Uncommon Enemy

by Reynolds, John

  The crackling from the speakers and the singing from the marchers had the advantage of muffling the brief conversations that Stuart and Brendan managed to conduct by staring straight ahead.

  As the front ranks began to pass, Brendan muttered, “It’s the bloody Horst Wessel Song.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No, ‘who’s that?’ to be precise. Horst Wessel was a young Nazi shot in a quarrel over his girlfriend.”

  “His girlfriend? So who shot him?”

  “His girlfriend was a whore. They were living together in a Berlin slum. The gunman was a communist. Wessel had written his Nazi anthem a few months before he died and so the Nazi Party decided to transform him into a martyr.”

  “Charming little story. The man’s an example to us al.”

  By this time the nearest ‘peace delegate’ was regarding the two young men with some suspicion. Raising his beer glass Brendan smiled winningly at the man. “Die Fahne Hoch!” called.

  For a moment the German glared suspiciously at him. Then, reaching for his own glass he raised it.

  “Die Fahne Hoch,” he responded, nodding slowly.

  Brendan, nodding vigorously in reply, downed the remainder of his beer in one gulp, saluted the German with his empty glass and again favoured him with a broad grin. The man studied him for a long moment, smiled briefly and turned back to watch the procession.

  “What did you say?” asked Stuart.

  “Simply the title of Horst Wessel’s song – Raise High the Flag.”

  “How does the rest of it go?”

  “Can’t figure it all out but it’s basically something like, ‘Raise high the flag, Hitler’s banners shall wave unchecked’.”

  “Obviously penned by a literary genius.”

  The song was sung and played repeatedly as the flag-bearing ranks streamed past. As the sun began to sink below Berlin’s buildings, a flickering of light began to appear from the far end of Prinz-Albrecht Strasse. Abruptly the music changed to another German march and the first of a series of flaming torch bearers loomed into view.

  The illuminated parade, accompanied by an unending stream of German marching music, lasted for several more hours by which time some of the delegates, in spite of the noise, were beginning to slump and doze in their chairs. As the last of the marchers passed the balcony, the Baron stood and addressed the tired delegates.

  “We hope you have enjoyed this evening of our Nazi culture, gentlemen.” He smiled. “A foretaste of things to come.”

  Receiving no response he continued. “You are now free to retire for the night. However, before you do, I have to inform you that new arrangements have been made. Each of you will be sharing a room with a peace delegate to ensure, how shall I say, a continuity of communication.” He smiled, clicked his heels and bowed briefly. “I wish you all a gute Nacht - a good night.”

  The following morning they faced the realities of the revised ‘peace treaty’. The office of Governor-General was to be abolished, effective immediately and replaced by a Governor appointed from Berlin. Parliament would be dissolved and regional representatives appointed under the control of the Governor and regional Councils. All political parties were abolished - only the Nazi Party would be permitted. Citizens would be permitted to stand for Regional Councils but all appointees would require final approval of the Governor. All government departments and all civil service positions would remain in place, pending a series of reviews by the new Governor’s Council and a scrutinizing of all personnel for their ‘political suitability’.

  The delegates were informed that they would be departing for New Zealand later that afternoon. In response to a question from Professor Sterling they were informed that on return to New Zealand they were to continue in their current positions until the new regime was established. This process was to be determined in Berlin and communicated to the people of New Zealand ‘at an appropriate time’. They were assured that Peter Fraser was being well cared for. They were instructed to make no mention of the ‘incident’ as the proper authorities would be communicating this to the people of New Zealand - also at an appropriate time.

  The return journey was particularly arduous. The Junkers took a route overland through Singapore with no overnight stopovers. At the various refuelling stops the delegates were only permitted to walk up and down the tarmac, and always under the watchful eyes of armed guards.

  Finally, relieved, exhausted and apprehensive the planeload of delegates touched down at Whenuapai airbase, west of Auckland city.

  Summing up the thoughts of his two companions, as he emerged from the plane onto a rain-drenched tarmac, Stuart looked up at the dark grey sky.

  “So, what now?” he asked.

  Chapter 17

  “Here they come,” said Brendan. “The vanguard of the victory parade for our brave boys.”

  “Plenty of people,” observed Stuart. “Wonder if there’ll be much cheering?”

  A month earlier, with the other delegates, the two young men had returned from Berlin. Following their instructions they had resumed their university positions – supplemented by well paid casual work on the Auckland waterfront. Although the wartime research projects had ceased, the grant money still came through from Wellington so at Professor Sterling’s suggestion they continued to collect their weekly allowance in a small brown envelope from the cashier’s office in the Registry building.

  “I’m sure the funding will end as soon as the Occupation forces take over Wellington’s bureaucracy,” the professor had surmised, “but in the meantime, consider it a study grant.”

  The previous day two troop ships loaded with New Zealand soldiers had docked at Auckland. Determined to create a positive impression, the German New Order government had announced that a Victory Parade would be held up Queen Street. Through a contact, Brendan had managed to secure a vantage point on the first floor of Milne and Choyce’s large department store on Queen Street from where they could watch the parade.

