Paving the New Road

by Sulari Gentill

  Many streets were deserted. It appeared the patriotic citizens of Munich had gone to Königsplatz to burn the un-German. Amidst a great deal of grunting and swearing, three fully grown men struggled into uniforms in the car and in the dark.

  Edna inspected under the beam of a torch, smoothing lapels and straightening ties. She sighed. “You all look disturbingly handsome,” she admitted. “Quite frightening, but very handsome.”

  “Are you sure you lifted the right sizes, Milt?” Rowland grumbled. The high boots were uncomfortably tight.

  Milton ignored him, trying to dry-shave in the rear-vision mirror. The flamboyant waxed moustache he had cultivated was both distinctive and distinctly unmilitary.

  “Here, give me that razor before you hurt somebody,” Clyde said, taking the blade and carefully finishing the shave in the light of Edna’s torch. He did not remove the moustache entirely, but left the hair immediately below Milton’s nose in the currently fashionable style favoured by both Germany’s Chancellor and Eric Campbell.

  “How do I look?” Milton asked, trying to squint into the rear-vision mirror.

  Edna giggled. “A little silly, to be honest…but very fascist.”

  They managed to park the car quite close to the square. Fortunately, being a German automobile, it did not stand out the way Rowland’s Mercedes had in Sydney. Judging from the noise, the SA had succeeded in summoning a large crowd for their bonfire, despite a last-minute concern that it would rain. A radio address by the Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, was being broadcast over a loudspeaker system, and there were cheers and a chanting. “Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler…”

  Rowland glanced at his watch. Campbell was programmed to speak at precisely midnight and to arrive five minutes before that. They would need to time this perfectly so that they did not give anyone the opportunity to find them out. Fortunately, the National Socialists were fanatical about the punctuality of their events, programming everything to the minute.

  That afternoon, Rowland had dispatched a telegram to Wilfred, informing him that he had used the account at Deutsche Bank. He hoped it would be enough to alert his brother that they could well need help quite soon. He didn’t know what Wilfred could possibly do from Australia, but at the very least he could help Edna get home.

  “Are you chaps sure?” he asked Clyde and Milton quietly, as they donned the greatcoats which would hide the uniforms until they were ready.

  “I am,” Milton replied without hesitation. “I’m afraid I’m beginning to take the Nazis a little personally.”

  “We knew what we were doing when we came, Rowly.” Clyde dragged on a last cigarette before crushing the stub beneath the heel of his boot. “No point coming all the way over here just to watch Campbell bring this idiocy back home.”

  Edna’s eyes shone in the scant light. She reached up and kissed each of them in turn. “Good luck,” she said. “We’ll meet back here by half past twelve, if all goes well.”

  Rowland put his arm around her. “You know where the money is, Ed. If anything goes wrong, don’t do anything stupid—you just get out of here.”

  She smiled at him and for a moment he thought about kissing her…for no real reason and entirely inappropriately. Of drawing her into him and holding her in his arms. Perhaps it would be his last chance.

  Milton pulled him away. “Come on, Rowly, we’d better get moving.”

  Rowland focussed again on the task at hand.

  They had heard reports of the thousands who attended Nazi rallies, but the sheer number of people in the square surprised them nonetheless. It was as if the city had drained into Königsplatz. The atmosphere was festive, heightened by an almost religious fervour. Entire families stood cheering with armfuls of books ready to burn. Kerchiefed members of the Hitler Youth joined the SA in leading the demonstration.

  They were not the only men there in black uniform. The SS was also present in force. From a distance they were only distinguishable from the uniforms Rowland, Clyde, and Milton wore by the presence of a red armband. Rowland could only hope that Germans were familiar enough with Nazi regalia to recognise the special authority that was signified by the lack of an armband.

  The Australians fought their way through the crowd for several minutes before they could even see the flames of the massive bonfire at the square’s centre, into which books were being tossed to a chant of “Burn... burn... brennan sie alles…”

  There was an avenue of sorts cordoned off near the stage to allow the dignitaries and speakers to drive in without having to plough through the crowds. According to Blanshard’s information, Campbell’s car would arrive there at precisely five minutes to midnight.

