The Valkyrie Option

by Markus Reichardt

  'What have you done to stabilize him?' his tone was that of a professor dealing with an errant first year student.

  'Multiple splinters and wood fragments in his lower abdomen and upper legs. A shallow flesh wound to the shoulder. Plenty of cuts and bruises all over the body and facial area. I administered morphine as a painkiller to keep him from thrashing about. And I was in the process of extracting some of the splinters. I am unsure as to whether they have penetrated inner organs, but I suspect they have. .....'

  'Well let ME have a look!' Morrell's condescending tone was underlined by his bad breath. The orderly drew back.

  July 20 16:50 hours

  Unter den Linden Boulevard

  Berlin

  Contrary to Stauffenberg's belief Major Ernst Remer was actually thinking. And he was thinking about the order Valkyre One which he held in his hand as he watched the trucks of the Guard Battalion head along the boulevard to deploy around the Armoury. He had carried out the deployment order with his usual energy, inspecting every position after his troops had set up around the Ministries and even at Gestapo Headquarters in Prinz Albrechtstrasse.

  It was the last location that somehow bothered him. And not merely him, Lieutenant Hans Hagen the political-education officer attached to his unit was having absolute kittens about it.

  'There has to be something we are missing Herr Major' he insisted, after reading the Valkyre One order for the second time.

  Slightly irritated at the insolence of the young fanatic, and Hagen's questioning of orders in particular, Remer gave him an evil stare.

  'And what do you suggest we do. The order is clear, in case you have already forgotten it, it reads....'

  That’s not what I meant Herr Major,' Hagen was sweating now, Remer's Knights Cross intimidated him more now than ever before. Remer had earned it the hard-way in frontline service on the Eastern front. Adolf Hitler himself had decorated him. But the young Nazi felt there was something wrong. And he had to convince his solid, courageous but unimaginative commander to see things the same way. 'What I meant is why? Why would we have to do it. How can we believe that the SS and members of the Party would move against the Wehrmacht and the Führer. Why Sir why would they do that?'

  Remer was unmoved ' The order says that’s what happened...' He didn't like it but there it was. Orders weren't there to be liked, only to be obeyed.

  'Yes Sir' I know but it also says that all Gauleiter, Reichsgoverneure, and chiefs of propaganda offices are to be arrested.'

  A soldier of the Guard Battalion passed them on a noisy motorcycle. Remer watched him go. Hagen pressed on.

  'If we follow these orders we will have to arrest Dr Goebbels.' That brought a response.

  'Goebbels ?'

  'Yes sir as Gauleiter of Berlin and Reichspropagandaminister. That’s what we'd have to do. And what troubles me about this sir is who. Who is ordering us to do this.'

  'That, my dear Hagen is clear. The order comes from Bendlerstrasse.' Remer felt on safe ground there.

  The young man pressed on 'Sir every word of that order could be construed as an attempt to cover an anticipated SS putsch.'

  'Yes ' Remer agreed 'clearly it is.'

  'But would the same words not also suit if the order was a cover for a putsch by the Army, by Bendlerstrasse. The order is from the Bendlerstrasse.'

  Now Remer knew what had been bothering him about the order. An SS coup against the Führer did strain the limits of credibility. He looked at the piece of paper again. It was signed by General Olbricht instead of General Fromm. That in itself was no major issue since Olbricht was authorised to sign. His own commander General von Hase had confirmed to him in person when he gave him his marching orders that the order was legitimate and that the Führer was dead. The order had to be right. Then the soldier in him realized something that the green Hagen had missed; if this were an SS coup, then where were their assault teams, surely they would have had commandoes swarming all over the Wehrmacht offices and the radio stations. How could the Wehrmacht have gotten the jump on them. He looked at the paper with Valkyre One on it again, as if willing it to disappear. Instinct and obedience fought within him.

  Hagen solved the problem for him. 'Sir may I seek out Dr Goebbels. Surely he must know what is happening.'

  'Very well Hagen. You know him from a previous encounter. You go talk to him. Then come back and report. In the meantime we maintain our positions.' It was now nearly 18:00 hours.