  The band appeared first, thumping out Colonel Bogey. Then came the ranks of khaki uniforms with the distinctive lemon squeezer hats and shouldered 303 rifles.

  “Bet there’s nothing up the spout,” said Brendan as the front rank reached the point opposite the window.

  The ‘Victory Parade’ was widely regarded as a misnomer. Certainly, as the New Order-controlled press and the radio stations incessantly reminded them, peace had been declared, and thousands of young men had been saved from death or severe wounds. Furthermore the men who were cheered when they had left in 1939 and 1940 were now returning home to enjoy the peace and prosperity that they had helped to secure. Privately, however, very few of the population agreed that the parade celebrated a victory. This was clearly not a parade of brave boys who’d come from cities, towns and farming settlements to fight for freedom.

  “Poor buggers are not sure what they’re supposed to do,” said Stuart. “Look at their faces.”

  Some of the soldiers stared straight ahead, biting their lips as they marched. A number wore sheepish grins while others, who appeared to be resigned to the new situation, waved their right arms to the crowds and occasionally called out greetings.

  “See,” continued Stuart, “their attitudes reflect those of the whole population – humiliation, sadness and relief.”

  “Could be worse, you know,” said Brendan.

  “What could?”

  “The occupation. So far the government seems to be doing its best to win our support rather then trying to beat us into submission. It’s not at all like Poland.”

  “Maybe, but early days yet. It’ll take a lot to convince me that rule by the so called New Order will be a positive experience.”

  Brendan sighed. “You’re right, of course.” He shrugged. “I was just trying to look on the bright side.”

  Stuart patted him on the shoulder. “I know, mate, but I’m afraid that no matter how you dress it up, the New Order will be the death knell of this nation’s freedom.”

>   “Cunning bastards, all the same. Look how they handled the news about Fraser.”

  Less than a week after the return of the delegates the newspapers had all carried a front-page story on Prime Minister Peter Fraser. It related how he had become ill during the trip and as a result had been receiving the best possible care in a Berlin hospital. Although out of danger he had been advised by his German doctors to give up his prime ministerial role in order to speed his recovery. As a goodwill gesture the New Order government had flown his wife Janet to Berlin to be with him during his recuperation. She had left the previous day.

  “Yeah, smart move sending his wife over,” said Stuart. “Watch for the carefully arranged bedside photos of the re-united couple surrounded by cards, flowers and caring German medical staff.”

  “Yes, but will he co-operate?”

  “What choice has he got? Beaten up, sick, alone, intimidated. Surrounded by men who’ve just conquered a large area of the world. And now both he and his wife are under threat. He hasn’t much choice.”

  Following Fraser’s resignation, the authorities had moved swiftly to establish their New Order government. Parliament had been suspended, and all government bureaucracies were put under the command of the new Berlin-appointed Governor Claus von Stauffenberg. From the residence of the previous Governor General, Lord Galway, von Stauffenburg announced that elections would be held at a date as yet unspecified. In the meantime, the instigators of the New Order set out to win the hearts and minds of post-war New Zealand.

  Wartime rationing was immediately abolished, and a series of government-funded developments in roading, railways and hydroelectric power were announced, with the promise of ample, well paid employment for returned servicemen. The on-going war on the Russian Eastern Sector (officially called an ‘engagement’) ensured an increasing demand for wool and meat, thus resulting in the beginning of a boom period for the farming sector.

  Although hostilities had ceased with Britain and her allies, Russia’s dictator Joseph Stalin had refused to surrender. Hitler’s more belligerent military advisors had urged him to use the new atomic bomb in Russia, but the majority of the Wermacht top brass had been stunned by the power of the new weapon and its ability to lay waste large tracts of land. They reasoned that it would be counter productive to occupy devastated cities and agricultural areas ruined by nuclear explosion. Furthermore, Hitler, motivated more by ideology than military considerations, was not prepared to relinquish the opportunity of conquering and subjugating the ‘genetically inferior’ Russians town by town and city by city, and he relished the prospect of reviewing victory parades in the cities of Moscow and Stalingrad. Consequently conventional warfare that required considerable manpower, particularly with the onset of a bitter Russian winter, continued to be the preferred option.

  Three weeks later at the cinema, Stuart and Brendan viewed the first of the New Order newsreels screened before the main feature. The traditional standing for the playing of “God Save the King” accompanied by a screen image of George VI had been deleted from the commencement of the screening which began with a montage showing bridal couples and young parents smiling awkwardly at each other to the accompaniment of happy music and a smooth voice over.

  “Your New Order government,” the commentator explained, “wants to encourage the re-establishment of New Zealand family life. Therefore each newly married couple will receive a generous New Directions grant of fifty pounds.

  “Fifty quid,” muttered Stuart as a buzz went round the cinema. “Maybe I’ll qualify as a parson and claim a percentage.”

  His friend snorted in derision as the commentary continued.

  “Your New Order government will also provide a New Birth grant of ten pounds on the birth of each baby. The parents will then receive a weekly New Life child allowance of one pound ten shillings per week for each child until it reaches the age of fifteen.”

  “There you go, mate. You’d be better off training as a children’s Plunket Nurse,” laughed Brendan.