  They positioned themselves as close to the avenue as possible, finding a place in the shadows where they would be unnoticed. Edna stayed nearby, though they lost sight of her quickly in the crowd.

  Rowland checked his watch again. It was five minutes to midnight. He signalled to Clyde and Milton and they removed the greatcoats and became, for all the world, members of the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler. They walked purposefully towards the avenue, striding confidently like the men of rank they were supposed to be. A black Mercedes came down the avenue. As the automobile stopped, Milton strode directly to the back door before the SA chauffeur could open it. They had agreed that their best chance lay with Campbell never getting out of the vehicle.

  “Look haughty,” Rowland whispered to Clyde, as they prepared to do their part.

  “Haughty?”

  “Act as though everybody smells.”

  Rowland and Clyde intercepted the driver as he jumped out to open Campbell’s door.

  “Change of plans,” Rowland told the man, using High German—the Leibstandarte was based in Berlin. “The Chancellor wishes to meet with Herr Campbell…discreetly. You are to take him back to his hotel now.”

  The Stormtrooper was flustered. “Who are you?”

  Rowland pointed to the insignia on his lapel. “Leibstandarte,” he snapped. “There must be no fuss. We do not want to alert the enemies of Germany of the Chancellor’s movements.”

  Again the Brownshirt wavered. In the periphery of his vision Rowland could see a bloated SA officer striding towards him, with half a dozen Stormtroopers in tow.

  Someone among the gathering shouted “Leibstandarte…It’s the Leibstandarte…The Chancellor is coming…the Chancellor is here!” Women screamed and fainted. The crowd surged against the cordon in excitement. The SA moved to hold them back.

  Rowland turned and barked at the SA officer who was approaching. “This was meant to be done quietly! This fool has alerted the people and compromised the Chancellor’s security!”

  The man glared at him. His face was pugnacious, scarred. Rowland had seen him once before, at the railway station when they first arrived in Munich.

  “Röhm!” Rowland said, as if he knew him. “Your man is obstructing the work of the Leibstandarte. Do you no longer have control of this confounded rabble?”

  Clyde stood beside him, his face stony, his nose wrinkled slightly. Milton was bent at the back window of the Mercedes, talking to Campbell and preventing him from alighting.

  “Herr Campbell is scheduled to speak,” Röhm said coldly.

  “Am I to report back that Commander Röhm has overridden the express wishes of the Chancellor?” Rowland demanded, playing hard. Their only chance was to not allow Röhm the time to think. “There must be no delay.”

  “Why does the Chancellor wish to see Herr Campbell now?”

  “That is not for me to know,” Rowland sneered. “I do not question my orders. I carry them out!”

  Röhm stared at the lapel of Rowland’s uniform. He inhaled to bellow.

  “Entschuldigung, Commander Röhm.” Alastair Blanshard’s head appeared out of the rear window of the stationary Mercedes. He spoke to Röhm
in German. “All is well, mein Herr. Herr Campbell has been expecting a visit from the Chancellor. It is unfortunate that it should be now, but we understand the Chancellor is a busy man. Herr Campbell is honoured, and delighted to accommodate his request, if you are willing to make his apologies to the good people of Munich.”

  For a moment nothing was said. The screaming for the Chancellor grew louder, as people assumed Campbell’s car contained their beloved leader. Rowland and Clyde kept their faces turned from the automobile. Clyde kept his nose wrinkled.

  “You can tell Herr Campbell that the people of Munich will not notice his absence,” Röhm spat at Blanshard. He motioned to the SA driver, who returned to his seat and put the car into reverse. The crowd cried out in protest and disappointment.

  Rowland did not meet the eyes of either Clyde or Milton lest some tiny sign of mutual relief become recognisable.

  Röhm was clearly unhappy. Vocally so. He cursed, shouting directly into Rowland’s face. “You go back and tell that mayflower, Dietrich, that the SA stood with Hitler before he was even a party member!”

