*
The General closed the window behind Paul and drew the curtains. Then he went to a side table, moving leisurely, without panic. From a velvet case he took a Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster and hung them on his fraying uniform around his neck. He straightened his two Iron Crosses, smoothed his Winter Campaign ribbon, Wound Badge and Infantry Assault Badge. Then he gazed reflectively at his image in the mirror, placing his cap firmly on his head and straightening it.
Time was when being a German soldier had meant something, when it was synonymous with honour. Time was when he had been proud of his nation, of his class, of his rank. Now … He glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelshelf. It had been a gift from the 17th Death’s Head Hussars, the Kaiser’s Own, when their young colonel had left them to join the General Staff just after Cantigny, in 1918. He smiled grimly, recalling how he and his regiment had taken part in that offensive across the Aisne River as part of General Oskar von Hutier’s 18th Army. He had led his regiment in covering the withdrawal from Cantigny when the Allies mounted their successful counter-attack. May, 1918 … that was when the German Army still possessed some honour.
Now … now the German people were doomed. That little maniac in Berlin, who was not even a German but an Austrian, had driven a proud nation to the verge of extinction. And since he could not win the war he had decreed that the German people should perish. From the Rhine to the Oder, the German Reich would be left as one great depopulated desert. It would be the final
Gotterdammerung. The Führer would see to it that his funeral pyre destroyed everything, that no stone would be left standing on another, and that a burning, desolate wasteland would be all that was left as a memorial to the Thousand Year Reich.
It was not the sort of Germany that the General wished to see. He had fought. He had lost. Now he must not let the maniac in the Reichs Chancellery have the pleasure of arraigning him in front of his pantomime People’s Court. The General was still the master of his own destiny. He smiled grimly. What were the lines from the poet? ‘I am the captain of my soul, the master of my fate … ’
He was aware that the wailing siren had ceased. He heard the heavy stamping of boots ascending the stairs. He reached down to his holster and unfastened the flap, drawing out the cold metal of the PO8 Luger. He stared at the dark gun metal and then gazed at the portrait of the young Uhlan Lancer over the mantelshelf. With one swift motion he placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The body of the old General was still sinking to the floor when the door of the apartment splintered in and the room crowded with the dark uniforms of the SS.
*
Paul stood staring at the empty garage in shock. He hadn’t been with the General for anywhere near an hour. What had made Magda leave? Had she panicked at the sound of the siren? He turned, feeling despair. He walked quickly along the track which ran along the back of the tenement houses. A little way along he saw a pair of hooded headlights blink in the darkness. A sudden surge of relief swept over him as he recognized the dark outlines of the Porsche.
‘I heard the siren,’ Magda said, sliding out from the driver’s seat into the front passenger seat. ‘I thought I’d better get the car out of the garage ready for a quick getaway.’
Paul slid behind the wheel. ‘You did right,’ he said quickly. ‘That’s the Gestapo arriving. It seems Ulrich spilled everything.’
He drew the car away from the shadow of the buildings and sent it down a series of smaller streets, away from the Linsenbuschstrasse.
‘What’s happened to your friend, the General, then?’ Magda demanded.
Paul grimaced over the wheel. ‘He can’t help us now.’
Magda did not press the question. Paul swung the wheel down another road, making his way instinctively due west, hoping to pick up the Gladbach road.
‘Once we reach Gladbach, we’ll head for Wesel and from Wesel on to Xanten.’
Magda listened to his cold determined voice and wondered what had happened at the General’s apartment.
Paul said, ‘Can you give me a cigarette? I need one.’
Magda took a packet from her handbag and lit one before placing it between his lips.
‘Thanks’, he acknowledged. ‘We should be able to get through to Rolf and Erika’s place before dawn. You’ll be safe there. At least as safe as anywhere. All you have to do is stay put and keep your head down. The Allies will be in Xanten before long.’
‘Aren’t you staying?’ Magda asked. Her voice was suddenly charged with emotion.
‘No. There is something I have to do.’
