Out of Mecklenburg

by James Remmer

  In most German households, the spirit of Christmas prevailed, but a constant deluge of grim news overshadowed the traditional festive mood. As the year petered to an end, the final chapter of Nazi Germany was already being written.

  Eva von Leiber set out for Lake Konstanz. She had been gone a mere four hours when Manfred, against all advice, headed east in a desperate attempt to coax his mother into joining Eva at Meersburg.

  The next day, Klaus and Anna von Menen left for Flensburg, taking with them the key elements of six vitally important documents, locked safely in the General’s attaché case.

  Von Menen, meanwhile, busied himself with the preparations for his departure to Madrid, checking every item of his possessions for any tell-tale sign that would link him to the country he was about to leave forever.

  Three days later, the General and his wife arrived back at the house. At their behest, the entire family, including the Steigers, gathered around the large walnut table in the library.

  ‘Before I start,’ said the General, ‘there is something I want you to know. I have it on unquestionable authority that certain elements within the Nazi hierarchy, perhaps acting arbitrarily, are putting out peace feelers in Sweden. Whilst I do not share their optimism, I thought it only fair to tell you, should any of you wish to change your minds.’

  Heads shook vigorously.

  The General squeezed his wife’s hand and smiled. ‘Good, that’s the way Anna and I feel. Now, I believe Jürgen has something to say.’

  Jürgen remained seated, a profound expression on his face. ‘An electro-type submarine, similar to my own,’ he said, ‘arrived at Lübeck-Siems three days ago and no one is allowed within 100 metres of it. The crew, billeted in special quarters at Travemünde, are forbidden to associate with, or speak to, any other naval personnel. Yesterday, however, one of the yard engineers told me that the boat is fitted out like no other submarine he’s ever seen – polished hardwoods, specially adapted sleeping quarters, luxurious bathrooms, day quarters and… a private dining room.’

  Von Menen exchanged a meaningful look with the General. ‘Looks as if you were right, Father. Seems we’re not alone in this enterprising venture of ours after all.’

  ‘Which is precisely the point I’m making,’ said Jürgen. ‘Peace feelers or no peace feelers, the Devil’s circus is already looking for a new show ground.’

  ‘In that case,’ said the General, ‘we need to press on.’

  Jürgen, Steiger and von Menen moved to the back of the General’s chair, all eyes on the open pages of a German Road Atlas.

  ‘I estimate that in five to six weeks the main thrust of the Russian armoured advance will be here,’ said the General, pointing to a spot west of the River Oder, ‘about sixty kilometres east of Berlin.’

  The women gasped in alarm.

  ‘In the Baltic,’ he continued, ‘it’s not so easy to forecast, but my guess is that by the end of January they’ll be hammering on the door to West Pomerania. By then, of course, Carl will be in Buenos Aires, Jürgen will be somewhere in the South Atlantic and, hopefully, the rest of us will be up in Flensburg, awaiting Jürgen’s return.’

  ‘If I may, General,’ said Jürgen, noting the look of alarm on Katrina’s face, ‘I have a voyage of eleven to twelve weeks ahead of me. Even if I leave home waters at the end of January, which I hope to do, I won’t be back until about 20th April, by which time – if Manfred’s predictions are right – most U-boats will have retreated to Norway, meaning I’ll have to get from Norway to Flensburg.’

  ‘Where do we go from Flensburg?’ inquired Steiger.

  ‘Odense, Copenhagen and then Malmö,’ replied the General. ‘From Malmö, we’ll head directly for Gothenburg.’

  ‘Do you know when?’ asked Greta anxiously.

  ‘Afraid not, Greta. We could find ourselves in Gothenburg for quite some time, but we’ll have decent accommodation and enough money to last several months and buy our passage to South America.’

  ‘What do we do for papers?’ asked Jürgen.

  ‘That was the reason for our visit to Flensburg,’ explained the General. ‘Remember the photographs I took, on the day of Manfred and Eva’s wedding? Well, there was a hidden reason for that – we each now have a Swedish laissez-passer.’ He turned and smiled at Steiger. ‘Hans, you and I will have to hope and pray that our fame doesn’t extend beyond the borders of Germany, because from now on, we’re all Lithuanian refugees.’ The General feigned a slight cough. ‘We have Aunt Ingrid to thank for that.’