  When the film was over they discussed the new allowances as they walked to the bus stop.

  “Smart move by our new masters,” said Brendan. “Most of us were raised in the Great Depression and are weary of war.” He grinned. “And you can guarantee that the returned soldiers will be sick of celibacy.”

  “Yeah. You watch. Over the next few months Kiwi men and women will be eagerly filling the churches, and marriage beds and then maternity hospitals.”

  “Which will give them little time to worry about political issues. Smart move indeed.”

  Uncertain of their country’s position and their own long-term prospects, Stuart and Brendan had begun holding regular meetings with Professor Sterling to discuss their Berlin experience and the unfolding events at home. The following morning they told him about the newsreel and the implementation of the family allowance payments.

  “Yes, it’s also in this morning’s papers. Ironic, really. At the beginning of the war Peter Fraser set up the National Film Unit to produce weekly items to bolster morale. The Nazis, who are aware of the power of film have taken over the whole operation and are using it to promote their form of socialism.”

  “The government grants will be popular, sir.”

  “Most definitely. Trouble is they’ll divert attention away from the antics of the new Ministry of Culture and Information. It’s now implementing a process whereby all newspapers must submit their copy to Ministry officials prior to publication to ensure that the content is correct politically. If there are problems, the editor and the reporters are invited to attend re-education seminars.”

  “At least no one’s been shot,” said Brendan.

  Sterling looked serious. “Not yet, but remember that when the Nazis first came to power they immediately built concentration camps to punish and re-educate dissident groups within Germany itself. In my view the new authorities are keen to gain full control of the media as quickly as possible and mix that with measures such as the child allowance to keep the population compliant. Have you noticed the New Zealand Listener?”

  “The free magazine for radio license holders?” said Stuart.

  “Yes. Because it’s free it reaches the majority of households. It’s an ideal opportunity for the authorities to link the radio and print media together, each one preaching the joys of peace and prosperity under the New Order. Conformity and obedience are the sub-themes of peace and prosperity. For some people that’s sufficient, I fear. Rising prosperity is, as the media constantly reminds the returned soldiers, more than their parents ever had.”

  “Have you remembered that the new Governor, Claus von Stauffenberg, is coming to town today?” asked Stuart.

  The professor frowned. “It’s been a great source of debate among my senior colleagues. Most of us have decided to stay away. But you two go. I’d like you to report on what happens.”

  Brendan and Stuart exchanged glances.

  “Do you think there’ll be trouble?” asked Stuart.

  “Probably not. But it is the first time that the new Governor will be meeting Auckland mayor Sir Ernest Davis.”

  “Who’s Jewish.”

  “Yes. As you know I’m not a great supporter of a man who made his money from booze and is reputed to be a womanizer, but at the same time I’d hate to see his race used as an excuse to humiliate him. Today he’s the one that will be symbolically handing over the keys of the city to the German Governor. No-one’s sure what to expect.”

  “We do know that von Stauffenberg’s not a fanatical Nazi,” said Stuart.

  “True. He’s from a distinguished aristocratic family, and a well-educated intellectual. Furthermore, if you recall he gained a position in the German high command when he was only thirty three.”

  “So far he hasn’t spouted any anti-Jewish propaganda.”

  “No, but if he or his Berlin masters want to signal the establishment of an anti-Semitic regime in New Zealand, today could be the time to start.”

  Th
e following morning Stuart and Brendan walked down to Queen Street and found a position near the front of the growing crowd between the Civic Theatre and the Auckland Town Hall where a special stand had been erected for the occasion. There was a marked contrast between this parade and the earlier Victory Parade. The streets were now hung with Nazi bunting, interspersed with the traditional New Zealand flag. On the previous day German soldiers had erected heavy wooden barriers along the route. Today the soldiers were lined in front of the barriers on both sides of Queen Street.

  Punctually at two o’clock the sounds of a military band playing a German march echoed up Queen Street.

  “Your mate Horst Vatshisname?” asked Stuart.

  “Not this time. Just some tuneless German oom pah pah, with a strong military beat.”

  A military band, followed by an immaculately uniformed goose-stepping battalion of SS Leibstandarte guards, led the parade up the length of Queen Street towards the Auckland Town Hall. The robotic precision of their marching was impressive and many in the crowd viewed them with apprehension. Others, unsure what to do, clapped politely.

  As the first ranks began to cross the Wellesley Street intersection, shouts of “Bloody robots! Bugger off!” suddenly came from centre of the crowd.

  Immediately two men in dark suits who had been standing in front of Stuart and Brendan, roughly shouldered them aside and plunged into the crowd seeking the source of the shouts.

  “Special police,” grunted Brendan reaching out a steadying arm. “Keep your eyes peeled. They’re not too difficult to spot.”

  Certainly their dress and arrogant bearing made the special police easily identifiable and consequently catcallers, while continuing their caustic comments, were able to avoid them with relative ease. On several occasions when special police members tried to move quickly to a potential trouble spot, onlookers subtly but deliberately impeded their progress. When roughly shoved aside they invariably responded with a look of wide-eyed innocence and a, “Sorry, mate, didn’t see you there.”