Oberkommando der Wehrmacht
Bendlerblock Offices
76-78 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
Built between 1911 and 1914, the Bendlerblock had originally been planned as Headquarters of the Imperial German Navy and had been used for the offices of the Reichswehr during the Weimar Republic. Under the Nazis, the building had been designated as the main offices of the OKW (Oberkommando der Wehrmacht); the supreme headquarters of all military forces in Nazi Germany. An impressive structure rising up to seven stories above the surrounding streets, it faced onto the Bendlerstrasse at its intersection with the Tirpitzufer.
The Tirpitzufer was a winding, tree-lined boulevard running alongside the northern bank of the Landwehr Canal between Klingelhöfer- and Schönebergerstrasse, with sections of the Bendlerblock facing out across the canal at its southern end. Over six miles long, the canal broke away from the upper Spree River at Horst-Wessel-Stadt only to return further along, near Charlottenburg. Travelling through the housing and industrial estates of Kreuzberg and then through the lush greenery of the Tiergarten, the canal mirrored the course of the Spree throughout the larger part of its journey west.
As he stormed out through the main entrance doors and into the Bendlerblock’s huge front courtyard, Generaloberst Albert Schiller wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the surrounding scenery nor in the unusually mild, late-Autumn weather. His driver had his black Opel Admiral saloon waiting out front as expected, along with the obligatory armed bodyguard that Schiller generally felt uncomfortable with, but tolerated at his superior’s direct request.
The Opel was one of three vehicles in the ad hoc convoy, the others being a Zundapp motorcycle with sidecar in the lead, and a large radio van bringing up the rear, the grey-painted communications truck built up from the same cab and chassis as Schiller’s luxury sedan.
“Straight to the Irish Legation please, Konrad,” the Generaloberst directed tersely as he slid into the back seat, tension clear on his face. “As fast as you are able.”
“Of course, Mein Herr,” the driver acknowledged immediately, already selecting first gear as the motorcycle escort pulled away in front, heading for the street. “We’ll be there in just a few moments.”
“Your optimism is reassuring,” Schiller observed with more than a little sarcasm, unable to help himself despite his sour mood, and both his driver and the bodyguard who’d slid into the front seat beside him gave knowing grins.
The Irish Legation in Berlin was little more than a mile away, on the southern edge of the Tiergarten itself, yet Berlin traffic being what it was, even on a Sunday, none of the car’s occupants were confident of speedy travel.
“Does the Reichsmarschall need you to hold his hand, Mein Herr,” Konrad joked as the Opel pulled out into Bendlerstrasse, turning right toward the Tirpitzufer and the Landwehr canal. The man had been Schiller’s personal driver now for five years and was able to get away with irreverent remarks that would see most others severely reprimanded, or worse.
“A ‘situation’ has developed in Ireland this morning, and no one there seems to want to talk to me about it…” Schiller growled darkly as Schiller replied darkly as the Opel rounded the corner and accelerated away along the Tirpitzufer.
“As Freiherr von Neurath is at the same meeting as Herr Reuters, I believe that would leave Gruppenführer Barkmann in charge over there right now, Mein Herr…?”
Schiller had been initially surprised to discover that Konrad was in fact a university graduate, and in the years since, he’d found him to be intelligent company and a fine conversationalist. Many a long drive had been spent discussing any number of subjects from politics to ancient history. As the Reichsmarschall’s Aide-de-Camp, Albert Schiller suspected there was probably a better-than-even chance that Konrad was at the very least an Abwehr operative, placed to keep an eye on him, or – worst case – even an agent for the Sicherheitsdienst, the intelligence arm of the Schutzstaffeln.
“It would be Barkmann, yes… the psychotic little turd,” Schiller confirmed with a growl, adding the last part of the sentence particularly on the off chance Konrad might be working for the SS. “That little schwein is refusing every request I’ve made either to withhold from any offensive activity, or even just to let Berlin know what the bloody hell’s going on!” He gave an angry snort of derision as another thought occurred to him.
