It was not a question. Just a bald statement and the SS officer did not appreciate it one bit. His first instinct was to answer in anger, but he knew he had no power and it rankled. His brother did not need him. Peter and his father had the aircraft and undoubtedly a plan to escape. He had nothing. The realisation once more that he was the helpless intermediary between the two groups of plotters galled him. So, he took a deep breath and said in a low voice that he understood.
Peter Wenck touched him on his shoulder and said with relief, “Danke vielmals, Friedrich.” The words and the gesture did much to assuage Schonewille’s inner anger. “Please leave us alone for a moment or so. Go to my room, it’s along the passageway, and freshen up. I will make all the arrangements here.”
He turned and went back into his office. Erna Hennell was still sitting in the chair. She was pale and her hands were shaking. He sat down in front of her and gently took both in his own hands and said in a soft voice, “Well, Liebling, what have you got to say for yourself?”
The woman’s whole body started to tremble and it was obvious she had been crying. She attempted to speak, but the words caught in her throat and tears brimmed in her eyes again.
The pilot’s heart went out to her, yet he felt he dare not follow his instinct and take her in his arms. He needed to ascertain if she had passed on anything of note. It was vital to find out if she knew of his father and of what was going on at Halden. He doubted it, since he had never spoken of his father and had been quite deliberate in not giving her any information as to what and where he was going when he flew out on his frequent trips away from the Kragero base.
Finally, she took a deep shuddering breath and began to talk. She explained how Grauwitz had ordered her to Norway with the express instruction of keeping an eye on him. Wenck questioned her carefully, choosing his words to make certain his probing did not reveal anything.
It was difficult to know for certain, but he finally came to the conclusion that she knew little, if anything. Certainly, she knew of the big Junkers and she explained how the base was full of rumours about a supposed secret mission that he was planning. However, she seemed truly perplexed as to why a senior SS officer in the legal section was taking such a strong interest.
“You see, Peter, I neither know nor care what it’s all about. To leave Berlin was wonderful. There is no bombing here. The food is so much better and I have found you. Please believe me, Peter, the only reason I did not tell you was because it seemed so silly. I found out nothing that might incriminate you of anything and, anyway, after a few days I really did not try too hard.”
She paused and then withdrew one hand from his clasp and attempted to touch him on the cheek. He did not draw away, but stiffened involuntarily. She quickly withdrew her hand and started to cry again, her voice hoarse.
“Peter, oh Peter please, believe me. I did not want to spy on you. I do not know what is going on and I really don’t care. I love you, I love you,” she repeated in a broken voice.
“All right, Liebling, we will talk again later. In the meantime you are confined to your quarters. I am giving orders that you are to neither give nor receive any messages. If you attempt to do so, well let us just say it will not be wise, verstanden?”
Dumbly she nodded her head and began to cry again.
For a moment, he hesitated, then he reached out and gently stroked her hair. She returned the gesture by rubbing her face against the cupped hand.
God help me, he thought. I love her and I know I am going to have to leave her here, because I dare not trust her.
He left her sitting with her head buried in her hands and went to his office where Schonewille was lounging on a leather sofa with one leg stretched in front, staring out of the window at a brilliantly blue sky. Without a word, he picked up the handset of one of his two telephones and called in the elderly Luftwaffe lieutenant in charge of the base’s security. When the man arrived, he gave him strict instructions concerning Erna Hennell. He also ordered the officer to pass on the details to the base commander.
After the man had saluted and left, Wenck told his brother how he doubted whether Hennell had any knowledge of their father or what was happening.
“That is the key, Friedrich. If she does not know about Father, then Grauwitz will not have the slightest inkling of what we are up to. My belief is this: he is naturally suspicious, but has no real basis for any suspicion concerning us. He has just been covering his arse.”
“I hope you are right, Peter, I hope you are right. At any rate, please answer me this. You have been having a relationship with this woman, nicht wahr?”
Wenck nodded his head and explained how he truly believed Erna loved him.
This turn of events suited Schonewille perfectly. He began to tell of his relationship with Sophia and even explained how he had rescued her from a detention centre. The words concentration camp were not used. To say his brother was amazed was an understatement. That the SS colonel was not only harbouring, but was also in love with a Jewess defied logic. It made him realise once again what a complicated man his elder brother was.
Peter Wenck thought he saw an opportunity of enquiring about the camps and of perhaps trying to find out what his brother’s role was. Schonewille was dismissive. “Oh don’t ask, Peter, they are not nice and, as for me. Well, I was there purely to handle some of their finances. I do not go to them too often, and I certainly do not like it.”
His explanation was quite correct, although it was a considerable lessening of the full unpalatable truth. At any rate it eased Peter’s suspicions about his brother.
“What I want, Peter, is to take Sophia with us. No, no, listen,” he said holding up both hands as Wenck sat upright and attempted to interrupt.
“I have a perfect cover for her and can arrange for her to be in Hamburg or Kiel in a few days. It would not be too difficult for you to pick her up. Her papers are perfect and she could then wait at Halden with Father.”
Schonewille gave details as to her disguise and again requested that his brother help. Wenck shrugged his shoulders and gave a helpless gesture of compliance.
