die Stunde X

by Shaun Stafford

  “Even if they fail?”

  “If they make an attempt, we’ll get them out of the country,” Barney promised.

  “I don’t know about that, Barney,” Clark said anxiously. “If the Germans discover two assassins in our possession, they might think the US was involved, and this could escalate into a war.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Barney said.

  Liam smoked the last of his cigarette, stubbed it out in the empty ashtray placed in the middle of the table, and stood up.

  The meeting was over.

  The men shook hands, and Liam disappeared through the hole in the ground. When he had gone, Clark turned to Barney.

  “That was a pretty stupid thing to promise, Barney.”

  “Why?”

  “Because like I said, if the Germans find them in our possession–”

  “They won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because there is no way those two assassins will get away from the location of the assassination.”

  “What makes you so damned certain?”

  “There are going to be Germans all over this goddamn city come May 1st. Once they fire a single bullet at the Führer, the building from where they launch that attack will be surrounded by Germans. They’ll never get out. The Germans will have them.”

  “Do you think Liam knows that?”

  “Oh, Liam knows that,” Barney said, going to the stairs that would take him out of the basement. Clark followed. Barney turned to him and said, “And I think those two assassins know it as well.”

  66

  Von Stauffenberg’s flight to Germania landed at the city’s Reichsflughafen early the following morning, escorted, as it had been on the outgoing trip, by a squadron of MF440s from the Luftwaffe.

  Von Stauffenberg and two Oberführers, accompanied by a number of officers of lesser ranks, climbed from the aircraft and into the waiting cars. There was even less ceremony this end than there was in London. Von Stauffenberg was here for a purpose, and his trip was unannounced. And because he resided in Germania, it would’ve seemed improper to wave flags upon his arrival.

  The small cavalcade drove through Germania, cutting its way through the traffic with judicious use of lights and sirens. The traffic obediently moved out of the way, and before long, the cavalcade was pulling up the driveway to the Reichstaghalle in Der Parlamentstrasse.

  As von Stauffenberg and his two Oberführers entered the Reichstaghalle, a number of Germanian SS officers came rushing through the immense chamber, whose ceiling was twice as high as its width.

  “I am Reichsführer-SS von Stauffenberg, and I demand to speak with the Führer.”

  “That will not be possible, Herr Reichsführer,” a young man wearing the uniform of the Leibstandarte-SS Führer, and bearing the insignia of Gruppenführer, told him.

  “And why not?” fumed von Stauffenberg.

  “Mein Herr, this is not the place–”

  “You dare to give an order to me? I am the Reichsführer-SS! Where is the Führer?”

  “The Vizeführer will see you, mein Herr.”

  “I am sure he will,” grunted von Stauffenberg, “but I am here to speak to the mechanic, not the oily rag.”

  “Mein Herr, if–”

  “Enough!” von Stauffenberg snapped, waving the officer aside. “You will tell me, Herr Gruppenführer, where the Führer is currently located, or I will have you arrested. Is that understood?”

  The Gruppenführer looked at von Stauffenberg, and the Reichsführer-SS was dismayed to see that there was no fear in the man’s eye. Behind the Gruppenführer had gathered a number of officers from the Leibstandarte-SS Führer, wearing their black uniforms and crimson armbands. Von Stauffenberg noticed that a few of the officers were brandishing MP5 submachine-guns.

  He heard a scuffle behind him, then footsteps. He turned to face them, and saw members of the Germanian Schutzstaffel rushing into the Reichstaghalle, apparently now aware that their leader had arrived back in the city.

  Dressed in grey uniforms, they too brandished MP5s. Their guns, however, were trained upon the members of the Leibstandarte-SS Führer. Von Stauffenberg smiled at the loyalty of his troops and turned to face the young Gruppenführer.

  “Herr Gruppenführer, unless you wish a bloodbath to take place in this lobby, a bloodbath that will undoubtedly involve both you and I, I suggest you tell me where the Führer is, and the meaning behind this treacherous show of arms.”

