Unwavering: Love and Resistance in WW2 Germany

by Marion Kummerow

  If Kriminalkommissar Becker was impressed by her connection to Wolfgang Huber, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued to ask the same questions over and over. Hilde stuck to her line of defense, that she hadn’t known what she was typing, and never once mentioned the name of Martin Stuhrmann – the person who’d helped her husband to prepare the assassination plan on Goebbels.

  The questions had become friendly again, but Hilde wasn’t fooled. Inside the man sitting across from her was a cruel and sadistic monster enjoying the horror he inflicted.

  Chapter 7

  Q slumped against the wall in a ball of misery. His right eye was partially swollen shut, and the bruise on his left cheekbone was throbbing with every breath. But after having looked at the other prisoners in his cell, he felt privileged.

  As bad as he felt for himself, he worried about his wife and friends more. Hilde arrested. Erhard arrested. Q wondered if Martin was safe. So far, his name hadn’t been mentioned. This means they don’t know about him. Gerald hadn’t known about his existence, and now Martin’s destiny lay in the hands of his friends. Q would rather die than betray him, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold on to that plan…and whether Hilde and Erhard could do the same.

  Hilde. My love. It’s my fault she’s here. I have fed her to the wolves, and because of me, she’s suffering now. His heart was in a tight knot. If only he could save her.

  Several hours later, the Gestapo came back for him. This time, they took him down a different hallway. Downstairs. While walking, he heard the cries of fellow prisoners, muffled by the thick stone walls. Some were merely the pitiful whimpering of men pushed to the breaking point.

  These sounds shook him to the core, and by the time he was pushed into a windowless room with a chair and a large tub of water, all he could do was keep his knees from knocking together. Kriminalkommissar Becker stood in the room with an evil grin on his face.

  “Traitorous pig!” Becker attacked him right away, followed by a long torrent of abuse. As he protected himself the best he could, he learned that Gerald had told the Gestapo about the assassination attempt on Goebbels. The Gestapo had then searched his home and found several drawings, including one for a remote-controlled bomb.

  “A remote-controlled bomb? Herr Kriminalkommissar, such a thing does not exist.” Q had decided to play dumb.

  “We found the drawings for such a device in your apartment,” Becker shouted.

  “Merely an idea. My mind is always filled with ideas, but exactly how would a remote-control device work? What method of transmitting the signal would be used? One day such a device may exist, but for now, it is simply a figment of my imagination.” Q’s teeth were shattering with anxiety and pain, but he managed to keep his voice steady.

  “Liar! So far, I’ve treated you with kid gloves,[the metaphor refers to gloves made of soft kidskin] but this will change if you don’t cooperate.” Becker turned and stormed from the room, the other officers joining him.

  Q was alone with only the sounds of the tortured souls in the other interrogation rooms for company.

  After a few minutes, Becker returned with the drawings. “These are yours?”

  “Yes, those are mine. I am an inventor, Herr Kriminalkommissar. I am always dreaming up new and innovative gadgets. It is why my services were so valuable to the Loewe.” Of course, he’d never shared this specific device with his employer.

  “Do you deny planning to assassinate our propaganda minister, Goebbels?” Becker demanded, picking up a wicked-looking stick with leather thongs attached to the end.

  Q’s eyes were fixated on the stick in Becker’s hand while he tried to focus on answering the question. “I admit I thought about it. It was a mind game, though. Gerald and I tossed around some ideas. We pondered whether it would diminish the Reich’s power and shorten the war, or not.” The more Q talked, the more confident he became. “But without having access to a powerful bomb, or the mythical remote control device to detonate it with, it was simply a dream. There was no way to make it a reality.”

  Becker didn’t look convinced, so Q continued speaking, “I’m a scientist. I’m always inventing things, in theory, but other people have to actually build them. My ideas stop when I put them down on paper.”

