Canaris’s Mercedes, which was smaller and far less ostentatious than any of the other official cars of the senior members of the Nazi or OKW hierarchy, was crowded.
Max—now wearing a somewhat shabby dark blue business suit and a light gray snap-brim felt hat, both of which looked too small on the muscular old sailor—was driving. Canaris rode beside him.
General von Wachtstein, Oberstleutnant Gehlen, and Fregattenkapitän von und zu Waching were in the backseat, each holding a briefcase on his lap.
When Max drove into the Bendlerblock—a large, drab collection of connected four-story masonry buildings south of the Tiergarten—there were three larger official Mercedeses backed into the four-place parking area reserved for the cars of senior officers. Two of them had mounted on the right front fender a metal flag appropriate to the rank of the passenger it would carry. One flag was that of a General der Fallschirmtruppe and the other that of an SS-Brigadeführer.
That meant that von Deitzberg and Student were already here waiting for him. Canaris wondered who was in the third car.
Canaris thought that while there were at least a half-dozen brigadeführers in the SS—maybe more—there was only one General der Fallschirmtruppe in the Luftwaffe: Kurt Student.
A pilot in World War I, Student had stayed in the service, and had been involved with German military aviation from the beginning, before there had been a Luftwaffe and while Germany was at least paying lip service to the Versailles Convention, which forbade Germany to have an air force.
Student had taught fledgling German pilots to fly gliders, hiding the program as a sport. He had become, in the process, an expert in engineless aircraft, and had drawn plans for the construction of enormous gliders. These would be towed by transport aircraft once the Germans had stopped following the pro scriptions of the Versailles Convention.
While they were waiting for the right moment to do that, Germany struck a secret deal with the Soviet Union. It made available airfields deep in Russia on which German pilots were secretly taught to fly powered aircraft and German engineers secretly built and tested a whole new generation of fighter and bomber aircraft. All far from prying French and English eyes.
Student had been in charge of this program, reporting to Hermann Göring and Hitler directly. In those days, not all senior officers could be trusted to keep their mouths shut about Germany’s blatant violation of the Versailles Convention, and what was secretly going on in Russia was very much a secret in Germany as well.
Until the Crete disaster provoked Hitler’s wrath, Student had what looked like a promising career before him in the upper echelons of the German armed forces. He had had the backing of Göring, not only because he was a fellow World War I pilot and had made such substantial contributions to the Luftwaffe, but also because the Fallschirmtruppe were, in effect, the infantry of the Luftwaffe—much like the U.S. Marine Corps is the Navy’s infantry—and Göring liked the idea of having his own army, especially now that Heinrich Himmler had formed the Waffen-SS as the private army of the Schutzstaffel, which had begun as Hitler’s bodyguard.
And Hitler’s displeasure had been tempered. He had ordered that henceforth the Fallschirmjäger would fight as ordinary infantry, but he had not stripped Student of his rank. Hitler even permitted Student to remain on the periphery of those gathered around his Wolfsschanze map tables.
But until the rescue of the deposed Italian dictator had come along—General von Wachtstein had told Canaris that it had been named Unternehmen Eiche (Operation Oak)—Student had not been given, by Hitler or by the OKW staff, any meaningful duties or missions.
That told Canaris that Student was fully aware that the success or failure of Operation Oak was a second chance for him. If he were able to carry it off, he could again bask in the Führer’s approval. However, if he failed, he could count on being sent to the Eastern Front—if he was lucky. Hitler had stripped other general officers he thought had failed him of their ranks, their medals, and even their pensions.
Max stopped the car before the entrance. Canaris was out of it before the guard could trot up to open the door for him.
The officers in Canaris’s far-from-opulent outer office rose as Canaris walked in. Including General Kurt Student, which Canaris found interesting, as he was junior to the parachute troops general.
I think he knows he needs me.
As indeed he does.
Canaris acknowledged only Student. He said, “Heil Hitler,” gave a somewhat sloppy Nazi salute, then offered his hand.
