Killing the engine of his plane, Reinhard caught himself laughing as he recalled how long their faces had become once they discovered that “the fighter ace fellow” was telling the truth; then stopped at once as soon as two small figures came into the periphery of his vision. A driver and an adjutant; the second, already holding his coat out for him. Reinhard climbed out of the plane, shedding his short pilot’s jacket together with his pleasant disposition.
Sometimes it felt like Luftwaffe Captain Reinhard lived and Obergruppenführer Heydrich only played a role in the play that was written by someone else, for someone else. In the Luftwaffe, it was all simple and straightforward; he fought his dogfights, drank cheap wine, played cards with his comrades and shared a good laugh with them over a crude joke. Here, was a different type of work. Here, he was a different Reinhard; invariably stern, brutally efficient, and unforgiving.
Since his return from the front, he found in himself a growing fear of loneliness. Over the years, he had made himself as unapproachable as possible and now, instead of friendly gatherings, he had to dine with men whom he secretly despised. He had broken off all of the family ties with his sister Maria only because her husband was a pathetic drunk and Reinhard didn’t want to be associated with anyone of that sort. He barely spoke with his brother Heinz, who made the mistake of expressing certain liberal ideas on a few unfortunate occasions; thoroughly refused to be affected by any of Reinhard’s arguments and soon became just a name which his older brother didn’t wish to remember.
Captain Reinhard used to have good comrades whose company he genuinely enjoyed; Obergruppenführer Heydrich had subordinates with whom he went into town in the evenings, convincing himself that they were his friends. Eventually, he persuaded himself that it was even better this way. They laughed at his jokes and never expressed unpopular opinions. That’s quite all right, Reinhard told himself on quite a few particularly lonely occasions, biting down the growing feeling of uneasiness around him. They always say that it’s lonely at the top. He traded humanity for power, and to him, it was a fair exchange.
Reinhard put his arms through the sleeves of the leather coat that his adjutant held out for him and climbed into the car.
They drove in silence. Reinhard checked his wristwatch; it took exactly fifteen minutes from the small aerodrome to the villa itself, which meant he’d walk through its doors five minutes before the beginning of the meeting. He was not just punctual, he was always five minutes early and God help any person who dared be late for a meeting with him! One time his Gestapo Chief Müller ran into his office, panting and apologizing profusely – the damned tire blew up! Reinhard only stared at him silently for a few interminably long moments.
“You have wasted exactly twenty-eight minutes of my time. Twenty-eight minutes, which could have been spent in the interests of the Reich.”
From that day on, Müller left his house an hour earlier just in case another accident happened. He didn’t mind moping around the office for the whole hour; anything was better than another hard glare and that tone of Heydrich’s – a perfect concoction of rage and ice. Reinhard hardly ever yelled; instead, he quietly poured poisonous torrents of abuse in such sarcastic, derogatory terms that two of his adjutants left his office in tears just this month. The third one had been fired two days ago. The fourth one – the fourth one in this January – sat next to the driver, frozen from the wait in the cold and fear, mentally going over all of those things that he had heard about his new boss and praying to all the Gods that he didn’t mess up today. The rumors were, Heydrich had sent the third adjutant straight to the Eastern front, whatever the poor fellow had done.
The road, a black ribbon against the pristine whiteness of the countryside, curled its way to the villa – magnificently imposing in its elegant winter attire. The cobbled driveway leading to the entrance was cleared to perfection; Reinhard made a mental note to thank Eichmann for a job well done. He had chosen just the right man as his second-in-command for today’s meeting. As soon as Eichmann was appointed as head of Section B4 of the Amt IV – Jewish affairs – Reinhard kept commending his extraordinary organizational skills. Well, since they were about to deal with the most significant Jewish issue today, it only seemed appropriate to task him with organizing everything as well.
