Bormann stood up and said, ‘The Führer requires an explanation of how you obtained this intelligence.’ As he spoke he pushed open a door on his right and signed to Gregory to go through it. A moment later Gregory found himself face to face with Adolf Hitler.
25
In the Cobra’s Lair
Gregory had had only a few seconds’ warning of what to expect, but he rose to the occasion. Halting a yard short of a small table on the far side of which sat a hunched figure, he thrust his right arm out high in the Nazi salute and cried, ‘Heil Hitler!’ Then he stood rigidly to attention.
Hitler acknowledged the salute by raising a shaking hand a few inches from the table, then he held it out. Gregory would have been less astonished had he realised that, from long habit, Hitler shook hands with everyone. Taking the trembling hand gently in his he bowed over it, then resumed his rigid attitude looking straight in front of him.
But the one good look he had had at the Führer’s face had told a tale that had he heard it from others he would have regarded as gross exaggeration. Goering had said that Hitler had aged considerably and was kept going only by the drugs with which Morell injected him thrice daily. Yet, after all, he was only fifty-six and this man looked as if he were well on in his seventies. His hair was thin and, in places, nearly white, his face was grey and furrowed by lines; his eyes were dull and pouched in deep sockets; his body, which had been stalwart, appeared shrunken.
One thing that remained still unimpaired was his voice. Just as it always had, it rasped but held unchallengeable authority. He said, ‘Sit down, Herr Major. What I have heard about you interests me greatly. I understand that you have dealings with occult forces.’
Bormann pushed a chair towards Gregory. With a bow, he sat down on it. Taking another Bormann also sat down, crossed his legs, clasped his hands and began to twiddle his thumbs while keeping his gaze on Gregory’s face with an unwinking stare.
‘Mein Führer,’ Gregory replied. ‘I cannot claim direct communication. But my servant, a Turk whom I brought from the Balkans, unquestionably has the power to call upon entities of the Outer Circle for foreknowledge and guidance.’
‘The Outer Circle,’ Hitler repeated. ‘He is, then, far advanced and must have crossed the Abyss. Continue.’
‘He interested me in these matters some two years ago. Since then we have worked together. He puts himself into a trance and so becomes a focus for intelligences beyond. When in that state he has no knowledge of what he is saying and speaks only in Turkish. I have learned Turkish, so I am able to understand the information he is obtaining from the Seventh Plane and take note of his predictions.’
‘How often are they right?’
‘Invariably, mein Führer. For the past year he has foretold to me accurately every major development of the war.’
‘So! Then I must make use of him. In recent months I have suffered several disappointments in such matters. Predictions made to me have not been fulfilled, so I have dismissed their authors. The Reichsführer’s man, Herr Wulf, has been the most reliable occultist I have consulted, but his master can spare him only occasionally. This man of yours sounds promising and I badly need guidance.’
After a moment Hitler went on, ‘No-one, Herr Major, except my dear friend Martin here, realises the burden that I carry. It is due to me alone that our country has not yet been defeated. I am betrayed on every side. This catastrophe at Remagen! Just think of it! German soldiers neglecting their duty! Leaving the bridge inadequately guarded! The swine! By my orders they will be shot. Every one of them. Every one of them! And their officers shall pay with the lives of their wives and children too! I … I … I …’
He was off. Neither Gregory nor Bormann dared attempt to interrupt him. For over an hour he never ceased talking. Although he became hoarse the words continued to flow in rhythmic periods. They made a kind of harsh song that dulled the senses and led his hearers to nod automatically in agreement. Gregory had often heard tell of Hitler’s hypnotic powers; now he had first-hand experience of them. He had to make a conscious effort to prevent himself from accepting it as a fact that the grey, broken man opposite him was a Messiah who had sacrificed every pleasure in life and been brought to his present wretched state solely by his desire to better the lot of the German people.