“Good morning, General,” he said. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
Student smiled and made an It doesn’t matter gesture. Canaris motioned Student toward the door to his office and gestured for the others to follow. He waved Student into the chair at one end of a long, somewhat battered conference table. He took the seat at the opposite end.
Without being invited, SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg sat down beside Student. The other men in the room—a major and a lieutenant, both Fallschirmtruppe officers, and an enormous Waffen-SS captain—came to attention.
“Please be seated,” Canaris said, pointing to the chairs around as General von Wachtstein, Fregattenkapitän von und zu Waching, and Oberstleutnant Gehlen entered the office. Von Wachtstein took a seat beside Canaris and von und zu Waching took one across from him.
“In a moment, Frau Dichter will bring us what is supposed to be coffee and then we can start talking about Operation Oak,” Canaris said. He paused. “General Student, I don’t know these gentlemen.”
The Waffen-SS captain leapt to his feet and barked, “SS-Hauptsturmführer Skorzeny, Herr Admiral, of SS Special Unit Friedenthal.”
Canaris nodded at Skorzeny, then made a somewhat impatient wave of his hand telling him to sit down. The parachute officers were now standing at attention. Canaris waved at them to sit down.
“Admiral,” Student said, pointing as he spoke, “these gentlemen are Major Harald Moors and Leutnant Otto von Berlepsch.”
“Actually, the leutnant is Leutnant Count Otto von Berlepsch,” von Deitzberg said.
“Is he really?” Canaris asked, dryly sarcastic.
Tell you what, Baron von Deitzberg: You and Count von Berlepsch put on your suits of armor, and General Student and I will help you get on your horses. Feel free to stand on our backs as you do so.
The anger came quickly and unexpectedly and was immediately regretted for two reasons: Coming close to losing his temper with von Deitzberg approached stupidity, for one. For another, the looks of contempt on both von Berlepsch’s and Generalmajor Count von Wachtstein’s faces showed they were as contemptuous of von Deitzberg’s evoking of the Almanach de Gotha as he was.
“As of one o’clock this morning,” Canaris announced, “the Carabinieri were completing their plans to move Mussolini from the Isle of Ponza to the Campo Imperatore Hotel in the Apennine mountain range, some eighty miles northeast of Rome. The Carabinieri have arranged for patrol torpedo boats to move him and his guard to the mainland. I don’t know where on the mainland, and I don’t know when the move will take place—probably not tomorrow, but early in the morning of the day after tomorrow.”
“Admiral, you’re sure of your intelligence?” General Student asked.
That wasn’t a challenge. He is just making sure.
Canaris nodded.
“If we could find out where they are going to land him on the mainland, we could free Il Duce en route to the Campo Imperatore,” von Deitzberg said.
“How would you do that?” Canaris asked evenly.
“I don’t think that Hauptsturmführer Skorzeny, Herr Admiral, and his SS Special Unit Friedenthal would have any difficulty in freeing Il Duce from any Italian unit,” von Deitzberg said.
“How much do you know about the Carabinieri, von Deitzberg?” Student asked softly.
“They’re Italian, aren’t they? And haven’t we all learned that whatever else our former Italian allies might be good at—making wine, for exa
mple—they are not very good at making war?”
“Forgive me, von Deitzberg, but I have to disagree,” Student said. “You’ve heard, I’m sure, that one should never underestimate one’s enemy.”
“Are you suggesting, Herr General,” von Deitzberg challenged, “that a unit—a special unit, such as the Special Unit Friedenthal of the Waffen-SS—is not superior to any Italian unit?”
Student did not answer directly. Instead, looking at Canaris and von Wachtstein, he said, “Forgive me, gentlemen, if I’m telling you something you probably know as well as I do.
“The Carabinieri Reali—Royal Carabinieri—has been around since 1814,” Student began, as if lecturing a class at the Kriegsschule. “The term ‘Carabinieri’ refers to the unit being armed with shortened, bayonetless rifles, carbines. These were—and remain—special troops not intended to march in formation across the battlefield toward the enemy. Forerunners, one might say, of latter-day special troops, such as the Waffen-SS and, of course, the Fallschirmjäger.
