“Junge, who often worries about the state of his ass when any tank he is driving is on the move, also admits to casting a jealous eye over your seat...”
“Careful, Wohl...” joked Junge.
“Of course, he means the two-position commander’s seat and, of course, the über-comfortable backrest... Other strengths mentioned by the group were the ability to stow more ammunition, and how much easier it was to reach it... I think that was all so far... Wendorff’s been quieter than usual, so I think we can take that as a sign of quiet contentment and that everything on the radio front meets with his satisfaction. Now, sir, is there anything you would like to add?”
“I like your list so far, SS-Panzerschütze Wohl, and the thinking behind it... Now what would I add... let us see... the new optics... I do not appreciate the way they are mounted in the cupola... The hatches could do with a big improvement... Much more responsive... Has anyone mentioned the mine and smoke generator dischargers?”
“No,” replied Wohl, “but I agree that they should definitely be on the list... anything else?”
“Not that I can think of at the moment, SS-Schütze,” replied von Schroif, “but please bear in mind that these are very early days, and to reach full comprehensiveness, perhaps your list should be enlarged and amended when we have all spent some more time with Elvira.”
“An excellent point, SS-Hauptsturmführer, and one which I have already taken into account.”
“It might also be an idea,” added Wendorff, “to compile a list of strengths and weaknesses for different terrains, different sectors, and different weather conditions.”
“An excellent idea, Panzeroberschütze. Write that down, Wohl,” ordered von Schroif, who was heartened by the fact that Wohl was now at least engaging in some real soldiering. However, if Wohl was now fully engaged, it was obvious that Wendorff was still a long way from being his usual self.
“Now for the weaknesses,” whispered Wohl, jokingly looking around for Soviet spies. “So, what do we have here? Knispel is afraid that he sticks his hand up your ass when he has to leave through your cupola? Knispel, why this obsession with the boss’s ass?
“As far as I am concerned,” continued Wohl, “I am not particularly enamoured by the amount of fumes that are sent back when the gun fires, or my lack of comms. There have also been questions raised about the armouring on bins, a certain difficulty in re-arming the co-ax, the size of the gun deflector bag, and the fact that there is no neutral position on the traverse control... anything else?”
“Well, far be it from me to complain about my own personal comfort, but I do find my position rather cramped,” opined Knispel in a rather plaintive manner, so much so that he left himself completely open to a scornful attack from his loader.
“Right, that’s it boys. Get Henschel on the phone. Scrap Elvira now... This Tiger is more of a pussy than a big cat... Send the designers back to the drawing board... Elvira is too small for Knispel’s liking and is causing him a little discomfort! What we need is a lion... a real big cat!”
Amidst such mirth, the discussion and festivities came to an end, with von Schroif having the last word at Knispel’s expense.
“Worry not, SS-Schütze Wohl. When your list is complete, I shall personally arrange a meeting between you and Kurt Arnold at Henschel, to ensure the new lion has specifications that meet Knispel’s exceptionally high standards!”
Walter Lehmann’s expression remained outwardly calm, but his mind was running through options like a rat trapped in a cage. Why were the Abwehr here? Was it routine? Was he to be questioned here, or taken away? If so, where? There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that, if the situation was as serious as he feared, his only hope of escape was to flee before he was taken away. But how could he achieve this? Was he to jump out of the balcony? Run for the door?
His Luger was in the desk drawer behind him, and he could see that the officers were armed, so how could he manoeuvre himself behind the desk, open the drawer, and kill the two men before they killed him? On top of that, if he did manage to kill them, where would he go? Russia, that was his only real option... Beria owed him. He decided to relax, give nothing away, and prepare himself for any opportunity or advantage that might come his way, however slight or seemingly unimportant.
“RHSA Kriminalassistant Lehmann. We would like you to come with us.”
That was it. Stark and unambiguous. If they succeeded in taking him for questioning, then he was as good as dead. Then the dreaded word ‘torture’ flashed through Lehmann’s mind. He knew he was no hero. If he talked, they would torture him to get more information before killing him. If he didn’t talk, they would torture him, and then they would kill him. Just then the phone rang.
“Of course, gentlemen. I will be with you immediately. I just have a quick telephone call to take from the Führer’s office.”
That would disrupt their thinking and planning. Nothing like dropping the Führer’s name into an ironclad procedure. Lehmann then walked slowly behind the desk, picked up the phone, and in an obedient, but authoritative, voice said, “For the personal attention of the Führer?.. Yes, immediately...” to the puzzlement of the internal caller at the end of the line.
“Jawohl, it’s for the Führer... I will ensure the relevant documents are sent both to Doctor Goebbels and Reichsminister Speer... I have them here...” At which he slowly opened the drawer and pulled out a piece of paper, being careful to leave the drawer open, allowing quick access to the Luger.
“Jawohl, I am holding the document now... Yes, I understand... I shall send the other document too... Is it the directive...?”
At which he slowly put his hand back into the drawer, quickly pulled out his Luger, and shot both men in the chest. He then ran round the desk and finished both of them off and ran to the balcony.
When his staff rushed in on hearing the shots they were greeted by the sight of RHSA Kriminalassistant Walter Lehmann standing at the balcony, shooting repeatedly into the crowd of pedestrians below and shouting, “Down there! Down there! American spy!”
His staff ran to the edge of the balcony, saw a man lying in a pool of blood, and Lehmann pointing and shouting, “That one! That one! He is the accomplice! Arrest that man!” Then, turning to his staff, he shouted: “Get after him! Try and take him alive! The one with the grey hat... look there... get after him!”
