THE FORESIGHT WAR

by Anthony G Williams

  Rommel got up abruptly and started pacing around the room. ‘I must go and see Hitler. Now is the time to reach an agreement with the British and Americans, while we are still strong. They have nothing in common with Russia, except that they are all fighting us. If we can reach an honourable treaty with them, we can deal with the Russians. The longer we wait, the weaker our bargaining position will be.’

  Von Rundstedt raised an aristocratic eyebrow. ‘You know the Führer’s position on that – he likes his generals to concentrate on fighting while he deals with policy and strategy.’

  ‘I know. But if matters continue on their present course, there is a strong chance that Germany will eventually be defeated. That must not happen. He has to see reason.’

  Von Rundstedt regarded his younger and rather impetuous colleague thoughtfully. ‘In that case, I can only wish you good luck.’

  The bottle of champagne was a rare extravagance, carefully hoarded for just such a moment. The Oversights, as Mary had taken to calling them, sprawled in the garden of their base at Kew, relaxing in the warm afternoon sunshine.

  ‘Isn’t this a bit premature?’ Harold was the pessimistic one, as usual. He had been badly shaken by the loss of several fine ships to the radar-directed missiles.

  ‘Taking all things into consideration,’ drawled Charles, savouring the wine with a connoisseur’s air, ‘I think we are justified a modest celebration.’

  ‘If only through pure relief,’ added Don drily. The past few weeks had seen him in particular under intense strain as the crucial events unfolded across the Channel.

  Mary nodded. ‘Let’s tick off the reasons. First and foremost, the biggest gamble of the war has paid off. We are firmly ensconced on the Continent, with acceptable losses, have seized a major port which the Germans hadn’t had much time to damage, have beaten the German Army in a standup fight around Caen and are now advancing further into France. What’s more, the Free French have landed in southern France, just as the Germans were pulling their forces out to send them north, and are holding on. The Russians are still, amazingly, fighting back with our support, so the Germans are on the defensive across the board. And all the time, our bombers are hitting their supply lines and key industrial plants, especially those concerned with fuel and other chemicals. Furthermore, the crippling of the Japanese navy stopped their advance very quickly and the Americans and our Commonwealth forces are now making steady progress against them. That will take a while longer but the outcome is inevitable. The war will be won, and much earlier and at far less cost than in Don’s time.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. But the Germans are far from finished yet. They are also stronger than they were in my time, and Hitler will not contemplate defeat or negotiation. Now is the time when we need to get rid of him; up to now his faulty judgment has helped us, but now his stubbornness will just prolong the war and add to the cost, both human and economic.’ He turned to Charles, ‘more in your department, I think.’

  Charles nodded, suddenly thoughtful. ‘It was hard work getting anyone interested in offering support to the Schwartz Kapelle,’ he said, adopting the Gestapo’s name for the German resistance movement against Hitler. ‘There was a general feeling that they stood no chance of success, and anyway who wants to deal with a bunch of traitors?’

  Don leaned forward intently. ‘This really is vital now; we have to let them know that we will negotiate an honourable peace if they get rid of Hitler.’

  ‘Unfortunately, their idea of what constitutes honourable is rather different from ours. Our intermediaries have told us that the plotters expect Germany to retain many of her territorial gains, including Austria, Danzig – reconnected to Germany, of course – and the German-speaking part of Czechoslovakia. They feel that Germany’s military successes have earned them that much, at least. And neither Winnie nor Roosevelt will contemplate that; it was hard enough to get them to consider anything less than unconditional surrender.’

  ‘But just think of the alternative: a Europe in ruins, divided by an iron curtain for almost half a century, with the East suffering under Russian oppression. Is that what they want to see? Some sort of deal has to be struck, or all of this will have been for nothing!’

  For once, Konrad Herrman would have agreed entirely with his British opponent. He sat alone, but for his rapidly-emptying bottle of schnapps, in his small flat in Berlin, contemplating the nightmares ahead. It was still possible for Russia to be beaten, but with the attention of the Wehrmacht divided between them and the steadily advancing Allied forces in France, the chance was receding daily. He felt useless and hopeless. He thought of Stefan again, and silently began to cry.

  Much later, he left his flat and stumbled into the warmth of early evening, trying to clear his head. He gave no attention to where he was walking, but his feet led him to a small park not far away, where he often sat to enjoy the sunshine. At this time, there were still many others walking about, enjoying the summer weather. This part of Berlin had not been bombed, and there was nothing to indicate that the country had been at war for four years, except that the grass of the park had been replaced with vegetable plots. He trudged along the path, heedless of the others around him. A man jostled him from behind and he stepped aside in some irritation, but the man said nothing and walked away quickly. Herrman retraced his steps to his flat, but when he put his hand in his jacket pocket for the key, he also found a folded piece of paper.

  Once in his flat, he locked the door and unfolded the paper. On it was written a brief note:

  ‘You are being watched wherever you go, but we need to speak with you privately. Please go tomorrow lunchtime to the restaurant by the park.’

