The Austrian: Book Two

by Ellie Midwood

  “We’ll think of something. I promise.”

  Chapter 7

  Vienna, March 1940

  “I promise, Herr Gruppenführer, I’ve thought of everything. That spa is excellent and you’ll have a skiing slope within a five minute walk. I also took care of the private plane arrangements for you, so you wouldn’t have to waste any time on driving to Switzerland.”

  I gave an approving wink to my adjutant, who was making arrangements for my three day leave that Reichsführer had generously granted me after the successful invasion of Denmark and Norway.

  Himmler had summoned me to Berlin in the first days of March and trusted me to personally select troops from the upper Austrian Alpine area, who were to seize two northern countries swiftly and without any questions asked. I understood that I was not supposed to ask anything either, after Reichsführer gave me a hard, silent stare to my inquiry concerning our new foreseeable territorial expanses. Realizing my mistake at questioning the Führer’s wishes, I quickly nodded, replied with the usual Jawohl, left the RSHA building, and left them all to their devices. What did I care if they decided to invade two more countries? After we occupied Poland we were already involved in war with England, so Denmark and Norway wouldn’t change much; so I shrugged and went to upper Austria to inspect the best troops it had to offer.

  Reichsführer was more than pleased with my SS men, however Heydrich was on the phone with me on the second morning of their arrival in Norway.

  “Kaltenbrunner! Where the hell did you find those morons, let me ask you?”

  Glad that he couldn’t see me, I poured whiskey into my glass. “Why, what’s wrong with them?”

  “What’s wrong?! They were supposed to gather on the border undercover, quietly and without giving away their presence, and to wait for the order to attack. And on the first evening what did they do, your highly praised Austrian SS? Went into town drinking and chasing local women!”

  I spit the drink back into the glass and tried to hold my mouth so as not to burst out laughing right into the receiver, but Heydrich still heard me sneer.

  “Are you laughing there?!”

  “No, Gruppenführer, how can I,” I replied in between hardly contained chuckles.

  “I can hear you laugh, Kaltenbrunner! Let’s see how you’re going to laugh when they sabotage the whole operation and you end up facing the tribunal because you’re their commanding officer!”

  Thankfully, the order to attack was given too fast for any local authorities to react, and even the typical Austrian good humor didn’t compromise the invasion.

  Heydrich, however, still held a grudge for me almost sabotaging his latest offensive operation, and three months later he summoned me to Berlin to entrust me with something he knew I hated doing – an inspection of the new Warsaw Jewish ghetto which was under construction, having started on April 1. Both Heydrich and Governor-General Hans Frank, the man in charge of the construction, decided to kill two birds with one shot: to separate the predominantly Jewish area from the gentile one, and, what was more important to the Chief of the RSHA, to herd all the Jews into one place, surrounded by walls with guards patrolling it, just until he could come up with another perverted plan on how to get rid of the race he hated so much, with every fiber of his soul, if he even had one.

  Heydrich handed me a black leather folder with a silver eagle on it, his usual sneer lifting only one corner of his mouth. I noted then that I had never seen him smile, really smile, like normal people do; not only with their mouth, but also with their eyes at the sight, or at the thought, of something dear to them. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t have anything dear enough to make him smile.

  “Gruppenführer, do you read bedtime stories to your children?” I asked him out of blue, lifting my eyes from the document inside the folder.

  For the first time I saw him lose his always perfectly cool composure, when a shade of confusion furrowed his forehead for a moment. I saw only a tiny sliver of doubt in his icy blue eyes before they froze with their usual indifference again.

  “Why do you care what I do with my children?”

  I used my finger to circle the wreath with the swastika that the eagle on the folder was holding with its talons. “I was just wondering if there’s anything human in you at all.”

  He sneered.

  “Do you read bedtime stories to your children?” Heydrich asked, with sarcasm almost oozing out of his words.

  I nodded slightly, still looking at the silver eagle. “I do, when I’m home.”