SS stewards scrambled to attention as soon as Reinhard stepped on the marble of the villa’s hallway, which was polished to such perfection that it reflected, with a mirror’s precision, everything that came in contact with it. Eichmann was already heading his way, his usual timid smile in place. They exchanged salutes and usual pleasantries while invisible hands relieved Reinhard of his overcoat, cap, and gloves.
“Anyone missing?” Reinhard smoothed his platinum hair despite the fact that not a hair was out of place. He was perfect as always. Irreproachable.
“In my invitation to everyone I indicated that the time of the meeting was at twelve, not at one, to ensure that everyone arrived on time and didn’t keep you waiting, Herr Obergruppenführer.”
“What am I hearing, Obersturmbannführer? Such deceptive tactics and applied to your own superiors!”
Eichmann blinked, a shadow of uncertainty passing over his face for a fleeting moment before Reinhard dropped his mask, slapped his shoulder and laughed in the most amicable manner. “I’m only teasing. Commendable efficiency, as always.”
“Thank you, Herr Obergruppenführer.”
“They weren’t too bored with the wait, were they?”
“I kept them busy with some excellent French wine, starters, and cigars, Herr Obergruppenführer.”
“Wonderful. Is the stenographer there yet?”
“Yes, Herr Obergruppenführer.”
“You know what to do with the records, do you not?”
“Absolutely, Herr Obergruppenführer. Do not worry about a thing; I have everything taken care of.”
A smile of pleasure passed over Reinhard’s face; at least someone knew what he was doing around here, unlike that horde gathered around the table with appetizers, with their mouths stuffed with lobster and eyes big as saucers, as though they didn’t expect his arrival anytime soon. Reinhard waited patiently, in spite of himself, while they were placing the unfinished plates on the perfectly starched tablecloth, to salute him. If they were his subordinates, he would have told them – and not really mincing his words – what he thought about such a reception; however, most of the men gathered here were his equals, if not in power than in rank and therefore he had to swallow his anger and act as pleasantly as possible. He had a written “go” from Reichsmarschall Göring, but the latter made it explicitly clear that in order for this “go” to work, Reinhard needed the support of all of these men. Reinhard forced himself to smile wider.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long, gentlemen.” He only glanced at the closed double doors leading to the meeting room and Eichmann was already pushing them open. “Please, let us not waste any more time and begin. We’ll have a little break in about an hour and you’ll have a chance to enjoy my new chef’s culinary masterpieces. Business first.”
The attendees took their respective seats, indicated with small cards with their names written on them. They eyed the folders laid out in front of each and exchanged glances. The stenographer’s fingers hovered over the machine, waiting for a sign from Eichmann. The latter nodded – you can start typing whatever is said; I’ll weed out everything unnecessary later.
Reinhard stole another glance at his watch. One o’clock exactly. Time to start. Time to change the world.
“You probably wonder why I gathered you all here today,” he began in his usual quiet voice. “You represent different offices, after all: Dr. Luther – Foreign Ministry, Dr. Freisler – Justice, Dr. Schöngarth – Security Police and SD in the General Government, Dr. Lange – Security Police in Latvia, Dr. Stuckart – Interior, Herr Neumann – Four Year Plan Organization, Herr Kritzinger – Reich Chancellery. We also have here the representatives of the Occupied ter
ritories, Dr. Meyer, Dr. Leibbrandt, and Dr. Bühler. Party Chancellery is represented by Herr Klopfer; Herr Hofmann represents the SS Race and Settlement Office. And of course, the RSHA is represented by Gruppenführer Müller, Obersturmbannführer Eichmann, and myself. In case someone present here is not familiar with me, I’m SS Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich, the Chief of the Reich Main Security Office.”
The little joke sent the men around the table chuckling. They all knew him, all right.