‘Project Wotan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you going, Paul?’
‘West.’
She drew in her breath sharply. ‘You are going to the Allies?’
‘It is the only way to stop a catastrophe … to save the German people just as much as the Allies.’
‘You might get shot. If the SS don’t shoot you then the Allies might.’
He was silent.
‘Paul … I don’t want to lose you now that I’ve found you!’
He glanced quickly at her. Then he squared his shoulders.
‘There’s no alternative, Magda. I’ll have to take my chances.’
Paul drove on into the darkness. The girl was silent for a long time. Paul tried to keep to the minor roads and avoid military patrols, which increased in number the further west they travelled. Several times they were halted at check points, but the doctor’s pass which he had kept and the papers Magda had seemed to get them through with relatively little questioning.
It was not until they were on the outskirts of Wesel that Magda reached forward and laid her left hand on Paul’s right as it gripped the steering wheel.
‘You are right, Paul. It is the only thing to do.’
Chapter Eighteen
It was dawn when they arrived at Erika and Rolf’s farmhouse. Although it was barely light, Rolf was already moving about the farmyard feeding the few animals which the farm still possessed. He seemed startled to see the Porsche come chugging up the muddy track into the yard.
Erika emerged from the kitchen with a concerned expression on her face. ‘What is it?’ she asked, as soon as she and Magda had untangled themselves from their greeting embrace.
It was Paul who answered. ‘Would you keep Magda here with you both?’
Erika and Rolf exchanged a bewildered glance.
‘This is Magda’s home, Paul. Of course she is welcome to stay, and so are you,’ Erika said.
‘Paul means that we have had some trouble with the Gestapo — that it might be dangerous for you if I stayed,’ Magda explained.
Rolf looked grim. ‘Bad trouble?’ he asked.
‘Bad trouble,’ affirmed Paul.
Erika looked a little scared.
‘It’s a long story … ’Magda began.
‘Time enough to tell it later, but I need to be on my way,’ Paul intervened. ‘You see,’ he looked from Rolf to Erika and back, ‘the war is nearly over. I think you know that.’
Erika shivered slightly and warned, ‘You must be careful. SS squads have been hanging people merely on suspicion of being defeatists. Old Uncle Otto said someone was hanged in Xanten two days ago.’
‘Yes, one must be careful. But it doesn’t alter the inevitable fact that the Allies may be here within days. You two still plan to stay here, on your farm, until the Allies come?’
Rolf nodded. ‘So do a lot of other people around here. The farms are fairly isolated, away from the main roads and the village. We haven’t been troubled by bombing or by the military making this a vantage point. It’s a low-lying area, anyway. Uncle Otto is supposed to be in the Volkssturm and he has been helpful. We have been warned to steer clear of the village because any able-bodied men or women found there are being transported away from the Rhine to work in armament factories or in the Volkssturm. Even fourteen and fifteen-year-olds are being called up.’
‘How near are the All
ies?’ Paul asked.
‘Probably less than twenty kilometres away. Probably far less.’
Paul tugged at his lower lip. ‘Can we be sure?’
Rolf pulled a newssheet from his pocket and unfolded it. It was headed Nachrichten fur die Truppe — News for the Troops.
‘It’s an Allied propaganda sheet which is air-dropped on the villages and towns,’ Rolf said. ‘It says that the Allies have crossed the Rhine in several places and penetrated through the Reichswald. It also says there is street fighting in Goch.’
‘That close?’ Magda, who knew the area, looked surprised.
‘Can you trust the Allied propaganda sheets?’ asked Paul.
‘More than you can trust Goebbels’ broadcasts,’ replied Rolf.
‘And you think you will be safe here?’
Rolf nodded.
‘It’s much safer here than in the village or in Xanten,’ Erika said. ‘The Allied bombers are beginning to hit all the built-up areas before their troops advance. According to Uncle Otto, heavy bombers have almost obliterated Cleves, Emmerich and Goch. Xanten was bombed yesterday. It’s a sure sign that the Allies are getting ready to take the towns. It’s better to hide in the forests than in the towns.’