“Well, why not? It is just another twist to this crazy, crazy adventure. Shit, we must all be certifiable.” Then, with a half smile, he said sardonically, “Is that all, Friedrich? I mean, you don’t have a secret deal with the Führer and he is coming along as well?”
They both laughed uproariously. It was another bond between them. Schonewille relaxed a little and, looking at his brother’s smiling face, decided that now was the opportunity to really find out what was being planned. He came directly to the point and asked what had been put in place. To his annoyance, he saw the shutters began to close on the pilot’s eyes and the hesitation in his demeanour.
He felt dismayed and his voice for once did not mask his feelings. “Oh come now Peter. There is no need for secrets, not any more. I have just told you about Sophia. I trust you. So why don’t you trust me?”
His brother paused and then nodded his head, albeit reluctantly.
Peter Wenck still did not want to give away all the information, but by the same token he did not want to let this be known, so he compromised. “I can let you know this. We have arranged for a secret re-fuelling stop and now have a destination. It is in America … I know, I know it sounds crazy,” he said as Schonewille’s eyes widened. “But, believe me, it will work. I would like to tell you more, but there is another person involved and he has sworn us to secrecy. Therefore, this will have to do for the moment. All right?”
Schonewille acquiesced. It would have to do.
Wenck in return felt relieved. He had not given away the existence of the Boeing nor where the re-fuelling stops were. In fact, he had only very vaguely mentioned one. Their secrets were still safe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Following the rendezvous with his brother, things moved rapidly. On returning to Berlin Schonewille met with Grauwitz again and handed over the Himmler letter. The SS legal officer seemed
buoyant and said with bravura, “We are on the move, Obersturmbannführer. I have already put in train some moves that will allow us to waylay some of the Reichsbank’s reserves and with this letter from the chicken farmer I can finish my plans without any undue questions being asked. I want you to travel to Regensburg and report to these barracks. Hauptsturmführer Bremer is already there.” He handed over a piece of lined note paper.
Schonewille enquired as to the reasons, but Grauwitz cut him short.
“Not now, Colonel,” he snapped. “Just follow my orders and find Lutz. I will reveal all in good time.”
Schonewille clenched his teeth in frustration and saluted. Once out into the street he punched a gloved fist into a gloved palm in frustration and swore. A young captain in a flak regiment saw the gesture and heard the words. He grinned at the SS officer’s display of anger and frustration. Schonewille glared at him and strode away.
At home he sat in his study and carefully went over his alternatives. That he had to follow orders and travel to Regensburg there was no doubt. Regensburg was scarcely more than a hundred kilometres north of Munich where some of the Reichsbank’s reserves were headed. Therefore, it certainly was connected with the next stage of their plans.
He called to Sophia and told her to begin packing. He handed over an envelope that contained her orders. She extracted the two pieces of paper and scanned them quickly.
“As you can see, they are signed by me and countersigned by the second-in-command of Amtsgruppe fünf. Luckily, he is so busy he signs just about everything I put in front of him without reading the contents. So, as an SS officer and with these two signatures, nobody will doubt your authenticity or question why you are travelling to Kiel.”
The Jewess nodded her head. She seemed surprisingly calm, he thought. He handed her another piece of paper.
“This is the name of an airfield just outside Kiel. You are to go there and ask for Major Wisch, nobody else, do you understand? When you introduce yourself he will contact my brother in Norway who will come and get you.” He put his arms around her shoulders and said tenderly, though his voice was sombre, “Sophia, meine Frau. You have to leave tonight. There is a train to Hamburg leaving at eleven. You must be on it. I would have preferred that you go via Lübeck since it has not been bombed as heavily and there is less chance of a delay, but this is the first available train.”
Although the word wife was a misnomer, it described perfectly how this strange and driven man felt about the woman. Then, as he felt her tremble, he dropped his voice even lower, telling her how everything would turn out right. She made no comment in return and for much of the next two hours, as she packed her small suitcase and prepared a quick meal, there was little conversation between them.
They journeyed into the city and he escorted her onto a train travelling north. It was crowded with all the usual flotsam of war. Troops, women, children and refugees, all fleeing the horrors of Berlin.
He put her in a compartment with three U-Boat officers and ordered them to look after her. His last sight of Sophia was when he looked back from the corridor. She appeared calm and held his gaze unwaveringly. Her parting smile, though small and a trifle wan, held a warmth that he had never seen before.
Back on the platform he crossed to another part of the station and sat down in an officers’ waiting room to while away the hours until the train to Regensburg left for its trip south. The train was delayed and when it finally left Berlin the pace was slow and erratic. There were several unscheduled stops and they were shunted onto sidings on numerous occasions. It took nine hours to reach Leipzig, a distance of only 160 kilometres. Officially the train was supposed to have continued onto Regensburg, but without explanation the engine was un-coupled and the carriages left un-attended on a siding. Enraged, he climbed down from his carriage and went to the nearest signal box. The signalman knew nothing except to explain that most of the lines south of the city had been disrupted by Allied bombers who had struck two important marshalling yards.
He then went to the station master’s office where a harassed official suggested he take a train to Prague. The line to the Czech capital was still open and it would take him further south and away from this bottleneck.