He had not wanted war. It had been forced upon him as the only means of saving the country from starvation, anarchy and Communism. He had no wish to be harsh, but he was the father of his millions of children. To spare the rod was to spoil the child. For their own salvation they must be made to fight on until victory was achieved. And by his guidance victory would be achieved. About that there could be no shadow of doubt. But he was betrayed, betrayed, betrayed. Last July the General Staff of the Army had tried to murder him. Him! The true representative of the German people. He had had five hundred of those traitors executed. But those pigs who remained still wished to sell Germany out to her enemies. And so on and so on, and so on.
At last, coughing and choking, he subsided. After a full moment of silence, Gregory nerved himself to take the plunge and said, ‘Mein Führer. The hearts of all true Germans bleed for you in the struggle you have waged for us. And it cannot be denied that the Generals are not showing the defiant spirit that they should in this hour of crisis. That the Americans should have crossed the Rhine virtually unopposed is a terrible thing. How can one account for it except by coming to the conclusion that either the Commander-in-Chief West is no longer capable of fulfilling his duties, or no longer cares what happens? General von Rundstedt is a great soldier, but he is now an old man and one cannot help thinking that the strain of having waged war for so long must have worn him out.’
‘Von Rundstedt!’ Hitler was off again. ‘A great soldier, yes. But you are right. Age has impaired his will to victory and his judgement. He sent General Westphal to me only last week to say that the fortifications in the Siegfried Line are rotten and we cannot hold it. Lies! Lies! Lies! Who should know better about the West Wall than myself? I had it built. I approved all the plans. When it was finished I inspected it. There is no finer system of fortifications in the world. Of course it can be held. It needs only courage and that our soldiers have. They are the finest in the world and loyal to me. All they require is Leadership! Leadership!’
Suddenly he turned to Bormann and croaked, ‘The Herr Major has talked sense. Send a signal to Ob West. Every foot of the West Wall is to be held. Von Rundstedt is relieved of his command. Kesselring is to take over. Kesselring is not one of these lily-livered Army swine, but a Luftwaffe General. He will defend the West Wall for me.’
The impassive Bormann simply nodded and said, ‘It shall be done, mein Führer. I will send the signals right away.’
Hitler staggered to his feet, leaned upon the table and, exhausted by his tirades, muttered to Gregory, ‘You must produce this servant of yours. Bormann will arrange it. We will hold a séance. It may be that you and your man have been sent to give us guidance. To achieve victory we must leave nothing untried. There are powers which can aid us. We cannot afford to ignore them.’
Seeing that the interview was over, Gregory had risen at the same moment. Having again given the Nazi salute, he marched smartly from the room. A moment later Bormann joined him in the passage, and said with a pale smile:
‘You are a rash man, Herr Major, to have offered the Führer advice so freely. Another time it would be wise to confer with me about any opinions you may have before airing them. But in this instance you have done well. For a long time past von Rundstedt has been obstructive and he makes no secret of the fact that he is in favour of asking the enemy for terms. On Kesselring’s showing in Italy he will fight a better defensive battle.’
As Gregory walked back to the Air Ministry he could hardly believe that he had not dreamed his interview with Hitler. The thought that without any hocus-pocus or aid from Malacou he had succeeded in having Germany’s most competent General sacked, and that Hitler should not even have co
nsulted Keitel, Jodl or Burgdorf before taking such a momentous decision, left him utterly dumbfounded. No clearer proof could be needed that the proper place now for the tyrant was a lunatic asylum.
During the next few days further calamities befell the Third Reich. Himmler had again left his headquarters at Prenzlau and was now directing his Army Group from his bed in Dr. Gebhardt’s clinic at Hohenlychen. This direction consisted of Orders of the Day such as: ‘Forward through the mud! Forward through the snow! Forward by day! Forward by night! Forward for the liberation of German soil!’—orders that the relatives of soldiers who were taken prisoner un-wounded were to be shot—and an order to his subordinate who had been left to defend besieged Danzig which led to scores of people, including boy ack-ack gunners, being strung up to the poplar trees that lined the principal streets with placards on their chests that read, ‘I am hanging here because I left my post.’ But such frightfulness did not prevent the ill-armed half-trained troops that now made up the bulk of his Army from being constantly driven back by the Russians, or their capture of Danzig.