“They began to acquire their legendary reputation as warriors right from the beginning, when, the year after they were formed, they engaged and soundly defeated Napoleon’s best at Grenoble in 1815. Subsequently they served—with equal distinction—in the Crimean War and performed admirably in the wars of Italian Independence, Eritrea, and Libya.
“In this war, the Carabinieri have fought with valor in Greece and East Africa under impossible odds.”
General von Wachtstein nodded his agreement. Von Deitzberg saw this and his lips tightened even more.
Canaris thought: Student is certainly aware that it’s unwise to challenge Himmler’s right-hand man.
But he’s also aware that rescuing Il Duce is his last chance. And that Himmler wants this rescue operation for the SS. And he can’t let that happen.
So—with the old principle that the best defense is a good offense—he’s going to take on von Deitzberg.
Good for him.
“So, von Deitzberg,” Student went on, “while I am second to no one in my admiration for the SS, I submit that your Special Unit Friedenthal—it is approximately of company strength, as I understand it?”
“A reenforced company, Herr General. A little over three hundred men—”
“All of whom, I am sure, are a credit to the SS and Germany. I doubt, however, that even such a splendid body of men can take on a battalion—six or seven hundred strong—of the Carabinieri who have been personally charged by their king with guarding Il Duce.”
Von Deitzberg glared at him. His face showed that he was preparing a sarcastic, perhaps caustic, reply.
He ran out of time.
“Then, may I tell the Führer, Admiral Canaris,” General von Wachtstein asked, surprising Canaris, who hadn’t expected him to open his mouth, “that you and General Student are agreed that the attempt to liberate Mussolini should take place after he is moved to the Campo Imperatore Hotel rather than on the Isle of Ponza, or when he is being moved from one to the other?”
That wasn’t a question.
Von Wachtstein was telling von Deitzberg that he agreed with Student.
“Yes,” Canaris said.
“Concur,” Student said.
That makes three of us who have crossed von Deitzberg. Not only Student and me, but also von Wachtstein, for asking the question.
Why did he do that?
One general supporting another against the SS?
Or maybe to show von Deitzberg that there are only three senior players in this little game, and von Deitzberg is not one of them?
Well, he had his reasons and he’s no fool.
And that means he knew I wouldn’t support von Deitzberg.
“Can we now get to the details of the operation itself?” von Wachtstein asked. “I hate to rush any of you, but the Führer is waiting to hear what you have decided.”
Well, that I understand: He’s making the point to von Deitzberg that he represents the Führer.
Von Deitzberg said: “I believe Hauptsturmführer Skorzeny has a very good plan—”
“I’m sure he does,” Student interrupted him.
“If I have to say this,” von Deitzberg said, “Reichsführer-SS Himmler feels the SS Special Unit Friedenthal should play a significant role in this operation.”
“The Führer has honored me with the responsibility for carrying it out,” Student said.
“Let’s hear what the SS has to say, General Student,” von Wachtstein said.
“Certainly,” Student said.
“Skorzeny,” von Deitzberg said.
Skorzeny popped to attention, then opened his briefcase and took a large map and a number of large photographs from it. He unfolded the map and then laid it on the table.
In front of von Wachtstein, which means he acknowledges that von Wachtstein is really in charge.
“I have personally reconnoitered the Campo Imperatore Hotel by air,” Skorzeny said. “In a Fieseler Storch. If you will notice, gentlemen, the map has keys to the photographs.”
Canaris examined the map and the photos with interest. All he had previously seen was a prewar advertising brochure for the hotel. It wasn’t that he was disinterested but rather because, before Hitler had involved him in the rescue of Il Duce, he couldn’t imagine being involved himself.
As both Gehlen and von und zu Waching had heard him often say, “Effective intelligence is far less the gathering of information than being able to find the two or three tiny useful bits in the mountains of useless data.”
Canaris simply hadn’t the time to try to learn anything but the two or three useful bits: where Mussolini was being held, and when and where he was going to be moved.