  Heydrich paused for a while, frowning again, and then quickly turned around and went to his chair. “I have work to do. You have my orders. Heil Hitler.”

  I didn’t move, even though he had already busied himself with paperwork.

  “Gruppenführer, has it ever occurred to you that these could be your children?” I addressed him quietly, pressing the folder next to me.

  “What?” Heydrich looked up at me sharply.

  “The order in this folder. It says here that everyone who is not useful for the Reich and can’t perform physical work should be—”

  “…should be dealt with accordingly by the Einsatzgruppen. I don’t understand what your question is, and why you’re still here.”

  “What are you going to do with them? With those children?”

  “Not only children, with the sick and elderly as well. This order is for the heads of the Einsatzgruppen. They know what to do with them. You don’t have to. You’re going to Warsaw to inspect the future ghetto area and the wall construction. Don’t concern yourself with people.”

  “Children. You’re going to murder children. Let’s call things their names. I’m a father myself, and I refuse to—”

  “Kaltenbrunner, if I hear you one more time talking about murdering children, I’ll have you executed for treason. I will say this one time, and one time only, so listen carefully. This subject matter is of the utmost secrecy, and I’m acting on the Führer’s direct orders. No one outside those departments prescribed to work directly with me is to speculate on the meaning of these ‘protective custody’ orders. If I find out that you spoke to someone, let it be your friend, a family member, or God forbid one of your subordinates, I have the Führer’s orders to execute anyone who is involved in such a conversation. So my advice to you: if you’re such a self-conscious and righteous father, concern yourself with your own children and leave everyone else’s, including mine, alone. Am I being clear?”

  “More than, Gruppenführer.”

  “Once again, Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil.” I mumbled under my breath instead of raising my hand, and I left his office. After that conversation I knew we had nothing else to discuss. I wanted nothing to do with him, with all of them. And yet the following morning I flew out to Warsaw.

  _______________

  Nuremberg, June 1946

  “The very next morning they flew them all to Moscow.”

  “The NKVD?”

  “Yes, of course. Who else?”

  The court had adjourned for a short recess, and I found myself involuntarily listening to a conversation between von Ribbentrop, the former Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Reichsmarschall Göring. Rudolf Hess, who usually occupied the seat between the two, was absent due to one of his regular abnormal fits that everyone by now was accustomed to. Even the army psychiatrists couldn’t quite figure out if Hess was indeed insane, or was faking it together with his amnesia to escape the death sentence.

  “Yes, they picked them all up, still warm, and now even the Americans can’t find a trace of them.” Göring fixed his silk neck tie and suddenly turned to me. “You’re lucky they didn’t get their hands on you, Kaltenbrunner, or you’d long be gone into one of their NKVD dungeons, together with your subordinates, who they’re probably torturing right now, as we speak.”

  “What subordinates?” I asked, confused.

  “The intelligence and the Gestapo, that’s who interested them most. And you were their chief.
” Göring explained it to me as if to a little child.

  “But the war is over. Why would they want me for? Or my former subordinates?”

  “Well, the most obvious reason, besides beating the hell out of you for just the thrill of it, would be that you managed to organize quite an impressive intelligence net all over the world. And they want that experience to achieve their own goals.” Göring nodded at the Soviet delegation, eyeing us suspiciously from across the room, as if they knew that we were talking about them. “Mark my words, they will tear into each other’s throats, the Bolsheviks and the Americans, the very next day after they hang us. Our bodies will still be warm when they start a new war. They need our experience in intelligence, just like the Americans do. They snatched the other half of your subordinates as well, the ones that the Russkies didn’t get to in time. I’m surprised they didn’t stage your death.”

  I looked up at him.

  “What are you looking so surprised about?” Göring chuckled. “I should be surprised that they want you dead more than helping them set up the new net for the Russkies. Who knows though? They still have time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “What do you think for what? To get you out. All you have to do is come up with something they want more than stretching your neck.”