Although the Russian advance on the northern front now directly threatened Berlin, disaster in the south-east was felt in the bunker to be an even more shattering blow. Rather than spare Budapest from the horrors of a siege and bombardment, Hitler had sent Sepp Dietrich there with the flower of the Waffen S.S., and they had stubbornly defended the Budaberg until all its beautiful old palaces had been shelled into rubble. Then, on the 13th, the news came through that he had withdrawn the remnants of his Army and was retreating on Vienna.
Two days earlier Hitler had sent detailed orders for a new counter attack. It had taken place on a day of torrential rain and had resulted in a wholesale slaughter of Dietrich’s best troops. When Hitler heard of this and that his most trusted General had ordered a general retreat, his rage knew no bounds. He raved for hours on end and that night issued a decree that as a punishment his own pet regiment, the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler, should be deprived of the distinguishing armbands that were their special pride, thus inflicting the ultimate disgrace upon men utterly devoted to him.
A few days later it was learned that Dietrich had flatly refused to promulgate the order; then a parcel arrived at the bunker addressed to the Führer. It contained a chamber-pot in which were all Dietrich’s decorations.
It was owing to Hitler’s addled mind being so taken up with these disasters that Gregory put down the fact that he and Malacou were not sent for during the week following his interview with the Führer. By then, for over a fortnight, he had spent several hours each day in the outer bunker and although he was not subject to claustrophobia he found conditions there extremely trying. It was always crowded with people coming and going, some in fear of being the victims of the Führer’s terrible angers, others bewailing his insane orders that it was their duty to transmit to the Army, Navy and Luftwaffe; all harassed by fears for their families during the air-raids or their own ever more uncertain futures. In consequence, by the 17th of the month he felt that he positively must escape for a while and get a little relaxation.
During the past nine months he had often wondered what was happening to Sabine and since his return to Berlin he had several times contemplated taking a few hours off to find out if she was still in the city. So on that Saturday he asked Koller’s permission to absent himself for the afternoon, then set off for the Villa Seeaussicht.
He had not passed through East Berlin since the previous July. It had been depressing enough then, but now it was a revelation of the state to which a great city could be reduced by modern warfare. Although the upper storeys of many of the big buildings in central Berlin had been rendered untenable, their steel, concrete and stone façades, which still stood, saved them from appearing to have been greatly damaged; whereas the older blocks and brick houses, of which by far the greater part of the city consisted, told the full story.
The great highway through Charlottenburg was now a broad defile between two endless mounds of jagged rubble. Hardly a building had its roof intact; not an unbroken window was to be seen. Many of the side streets were now impassable; on either hand lay acre upon acre of burnt and blackened ruins. People with gaunt faces and sunken eyes moved among them, wearily clambering over charred beams and emerging from holes at the roadside that led to deep, crowded shelters or cellars wherein they dwelt like half-starved rats in filth and squalor.
In the suburbs along the Havel the picture was, by comparison, much less terrible, although they had also suffered severely. Here and there houses had been burnt out or partially wrecked. In many gardens there lay uprooted trees, the glass in porches and conservatories had been shattered, gates swung askew on broken hinges and every few hundred yards gaps had been torn in walls and fences. And when, at last, Gregory came in sight of the villa he was greatly worried to see that its upper storey had been blown to pieces.
Since Sabine had hidden him when he was on the run he had no fear that on his turning up again in the uniform of a Luftwaffe Major she might betray him, or that Trudi would do so—if they were still alive and there. But Goering had said he believed von Osterberg to have survived. It was therefore possible that he too was living in the house, and for Gregory to run into him would be disastrous; so he approached the villa with caution.
As he came nearer he saw with relief that although all the windows, bar one downstairs, were broken and had been boarded over, through that one he could make out a pot of hyacinths, which implied that the house was still occupied. Having made certain that no-one was about, he slipped through the side entrance, took the path behind the garage and rang the back door bell. A moment later it was opened by Trudi.