Looking at the map and the photographs now, Canaris understood why the Carabinieri had chosen the Campo Imperatore Hotel as the place to confine Il Duce. It sat atop the Gran Sasso, the highest mountain in the Italian Apennines, accessible only by cable car from the valley. Mussolini would not only have to escape his captors but also somehow use the cable car to get down the mountain. And cable cars were not like automobiles; one could not operate them by oneself.
More important, no one trying to free him could do so without using the cable car. All the Carabinieri would have to do to thwart a rescue attempt was disable the cable car and call for help, which could get there—even from Rome—long before the rescuers could scale the Gran Sasso.
“Simply,” Skorzeny said, “my plan is that 108 members of the SS Special Unit Friedenthal, under my command, will land in a dozen of General Student’s DFS 230 assault gliders. Once the Carabinieri have been dealt with, and Il Duce freed, a Fieseler Storch will land, and Il Duce and I will get in it and fly to Rome.”
“I find a few little things in your plan that concern me,” Student said sarcastically. “For example, the Storch is a two-seat aircraft. Or are you planning on flying it yourself, Herr Hauptmann?”
The door opened and Frau Dichter, Canaris’s anemic-looking secretary said, “Forgive the intrusion, Herr Admiral, but . . .”
Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler pushed past her into the room.
“. . . Reichsführer Himmler.”
Everyone rose quickly to their feet.
Himmler’s right arm shot out in the Nazi salute.
“Heil Hitler,” he announced softly. “Take your seats, gentlemen. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Would you like to sit here, Herr Reichsführer?” von Deitzberg asked.
“This will be fine,” Himmler said as he took one of the chairs lining the conference table.
When he had seated himself, the others sat back down.
“Actually,” Himmler announced, “I came to have a word with Admiral Canaris. But since I am here, and we all know how important Operation Oak is to our Führer, perhaps this is one of those fortuitous circumstances one hears so much about. Please go on.”
Von Deitzberg shot to his feet.
“Herr Reichsführer, General Student was about to tell u
s what he finds wrong with Skorzeny’s plan.”
“Which is? Skorzeny’s plan, I mean.”
“Admiral Canaris has learned that Mussolini will shortly be taken to the ski resort—the Campo Imperatore Hotel—on the crest of the Gran Sasso,” von Wachtstein said. “It was just agreed that that is where the rescue will take place. Skorzeny proposes that 108 men of the SS Special Unit Friedenthal under his command land by glider and free Il Duce, who will be then flown to Rome in a Storch.”
“And General Student finds weaknesses in that plan?” Himmler said. “I’ll be interested to hear what they are.”
“Several things concern me, Herr Reichsführer,” Student began, only to be interrupted by Himmler raising a hand to cut him off.
“Actually, Student, I learned something from you soldiers,” Himmler said, then paused, smiled his undertaker’s smile, and made his little joke: “As hard as that may be to believe.”
There was dutiful laughter.
“What I learned, and it has really proven useful, is that if the junior officer is asked for his opinion first, then one may be reasonably sure that his answers are what he believes, rather than what he believes his superiors wish to hear. Why don’t we try that here? Who is the junior officer?”
“I believe I am,” von Berlepsch said as he stood. He quickly added, “Herr Reichsführer.”
But the delay was noticeable.
“And you are?” Himmler asked.
“Leutnant von Berlepsch, Herr Reichsführer.”
“And what do you think of Brigadeführer von Deitzberg’s . . . excuse me, Hauptmann Skorzeny’s plan, Herr Leutnant?”
Canaris thought: So von Deitzberg has been playing soldier and planning operations? I wonder why he decided to say it was Skorzeny’s plan. Perhaps because, so far, von Deitzberg has yet to hear a shot fired in anger and doesn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to mention that?
Or is there something Machiavellian in play here?
Himmler wants Skorzeny to be a hero, because he has plans for him?
“As I am sure the Reichsführer is aware,” von Berlepsch began, “any type of vertical envelopment operation is very difficult in mountainous terrain.”
The Honor of Spies Page 19