  ‘And Ingrid?’ asked Greta. ‘Has she decided what she’s going to do when the war ends?’

  ‘She’s leaving for Sweden next week,’ explained Anna, ‘so we’ll have the whole house to ourselves.’

  ‘Where are the documents now, Klaus?’ asked Steiger.

  ‘In a very safe place – beneath the scullery floorboards at the house in Flensburg.’

  ‘Where do we go to from Gothenburg, Daddy?’ asked Katrina excitedly.

  ‘Bilbao, then on to Madrid. And talking about Madrid, I think Carl has something to say… Carl?’

  ‘Whilst I’ve no wish to alarm any of you,’ stressed von Menen, ‘you ought to be aware that my assignment is not without risk. Frankly, I’ve no idea how it will end. But I do know that this plan of ours will not succeed without some form of communication, and since direct communication is not an option, we’ll have to use the next best thing – an intermediary. The person I have in mind is my friend in Madrid, Juan Cortes, who I trust completely. Mother, Father and Katrina know him from the past; in fact, Mother has known his family for years.’

  ‘Did Greta and I ever meet him?’ queried Steiger.

  ‘No, Hans, you didn’t. He’s not known to Jürgen, either, but that’s not relevant.’

  ‘It’s years since Juan was here,’ said Katrina. ‘If he walked in here now, I doubt I’d recognise him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would, Katrina, but I’ll come to that later. For the moment, I want to deal with the situation as I see it: when the war comes to an end, Germany will be plunged into mayhem. The whole of Europe will be in a state of turmoil. Even if hostilities were to end in March, I don’t see you striking out for Argentina until late summer or early autumn. Whenever you leave, though, you can be assured that I will have updated Juan with my post box number, contact telephone number and rendezvous address.’

  ‘Any idea where the rendezvous address might be?’ asked the General.

  ‘I’ll come to that in moment, Father, but first, I’ll deal with Katrina’s point… Quite possibly, you won’t recognise Juan, but more importantly, he might not recognise you, either. Moreover, the identities waiting for you at Flensburg could easily change, so there’s little point in me furnishing Juan with names that might not even exist in, say, six months’ time. But I do have a plan…’

  Von Menen spent the next half-hour explaining the means by which each would identify themselves to Cortes. ‘When satisfied as to your bona fides, Juan will then – and only then – provide you with the means by which to contact me in Argentina,’ he explained. ‘Lose any of the items I’m about to give you and you won’t get further than Madrid.’

  ‘And in the meantime, if something happens to Juan?’ inquired Jürgen.

  ‘Likewise, Jürgen, your journey will end in Madrid. Now, Father, to answer your question… when you arrive in Argentina, go straight to the Hotel Toscano, at Dolores. From there, you can contact me in Buenos Aires using the telephone number or post box number that Juan gives you. But be sure to use the code word, Frederick. When I hear Frederick, I’ll join you immediately.’

  After dinner, Carl adjourned to his bedroom, whiling away the next hour with Katrina’s calligraphy set and several bottles of ink. A steady hand, four pens and six shades of ink later, he’d perfected the vital amendments to his Spanish
birth certificate.

  The next day, as a pale winter sun faded in the west, a despondent Eva von Leiber returned unexpectedly from Lake Konstanz. After her joyous time in Mecklenburg, she had found it impossible to come to terms with the loneliness of Meersburg and was desperately worried about Manfred.

  The harrowing ordeal of her exhausting two-day journey was written all over her drawn and tired face. If the von Menens, the Steigers or the Lanzes had any doubt about their vision of a new future in Argentina, Eva’s vivid exposé of the state of the cities she’d passed through on her long, wearisome journey from Meersburg dispelled it for good.

  In the evening, von Menen packed his few belongings in the suitcase he’d collected from the Foreign Office in Berlin, the origin of the seemingly well-travelled piece of luggage prominently labelled on the inside of the lid with the inscription Made in Switzerland.