On recognising him her mouth fell open with surprise, but he smiled at her and said, ‘I’m not a ghost, Trudi, and I’m delighted to see you safe and well. I only hope your mistress is, too. Is she about?’
Trudi returned his smile. ‘Not at the moment, mein Herr. She is at the doctor’s. But she should soon be back and, I am sure, will be most happy to see you. Please to come inside.’
‘How about the Herr Graf?’ Gregory asked. ‘Is he still living here; or anyone else?’
She shook her head. ‘Nein, mein Herr. For a long time past we have been living here alone.’
‘That’s good. But what’s this about the gnädige Baronin having gone to the doctor? I trust it’s not for anything serious.’
‘Nein, mein Herr. Just a slight indisposition from which she has been suffering for the past few weeks.’
Reassured, Gregory entered the house and followed Trudi through to the sitting room. Several large sections of plaster had come down from the ceiling and there were damp stains on the walls, but otherwise it was clean and tidy. Trudi told him then about the house being hit. It had happened in September, but fortunately the bomb had not been a large one; so only the top storey had been wrecked and no-one injured. Gregory was still talking to her when, ten minutes later, he heard the slam of the front door, and as he got up from the sofa Sabine came into the room.
She did not appear ill and was as lovely as ever, but he noted a look of strain on her face. The instant she saw him it disappeared and with a cry of joy she ran to embrace him. After their first greetings were over she stroked his smart uniform and asked how he had come by it.
‘That’s a long story,’ he smiled, ‘and I’ll tell you it later. The essential points are that after six months in a prison camp I succeeded in getting to Goering, and he has given me a job sticking pins in maps at the Air Ministry.’
‘Darling Gregory,’ she laughed. ‘For audacity you are unbeatable.’
He shrugged. ‘Oh, once I succeeded in getting an interview with him it wasn’t difficult. He is an old friend of mine.’
‘What! Do you mean that he actually knows you to be an Englishman?’
Gregory nodded. ‘Yes; but he also knows that I was always pro-Fascist. I told him that I had been put in prison in my own country and that having escaped I felt so bitter about t
he way I’d been treated that I decided to offer my services to Germany; and that having managed to reach Germany I had had the ill luck to be arrested and again put into prison.’
This mendacious account of himself corresponded sufficiently closely with that he had given Sabine in July for her to accept it without comment; but she asked, ‘How is your wound?’
He had been ready for that and, as he was no longer in a situation where expediency demanded that he should give the impression that he longed to make love to her, he replied with a laugh, ‘Healed perfectly; but don’t let that give you any naughty ideas. I’ve come only as an old friend, to find out if you were still here and had escaped injury in the air-raids.’
She made a rueful face. ‘That’s not very complimentary, but perhaps it’s just as well. For the past few weeks I haven’t been at all fit; so for the moment I’m rather off being made love to.’ Before he could ask her what was wrong with her she added quickly, ‘I see that silly Trudi didn’t provide you with a drink while you were waiting for me. I’ll go down to the cellar and fetch a bottle of wine.’
When, a few minutes later, she returned with the bottle of champagne, he saw that she had brought only one glass and he asked in surprise, ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’
As she filled the glass for him, she shook her head. ‘No; for the time being I’m not allowed alcohol.’
‘Really!’ He raised his eyebrows. Then a possible connection between her surprising abandonment of her favourite pastime and her no longer drinking suddenly struck him and he added, ‘Surely you don’t mean …?’
Tears came into her lovely eyes and she nodded. ‘Yes. I wouldn’t tell anyone else, but I can tell you. I’ve been an awful fool. I hate and despise myself. Of course, from fear they’ll never live through another night practically every woman in Berlin has become promiscuous, and I suppose at least half of them are in the same state as I’m in. But that’s no consolation. I feel so horribly unclean—like a leper. When I realised what had happened I had half a mind to kill myself.’
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