  Rowland held his ground, his right brow rising as he smiled contemptuously. He ducked reflexively when the SA Commander’s arm shot out in a fascist salute, swallowing a curse as Röhm clicked his heels and shouted “Heil Hitler!”

  In the expectation that followed, Rowland decided that an enthusiastic return would be giving ground. The Leibstandarte held a privileged position as Hitler’s personal guard…he needed to maintain a believable level of arrogance. He flapped his hand carelessly beside his head and muttered, “Heil Hitler!” before turning away. Milton and Clyde fell into step behind him.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Clyde whispered.

  “Just watch the bonfire for a while…until they stop watching us.”

  They stalked towards the blaze.

  “You really pulled that fat bloke’s tail, Rowly.”

  “It seems.” Rowland glanced back at Röhm. “Hopefully enough to convince him that we are indeed from the Leibstandarte.”

  Milton laughed softly. “Almost feel sorry for Campbell…waiting for Hitler to come ask him to dance like some homely, forgotten debutante.”

  It was hot by the flames, which roared up in a multistorey furnace. Periodically the Stormtroopers would let a few citizens approach the inferno to throw in books and declare their animosity to the un-German works which they cast into destruction.

  “My God!” Milton said, as a mis-aimed book landed near their feet. “That’s Hemingway. They’re burning Hemingway!”

  They started now to note the titles which littered the fringe of the fire. Among the works of notable Communists such as Trotsky and Lenin were the works of Jews who had no connection with Communism whatsoever. Books by the renowned psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud were heaped upon the flames, and the words of the scientist Albert Einstein were also apparently dangerous to Germany.

  Rowland placed a warning hand on Milton’s shoulder as the poet spied Proust among the ashes. “It’s not the only copy, Milt,” he said, worried the other would attempt a rescue of the novel.

  Milton swore.

  They slipped into the crowd as the Hitler Youth led the people of Munich in singing “Deutschland, Deutschland über alles.”

  Some of the cordons had now been breached as the crowd disintegrated into a kind of ordered chaos. Rowland watched as a small girl with golden curls hurled books into the fire screaming “Burn Jew!” while her father laughed approvingly. The more sedate parts of the crowd were now becoming caught up in the dark euphoria, rallied into a fury against what they were being told was un-German.

  He glanced at Milton. The poet seemed bewildered, more than anything else.

  They stood back as the crowd surged towards the stage, and used the movement to slip unnoticed in the other direction. Having abandoned their greatcoats earlier, they would have to return to the car as members of the Leibstandarte.

  “Stop! I know you!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  BONFIRE OF BOOKS

  Nazis Clean Up In Germany

  JEWS DERIDED

  BERLIN, May 10

  Berlin’s greatest bonfire of books since the middle ages occurred in Opera Square at midnight. While searchlights played on the crowded square, university students led by Nazis committed 20,000 Marxist, pacifist, Jewish, and other “un German” books to the flames.

  Thousands of students bearing torches escorted the condemned books.

  They passed the books from hand to hand and then hurled them amid wild cheers onto the blazing pile. The flames luridly lighting the cathedral of the old Imperial Palace heightened the barbarity of the scene.

  As the books were destroyed the authors’ names were announced...The wildest applause greeted the destruction of works by Remarque, author of All Quiet on the Western Front...As Dr. Goebbels hurled works by Karl Marx into the flames he said: “I herewith bequeath to the fire all things contrary to German culture.”

  OTHER BOOK BURNINGS

  Similar book burnings occurred in other German cities. In Munich 25,000 books were destroyed. The burning was preceded by a patriotic demonstration at the university, where Herr Schemm, the Bavarian Minister of Education, said that all Germans should go down on their knees and thank Almighty God that they lived in an age which so reflected the fatherland’s ever-increasing glory. The Nazi revolution, he said, would fit Germany more than ever to lead the world.

  —Barrier Miner, 1933

  The words were English, and shouted from behind them.