  “Easier said than done,” I replied, a little offended that he was joking about something like that. “I don’t know anything valuable.”

  “Then you better learn something.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to learn something that will supposedly get me out of the noose while I’m in prison?” I finally hissed at the Reichsmarschall, losing my temper. It was the wrong place and the wrong time for his jesting mood.

  “I can’t help you with that, my boy. You’re the Chief of Intelligence here. If you want to stay alive, you’ll just have to think harder.”

  _______________

  Warsaw, July 1940

  “Think harder, Georg. Where did you put it?” I was staring pointedly at my new adjutant, who was feverishly going through the multiple papers and folders he had packed for our trip to the Polish capital. “Not to put any unnecessary pressure on you, but we’re both going to get shot if you left it somewhere.”

  I knew it was his first week as my adjutant – Georg was just out of Leibstandarte barracks, the same training program of the elite SS that Joachim Peiper, Himmler’s adjutant, belonged to – but it was actually Reichsführer himself who recommended me Georg’s candidature for the adjutancy, as it was time for my old adjutant to be promoted. I grew fond of my new young subordinate right away; his eagerness to please together with his nervousness was very amusing to me, and, needless to say, I kept teasing him despite the fact that he was only just getting acquainted with my working routine. I knew he had great potential though. His efficiency and meticulousness had impressed me immensely after only a few days.

  “I swear I packed it together with the rest of the documents, Herr Gruppenführer! I clearly remember putting it here.” At last he found Heydrich’s dreaded order and with a shining smile handed the folder to me, bowing slightly. “Here it is, Herr Gruppenführer.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, taking it from the young man, who was beaming with pride.

  “Are they copying you there?”

  “Excuse me, Herr Gruppenführer?” His brow slightly furrowed, like that of a dog trying to guess the meaning of his master’s words.

  I shook my head, still smiling. “Nothing. You just remind me of Reichsführer’s adjutant a lot. You even look alike. That’s why I said that they must be copying you there, in Leibstandarte. It’s a joke.”

  “Who, Johen?” Georg beamed again.

  “Joachim Peiper.”

  “Yes, Johen is what we called him in Leibstandarte. You’re right, Herr Gruppenführer, we did train together. He’s a great fellow, very friendly with everyone. And very smart, and brave too.”

  “So I’ve heard. Tell me more about your training.”

  Having my joyfully chirping adjutant by my side was making this inspection somewhat bearable, I thought, as we exited the hotel and headed to the car, the door to which the soldier, assigned as my temporary driver in Warsaw, was already holding for us. Georg’s good-humored chatter was distracting me from all my unhappy thoughts along the way, as we were getting nearer and nearer to the predominantly Jewish sector. Along the road I could see part of the wall, and the people working on it.

  “They seem happy,” Georg remarked, as if reading my mind.

  “Who, the Jews?”

  “Yes. I thought they would be more upset about the construction. And look at them, singing, laughing…”

  “They’re separating themselves from us. That’s the reason for their good mood.”

  “I don’t understand, Herr Gruppenführer…”

  “Would you want to live amongst the people who openly hate you and have a right to beat you up if they please?” I nodded at the workers. “They’re safer inside.”

  Georg went quiet and then asked, “Do you feel sorry for them, Herr Gruppenführer?”

  I gave him a stern, pointed look.

  “You’re just out of Leibstandarte. Did you skip the ideological class? We’re not supposed to feel sorry for them. They’re our racial enemy.” I repeated the last two sentences like every single official in the Reich was prescribed to, according to the official doctrine. Any other answer was equal to treason.

  “Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer. Please, pardon me.” He sounded upset with my words.

  I was watching his profile as he turned his head back to the wall under construction.

  “Do you?” I asked quietly at last.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Do you feel sorry for them?”

  He took a little longer than he should with the answer and then repeated mine, word in word, “We’re not supposed to feel sorry for Jews. They’re our racial enemy.”