  July 20 17:45 hours

  Hitler’s Headquarters 'Wolfsschanze'

  Rastenburg, Eastern Prussia.

  The SS NCO who stood before Himmler was having a real case of nerves. First the Gestapo creature in his long black leather coat had come crawling along asking all sorts of questions implying all sorts of things. Then he had been dismissive, he had done his duty that day, had only let Col. Stauffenberg pass once he had received the approval of his commanding officer. It had been textbook standard operating procedure.

  But in the presence of Himmler even standard operating procedure did not seem enough. With the Gestapo man hovering in the background, the NCO found himself facing three of the most powerful men in the Reich. Behind Himmler sat Reichsmarschall Göring and Reichsleiter Bormann. The mood on their faces was enough to frighten anyone, even without Himmler's questioning. At least his CO and his aide were here to share the joy with him.

  'So Stauffenberg told you he had a plane to catch after the alarm was raised?' Himmler repeated the question pacing before the three SS men standing to ramrod attention.

  'Yes Reichsführer' the aide snapped, the fear in his voice plain for all to hear. "I gave him permission to proceed because I thought that he had been on his way long before the explosion took place.'

  'You thought.. ' Himmler did not have the physique to cut an imposing figure, so he had to gesticulate. 'You thought...'

  Bormann bored with the theatrics of the interrogation once the critical fact had been established cut in. ' Stauffenberg left the Führer's hut moments before the explosion. Would you say his haste in getting out of the Wolf's Lair suggests this was more than coincidence.'

  'Very possible, Reichsleiter' the NCO snapped. He sensed what Bormann was getting at and was happy to get this all over and done with.

  'We are confident that no-one else has since left the camp.' the miserable aide volunteered.

  But Himmler was not letting go so easily ' The alarm had been sounded and yet you made no extra effort to verify his need for passage?'

  The NCO was on safe ground here. 'Our orders on this are clear. When in doubt the commanding officer or his aide are empowered to make the final decision.'

  'Which they did.' Bormann raised himself out of the chair. 'I suggest, Reichsführer we let these men continue with their duty and find Oberst Stauffenberg. If the assassin were still in the camp, I think he would have taken advantage of the situation and made another attempt while the Führer was vulnerable. Or he would have tried to leave hastily to save his rotten hide. Since only Stauffenberg did, I am sure you have some questions for him.

  'That, Reichsleiter, will be difficult.' the Gestapo man straightened to attention. 'The lines out of the camp are down and General Fellgiebel is being rather difficult about getting them up and running again.'

  'Is he now,' Bormann smiled. He glanced at Göring' Reichsmarschall I think as a military man you may need to use your superior authority here to advance our investigation.' Göring did not even hear the dripping sarcasm.

  The orderly was loosing his temper. For nearly an hour Dr Morrell had been messing around with the Führer's injuries. And there were still pieces of wood protruding from Hitler's body. Morrell had started pulling out some of the larger splinters. But he had made a hash of the wounds, pouring sulfa powder all over the place in an inept attempt at disinfecting the wounds. Years in combat had taught the orderly that things were certainly not always as they were described or taught in textbooks. But what Morrell was doing had even less to do with
reality and everything with inept bungling. The man had clearly no idea what he was doing.

  'Sir if you would permit me - I have had years of experience in cleaning up wounds. Perhaps you should concentrate on stabilizing the Führer's vital signs.' Morrell shot him a venomous glance but simply continued. Adolf Hitler's lower body was by now covered in sulfa powder. He was just about to sprinkle another satchel into one of the deeper wounds; too deep for this treatment, when the orderly tried again. 'Please Dr Morrell ... I've done this in combat for many years... I...'

  'You are a properly trained full medical doctor ....?' Morrell's voice was ice.

  'No I ....'