  “It is unfortunate that you insist on sticking to this story,” Becker said and nodded toward the two officers who’d followed him into the room. They grabbed Q, dragged him to the tub of water, and tossed him in.

  The impact with icy water took his breath away, and when he was finally able to inhale, Q was plunged beneath the water and held there until he felt his lungs would explode if he didn’t take a breath. This torture continued for most of the day. The only relief he got was when Kriminalkommissar Becker would return and ask him the same questions, over and over again.

  Q stuck to his story, convinced they would continue with the same procedure whether he told them what they wanted to hear or not. And for once, he was speaking the truth. As far as he knew, there was no such bomb in existence yet, except for his own prototype, which Martin hopefully had destroyed by now. He’d heard rumors about this kind of powerful bomb’s being in the experimental stage, but nothing official.

  Late in the afternoon, when Q had long ago lost feeling in his frozen limbs, and even his thoughts had become viscous, Becker pulled him one last time from the tub of water and repeatedly beat him with the leather thongs.

  The strikes slashed his ice-cold skin and brought sensation back into Q’s body – excruciating pain. Hot fire burned his skin even as he shivered and shook from the cold and pain that racked his body.

  “Tell me what I want to know, and you can go,” Becker said many hours later.

  Q barely lifted his head and answered with a battered voice, “I’ve told you everything. I’m a scientist. That drawing was mine and mine alone. A dream that will never come to fruition.”

  Becker looked at Q’s battered and bruised body and evidently decided that Q must be telling the truth. He shook his head, instructing the other officers to help him back to the chair. “We will assume you are telling the truth about the drawing.”

  The Kriminalkommissar paced the room and then turned with an evil smile. “It’s a shame, really. A man as bright as you. You could have worked for the Reich and become rich and powerful. But you chose to squander your brilliance by working for the enemy.”

  “I never wanted money. I always wanted progress. Progress for the people, not against them.”

  The remark earned him another slash with the whip, and Q chose to keep his next words for himself: that he wanted later generations to think honorably of him, which was why he stood up against Hitler, the person he thought would bring doom to his beloved Fatherland Germany. National Socialism isn’t good for anyone except for Hitler himself.

  “By the way, your friend Tohmfor confessed. Everything.” With these words, Becker left the room. Q was alone with the two brutes who’d taken pleasure in almost drowning him for hours on end. He feared the worst.

  But nothing happened. They dragged him back to his cell, where he fell on top of several fellow prisoners. I’m still alive, was his last thought before he fell into fits and bursts of an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Q’s trial took place on December 18, 1942, less than three weeks after his arrest by the Gestapo. It wasn’t held in the normal courtrooms, but as a Geheime Kommandosache, a secret trial. Q wasn’t even allowed a lawyer to defend him.

  It wasn’t illegal because the Gestapo law of 1936 gave the organization carte blanche to operate outside of, around, and without any concern for the law. In fact, the SS officer and former head of legal affairs in the Gestapo, Werner Best, had once said, “As long as the police carry out the will of the leadership, it is acting legally.”

  Q was handcuffed to the seat of the accused while a judge presided from a high bench. Kriminalkommissar Becker and the double agent, Gerald Maier, sat to Q’s left. Behind his back, more than two doz
en Gestapo officers and supporters filled the room.

  His heart leapt when he saw Hilde entering the room, handcuffed and accompanied by a Gestapo officer. Q sought her eyes, and when she looked his way, his heart broke at the devastation visible on her face. A bruise on her sunken cheek testified to the abuse she’d endured, and he wanted to scream. Or at least to walk over, take her into his arms, and kiss the pain away. Her dress bagged on her, and that sparkling twinkle in her blue eyes he’d loved so much had disappeared.

  From his place, he could glance at her out of the corner of his eye without turning his head. Throughout the trial, he exchanged glances with her, conveying his unconditional love. He hoped that by some miracle, she’d forgive him for the mess he’d gotten them into.