“The bloody Irish are playing at something too – mark my words. All morning they’ve been ‘in a meeting’, and they too have refused my every request for it to be interrupted to allow me to inform the Reichsmarschall and the Freiherr as to what’s happening.” He took a deep breath and stared out at the passing Berlin scenery as he considered the unpalatable nature of the situation. “I’ve requested a squad of troopers be waiting for us at Drakestrasse when we get there… I intend to see the Reichsmarschall whether they like it or not, and I’ll break down the bloody doors if I have to…” That such a threat would constitute exactly the act of war he was trying to avoid was something Schiller consciously ignored in that moment.
“The Reichsmarschall will be holding someone’s head in his hands before too long, I should imagine,” he added, harking back to Konrad’s initial, mocking query regarding his immediate superior, “although what they’ll do with the body afterward is another matter. I for one intend to make sure that the head he ends up with isn’t mine…!”
Legation of the Republic of Ireland
Drakestrasse 3, Tiergarten
They were seated in a meeting room filled with a set of long tables formed into the shape of a large square, with chairs positioned evenly about the outer edges. After at least forty minutes waiting in other antechambers, they’d all been ushered in to the conference room only to be left mostly unattended for at least another twenty so far as the Irish Chargé d'Affaires finalised some important business for which everyone there was so apologetic.
“An hour…! A whole bloody hour, these uncultured schwein have kept us here, waiting…!” The petulant, self-inflated tone of that remark from Obergruppenführer Ulrich Friedrich Wilhelm Joachim von Ribbentrop brought a faint wince of displeasure from the Reichsmarschall and just about every other German in the room.
Considered pompous, reckless and borderline incompetent by many within the German High Command and the hierarchy of the NSDAP, Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop was mostly only tolerated by others at the insistence of Hitler himself. Many of those same detractors believed strongly that the Führer’s confidence in the man was mostly as a result of von Ribbentrop’s pandering sycophancy and spurious self-promotion of his own capabilities, an opinion to which Kurt Reuters also ascribed.
“I would suggest perhaps a little more decorum might be warranted under the circumstances, Foreign Minister,” the Reichsmarschall countered evenly from three seats down, refusing to look up from the folder of briefing notes he held in his hands.
“You think I care what these degenerates think of me?” Von Ribbentrop blustered in return, throwing up his usual attempts at grandstanding rather than give the man’s words any real consideration. “I hope they are listening in… We’ve nothing to fear from them!” A tall man of forty-nine years, he’d married into a wealthy family and forged a successful career as a businessman prior to falling in with the Nazi Party during the 1920s and subsequently becoming Hitler’s preferred advisor on foreign affairs.
“After a year in Nordirland, Joachim, I can assure you this is common practice with them,” Konstantin Freiherr von Neurath chimed in from the other side of Reuters, the pair separated by a uniformed Wehrmacht NCO acting as minute-keeper for the German delegation. “I shouldn’t think it’s anything to be concerned over or to take offence from…” he added quickly, clearly aiming that final remark at the Foreign Minister.
Pushing seventy, the Freiherr von Neurath was a veteran of the Great War who’d spent the majority of his life since 1919 working in the German diplomatic corps in one form or another, leading up to his appointment as Forei
gn Minister from 1932 to 1938 (after which he’d been replaced by the incumbent von Ribbentrop). He’d since moved on to become Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia and then subsequently transferred to Northern Ireland in 1941 to perform the same role following complaints to The Führer of his excessive leniency in the Nazi-created states that had once been called Czechoslovakia.
“They need to be shown a strong hand, Konstantin,” von Ribbentrop replied with an icy tone, the direct and quite overt insult surprising even Reuters. “They will not make you wait if they understand the concept of punishment and retribution…!”