“Take my advice, Herr Obersturmbannführer. The line to Prague has been spared most of the bombing we’ve experienced over the past ten days. From there you should be able to head back across to Pilsen and then to Regensburg.”
Schonewille shook his head.
“I know, I know,” answered the official. “But, believe me, while it may seem a strange way to get to your destination it is the best way. So, why don’t you use my office to clean yourself up a bit? There is a small washroom and you will feel much better. But make it quick. The train to Prague leaves in twenty-five minutes.”
Schonewille was grateful for the offer and took the man’s advice. The bath, though lukewarm, eased his bones and made him feel a little fresher.
Unfortunately, the rush was unnecessary for the train did not leave for almost two hours. The 200-odd kilometres to Prague took seven hours. Although there were only two unscheduled stops, the overloaded train barely travelled at more than forty-five kilometres per hour. More than half its passengers were soldiers being rushed to bolster General Schoerner’s 17th Army fighting on the other side of the Elbe. Most did not appear too keen to reach the front.
The journey to Pilsen and then Regensburg, on the other hand, was trouble free, though the jolting, cramped carriage meant sleep was illusory. By the time he reached his destination, he was exhausted after twenty-seven hours of travelling and waiting in cold and dirty railway stations.
Grauwitz’s order had been simple. Liaise with Bremer who was stationed at a barracks on the outskirts of the city.
Schonewille managed to cadge a lift from an air force truck being driven by a young Luftwaffe NCO who was terrified on being stopped by a senior SS officer in the dead of night and was only too happy to take him where he wanted to go. The barracks were certainly not purpose-built for the job, probably an old factory or warehouse, he thought. It was nearly dawn and the first hues of light were beginning to thin the black of the sky as he trudged to what looked like the main gate.
A sleepy private in a makeshift sentry post jerked himself upright at his appearance and, although he did not challenge him, looked warily as Schonewille walked past and headed to what was the only lighted window in the large stone edifice situated on the other side of a small paved courtyard. The window belonged to a large office that had been tacked onto the main structure and had at one time obviously been used as a dispatch centre.
Schonewille entered without knocking and was confronted by the soles of a pair of boots hiked up on a large wooden table. On the other end of the legs was the sprawled form of Captain Bremer, fast asleep in a large high-backed chair with his arms folded on his chest and his head lolling back.
The lieutenant-colonel surveyed the junior officer for a minute and then with a malicious smile used his right leg to push Bremer’s outstretched legs off the table. Their weight almost jerked his body off the chair and for a moment it was touch-and-go whether or not the chair itself would tip over.
With an angry exclamation Bremer grabbed the edge of the table and steadied himself, at the same time focusing his eyes on the figure in the overcoat looking down at him. On recognising Schonewille he swore and demanded to know what the other was trying to do. It was the wrong tack.
“Stehen sie auf,” he roared. As Grauwitz’s aide hesitated, he repeated the order. “Stand up, do you hear Hauptsturmführer, stand up!” And then, added for good measure, “Where is your discipline, you slack bastard? Where is your salute?”
Years of obeying orders had their effect and Bremer stood up straight and saluted, though his eyes were defiant and angry. Schonewille returned the salute and with his free hand pulled a chair alongside. Sitting down he motioned Bremer to return to his own chair.
“Now, will you kindly tell me what is
going on?”
Bremer took a deep breath and shifted in his chair before starting to speak. For the moment at least his arrogance had evaporated. He explained how Grauwitz was putting together a raiding force capable of stopping one of the Reichsbank’s trains and that a contingent of troops was already garrisoned in the building behind. He jerked his thumb in the direction of a doorway at the back of the office.
“More are expected to arrive tomorrow. As usual they are late, as is everything and everyone these days.”
Schonewille let the barb slip by. “Is this why your boss wanted the Himmler letter?”
Bremer nodded and reached inside his tunic and pulled out the envelope that Schonewille had handed to Grauwitz scarcely thirty-six hours before.
“When did you get that?” he said in astonishment.
“About six o’clock last night. Why?”
“From Herr Grauwitz?”
“Yes, of course,” said Bremer with a smirk.
“Das ist unmöglich, shit. That is unbelievable.”
He had spent twenty-seven uncomfortable hours in various train carriages while Grauwitz had either driven or flown south. “Why the hell did he not take me?” It was more of a statement than a question.
Bremer’s smirk returned, but it vanished as he read the expression on Schonewille’s face.
“Now you listen here, you shit and you had better listen and understand well. You and Herr Brigadeführer Grauwitz had better realise that I am not an Arschlecker. I am not somebody you can lead around by the nose.”
He paused and saw Bremer regarding him with a trace of alarm, so he continued.
“Remember this. I have the aircraft, I have the pilot and I have the means to get us out of this sinkhole we call Germany. Therefore, you had better give me due deference, otherwise you will end up with all the money you want and nowhere to spend it.”
Bremer nodded his head and then in a flash of defiance said in return, “Herr Obersturmbannführer, I would watch what I say about, or to the Brigadeführer. He could have you shot.”
The Reichsbank Robbery Page 25