  'Well you man I am. And as the Führer's personal physician I am the most qualified medical professional on the spot. Now let me get on with my duties.' With that he bent back over Hitler's body which had been limp for over half an hour. As far as the medic could tell the Führer's was lapsing into a coma if not worse. In any medical emergency the first hour was critical in stabilizing the patient. Thereafter experience said your chances started dropping fast. Morrell had already wasted the first hour and seemed intent on wasting more precious time as he obsessed with applying external first-aid treatment to what were clearly deep internal injuries. He looked about for allies but the SS soldiers assisting Morrell seemed mesmerized by his SS uniform.

  By the time Himmler entered his office he was shaking visibly. He slumped into his chair. Seconds later he was up again, his hand finding the dial of the wall safe. From it he took a series of loose sheets. Forcing his pince-nez tighter towards his eyes he scanned each page intently for a few seconds. Then suddenly as if something had snapped, he reached for a lighter. Normally an unusual item on the desk of such an obsessive non-smoker, his hands seemed to know exactly where in the top drawer of the desk it lay. One by one the papers fell to the flame. An alarmed secretary who smelt the smoke rushed in only to be waved away with an absent-minded 'Its nothing. Not now.'

  When the last of the ashes went out Himmler sat down slowly staring at the smouldering papers. 'What do I do. What do I do?' He whispered to the empty room. Himmler had a problem Head not only of the vast SS empire, but also of most intelligence and police functions in the Reich, there was very little of importance that Heinrich Himmler did not know. Alone among the Nazi top brass he had had a reasonably clear idea that a conspiracy was brewing, had even known that von Stauffenberg was the new dynamo behind the conspiracy. He had been party to the decision that appointed Stauffenberg to the position that had given him access to Hitler.

  With the system frozen in place by terror, even Himmler, master of terror, was frozen by that side of his emotional nature which needed to give loyalty to a creed and a strong master and that side of his rational nature that hesitated to come down on one side or the other while there was a chance of waiting to take advantage of events. So he and the military conspirators had tiptoed around each other, waiting for a catalyst, von Stauffenberg. [25]

  The problem was the catalyst had done his job but the outcome had been the worst imaginable for a schemer waiting to choose. The bomb had injured Hitler badly, but was it badly enough to remove him from the scene? Too squeamish to face the sight of blood first-hand, Himmler, the mass murderer, had instructed an SS lieutenant to keep him updated by telephone on the progress of Hitler's condition. There was no question that he was badly injured, but was it bad enough for him to die from that. If Himmler now moved on the assumption that Hitler would die and the Führer recovered, he would be in disgrace. If he sat aside and awaited events, the conspirators in Berlin might seize control and marginalize him. The alternative was civil war and a collapse of the fronts - then Germany would be lost anyway.

  Throughout his career, Heinrich Himmler had remained on the sidelines, waiting for others to do the work for him, confident in the ability of his organisations to take control in the wake of anticipated events. He was now confronting an unanticipated outcome.[26] Forced to choose between two completely different worlds, Himmler continued to vacillate. He had called for his second in command, Kaltenbrunner to conduct the investigation just before Fellgiebel shut down the lines. Now with Kaltenbrunner in the air en route to Rastenburg, Heinrich Himmler packed his bags to fly in the opposite direction. For the next few hours the SS did not have a head.

  July 20 17:55hours

  Headquarters 1st SS-Panzer Corps, Normandy

  'Right Meyer,' Sepp Dietrich grumbled 'is everyone here?' He stamped his feet in a vain attempt to get some of the mud off them. The Waffen-SS Commander hid his nervousness under attitude. These were soldiers. Handle them rough and direct and they would respond as they should.

  'Ja, Oberstgruppenführer.' Meyer barely managed to stand at attention. They were all tired from a day of chasing up supply columns massacred by Allied air raids, patching up gaps in the front with redeployments, fighting with recalcitrant supply depots back in the Reich and otherwise generally having a bad day. At least the weather had been cloudy over their area keeping those miserable Allied fighter bombers out of their hair. Dietrich scanned the black and mottled camouflage uniforms with the lighting runes and death heads on the collars around him. They had just beaten back Montgomery's finest tank units, leaving more than 400 wrecked Allied tanks on the battle-field over the past two days. Operation GOODWOOD, Monty's plan for cracking the German front east of Caen had was petering out. His men, 1st and 12th SS-Panzer together with 21st Panzer had held. They had suffered horribly, but they had held. Rommel's insistence on backing them up with a series of 88mm guns lines had made the difference. His men had done the impossible under a hail of bombs and shells - he had made the right decision –they had done their duty and then some - they deserved peace.