“It is a simple matter to debate here in Berlin, Foreign Minister,” Reuters pointed out, his tone remaining cold and flat as von Neurath flushed with silent anger nearby, “however a more complex problem, I think, out in the field…” The Reichsmarschall considered the Reichsprotektor to have been a useful ally over the years, whereas the Foreign Minister had generally given him nothing but grief, and as the highest ranking officer present he had no problem whatsoever in taking the opportunity to give von Ribbentrop a ‘playful’ slap to put him back in his place. “It’s true that the Irish are militarily weak, however their shared history and heritage with the United States potentially leaves them with some very powerful friends; friends whom we have no interest in conflict with. I would again caution you to temper your words with the level of respect one would expect of someone who represents the Reich!” He paused then, turning his glare toward the man for the first time and waiting just long enough to see those words strike home as von Ribbentrop’s face also flushed with the colour of his own indignant rage. “When you speak as Foreign Minister, you speak with the ‘voice’ of the Chancellor himself… if you have no respect for the other nations of the world, at least show some respect for The Führer…!”
Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters wasn’t pleased with the situation. As time had worn on waiting for this conference to begin, he’d become more and more concerned that there was some unseen, ulterior motive to the delaying actions of the Irish Legation – concerns that von Neurath’s assurances did little to lessen. The Foreign Minister’s ridiculous posturing hadn’t helped matters, although it had at least made him feel a little better to have been presented with the opportunity to take the pompous prig down a notch or two, rank most definitely coming with some very satisfying privileges on occasion.
“Herr Reichsmarschall, I…”
The rest of whatever the man might have said was cut off at that moment as the main doors opened off to their right to admit Chargé Warnock, Major O’Connell and a number of other dark-suited Legation minor officials. The German officials rose as one out of respect for their hosts, but one look at the Chargé d'Affaires and Reuters was immediately struck by the man’s dark expression and the pale, ashen pallor of his features. He carried a thin manila folder on one hand, which he laid almost reverently before him on the table as they approached and the doors were closed behind. The vague feeling of unease the Reichsmarschall had been experiencing suddenly blossomed into a full-grown fear of the unknown in that moment.
“I apologise for my lateness this morning, gentlemen,” Warnock began with an empty, hollow voice as he took his seat at the head of that side of the assembled tables. “It was the wish of my government to discuss with you this morning some issues regarding unauthorised over-flights of Irish airspace over the last few months, along with some ongoing concerns regarding continuing poor treatment of our fellow Irishmen in the Six Counties…”
“Nordirland is part of Deutsch territory and is no concern-!” Von Ribbentrop began indignantly, but he was cut off even before Reuters, who could clearly see there was something else bothering the Chargé, could make any gesture of warning.
“It seems these issues have been made redundant however by events that have taken place in the last hour – events that I have only just been appraised of by Dublin, thereby necessitating this delay…” Laying both hands flat on the table, he looked up from the paperwork before him for the first time and stared unflinchingly at each of the German representatives in turn. “It appears there were, this morning, some localised IRA attacks on a number of German installations in Northern Ireland, bringing the occupation forces there to high alert…”
Reuters’ eyes flew wide with shock at that revelation and he almost leaped from his seat to deny all knowledge of the situation, barely stopping himself as his rational mind realised that an admission of such might significantly weaken his position of authority.
“It is presumed by our intelligence offices that as a result of this heightened state of alert, extra German air patrols were sent up, predominantly targeting the western border between Ireland and the Occupied North. We have reports that a troop carrying helicopter engaged in one of these patrols has crossed into Irish airspace and – either due to mechanical failure or by design – has subsequently crashed in the middle of a residential area south of Lifford, possibly causing significant civilian casualties…”
Reuters’ stomach fell sickeningly as Warnock paused for a short breath. A true ‘Nazi’ might perhaps have felt indifference at best regarding the deaths of innocent civilians however the Reichsmarschall’s instincts in that moment reverted back to his experiences of an ‘earlier’ time, from his younger days as a junior Bundeswehr officer… a time in which any loss of civilian life through military accident was an almost unthinkable situation.