“I have gathered you here today on Reichsmarschall Göring’s direct orders.” He paused, letting that sink in. “He had entrusted me and my office with developing what is indicated on the folders that are before you, the Final Solution of the Jewish Question. Dr. Freisler, no notes, please. Everything that we are to discuss here today is not to be recorded in any form except for the official stenography report which will be handled by Obersturmbannführer Eichmann. Also, all the questions after this meeting concerning the problems and methods discussed must be handled with extreme care and only through proper channels, which means through Obersturmbannführer Eichmann to me only. None of your subordinates are to know anything regarding the question which will be discussed today. Is that clear to everyone?”
A soft murmur of reluctant agreement passed over the room.
“The first and foremost purpose of this meeting is to establish clarity on fundamental questions and to coordinate a parallelization of policies, irrespective of geographical boundaries.”
Dr. Bühler, Hans Frank’s deputy from the General Government of now occupied Poland, raised his hand. Reinhard expected that much; both Frank and Rosenberg had attempted to argue and on quite a few occasions, that they should decide what to do with their Jews and when to do it, which led to countless political conflicts between the SS and the Governors. Reinhard smiled at him before saying in a tone which sounded polite but at the same time didn’t particularly inspire the desire to protest, “I’ll answer all the questions after the meeting if you don’t mind, Dr. Bühler.”
Bühler acceded and made a gesture which could only be interpreted as, by all means, Obergruppenführer. As though I have a choice.
“In the past years, we have achieved immense progress in our fight against the Jewry. Since 1933, our principal aim was to entirely eliminate all Jewish elements out of political, economic, cultural, and social life. With the help of a number of policies, such as Nuremberg Laws, the Decree of the Elimination of Jews from the Economy, and many more, we successfully purged the Jews out of all of these spheres. With the help of the policy of immigration, between January 1933 and October 1941 – you have exact numbers in your folders, if you please open them – we successfully induced 537,000 Jews to emigrate from Germany, Austria, and the Protectorate.”
Someone started clapping; soon, everyone joined in. Reinhard exchanged subtle glances with Eichmann. So far so good.
“Yes, we certainly should congratulate ourselves with such immense success. However, with more territories acquired for the future Lebensraum, we are facing a new problem. Ironically, together with new territories, we acquired more Jews as well. Five million from the newly occupied Soviet territories alone.”
A pregnant pause followed. Only Neumann clapped his hands in apparent enthusiasm. “Why? It’s good for our production, isn’t it? Since the outbreak of the war with the Soviet Union, German factories are lacking workforce. Why not make them work? It would be extremely beneficial for the Four Year Plan—”
“No, it wouldn’t, Herr Neumann and I’ll tell you exactly why. The problem is, the Jews don’t particularly like to work.” Reinhard flipped the page in his folder and motioned for Neumann to do the same. “Take a look at the statistics from page four, please. Over seventy percent of the latest census; intellectuals, which means that those people haven’t held anything heavier than a pen in their hands in their entire lives. And you want to put them in front of the conveyor? I would personally love to see that.”
“I wouldn’t want them near German factories anyway,” Kritzinger chimed in. “They will sabotage the production.”
“We have to put them all somewhere!” Dr. Leibbrandt pulled forward. “It’s our Occupied Territories that are suffering from this problem the most. Our ghettos are overflowing with them. The epidemics of typhus and dysentery kill our own German guards who are in contact with them; this will just not do!”
“Just do like we did in Riga.” Dr. Lange smirked, lighting a cigarette. “Shoot them all.”
“Shooting is all fine and well on paper, but in reality, it’s one of the worst possible solutions I came across!” Dr. Meyer argued at once. “It does horrible things to the troops’ morale! They’re soldiers, and these are often women and children there. They have their honor; they don’t want to shoot them!”
“They’re soldiers; they must obey their superiors’ commands.”
“What are we even discussing here?! Shooting? Are you even serious?” Dr. Freisler raised his voice in indignation. “Have we in the Ministry of Justice wasted all of these years to come up with the fair, suitable laws just so you would sweep them all under the rug and say, shoot them all? What kind of barbarians are you?! Do you realize what the rest of the civilized world will do when they hear of it?”
