by James Remmer
After lunch, the three men set out for the woods near Holdorf, the scene of the General’s previous early-morning recce and the place where his plan would either triumph or fail.
Steiger took the Mercedes as far as the makeshift hut, turned full circle and pulled up on the Gadebusch side of the clearing.
‘This is where I want you to wait with the second Steyr, Carl,’ said the General. ‘From here, it’s about twenty-five metres to the edge of the wood and beyond that, it’s open farmland.’ He pointed south-east. ‘You can see the Gadebusch road quite easily. The horizon is about 1.5 kilometres from here, maybe a bit more, so the lights of the vehicles will come into view two minutes or so before they pass the end of the track. But remember, the lights will be masked.’
‘So I wait for two motorcycles, a Kübelwagon, ten trucks, another Kübelwagon and then you?’ asked von Menen.
‘Yes, two single headlamps, twelve pairs and then us. You can be absolutely certain that we will be the very last vehicle. When we approach the incline, we’ll drop back as much as we dare and then, as soon as the last vehicle is over the horizon, we’ll be down this track faster than Fritz von Opel.’
‘ETA?’
‘Assuming we leave Berlin at 18h00, and allowing for a half-hour stop at Perleburg, we should arrive here around 00h30, maybe a bit earlier. So make sure to be here no later than 23h30.’
‘I’ll arrive before eleven-thirty,’ von Menen assured him.
‘When you leave the wood, keep well clear of Gadebusch, Rehna and Grevesmühlen, especially Rehna. We don’t want some wide-awake individual eyeing the same vehicle twice! I suggest you make a right at Holdorf and make your way back to the house via Grevesmühlen. If you’ve got time, recce the route tomorrow. Any questions?’
‘What time can I expect you back at the house?’
Steiger did a quick mental calculation. ‘It’s about twenty-seven, twenty-eight kilometres from Holdorf to Dassow and perhaps another ten to Priwall,’ he said. ‘That’ll take about forty-five minutes. Allowing three hours for the unloading and another forty-five minutes for the journey back to the house, I’d say we’ll be home sometime after five o’clock.’
‘If you’re wondering what to do with the gold when you get back, Carl,’ said the General, ‘lock the Steyr in the garage and stay with it. We’ll deal with it when we return. I’ve something in mind already.’
‘When do we load the dummy boxes?’ von Menen asked.
‘Sunday morning,’ replied the General. ‘And one last thing. If anything goes wrong here, before we arrive, don’t get inventive… just be the diplomat your grandfather was.’
‘Don’t worry, Father,’ replied von Menen, patting the breast of his jacket. ‘I’ve an operations order in here with two signatures on it: one is von Ribbentrop’s, the other is Bormann’s!’
‘Bormann? Interesting… Seems we’re all working for the same outfit.’
22
Sunday 26th November 1944
At six o’clock in the morning, Carl and Steiger began loading the boxed lead into the second Steyr, Steiger having configured the loading arrangement already: two forward of the front passenger seat, four across the rear footwell, six on a wide length of timber across the back seat, and eight in the boot.
‘Two, four, six, eight,’ Steiger said, ‘handles in line, front and rear.’
Von Menen drove the loaded Steyr back into the garage, placed an identical piece of wood across the rear seat of its empty “twin”, then joined Steiger in the storeroom.
‘Found it,’ called Steiger, peeping up from behind his hoard. ‘I knew it was here somewhere.’ Drawing a Walther P38 from its holster, he wiped it clean with a piece of oiled rag, fed eight rounds into the magazine, slammed it into the butt and handed it to von Menen. ‘Signatures or no signatures, Carl, you’ll be on your own out there. Best take it with you.’
At eight o’clock, the three men met in the Steigers’ parlour, soaking up the heat in front of the hearth, enjoying toasted bread, cheese, the rarity of butter and a huge jar of honey.