  Various Gestapo officers testified and Q listened as the evidence against him was stacked up. Documents were presented, including the drawing for the remote-control bomb device, and testimony was given in regards to his planned assassination of Goebbels.

  The judge finally called an end to the testimony and leveled an ice-cold stare at him. Q inwardly quaked beneath the man’s gaze.

  “Aufstehen Angeklagter!”

  Q pushed himself to his feet, holding back the groan of pain from his beatings in the previous days. He braced a hand on the table in front of him for a moment, and then forced himself to stand tall. I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me broken.

  “Doctor Quedlin, you are accused of treason against the Party. The evidence has been presented. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Q glanced at Hilde, who sent him a barely visible nod, and then back to the judge, “I am guilty of committing the acts of subterfuge that have been discussed here today, but I did it to fight a regime of injustice. I would do so again. I acted in line with my conscience, a conscience that abhors what the Reich has done to my Fatherland. I would go to any lengths if it meant ridding Germany of this evil.”

  The small courtroom erupted in shouts for his death and curses aimed at his person. The officer seated next to him stood and grabbed his arm tightly, promising retribution for those bold statements.

  ***

  Hilde had listened in growing horror as the evidence against him was presented. Until this moment, she hadn’t grasped the extent of the Gestapo’s knowledge about Q’s intelligence and sabotage activities. They had been watching him and many others for months before arresting them.

  She didn’t understand everything that was said, but apparently, the Gestapo believed that Q had been the head of a sabotage group at his company, while at the same time belonging to a much bigger resistance network they called the Red Orchestra. Dozens of members, including the well-known Luftwaffe Oberleutnant Harro Schulze-Boysen, had been arrested and were now tried by the same court.

  A sense of pride filled Hilde as she observed Q standing unbroken in the courtroom. In his eyes, she’d seen a sea of pain. She sought out his glance every so often, trying to make him understand that she didn’t blame him. That she’d forgiven him, if there ever was something to forgive. If only I could have a few moments to speak with him. But rows of benches, bars, and handcuffs separated them.

  Her pride about his unwavering steadfastness transformed into plain horror when he was asked to defend himself. Hilde pressed a hand over her mouth. Wasn’t it outright stupidity to deliberately enrage the judge and the spectators? Wouldn’t it have been better to admit guilt but restrain from adding fuel to the fire? The ensuing uproar was deafening, and for a moment, she feared someone would kill Q right on the spot.

  The judge slammed his gavel on the bench several times, yelling at the spectators to calm down. A deadly silence ensued. At the end of it, the judge pronounced his sentence.

  “The defendant, Doctor Wilhelm Quedlin, is found guilty of treason against Führer and Fatherland. He is sentenced to death.” The judge paused for a moment and then added, “Get this piece of trash out of my courtroom.”

  Q’s sagging shoulders were the last thing Hilde saw before she sank down, hiding her face in her hands. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Both of them had known what the punishment for treason was, and that no one in the resistance could hope for mercy from the government. But knowing it as a theoretical fact and hearing with her own ears that the man she loved was sentenced to death were two different things.

  Her heart broke into a million pieces, leaving a hollow place behind.

  Q was shoved towards the door, passing by her place. He was too far away to touch him, even if she stretched out her hand. He frantically turned his head, and she caught one last glimpse into his loving blue eyes. A powerful energy passed between them. She would stay strong. She still had her sons to care for.

  Chapter 9

  Hilde spent the next two days in a state of trance in her cell. Since Q’s trial, she’d not been interrogated, and while she loathed Kriminalkommissar Becker and his constant abuse, the uncertainty of what was to come was almost harder to endure.

  At first, the other women in her cell had tried to console her, but soon enough had given up. Each woman had her own problems. Prisoners would come and go, and many of them were incapable of walking, eating, or even talking after yet another interrogation. It seemed as if no one was any worse off than anyone else.