  From the elevators to von Stauffenberg’s right came a ring that sounded the arrival of one of the lifts. The doors hissed open, and SS-Oberstgruppenführer Schaemmel, leader of the Leibstandarte-SS Führer, stepped out into the lobby, flanked by four junior officers.

  He walked calmly up to von Stauffenberg, flexing his fists, which were encased in leather gloves and hung by his side. He reached von Stauffenberg and smiled pleasantly, bowing his head as though in mock deference. Then he looked the Reichsführer-SS directly in the eyes with his cold, harsh, blue orbs. He said, “Mein Herr, we have been anticipating your arrival.”

  “And this, I suppose, Schaemmel, is the welcoming committee?”

  “Mein Herr, if you would like to follow me.”

  “I am not following anybody. I want to know where the Führer is. What have you done with him?”

  “Pardon me, mein Herr, what do you mean?”

  “I know what you and the Vizeführer are up to,” hissed von Stauffenberg quietly. Schaemmel raised his eyebrows, looked around at the attendant officers, and smiled.

  “Would you mind repeating that scurrilous accusation a little louder, Herr Reichsführer?”

  “Where is the Führer?”

  “I am not at liberty to say.”

  “I am the Reichsführer-SS!”

  “And I am the SS-Oberstgruppenführer of the Leibstandarte-SS Führer. The security of the Führer is of paramount importance, and I deem who is and who is not entitled to information regarding his whereabouts.”

  “If you do not tell me, Herr Oberstgruppenführer, then I shall have no further option but to relieve you of your duties.”

  “For that, you would need to speak to the Führer,” reminded Schaemmel. “Of course, you could also speak with the Vizeführer.”

  “Then if that is the only course of action open to me, that is what I will have to do. Lead the way, Herr Oberstgruppenführer.” Von Stauffenberg signalled to his two Oberführers, and they followed him, Schaemmel and Schaemmel’s four junior officers to the elevator. Von Stauffenberg’s men had their pistols out. The Reichsführer-SS ordered Schaemmel’s men to wait outside the elevator. After getting the nod from Schaemmel, they did, and the doors shut them out. The elevator noiselessly whisked them up to the fifth floor.

  The Vizeführer appeared to be waiting for von Stauffenberg to arrive. He lounged behind the large desk in his grandiose office and offered the Reichsführer-SS a seat. He commanded the Oberführers to wait outside. Von Stauffenberg agreed to that. Only Schaemmel appeared to be armed, and he was confident that, should the need arise, he could outshoot him.

  Schaemmel closed the door, threw a bolt and locked von Stauffenberg inside the Vizeführer’s office. Then he took a seat beside the Reichsführer-SS.

  Unconcerned, von Stauffenberg sneered at the Vizeführer. “Just what the hell are you planning?” he demanded to know.

  “What do you mean?” the Vizeführer asked innocently.

  “You know that England is not safe for the Führer’s visit, yet you would not call the visit off.”

  “The Führer’s resolve was firm.”

  “You lie!”

  “Herr Reichsführer, accusing the Vizeführer of lying is a serious offence.” His tone was almost mocking. Von Stauffenberg kept the sneer on his face. “I could have you arrested.”

  “And I could have you arrested.”

  “For what?”

  “Treason.”

  “Well, you see, Heinz, that would not be possible, even i
f I had committed an act of treason.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because you are hereby relieved of all of your duties.” The Vizeführer turned to Schaemmel. “Herr Oberstgruppenführer, I appoint you Reichsführer-SS.”

  “Thank you, Herr Vizeführer,” Schaemmel said, getting to his feet and saluting. “Heil Führer!”

  “Only the Führer himself has the right to relieve me of my duties and appoint a replacement,” von Stauffenberg told the two conspirators. The Vizeführer smiled, outstretched his arms.

  He said, “You are looking at the Führer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As you suspected, Herr von Stauffenberg, England is a very dangerous place for the Führer to visit, and he is currently en route to London at this very moment. It is highly likely that an assassination attempt will be made.”

  “And you expect that attempt to succeed?”