‘Don’t forget, Carl,’ said the General, ‘if we have to abort, I’ll call you from the Hotel Gröbler, asking you to “Tell mother that I didn’t have time to call and see Great-aunt Helga.” If we’re not at the woods by 02h00, leave anyway.’
Standing by the kitchen table, his red-piped breeches and black calf-length boots masked beneath a long, grey-green leather greatcoat, General von Menen looked at his watch.
‘Right, let’s synchronise – eight-fifty.’
Steiger, wearing his favoured field cap, peak pulled square above his eyes, picked up one of the three magazines lying on top of the table and clipped it to the underside of his Schmeisser. Slipping the other two into the pouches attached to his belt, he slung the sub-machine gun over his shoulder. The General reached for his cane and stalled.
‘Best take it with you, Klaus,’ said Steiger sensitively. ‘Stalin’s sent another offering from the east – sub-zero temperatures and an icy wind. The courtyard is thick with frost.’
‘You’re right, Hans; don’t want to be seen leaning on your shoulder, now, do I?’
Steiger smiled. ‘Right, General, ready when you are, sir.’
They made their way across the courtyard, von Menen trailing behind. A final confab in the garage and Steiger sparked up the Steyr, the air-cooled V8 engine bursting into life, a muffled scream roaring through the garage block.
Thumbs up from Steiger and they were off.
The house was deathly quiet, the hours ticking by, von Menen’s hidden scepticism about the whole plan transforming into a spiked, nagging doubt, the same tormenting questions pecking at his mind. Will I make it to the woods at Holdorf? What if the Steyr breaks down?
Even with the signatures of von Ribbentrop and Bormann in his pocket, twenty boxes of lead would take some explaining. The thought of being stopped with twenty boxes of gold didn’t bear thinking about. What if Keppler changes the itinerary, the location? He shook his head despondently, each question leading to the same, frightening conclusion – doom!
Von Menen studied the well-thumbed photograph of Maria, passed around the family a dozen times, and felt the dainty white handkerchief with its faded red kiss, her image branded in his mind, the sound of her voice lingering in his ears. He thought about Lutzi Helldorf, Sigi Bredow and Gustav’s mother, too, cursing himself for his hopeless inability to help them.
Walking into the drawing room, he gazed at the paintings of his forefathers hanging from the walls, his mind spinning with the tormenting notion that the von Menens were about to leave Mecklenburg forever. What a damn mess.
*
Every road in the vicinity of the Reichsbank was cordoned off, adjacent sidewalks festooned with a tangled mass of barbed wire, field grey uniforms everywhere. The Reichsbank had become a fortress within a fortress.
Steiger brought the Steyr to a halt a metre short of a long red-and-white pole.
‘Papers!’ demanded a corporal in a brusque tone.
In the damp greyness of evening, the capless General von Menen was just another soldier. The General handed his documents to Steiger, who passed them through the open window.
‘You must be as blind as a bat, soldier,’ said Steiger. ‘This vehicle is flying the pennant of a general and the flag of an army commander.’
The corporal snapped to attention. ‘Herr General von Menen,’ he said loudly, ‘I’m…’
Two privates rushed over to the barrier, raising it at breakneck speed. Another raced around the corner into Kurstrasse, skidding to a halt beside a parked Kübelwagon. Before the second syllable of the name Menen had left his lips, the door of the Kübelwagon flew open and a captain leapt out, hastily adjusting his tunic.
Steiger turned into Kurstrasse and halted, the Captain hurriedly opening the door
.
‘Captain Klessen, Herr General. My apologies, sir, I’d no idea you were coming.’
The General stepped out. ‘Bit of a surprise, for you, then,’ he smiled.
‘Er… yes, sir.’
‘Army Field Police, I see.’
‘Yes, Herr General, Berlin district.’
‘And the men over there? Coastal Artillery?’
‘Yes, Herr General, part of Lieutenant Steckmann’s outfit, sir. His unit came down from Hamburg yesterday.’
‘And where might Lieutenant Steckmann be?’