Rolf summed up: ‘We think the fighting will pass around us.’
‘And Magda can stay with you?’
Erika nodded and Rolf said, ‘We’ll keep a careful watch out. I’ve built a special shelter in the barn which the Gestapo could never discover. You think they will come here?’
Paul shook his head. ‘I doubt it, but one should always be prepared. I’ll drive the car into the garage and then be on my way.’
Rolf frowned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have some business to attend to. Magda will explain everything.’
Rolf pursed his lips. ‘Business? But that’s madness. It’s safe here, Paul. And you are welcome to stay. General Blaskowitz, the commander of this sector, has issued orders that any able-bodied men who might be stragglers, deserters or merely defeatists, found without proper papers or explanation, are to be summarily shot.’
Paul gazed at him for a moment and then said quietly: ‘I wouldn’t attempt to leave if it wasn’t important. However, I’ll do my best to return here as soon as possible.’
Magda turned to Erika and said: ‘It is important. He has to go.’
Erika and Rolf stared at her and then at Paul, puzzled.
‘You are going on foot?’ asked Rolf.
‘I’ll make better time on foot. I can keep away from the main roads. I should imagine the roadblocks will be pretty tight from here on.’
‘We have a fairly good bicycle, if that helps,’ offered Rolf. ‘I presume you are heading westward?’
Rolf was obviously no fool. Paul merely nodded.
‘Then there are several pathways you can ride through the Reichswald towards the River Maas.’
Within a few minutes he had wheeled the bicycle out. It was in good condition.
Paul turned awkwardly to Magda. Her eyes were alarmingly bright.
‘Good luck, Paul. I know you’ll return if you can.’
‘I will. I know now that I have an important reason for returning,’ he said quietly.
Impulsively, Magda reached forward and kissed him gently on the lips. There were tears in her eyes as she backed away.
‘Damned right you do! Now off you go, before I change my mind and come with you.’
He forced a smile, gave a brief wave to Rolf and Erika, mounted the bicycle and took the track through the fields towards the distant dark mass of the Reichswald forest.
The Allies were, as Rolf had said, very close now. The occasional thunder of heavy guns vibrated the air and black palls of smoke hung low across the expanse of trees. The Allies were pressing forward with a grim determination. Eleven days before, on Thursday, 8 February, troops of General Henry Crerar’s First Canadian Army had launched ‘Operation Veritable’, Field Marshal Montgomery’s scheme to break out of Holland and into Germany proper. They had moved out of Nijmegen along the road to Cleves while, further south, they had started to move into the almost impenetrable Reichswald, the great forest dominating the Dutch-German border. At nine o’clock that morning, despite the bad weather, the 2nd Tactical Air Force of the RAF had bombed German troops and equipment east of the Reichswald. Goch, Geldern and Rheinberg were bombed and the road bridge at Wesel was destroyed to prevent reinforcements being hurried to the front. At precisely 10.30 hours the First Canadian Army began to move forward, troops advancing in the wake of tanks spearheaded by ‘flail tanks’, whose whirling chains were designed to cut through mine fields.
The fighting was tough. After the opening barrage it had seemed that no man could have survived in the German bunkers and that no tree could be left standing in the dense Reichswald forest. But survivors there were and every yard of soil was bitterly contested. Yet within twenty-four hours the Allies were on the west bank of the Rhine and by Sunday they were fighting in the suburbs of Cleves itself.
General Miles Dempsey’s Second British Army had also breached the Siegfried defences and spread out to join the Canadians in holding a ten-mile stretch of the west bank of the Rhine from the Dutch town of Millingen to Emmerich. Fighting was exceptionally fierce here and it was not until the following Saturday, 17 February, that the Allies had closed to within a mile of Goch and Calcar. On the day before Paul and Magda had arrived at the farmhouse, the Allies had actually entered the town of Goch.