  Steiger, meanwhile, using all the skill of a surgeon, delicately cleaved apart the double-flap lid on the cardboard box containing the doll’s house. He slipped the three envelopes intended for Cortes inside one flap, and a fourth, which von Menen fetched hurriedly from his bedroom, inside the other. A flat iron and a concoction of homemade gum did the rest. His wife tied up the box with a mile of string and braided a neat carrying handle at the top.

  Everything was in place.

  29

  The Ardennes offensive was over. Hitler’s reckless plan to halt the advance of the Allies in the west had failed, and it was failing in the east, too. The Russians were closing in fast.

  With no news of Manfred von Leiber, Eva was convinced that she would never see her husband again. Secretly, the von Menens thought likewise.

  Finding the temptation to bring forward his departure almost irresistible, von Menen went off in search of Steiger. He found him in the garage block, assembling a comprehensive “tool” kit for Flensburg, including two Walthers, two MP-40 machine pistols, a box of stick grenades and a case of nine-millimetre ammunition.

  ‘Hans, about the Delahaye…’

  ‘You’re not going to ask me to ship it over to South America for you, are you?’ jested Steiger.

  Von Menen smiled. ‘No, just making sure that you’ve no use for it, that’s all.’

  Steiger flicked a glance at the Steyr. ‘Thanks, Carl, but I’ll be using Helga here to take a few things up to Flensburg. Then, when Greta and I finally leave, we’ll take the BMW. Your parents and Katrina will follow a few days later in the Mercedes.’ He cast another glance at the Steyr. ‘Sadly, I’ll have to torch this old girl before we leave.’

  ‘And petrol? I’ve got plenty of coupons left.’

  ‘Thanks again, Carl, but we’ve got more than enough.’ Steiger could see the deeply worried look on von Menen’s face. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  ‘Actually, Hans, there is. It’s the matter we discussed the other evening; you know, your offer to take me to Berlin on Sunday?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, I’m thinking of slipping away on Saturday morning, alone, very quietly, taking the Delahaye with me. Since you’ve no use for it, I’ll give it to Sigi Bredow.’

  Steiger smiled sympathetically. ‘By all means take the Delahaye… though it wouldn’t be wise for you to leave on Saturday morning. Your mother and Greta are arranging a farewell dinner for you.’

  Saturday 13th January 1945

  The occasion was no more joyous than a poignant entry in an obituary column, the strain growing in Anna von Menen’s eyes.

  In less than nine hours, von Menen would be on his way to Berlin, the Delahaye fuelled up, his suitcase and the doll’s house loaded in the back. Laden with anxiety, his mother stuck to him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull and Katrina was rarely less than an arm’s length away. Frau Steiger hid the real extent of her emotions behind a dainty pink handkerchief, while Frau von Leiber, feeling totally inadequate, looked like the lost and forlorn soul she was. Jürgen, who had slipped away from Priwall, tried his best to lighten the tone, but failed miserably.

  Von Menen chose his moment carefully. ‘Mother,’ he said, noting the time, ‘there are a couple of things I need to discuss with Father, Jürgen and Hans. If you’ll just give me a few minutes…?’

  Reluctantly, she let go of his arm.

  The four men stood by the fireside in the library, the very same room where their hopes and dreams had been schemed.

  ‘I need this moment to get rid of my own emotions before I say my goodbye to the ladies,’ said von Menen, feeling the pangs of unease in his stomach. ‘But there’s another reason. I’m mindful how much this whole thing depends on me and I know that it could easily go wrong. If it does, I want you to know that it won’t be for the want of trying.’

  ‘We realise that, Carl,’ said the General. ‘A few weeks ago, it was just a dream. Then it became a hope. What we’re trying to do now is turn hope into reality. Our expectations of you are no more than they are of ourselves.’

  Jürgen and Hans nodded in agreement.

  ‘Thank you.’ Von Menen stepped forward and placed his hands on Jürgen’s shoulders. ‘God speed, Jürgen. Your charge is, perhaps, greater than mine… I’ll be praying for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Carl, just make sure to have a drink and some fresh food waiting.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  Steiger smiled, stuck out his hand and von Menen took hold of it, tugging the big man forward, whispering in his ear.