  'Achtung' Meyer barked and a single snapping sound reverberated through the room as nearly twenty sets of heels came together.

  Dietrich took out the sheet of paper that had come off the teletype a few minutes ago. He had spoken to Rommel about half an hour ago and the Field Marshal had been direct and blunt. 'Its done Dietrich. Hitler is dead. We are on our own to save Germany.' Dietrich would never forget those words. He had sworn an oath to protect the Führer and Germany. That oath had always assumed the two would be synonymous with each other. Dietrich, like his Field Marshal had taken a long time but ultimately had no problem in choosing which took precedence over the other. Rommel, who had spoken to Beck in Berlin, had given him a general outline of events as Valkyrie One and Two outlined them and had rung off with a re-assuring 'comrade in arms'. The Field Marshal had surely known his man for at that moment Sepp Dietrich, trained butcher, Nazi bodyguard and aspirant German Wehrmacht commander had felt more accepted by his fellow Wehrmacht soldiers than ever before.

  As he stood before his staff and divisional commanders in the darkened and damp room that served as their command post, his hand went to his golden party badge. He had won it for being a member during the early days, prior to 1923, when the dream of power had been just that - a dream. His hand closed around the round, gold-rimmed ornament with the black swastika at its centre. Until now it had been one of his prized possessions. There were memories here and loyalties that no-one would ever understand. Street fights with Red gangs in the Weimar days, guard duty for the Führer; the man he had served for two decades. He would have died for Adolf Hitler a million times back then. Back then when they were saving Germany. Hitler had put millions to work and bread on family tables again. Sepp was not totally happy about what he was doing but his commander had made it clear where he stood. He had trusted Rommel three days ago, now he obeyed. Hitler had required obedience many times, now Germany required it. His hand gripped the piece of paper as he began to read Valkyrie Order One and Two.

  Meyer had known Dietrich for more than five years. It was clear that a world of emotions swept across his CO's face as he read out the Order. The Führer dead; a world came crashing around the young Panzer Commander. The meeting with Rommel, when the Field Marshal had preached what for Meyer had amo
unted to treason, flashed across his mind. He glanced across the room. Everyone was in their own world trying to rebuild it without the key fixture Adolf Hitler that had been there for more than ten years. He knew everyone was finding it near impossible. They had been there at the first hour, many of them that had survived at least. They were the Leibstandardte Adolf Hitler. He knew everyone was too busy with their own questions to ask the first question. He waited for Dietrich to end the announcement.

  'Alright,' Dietrich looked up from the paper, 'that's the word from the desk-jockeys in Berlin. I have spoken to our commander, Field Marshal Rommel. He assures me that the orders are not only genuine but also that most of the golden pheasants (Party leaders) who moved against the Führer are in custody. As a precaution most others are also in protective custody. Rommel has asked us, the elite of his force, to formally place ourselves under his command. With the Führer gone our first and only duty is to Germany. The Field Marshal aims to find a way of this situation that will allow us to make peace with honour and save Germany from the barbaric Bolshevik hordes.' Dietrich knew the power that Rommel's name commanded. If the Field Marshal asked them to join the ranks of the Wehrmacht while acknowledging their elite status, most, like him would do so. Funny, it was Rommel, the leader that Dietrich obeyed; von Kluge, Rommel’s nominal superior hardly entered the equation. Von Kluge may be a commander but he was no leader as Sepp Dietrich defined it. The kluge Hans (sly Hans), as Field Marshal Hans Guenther von Kluge was known, was a brilliant tactician but lacked charisma. He would fade from the scene with little notice. Few officers below rank of General would ever recognize him.