  Puzzled, he tore up the paper and flushed it down the toilet. Whatever this was about, he didn’t want to leave any evidence which might be regarded as involving him in anything illegal. He had no intention of visiting the restaurant.

  The next morning it was cloudy and colder, a fitful wind rattling the windows. He listened to the morning news. As usual, the message was upbeat, about successes on the battlefield and acts of bravery. Herrman made a wry note that the successes and actions were all local, against a wider picture of the Wehrmacht being forced back onto the defensive. One item suddenly caught his attention: the RAF had bombed Leipzig last night. His home city, where he had enjoyed the only period of happiness in his life, bringing up his young son. Without knowing why, he put on his jacket, went out and started walking aimlessly. Without planning to, he found that his steps once again took him to the park. He looked irresolutely at the restaurant then, with an irritated shrug, he walked in. He wondered briefly what his unseen SD escort would do: follow him in, or wait outside?

  Rabbit featured prominently on the menu, as usual. These ‘balcony pigs’ were a popular source of meat and widely kept, as more traditional meats were in short supply. Herrman could of course have eaten whatever he wished, but he often liked to share the simpler food of the local people, gaining some comfort from proximity to their ordinary lives, a stark contrast to the entourage around Hitler. In a fit of frugality he ordered escalope of kohlrabi with potatoes and awaited events. His meal arrived, as tasteless as he had feared, and was dutifully eaten. Afterwards, he lit a cigarette and waited. Nothing happened, so he headed towards the toilet at the rear of the restaurant, feeling that he had wasted his time. As he came out, a man was waiting to come in. He spoke in an urgent murmur.

  ‘Please go through the kitchen and out of the door at the back – we will distract your escort.’

  To his own surprise, Herrman found himself walking through the kitchen, ignoring the puzzled looks of the staff, and out to the street. An official-looking car was waiting, its engine running. The door opened and he stepped in. There was a man in the back as well as the driver; he looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Good afternoon, Professor Herrman. I trust you enjoyed your lunch?’

  Herrman just looked at him in silence, feeling weirdly detached from events, as if he were sitti
ng back and watching himself in the same way as he watched others.

  ‘We have met before,’ the man said, ‘my name is Hans Oster. There are some friends I would like you to meet.’

  The car drove to a house in a quiet suburb in an area with which Herrman was unfamiliar. Inside, the walls were panelled with dark wood, the room he was shown into was filled with well-stuffed armchairs. The windows were small and closed, revealing a glimpse of a small garden. The air was filled with tobacco smoke. Several men in civilian clothes stood up as he walked in, and Oster made introductions:

  ‘Field Marshal von Witzleben, General Beck, General Major Speidel, Herr Goerdeler and Herr Popitz.’

  Herrman suddenly remembered who Oster was: a Brigadier General and the Head of the Central Division of Military Intelligence under Admiral Canaris. At the same instant, his increasingly erratic memory clicked into place and he realized what he was facing; the core of the German opposition to Hitler. Carl Goerdeler, he knew, was a former mayor of Leipzig, Johannes Popitz a former Prussian Minister of Finance. Speidel he had met before; he was Rommel’s Chief of Staff, and Herrman remembered the curious looks he had received from him in the past. The others were traditional German officers who despised Hitler – ‘the corporal’, they called him – and his National Socialist Party.

  ‘We know more about you than you might imagine,’ continued Oster once they had sat down with some coffee, delivered by a silent young man whose bearing indicated a soldier. ‘It is difficult to keep secrets for so many years without some people being indiscreet, allowing us to put together the pieces. You have an interesting history.’

  Herrman received this in silence, his feeling of detachment still present.

  ‘I think you will know who we are, or rather what we represent,’ Oster continued. ‘We are opposed to this war and most of all to Hitler and his Nazis. We want to see an honourable end to the war, before more damage is done. It is not in the interests of Germany that it should continue. We have reason to believe that you might share our views.’ He paused and waited.

  Herrman stirred himself, realizing that it was impossible to remain detached, that this was real, this was here and now. He spoke without considering his words. ‘You are entirely correct. The war must stop as soon as possible. Otherwise the consequences for Germany will be terrible – absolutely terrible.’ He felt the sudden relaxation of tension in the room and realized that the others had had been holding their breath, awaiting his response. They had taken a considerable risk, he realized, placing their future in his hands.

  ‘So,’ Oster breathed, ‘the question is, what can we do about it?’

  Speidel grunted. ‘Rommel has been to see Hitler; he argued the case for negotiating with the British and Americans as strongly as he could. There was a blazing row. Hitler has dismissed him as disloyal and ordered him home.’

  Oster turned again to Herrman. ‘You are in a unique position – he listens to you like no other. What can you do to help? How can we stop this tragedy?’

  ‘I have tried. I have warned him about so many things, but somehow events…’ He found it impossible to continue, his chest constricting.

  ‘We have had some indirect contact with the Allies,’ Oster continued, ‘not too encouraging so far, but at least they are listening and responding. They will not contemplate a peace with Hitler, but we think that there is a good chance that they would negotiate with us if he and his Nazi associates were no longer in command.’