“No one will care.” Kritzinger shrugged. “Even the Americans turned the ship with Jewish refugees back. No one wants them.”
“Even if they don’t, such a barbarian tactic will certainly bring the outrage among all of the civilized nations!”
Reinhard was sitting with his arms folded and listening to the arguments, faintly amused. He let them yell and let off their steam for another ten minutes without interrupting until they finally started growing silent and turning their heads to him as if asking for guidance. He knew what to do; they saw it in his eyes, in his sly grin.
Yes, gentlemen. Everything’s already taken care of for you. You are only to rely on me, do what I tell you and I’ll solve all of your problems, once and for all.
“I suppose you have something to suggest, Herr Obergruppenführer?”
He was waiting for this question, for this perfect silence. Now, he had their undivided attention, their eager, pleading eyes on him.
“Of course. Obersturmbannführer Eichmann and I designed a special program, which will satisfy all of you, I’m sure of it. There will be no more shootings, on a mass scale, that is. No more overcrowded ghettos. No more diseases. Finally, no more Jews,” he finished with a soft smile.
“How?”
“If you all agree to the proposed plan and align the policies of your offices with mine, we’ll start working immediately. I believe, Obersturmbannführer Eichmann can explain everything better than I can, since he was the one working all this time in the field, so to speak. Obersturmbannführer?”
“Thank you, Herr Obergruppenführer.” Eichmann nodded. “Recently, we started building a new facility in the concentration camp Auschwitz in the General Government. After a series of tests, including gas vans and lethal injections, we came up with the perfect solution; a cyanide-containing pesticide Zyklon B acts with much better efficiency than carbon monoxide that we have previously used in vans. Only a small dosage is needed to efficiently kill as many as nine hundred people in a matter of twenty minutes. It paralyzes airways and death comes quickly and nearly pain-free. It has already been tested on the Soviet prisoners of war and proved itself most efficient.”
“Question.” Dr. Meyer raised his hand. “Where do you put nearly one thousand people and how do you make them go there willingly, without causing major panic?”
“Oh, we used the same design that has been previously used during the euthanasia program; a shower room. They go in naked, thinking that they’re about to take a shower – no, no, we have shower heads there, pipes, we even hand out soap and towels for them to ‘use’ – then we close the gas-proof doors and drop the gas through the vents in the ceiling.”
“But now you have a thousand corpses on your hands.”
“We’re installing there crematoriums with industrial-type ovens that can operate 24/7. According to the most optimistic plans, with all of them operating at their full capacity, we’ll be able to completely eliminate the Jews in one year. Occupied territories included.”
“Will that satisfy the Ministry of Justice?” Reinhard smiled pleasantly at Dr. Freisler who sat through the entire conversation with an extremely sour expression. “No evidence left; therefore, your qualms over the civilized nations condemning us are taken care of. We’ll pretend that these Jews never existed. They’ll be only too happy to go along with our version.”
“I don’t believe I was invited here to have any say in this. You have already decided everything. Why all this spectacle?”
“Of course, you have a say in it.”
“Do I? Well, I disagree with it. Does my disagreement matter anything to you?”
“It does. What exactly do you disagree with?”
“It’s barbaric. Killing an entire race, in cold blood, is barbaric.”
“If you can suggest a suitable alternative, I’m open for discussion.”
“Sterilize them all. They’ll die out on their own, and this way our generation, even though it will be remembered as paving the way for the Judenfrei Germany, won’t be burdened with mass murder.”
“Impractical and impossible to implement. What are we to feed them and where are we to keep them, all those years, until they die?”
“Just let them live out their lives where they are.”
“Among us? And then, we’re back to square one.”
Everyone chuckled.
“What do you want me to say?” Freisler made a desperate gesture with his hands. “Do you want to pry the approval out of me like you pry the confessions of the enemies of the state in your Gestapo cellars?!”
The Darkest Hour Page 31