The SS were in control of Goch, and as the Allies entered, they blew up the church and one of the bridges leading into Goch across the Niers River. The street fighting went on for nearly three days before the Allies could say the town was fully under their control. Then column after column of tanks and trucks began to pour in.
Now the Allied advance seemed to generate its own momentum. The swiftness of it caused Paul anxiety. The sooner the Allies came to the Grunewald and to the secret site of Project Wotan, the sooner Brigadeführer Heiden would be faced with the terrible choice: Launch the rockets, or if they could not be launched, then explode them on the site. The mere fact that he had been placed in command of the project meant that Heiden was a trustworthy Nazi: a fanatic. Therefore Paul was sure that Heiden would not hesitate to explode the bombs and unleash a terrible destruction on the German people.
At Udem, Paul was halted by two Wehrmacht soldiers who threatened him and grabbed his bicycle. Paul took to his heels and then realized that the two men were deserters, for they were fleeing in the opposite direction, bearing his precious bicycle with them.
Resigned, Paul moved on as quickly as he could until he came to a broad stretch of river. He realized that it must be the Niers, which was the only sizeable river between that point and the larger Maas, into which it flowed. The Niers flowed from the north and passed through Goch, where the Allies were. He paused, wondering whether to follow the east bank. Suddenly he heard the noise of engines on the road nearby. He swung round and saw a line of Wehrmacht trucks moving in his general direction. Abandoning further thought, he turned and ran for the river. Without breaking his stride he leaped into its muddy waters, going right under. The shock of the cold water caused him to lash out in panic, half swimming, half floundering, until he reached the far side.
Expecting that any moment a gun would open fire behind him, he scrambled up the slippery embankment and then stumbled forward clumsily over a muddy, boggy field to the shelter of a wood which began about one hundred yards from the river bank. There, feeling that he could run no more, he collapsed to his knees, heart pounding and breath rasping in his throat. A few moments later, though, fear drove him to his feet and he began to move off at a brisk jog.
When he heard shouting ahead, he halted again and peered forward. Not far away was a woodman’s hut. A group of grey-coated soldiers were milling around. Some were smoking or just lying back on the ground, heads resting on their packs. A few of them carried Panzer-fists, anti-tank weapons. Paul
swung in a wide semicircle to avoid them.
The dark of the February early evening was closing in now and he was wet, cold and exhausted. He was wondering where he could stay to avoid the intense cold of the night when he came to a sodden, unpleasant-smelling hayrick in a large clearing. Once it had been used for feeding the animals of the Reichswald during the cruel winter months, but it had been deserted by both men and beast for quite some time and it was rotten and decaying. Nevertheless, Paul burrowed into the putrefying vegetation for the warmth and cover it afforded.
Around him he could hear the deep thump of heavy guns. The shells — thank God! — were being aimed to the east of where he was hiding. Peering from underneath the rotting strands of hay, he could see fires and flashes through the encircling trees. A couple of shells screamed overhead to land about half-a-mile away.
He slept eventually, waking with the first light of dawn. He began to move, then froze as the sound of harsh voices registered in his sleep-fuddled mind. He could hear people walking past the rick and he prayed they would not search it. The voices died away and, while waiting he drowsed again in his exhaustion.
The sun was almost at its zenith when he awoke. Cursing himself for sleeping too long, he extricated himself from the smelly but warm hiding place, shivering as the cold cut through his still sodden clothing. He turned northward and an hour or so later came to a group of roofless buildings. Some of the stone and brick walls were also smashed. Not one of the half-dozen cottages had any remaining windows. They were covered in scorch marks and bullet holes. A rusting, burnt-out half-track lay partially buried where it had swerved into a wall which had collapsed over it.
A sign, hanging drunkenly from one building, announced in faded Gothic letters Reichs Ganze — a border crossing.
Paul entered the deserted hamlet carefully, scarcely daring to breathe because the sound carried so clearly in the stillness. He was level with the first house when there was a loud explosion and a mushroom of dirt sprayed up about a hundred yards in front of him.
The Doomsday Decree Page 16