  Herrman’s memory flicked back in time. ‘That may be possible, especially if my – opponent – has encouraged them to listen. He cannot want the war to end with half of Europe under Russian control either. It will not be easy, however. They will not want to see Germany gaining anything from this war. But, believe me, even returning entirely to our nineteen-thirty-eight borders would be infinitely preferable to the alternative we are now faced with.’

  The others were silent; severely shocked, Herrman realised. They had not been aware of the starkness of the choice before them.

  ‘Then the sooner we act, the better.’ Von Witzleben spoke for the first time. ‘We must save what we can, while we can.’

  After the meeting, Herrman was returned to a street close to his flat. He walked home in deep thought, not noticing his SD minder – stationed outside his apartment building – who had been in a state close to nervous collapse. After the altercation outside the restaurant in which he had somehow become involved, Herrman had vanished for several hours. Then SD man had been torn between reporting his disappearance and waiting in the hope that he would turn up. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. If he reported the absence, he would risk severe punishment for losing his charge. On the other hand, if no-one had noticed… he decided to keep quiet and thankfully awaited his relief.

  Hitler was in a bad temper at the start of the meeting, which only became worse as Herrman tried to push his arguments.

  ‘I will NOT contemplate such a craven course of action!’ He shouted, the veins on his forehead standing out. ‘We have our V-weapons pounding London. We have our jet fighters hammering their bombers and we have jet bombers under test which will be uncatchable! We carry on fighting until we win!’ He paced angrily around the room. ‘First Rommel and now you! Am I surrounded by defeatists?’

  Herrman felt his sense of hopelessness returning. It seemed so obvious to him that now was the right time to deal with the Allies, to retain as much as possible of their gains, above all to keep the Russians and their army far away from the borders of Germany. But once with Hitler, he realised that such logic stood no chance. He bowed his head, and fell silent.

  Far to the east, Field Marshal von Manstein regarded the map and considered his options. The Russian attack had been held, at some cost. The two armies had fought themselves to a stalemate of exhaustion and an uneasy truce reigned as they regathered themselves and repaired the damage to their forces. Neither would be in a position to launch another attack for a while. He considered the northern sector and grimaced. The British and Canadian forces there were small in number but very well equipped, highly mobile and well-led. He had tried several times to trap them into a standing fight, hoping to wear them down with strength of numbers, but each time he had found that Russians had taken their positions, ready to die as long as they could take some Germans with them, while the British withdrew and regrouped to plan their next point of attack.

  He checked the schedules for reinforcements; they had been reducing sharply as resources were diverted following the Allied landings in France. Furthermore, of those sent to him a proportion was always lost on the way or delayed by damage to the railway. He was faced with the dilemma of whether to keep his strength focused on the front line but running short of supplies, or to use ever more of his forces in protecting the supply lines, several thousands of kilometres long.

  He walked away from the map and looked out of his window at the city of Perm. It was most easterly of the Russian cities he had captured. As he contemplated the barrier of the Ural Mountains drawn across his path just to the east, behind which his opponents rebuilt their strength, he forced himself to admit, for the first time, that the German Army was never going to cross them.

  Churchill glowered, clearly displeased. Don gathered his determination and ploughed on.

  ‘I know how you feel about leaving the Germans with anything, but believe me, the alternative will be much worse. If we carry on fighting until they give up, well, that isn’t going to happen as long as Hitler is in charge. He will fight on to the end. Apart from the devastation that will bring to Germany, it will also cause thousands of unnecessary casualties among our own troops and airmen. And it will inevitably result in Stalin recovering his authority and his territory, and achieving communist dominance over Eastern Europe. You surely cannot want that to happen!’

  ‘Doctor Erlang, I am well aware of the points you raise, but there are other issues at stake here. The President does not wish to deal with the Germans, and does not see Stalin a
s the threat that you do. Of course, I accept your word entirely about what he is like, but it is not easy for me to move Roosevelt. He is very sure of himself. Then there are the political aspects in both our countries. Can we really leave Germany as strong as it was before the war, if not more so, after fighting them for so many years and at such cost? The public would never understand.’

  ‘They might if Hitler was overthrown, if the Nazis lost power.’

  ‘That is a couple of very large ‘ifs’. The opposition you refer to is small and powerless by comparison with the Nazi machine. I cannot see them standing any chance of staging a revolt. They would have no popular support, and the Gestapo would crush them.’

  ‘That would depend on what they did, and how much of the army they could swing behind them. In their hearts, the German officer class must know that they cannot win this war, that its prolongation would just lead to more German defeats and suffering. And they have never had any respect for Hitler. We know that some senior and influential officers are behind this scheme.’

  ‘Including Rommel?’

  ‘No, whatever his disagreements over strategy, Rommel will almost certainly remain personally loyal for as long as Hitler is in power. Of course, if he were overthrown it could be a different matter.’

  Churchill pondered for a while. Then he came to a decision. ‘Very well, I will talk to Roosevelt and Stalin about considering an approach from Germany for peace; but only after Hitler is no longer in power.’

  ‘That’s it, then. We have hope dangled in front of us, only to see it snatched away again.’