“…Although we are uncertain of the details at present,” the Chargé continued in that same empty, lifeless tone, “initial reports suggest that for reasons unknown, the surviving German troops aboard this aircraft have engaged Irish border guards, assisted by Waffen-SS mechanised units advancing into sovereign Irish soil across the Lifford Bridge… again, with significant loss of life…
“At the same time…” he forged on, the added emphasis enough to silence Reuters as the man moved to speak “… we have also received intelligence from other sources indicating that airstrikes have been ordered on a large section of suburban Belfast for reasons unknown at this stage, with current estimates of several hundred civilian dead so far and at least as many maimed and injured...”
“These accusations are preposterous!” Von Ribbentrop began again, once more attempting to muster some semblance of superiority in the face of Warnock’s claims. “We have had no…”
“Be silent…!” Reuters hissed softly in warning, recognising the danger in taking such a stance.
“Herr Reichsmarschall, this is ludicrous…”
“I said be silent, damn you!” he snarled in return, loud enough now for the words to have the desired effect as he rose partially from his chair in anger. “If you cannot keep that stupid mouth of yours shut, Mein Herr, I swear I will see to it you are carried from this room…!
“My apologies, Chargé,” he added as he settled back into his seat, directing his calmer words now toward Warnock and his team and deciding in that moment there was nothing to be done other than to admit the truth. “I must also apologise, in that I have no information on the events of which you speak. This meeting was the first on my agenda this morning and I have had no communication regarding anything of this nature nor, I will hazard a guess, has the Reichsprotektor…” he added as von Neurath shook his head in silent agreement and the Foreign Minister fumed with a similar lack of sound. “I can assure you however, that the standing orders for all Wehrmacht personnel stationed in Nordirland is that Irish neutrality is to be recognised and respected. If you will excuse us now, I will immediately be in contact with our command in Belfast and put a stop to-!”
“The Republic of Ireland will not tolerate this attack on her sovereignty…” O’Connell cut in without any consideration whatsoever for the man’s supreme rank “…this latest and most heinous of many such incidents over the last two years. Many in our government fear this is the precursor to a coordinated invasion of our country… and should be acted upon accordingly.”
“The Greater Reich have no designs whatsoever involv
ing the Irish Republic, as we have categorically stated on many occasions since the British surrender,” Reuters snapped back, angering now over being interrupted by an officer so low in rank as a major without any apparent consideration for his position.
“No designs such as ‘Unternehmen Grün’, Herr Reichsmarschall…?” Warnock hissed in return, his eyes blazing, and he gave a thin smile as Reuters’ eyes flared in surprise at the mention of that long-forgotten plan. “I see you do know that name!” He added in hollow victory. “A Nazi plan for an invasion of the Republic, sir, and you bloody-well know it! Do you take us for imbeciles back in Dublin? Do you think we haven’t watched Hitler decry his peaceful intent time and time again this last decade, as panzers continue to roll over nation after nation, crushing each one in turn beneath their treads? Oh yes, you’ve been quite clear over your lack of demands upon the Irish, and I know enough about you, Reichsmarschall, to almost believe it…” The humourless smile on his face became a sneer as he considered his next few words very carefully. “But ultimately, honourable as I believe you to be, and regardless of the supreme rank you wear at your collar, in the end, sir, you still have no control, and Dublin intends to take whatever steps are necessary to ensure that Ireland does not becomes the next territorial demand the Führer ‘doesn’t’ make…”
“My government is taking those steps as we speak, Reichsmarschall…” O’Connell continued as Warnock seethed with anger and attempted to calm down. “…Steps to ensure our own protection and make damned sure we have powerful allies of our own to guarantee our sovereignty against the machinations of the ‘Deutsches Reich’!”
It was a scenario Reuters had long feared… a danger that was all-too possible that had kept him awake many a night over the last two years, as he’d worked ceaselessly to protect Germany from its greatest threat: a monstrous, sleeping giant most Germans – Hitler included – barely even recognised for what it was. It was the one thing he knew the Reich could not afford to happen, if they were to be guaranteed a safe frontier in the West, and the Irish were now threatening him and his country with exactly that scenario.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 17