‘He’s…’
‘Not here? Well, he’d best be here pretty damn quick.’
Klessen nodded instantly to his sergeant.
Moments later, Fischer and Voigt came out of the building, trailed by a gang of men in buff three-quarter-length work coats. Meanwhile, the young, gangly Steckmann, in full flight along Jägerstrasse, turned rapidly into Kurstrasse, adjusting his stride as he neared the Steyr.
‘Lieutenant Steckmann, Herr General. Sorry I’m late, sir,’ he said, still breathless. ‘I’ve been visiting my mother in Dahlem, sir.’
The General raised his head, a heavy fragrance reaching his nostrils. ‘Seems your mother has an expensive taste in perfume, Lieutenant.’
Steckmann’s cheeks turned bright pink.
The General turned to Klessen. ‘How many men do you have, Captain?’
‘Seventy, sir, including Lieutenant Steckmann and myself.’
‘Vehicles?’
‘Ten Opel trucks, two Kübelwagons and two motorcycle combis, General.’
‘Right. We move out at 18h00, which gives us’ – the General glanced at his watch – ‘three hours to complete the loading. Warrant Officer Steiger will explain the details.’
Steiger stepped forward. ‘Gentlemen, the operation involves the relocation of a consignment of small boxes; 820 boxes, to be precise. Each truck will carry eighty boxes. Six men will be assigned to each truck – two up front and four in the back.’
‘That’s only 800 boxes, Sergeant,’ noted Steckmann.‘You said 820.’
‘The weight factor is critical, Lieutenant,’ intervened the General. ‘The remaining twenty boxes will be carried in my staff vehicle. Does that answer your question?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Steckmann.
‘Carry on, Sergeant Steiger.’
‘Sir. Each truck will be loaded in Kurstrasse. Your men will be on board before loading starts and they will remain on board until ordered otherwise. As each truck is loaded, it will move along Kurstrasse and make way for the next truck in line. That process will be repeated until all trucks are loaded. The two motorcycle combis, each displaying orange markers, will lead the column; Captain Klessen will come next, then the ten trucks, followed by Lieutenant Steckmann in the second Kübelwagon. General von Menen will follow in his command car. The formation will remain in that order at all times. No overtaking, no stopping and no exceeding fifty kilometres an hour.’
The General tugged lightly at Captain Klessen’s sleeve, ushering him to one side. ‘Where do you come from, Captain?’
‘Leipzig, sir.’
‘What’s your geography like?’
‘Pretty good, sir.’
‘Ever heard of Priwall?’
‘I believe it’s near Travemünde, General.’
‘You believe right, Captain. That’s where we’re going, Priwall. Appraise the two outriders, but no one else. Understand?’
‘Not even—?’
‘No one!’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘And make sure they understand to keep their mouths shut. If I hear the word Priwall on anyone’s lips…’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, they’re both Army Field Police; they won’t say a word.’
‘Good… because right now, Captain, it’s very cold back east. Understood?’
‘Perfectly, sir.’
‘Good. Tell them I want traffic priority all the way. We’re not stopping anywhere, except Perleberg.’
‘Perleberg, Herr General?’
‘Yes, there’ll be a field kitchen waiting for us there. When the convoy enters the market square, it’s to go straight past the Roland statue and assemble at the far end. Organise the parking so that the trucks are in tight formation, sideways on. Only two men at a time to leave each truck. And something else, Captain…’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘It’s Sunday. Instruct your men that there’s to be no skulking around and no loud chatter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any questions?’
‘No, Herr General.’
‘Right, let’s get to work.’
By five-thirty, only the Steyr remained unloaded. Four men in brown smocks lumbered up with the last two trolleys, stopping at the rear of the vehicle. Eyeing the twenty boxes, Steiger feigned a look of bewilderment, cursing like a soldier who just wanted to go home. A glance in the boot, a look inside the vehicle and the order was given.