  “Keep saying the right things, Georg. Just don’t let them get inside your head.”

  He blinked at me several times, until I grinned with a corner of my mouth and winked at him. It seemed like Georg breathed out in relief as he broke into the widest smile.

  “Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer!”

  The driver stopped the car and held the door for me. I had barely stepped out of the car when the Kommandant supervising the construction gave me a salute and snapped to attention. I nodded and offered him my hand, which he shook eagerly, immediately breaking into a well-rehearsed speech about what a big honor it was to have me there, and what immense work they were doing for the future of the Reich and how he couldn’t wait to show me the future ghetto itself. Not having any desire to be here in the first place I was trying my best to hide my irritation at his enthusiasm.

  “You’ll show everything to my adjutant.” I motioned surprised Georg to step forward. “I know what Potemkin villages you always prepare for the official visits, and for that very reason Gruppenführer Heydrich instructed me to see everything for myself, without escort. So you go where you were planning to go with my subordinate, and I’ll go where I please. Alone.”

  I lied about Heydrich of course, but that little lie at least relieved me of the Kommandant and his speeches, very closely reminding me of those the Minister of Propaganda, Dr. Goebbels, was giving on racial subjects. I smirked inwardly, thinking that the eager young man was appointed to this position precisely because of his utmost interest in the subject. At thirty-six I was a little too old to find those fanatical speeches enticing.

  I had just made the first step away from the Kommandant and his staff, when Georg called me out warily, “Herr Gruppenführer!”

  “Yes?”

  “Gruppenführer Heydrich’s order…”

  Only now I remembered what I had come here for, seeing the familiar black leather folder that my adjutant was holding out for me. Or maybe I loathed reading it out loud so much that unconsciously I had tried to slip out before I had a chance to do it. I e
yed the folder for a moment, promised myself a whole bottle of brandy after the inspection was over, and took the order from Georg’s hands.

  “The order from the Chief of the RSHA, Gruppenführer Heydrich, for the Kommandant of the Warsaw ghetto and the heads of the Einsatzgruppen currently working in the area. On this day, the necessity to supply the growing war effort holds you responsible for the supply of the needed working force for the labor camps, manufacturing facilities, ammunition factories, construction pits, mines, etc. You are to document and transport the labor force in needed numbers for the Kommandants of the abovementioned types of infrastructures. The failure to do so will result in administrative punishment. To enforce the quality of the working force you are to hold selections starting this day, July 3 1940, supervised by the medical staff of the SS office. These selections will allow you to separate the able laborers from the unable ones. All the unable laborers, which include children under twelve, pregnant women, elderly over sixty-five, invalids, and others who are found unable to perform physical labor by the medical SS staff are to be transferred under supervision of the heads of the Einsatzgruppen and dealt with according to the orders previously delegated to them by Sturmbannführer Eichmann.”

  I slammed the folder closed with unnecessary force and almost threw it back to Georg’s awaiting hands.

  “Is everything clear to you, Kommandant?”

  “Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer.”

  Having completed my official duty, I turned around and quickly walked away. I could swear that one of the guards gave me a hostile glare, or maybe it was my own mind playing tricks with me. Dealt with accordingly… I knew what dealt with accordingly meant because Melita was crying telling me all about it. Melita, the former ardent supporter of the T4 program, who never cried about anything, witnessed something so atrocious that it made her doubt her own superiors, who she always put before everything, even before her own life. Could it be that she was right, and we indeed were weaklings, she and I, if we doubted our Führer’s cause? Almost ten years ago there was not a shade of doubt in me, only pride and desire to serve him the best I could… I saw the same pride and desire in the young Kommandant’s eyes, but what did he see in mine? Boredom, indifference… annoyance? Annoyance, because I had better things to do than listen to his reports and statistics when I could spend my well-deserved time in the much more pleasurable company of some beauty and a bottle of champagne.