for us in Berlin. We’ll make sure you get something that suits your talents, all right,” von Tresckow smiled assuringly.