  “I expect the English terrorists to at least, how would you say – give it their best shot.”

  “So you can take over as Führer?”

  “It is best for the Deutsches Reich, Herr von Stauffenberg, that a man of my political resolve should take over the leadership before irrevocable damage is done to our stature.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Führer was planning to open negotiations with the Russo-American Pact. I opposed those negotiations, but the Führer was insistent. As I told you, he is a very obstinate man. We cannot allow the Reich to discuss its policies with outsiders. We cannot allow the Russo-American Pact in any way to influence Germany’s policies. Germany is the greatest world power – we will not be dictated to by Russians or Americans. The Führer would have allowed that.”

  “It would have been the chance for world peace,” von Stauffenberg stormed furiously. “An end to the Cold War.”

  “And the beginning of the end for the German Reich, once our people discovered that our government was becoming weak. They would have risen up, revolted. That could never have been allowed, Herr von Stauffenberg. And I will not stand by and watch any man, the Führer included, bring down the mighty Deutsches Reich that Adolf Hitler created.”

  “Then you’re a fool, Herr Vizeführer, and you are living in the past.”

  “You may think so. But I will ensure that Germany will be the greatest world power for many years to come. The Reich will last for a thousand years. Remember that?”

  Von Stauffenberg shook his head in dismay. “What if the English fail to kill the Führer?”

  “Then his aircraft will have an unfortunate accident on its return trip.”

  “You would murder the Führer yourself?”

  “I will save the Deutsches Reich,” the Vizeführer corrected, his blue eyes sparkly insanely. “Now, the time for talking is over.” He pushed a button on the intercom, which sounded a buzzer in his secretary’s chamber. “Herr von Stauffenberg, how do you choose to die?”

  Von Stauffenberg frowned. He had known deep in the back of his mind that they could not allow him to survive. They had told him their entire plan, and he could bring them down. So they would have to kill him.

  Outside, in the secretary’s chamber, came the muffled sounds of gunshots. His two Oberführers had doubtless been gunned down by Schaemmel’s men.

  Von Stauffenberg turned to the Vizeführer and said, “What are my options?”

  “You can be tried for treason against the Deutsches Reich,” the Vizeführer answered, “in which case you will be found guilty and beheaded as criminals and dissidents are. Or you can shot dead here, as you make a valiant, yet foolish and treasonable, attempt on the Vizeführer’s life. The choice is yours.”

  Von Stauffenberg turned to Schaemmel. He was holding a pistol, the muzzle aimed at von Stauffenberg’s head. Von Stauffenberg could feel the weight of his own gun as it hung impotently from its holster. He would have little chance of drawing it in time to save himself.

  “I choose to be tried for treason,” he said to the Vizeführer.

  Schaemmel immediately said, “Put your hands in the air, von Stauffenberg. You are under arrest for crimes against the Deutsches Reich.” Von Stauffenberg did as he was told. Schaemmel walked closer to the ex-Reichsführer-SS in order to take von Stauffenberg’s gun from its holster. As he got within range, von Stauffenberg swung a leg up and kicked Schaemmel in the groin. The gun flew from Schaemmel’s hands, and von Stauffenberg drew his own pistol.

  Even as he did, he saw out the corner of his eye the Vizeführer pulling up a pistol of his own.

  By then, it was too late to react.

  He heard the gunshot, so brief, so loud.

  Then there was nothing …

  67

  Despite the fact that the Airbus transporting the Führer to England was escorted by two dozen MF440 fighters, and when it landed at Flughafen Goering there was a large contingent of government and Schutzstaffel officials, and the airport was closed and empty for two hours preceding the Führer’s arrival, remarkably few people were aware of the fact that something special was happening in England.

  Those who saw the massive cavalcade of cars, motorbikes and trucks moving through the city probably dismissed it as belonging to one of the local dignitaries. They would never have thought that Führer would visit England.

  The cavalcade made its way directly to the Amtssitz, where rooms had been set aside for the Führer and his entourage. Even at the gate, the Führer’s presence was not announced. Erich Klarsfeld, the Reichsstatthalter, wound down the window on the Führer’s car and told the guards to let the cavalcade through.