  Hilde slumped against the cold cement, huddled into a ball, crying until she’d used up all her tears. Three weeks in the hands of the Gestapo and no end in sight. She hadn’t been allowed a lawyer or a visitor; hadn’t even been allowed to write a letter. She had no idea whether her mother had been able to bury the hatchet and telephone the man she despised so much, Hilde’s father, Carl Dremmer, and his second wife, Emma.

  Had Annie at least informed Q’s mother, Ingrid? The poor woman had turned seventy-six this year and had buried two of her sons and her husband already.

  Worry about her children gnawed at Hilde’s soul, eating at her spirit bit by bit. Just when she wished she would die in this hellhole, a Gestapo officer came for her. Her neck hair stood on end as he pushed her upstairs into a room furnished with a single chair and a table. Several minutes later, the door opened, and Hilde almost gasped at the sight of a neat and tidy woman.

  “Here,” the woman said and put a mug of water and an envelope on the table. Then she left without another word.

  Hilde gulped down the cool, clear water before she reverently touched the envelope with her fingers, tracing the lines of Ingrid’s old-fashioned handwriting. It took her several attempts to tear open the envelope with her trembling hands.

  Dearest Hilde,

  I have been filled with the greatest sorrow since Frau Klein informed us about your and my son’s arrest.

  Every day I hope to hear that this was an unfortunate mistake and you and my Wilhelm have been released. Every day I have prayed that both of you will be able to spend Christmas at home with your children and me, the way we had planned.

  If you are allowed to write, let me know how I can help, and if you need anything.

  Frau Klein moved into your apartment in Nikolassee with the two boys, and she tried her best to care for them, but she also has to care for her sick husband. This is why she agreed to send Volker to your father in Hamburg. Unfortunately, my own health is declining rapidly, and I could not offer to care for my grandsons, even though you know how much I love them.

  The letters blurred before Hilde’s eyes, and she had to blink rapidly to clear them. Her two little boys. She missed them so much. She’d been very worried about Peter, with his being so little, but even more so about Volker. He was such a sensitive boy, and she could only imagine how this new situation was affecting him. And now, to be separated from his brother!

  He was usually excited to be with Grandma and Grandpa. Perhaps they could make him believe this was just a Christmas vacation? She wiped a tear away and continued to read.

  Please rest assured that both of your children are fine for the time being. My prayers and thoughts will always be with you.

  Ing
rid

  Hilde sighed. She read the letter several times, and then folded it up and put it inside her bra, right over her heart. At least she had one connection to the outside world. Some time later, Kriminalkommissar Becker entered the room.

  “Frau Quedlin, how are things at home? I understand you had a letter today?” Becker asked with a fake smile.

  “Fine,” she bit out, too raw to play his games. The letter had jumbled her emotions.

  “That is excellent.” Becker leered and took another step toward her. “It is unfortunate that such a beautiful woman like you married such a despicable bastard.”

  “Q is…” Hilde stopped. Why did she even care what Becker said? It was all part of his game.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you want to say anything?”

  “No, sorry, Kriminalkommissar, I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Hilde steepled her hands, trying to steel herself for what was to come.

  “Well, well. You are coming to your senses.” His hand brushed her shoulders, and her entire body stiffened. “Your scumbucket of a husband has reaped what he sowed. The Reich will not let her enemies go unpunished, and he will pay the price for his treasonous acts. Execution. Doesn’t that word melt on your tongue?”

  She glared daggers; if looks could kill, Becker would be dead by now.

  “Execution. Say it. Say ‘my scumbag traitor of a husband will be executed.’”

  Bile rose in her throat as she repeated his words.

  Becker showed a pleased smirk. “Well done, Frau Quedlin. I have the feeling you’re beginning to cooperate. There is still a chance for you to save yourself, if you’d rather not follow in the footsteps of this Drecksau.”

  Hilde fought the urge to spit at him. How dare he!

  “Tell me names. Every single person you suspect of having collaborated with the enemy. And you’re free to leave.”