‘Two boxes on the floor, forward of the front passenger seat, four across the rear footwell and six across the rear seat. Make sure the handles are facing front and rear.’ He moved to the back of the vehicle and opened up the boot. ‘The other eight will fit in here,’ he said.
Captain Klessen rolled into Perleberg, made his way through the market square and parked just short of the field kitchen. Next came the ten Opel trucks, followed by Lieutenant Steckmann in the second Kübelwagon, and finally the Steyr.
Smiling confidently, the General checked his watch. ‘21h00, Hans. So far, so good.’
*
Von Menen looked at the figure reflected in the huge mirror hanging in the hall. In Steiger’s long animal-skin coat he looked like a Siberian fur trapper from the far side of the Urals.
Outside, a waxing gibbous moon played hide-and-seek behind low scudding clouds, painting a spooky image across the sky. Only Count Dracula was missing.
Von Menen set out in the late evening, the Rehna-Gadebusch road completely empty. South of Holdorf, he doused the lights, coasted down the incline and turned into the woods, the Steyr surging up the track. Reaching the corrugated hut, he swept round in an arc and came to a halt on the Gadebusch side of the clearing.
He switched off the engine, leapt out of the vehicle and arranged the camouflage netting, weighing it down with a few short lengths of wood, and covering it with a liberal scattering of leaves. It merged into the woods like a tangled mass of undergrowth.
It was bitterly cold and deathly quiet, just the sound of the engine cooling and the sporadic hoot of an owl. Von Menen pulled up the deep furry collar of his coat and slumped back into his seat, eyeing the Gadebusch road through a chink in the netting. In the half-hour to eleven o’clock, he counted just one set of lights.
For want of something better to do, he wagered with himself as to when the next vehicle would pass. When it did, it was almost eleven-twenty, the faint glow of its rear light fading towards Gadebusch. But suddenly, it stopped, the rear light becoming slowly more visible as the vehicle reversed up the road and backed onto the track.
The whine of its engine grew louder, the vehicle closing in on the Steyr metre by metre. Heart beating wildly, von Menen hardly dared breath. He took out the Walther, released the safety catch and placed it on the passenger seat, watching anxiously as a large Mercedes came to a halt ten metres short of the clearing.
Offering a silent prayer for the camouflage netting, von Menen slumped deep into his seat, peering watchfully through a narrow slit at the bottom of the windscreen. Engine still running, the driver’s door of the Mercedes pushed open. A man stepped out, walked slowly to the back, his uniform as sinister as the night itself.
Gestapo.
Von Menen made ready with the Walther, death
just ten strides away. The man drew to a halt, pulled open his topcoat, unbuttoned his trousers and gazed at the heavens, legs akimbo, hands on hips, the ache in his nether region dissipating slowly. A voice rang out from inside the car.
‘Don’t let him get cold, Ferdinand!’
“Ferdinand” made his way back to the car and all von Menen could hear was a deep voice and girlish laughter, followed by a brief period of quiet and, finally, the creaking of springs.
Wrestling with panic, von Menen peered at the luminous dial of his watch, waiting with calculated optimism for the flame of a cigarette lighter and the inevitable glow of two cigarettes. It was just past midnight.
Glancing to the south, his anxiety almost swamped him: a lone, faint light in the distance, then another and then two more. The first of the column was over the horizon!
And then, as if by some divine intervention, the engine of the Mercedes fired into life. Within seconds it had reached the end of the track and was gone.
Von Menen sparked up the Steyr, leapt out and wrenched off the camouflage netting, just as the two outriders passed the end of the track, followed by the first Kübelwagon. He flung open the two front doors counted off the headlights: one, two, three… nine, ten, eleven, and then the second Kübelwagon, twelve!
Some moments later, Steiger roared down the track like a Tiger tank at full tilt, halting within feet of him. Steiger leapt out and hurriedly transferred the General’s pennant and flag, the General just a few strides behind.
‘Any problems, Carl?’ he whispered, limping across the clearing as fast as his gammy leg would allow.