  The Führer was led into the Amtssitz through the grand front entrance, and almost immediately, the staff of the building were shocked into silence. Some remembered their manners and saluted loudly, and throughout the walk up the immense carved staircase, Nazi salutes rang out. The Führer acknowledged as many as he could, but it was never enough for him.

  The Führer loved his people – his German people.

  And he was even starting to love the rest of his people, those ethnic groups of the Deutsches Reich. For the Führer, things were going to change. He was going to implement the largest upheaval in German history. An end to the oppression, an end to the silence, an end to the death penalties and the Konzentrationslagers. Those close to him also thought he was prepared to see an end to the most feared security organization that had seen Germany victoriously through the Second World War – the Geheime Staatspolizei.

  But Klarsfeld and Röhm, who climbed the stairs on either side of the Führer, knew nothing of this. They were stationed so far from Germania that none of the rumours trickled through to them. And for Klarsfeld, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had. Klarsfeld was all for change.

  In the office set up for the Führer, the largest in the Amtssitz, and one that had been created a fortnight ago by knocking three smaller rooms into one, there were just two men in addition to The Führer; Klarsfeld and Röhm. Both men felt nervous in the presence of their Führer, and neither spoke as the Führer familiarized himself with his surroundings.

  Finally, he turned to them and said, “You gentlemen have done me a great honour in allowing me to visit your State.”

  “The Führer may visit any State he chooses, mein Führer,” Klarsfeld said, bowing his head deferentially.

  “You two may sit.” Klarsfeld and Röhm sat down opposite the Führer. “There are some who would not be so gracious.”

  “Mein Führer?”

  “In Germania, I face opposition.”

  “The Führer should never face opposition,” Röhm retorted angrily on the Führer’s behalf.

  “Unfortunately, the opposition is extremely powerful.”

  “You know who it is?”

  “I do,” the Führer answered with a smile. “And there is nothing I can do to prevent it.”

  “If we can help, mein Führer–”

  “Nobody can help, Herr Oberstgruppenführer Röhm,” the Führer responded grimly. “All I can do is wait fo
r the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable?” Klarsfeld asked.

  “An attempt on my life.”

  “There will be no attempts on your life whilst you are in England, mein Führer,” assured Röhm. “We have the terrorists under control.”

  “It is not the terrorists I fear, Werner,” the Führer said, and Röhm was astonished that he had used his first name. “I fear the men from my own battalion, the Leibstandarte-SS Führer.”

  “My men will defend you to the last, mein Führer,” assured Röhm, “and I will instruct them to keep a particularly watchful eye on troops from the Leibstandarte-SS Führer.”

  “That will be much appreciated. But I fear that when your enemies are as powerful as mine are, and when they as determined as mine are, then nothing can be done to stop them.”

  “Why are they doing this, mein Führer?” Klarsfeld asked.

  “Erich, I wish to bring changes to the German constitution,” explained the Führer. “I also wish to open up a serious dialogue with the Russo-American Pact. My opponents clearly cannot accept this.”

  “I myself would appreciate a more progressive Reich, mein Führer,” Klarsfeld said, turning to Röhm.

  “I have … strict beliefs in the Nazi regime, mein Führer, but you are the leader of the Deutsches Reich, and I would never oppose you, no matter what decision you took.”

  “One of my first acts will be to dismantle the Schutzstaffel and replace it with something more modern, more progressive, less fearful, and no longer entrenched in the old fashioned ideals of the 1940s. The existence of the Schutzstaffel allows certain individuals to have their own private and loyal armies.”

  Röhm’s eyes widened, but he nodded his head in understanding. “Mein Führer, I would almost certainly disagree with you regarding the dismantling of the SS, but I see your point. And, I say again, I would never oppose you.”

  “Unfortunately, some people do not think like you, Werner.”

  “Mein Führer, you said you wish to open a dialogue with the Russo-American Pact,” Klarsfeld said. “Have you informed them of this … possibility?”