  ‘I know you can look after yourself, Hans, even where Baumer’s concerned, but please, watch out for them… and every night, give Greta a kiss for me.’

  ‘Everything will be all right, Carl,’ said Steiger. ‘I promise you.’

  As Steiger and Lanze headed downstairs to the Steigers’ parlour, von Menen flung his arms around the General’s shoulders.

  ‘This isn’t like us, is it Father?’ he muttered, feeling the emotion rising between them. ‘But this time, at least I have the chance to say goodbye. Whatever happens, I want you to know just how much I love and respect you and I want to thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. Like you, I’ve always been an optimist and I’ll try my damnedest not to let you down. Somehow, though…’

  He paused and they drew apart.

  ‘If it doesn’t work out, Carl,’ said the General, ‘it won’t be for the want of us trying. We might think we can forge our destiny, but fate always has the last word. We’ve placed ourselves in this danger. It’s us who are living on the edge. I know you’ll make it, Jürgen too, but if we don’t,’ he said, with a smile of resignation, ‘well…’

  He placed his arm around his son’s shoulder. They made to join the others. Stopping just short of the door to the drawing room, the General turned and smiled; a fatherly smile, a loving smile, born from childhood days, the long summer grass down by the lake, sandcastles on the beach at Graal-Müritz and the gaiety of Lübeck at Christmas time.

  ‘Like you, Carl, I’m not normally given to sentimentality, but when you leave this house tomorrow morning, do so knowing that I love you very much, too. I couldn’t have wished for a better son.’ He grabbed von Menen’s hand and held it tight, as if it were for the last time. ‘That’s it, son. I’m off to join Hans and Jürgen.’

  The women were waiting by the fireside. Eva von Leiber, all of a fluster, rushed to kiss him on the cheek, and then hurried from the room. Frau Steiger was less hasty.

  ‘If I’d been fifteen years older,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘Hans wouldn’t have stood a chance.’ He could sense her chortling through the tears. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry, we’ll all be together again soon. Now, just one last favour…’ She nodded on his shoulders. ‘When I walk through the door, try and keep Mother here, will you?’

  She nodded again, then finally let go, allowing him to dab the tears from her eyes. Von Menen turn
ed to his sister.

  ‘Well, Sis,’ he said, spawning a feigned a look of joviality as he glanced down at Katrina’s swollen tummy, ‘seems I’m saying goodbye to two of you. If it’s a boy, he’ll be just like Jürgen, if it’s a girl, she’ll be just like you. Either way, we’ll all be winners.’

  She flung her arms around him and held him tight. ‘I love you, Carl. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.’

  ‘I will, and you must do the same for me, okay?’

  ‘Yes, I promise.’

  He turned and moved straight into the outstretched arms of his mother, neither saying anything. She held him close, then slowly drew her head away, her eyes welling with tears. Finally, she reached up and searched his face with her fingers, like a young mother exploring the face of her new-born child for the very first time.

  ‘It’ll be all right, Mother,’ he assured her.

  She held him tight again, just one last embrace, until something deep inside her told her to let go, her arms falling limp by her side.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her on the forehead and made for the door, leaving her staring at the smouldering embers in the hearth. She heard the click of the latch, turned on her heels and hastened towards the door.

  ‘Anna!’ called Frau Steiger, hurrying after her. ‘Let him go.’

  Frau von Menen stopped, turned and walked back towards the fireplace, the worry of the last few months showing in her drawn and weary face. Fighting back the tears, she looked into Frau Steiger’s eyes.

  ‘I’m never going to see him again. I just know it.’

  Sunday 14th January 1945

  Von Menen tiptoed down the staircase. He left the house by the side entrance and made his way quietly across the courtyard, no time for reminiscing, no curdling thoughts of nostalgia, no fleeting last look at the house.

  Outside, it was still pitch black. As he made to slide back the garage door, someone inside did it for him. Steiger and Lanze were there. A moment later, so was Frau Steiger, hurrying across the courtyard with two cardboard boxes, one on top of the other.