  “Keep walking,” Rowland murmured.

  “Stop or I’ll scream for help!”

  They stopped. Rowland turned slowly. He squinted into the press of people to see who’d discovered them.

  Nancy Wake walked angrily up to him.

  “I knew it,” she spat. “It’s you! I couldn’t believe it when I saw you just now in that…that uniform! But it’s you.”

  “Miss Wake…”

  “Don’t you Miss Wake me…pretending to be a friend of Peter’s. You’re not even Australian, are you? You were just trying to get information for your superiors. You’re a spy, aren’t you? Good Lord! I’d been told the Nazis were spying on everybody…How dare you! I am a member of the free press! Were you spying on Mr. Göring, too, you two-faced, despicable…?” She reached up and slapped him.

  Rowland blinked.

  People were beginning to turn. Nancy continued to berate him. She did so in English but it was clear to the German-speaking crowd that she was immensely displeased. Rowland clutched for some way, any way, of silencing her.

  He seized the journalist in his arms and kissed her on the lips, hard. For a moment she stopped shouting. Even after he’d pulled away, she gaped mutely, stunned. There were snickers in the surrounding crowd as the exchange was transformed into what appeared to be a lovers’ tiff.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Clyde breathed, sure that Rowland had lost his mind.

  “How dare you!” Nancy was suddenly in full voice again but now people laughed. An old woman shouted, “Wieder schmusen ihr!” and cackled. A couple of young men cheered.

  Rowland caught Nancy’s hand just as she was about to slap him again. He spoke loudly in German. “I’m sorry, darling…It won’t happen again…She meant nothing.”

  It was probably fortunate that Nancy couldn’t understand him. Nor the shouts encouraging her to forgive him. Holding tightly to her hand, Rowland proceeded to pull her away with him. She began to fight.

  “Miss Wake,” he said under his breath. “Would you stop before you get us all shot! I’ll explain as soon as we can get out of here.”

  At first it seemed she would not desist, and then, still seething, she stopped struggling. Behind them there was laughter and even applause. It appeared that the errant Nazi officer had brought his foreign sweetheart u
nder control. It was a testament to German manhood.

  As the ceremony had not yet finished, the street in which they’d left the car was quiet. The occasional couple sat embracing in a vehicle, but they were disinterested in the uniformed men who accompanied a young woman.

  Edna had not yet arrived when they reached the car. Rowland glanced at his watch. She still had a few minutes.

  “Suppose you tell me what’s going on, you insufferable cad!” Nancy demanded, hitting him again, this time with her bag.

  Rowland opened the door and stood out of her reach, following only after she’d climbed into the relative privacy of the automobile. He removed his cap. Now that the immediate danger had passed, Clyde and Milton were trying hard not to laugh. He introduced them as Joseph Ryan and Albert Greenway.

  “We’re not spies, Miss Wake…well, not for the Nazis, anyway. We’re here trying to stop the spread of Nazism to Australia.”

  “By joining them?” she accused, looking pointedly at his uniform.

  Rowland looked down. “Oh, these…No, they’re just borrowed. Believe me, Miss Wake, I am spying on neither you nor Mr. Göring. I quite like the chap, for one thing.”

  “Whatever you were doing, you had no right to take the liberties you did in the square!” Nancy looked like she might hit him again.

  “Yes…of course, you’re right. And I apologise unreservedly.” He kept a wary eye on her hand.

  Nancy was not satisfied. “What on Earth did you think you were doing?”

  “The only thing I could think of to prevent us from being shot.”

  “Why, that’s ridiculous!”

  Milton laughed. “Miss Wake’s got a right to be upset, Robbie. A book-burning is hardly the most romantic venue. Dancing would have been more appropriate…or the theatre.”

  Rowland’s mouth twitched upwards. It would not do to laugh at Miss Wake’s indignation. Clyde reached over and clouted Milton on Rowland’s behalf. There was nothing for it but to tell Nancy Wake what they were doing in the Königsplatz, masquerading as members of the Leibstandarte.