His staff dutifully obeyed and turned and ran from the room. At which point, Walter Lehmann calmly returned to his desk, collected any papers he might need, picked up some spare ammunition, donned his coat, put the gun in his pocket, and quietly headed for the back door and left the building.
On returning to Elvira, Hans von Schroif briefed his men on the impending operation. As all set about their tasks, he called Wendorff aside.
“I have not forgotten, SS-Panzeroberschütze, what you confided in me earlier. You are as aware as I am how the mind can play tricks, particularly in times of stress, battle and deprivation – even when a soldier is awake. I presume that in the intervening hours you have now categorised your previous experience accordingly.”
“I wish that were the case, SS-Hauptsturmführer,” replied Wendorff, “however, what I saw... no, experienced is probably a better word... what I experienced was of such a clear and vivid nature that I could not possibly categorise it as you would wish.”
“Please describe it to me then, SS-Panzeroberschütze.”
“It was as real as I see you talking to me just now... However, it was not you I was observing, but myself. I was standing outside of myself, looking in. SS-Hauptsturmführer, you know I have no great religious or spiritual inclination, so when I describe what I saw, and what I felt, it is purely in terms of rational, honest, accurate description.”
“Go on, SS-Panzeroberschütze,” indicated von Schroif with a wave of his hand.
“Not only did I see the occasion of my own death with supreme, almost heightened, clarity, but the experience also suffused my senses. I could hear and s
mell with the utmost distinction. SS-Hauptsturmführer, I saw you open the hatch and carry me from my position in the machine and lay me beside a tree, but not only did I see this event, I could also feel it, this... end...”
“Well, feelings almost always follow perceptions – as I think we both agree, SS-Panzeroberschütze. If you saw something vividly, then in all likelihood that would inform your reaction to it. Vision comes first in my book, and all else follows it. Now, there are no secrets between us. We have always been honest with each other, and I am going to be honest now... I believe you are making an assumption, the assumption being that the clearer the dream, the more accurate it must be.
“We have both heard of comrades, indeed known comrades, who have foreseen their own deaths. I cannot argue with that, and many have died. This is true, but, SS-Panzeroberschütze Wendorff, I’m sure you will agree, not all. This is also true. You cannot deny that. Therefore, while we can say there may be a certain power in your vision, we cannot say with certainty that it will re-enact itself in real life as it did in your dream.
But one thing is certain, SS-Panzeroberschütze, beyond all doubt – we are about to go into battle, and I need you with me. I need that mind of yours to be at its sharpest and most responsive, not clouded or distracted in any way. I cannot make this clearer. If this vision does manifest itself, then you will die. If you die, you die. But if you do not die and, because of your present state of mind, this preoccupation, this disposition, causes the death of any of our crew, then I will find it very hard to understand, let alone to forgive you. It is on this basis that I want you to proceed. I promise to be even more vigilant, just in case what you have foreseen has some validity. But I cannot allow you to join us in this operation if your present state of mind remains dominant. Do you understand, SS-Panzeroberschütze?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Wendorff.
“Good,” answered von Schroif. “Now, let us go and get our Tigers back!”
With that, both men took up their respective positions inside the tank, and, just like the von Schroif of old, the Tiger commander pulled his hand down as if pulling on that imaginary bell chain and gave the command, “Panzer Rollen!”
Looking from the window of the Storch, Walter Lehmann cast a cold eye over the endless forest of beech trees which marked his new homeland. Living here would be a necessary evil, he thought to himself, but hopefully not an extended one. If the Soviet Union did win the war – and how on earth wouldn’t they? – then he would have played no small part in that victory. Surely then his reward would be worth the small price of a short stay in this underdeveloped, peasant hellhole. But then he didn’t really have a choice, so he quickly quelled any misgivings he currently had.
He had, after all, escaped the bony clutches of certain death, yet again. This was no small matter, and a state of affairs he was almost used to. Walter Lehmann chose to put this down to luck – the telephone call at the office in the presence of the Abwehr – this offered up even more evidence of the Great Lady’s favours. Yes, he had to use his brains and mettle when the opportunity had presented itself, but over the years he had grown accustomed to this mode of operation – wait, wait, wait, it will come, don’t force it, it will come, it always does. Just be ready, do not panic, do not overreact, wait, watch, listen, and keep a steady hand on the tiller.
It had served him well and, as he looked out over the vast Russian forest, he had no reason to think this state of affairs would not continue. After all, it was not as if he was flying in blind. No, he was arriving on a cresting wave of epoch-making providence. History was on his side. As was Dimitri Korsak, which made him smile, for here was even more evidence of the confluence of good fortune, both personal and historical. Who would have thought it? Not only had fate placed him on the right side of history, but alongside his old friend Dimitri Korsak, or Wilhelm Stenner, as Lehmann could not help remembering him. Somehow that weasel von Schroif had been cast into the same nexus, the same surging river!
Lehmann could not help himself but remember those heady days, back in the early twenties, when they were all in the Freikorps together. Granted, Stenner had retained his youthful revolutionary zeal, while his own path had been somewhat more tempered by comfort and the finer things in life, but nevertheless the betrayal still rankled. Hitler and his gang had veered to the right. How they had betrayed the principles of National Socialism, falling into bed and under the spell of any rich industrialist who courted them, aided and abetted by opportunistic cockroaches like von Schroif! And now they were to meet again. How beneficent was this Lady Luck, and how all-encompassing her embrace!
Then, turning his mind to the immediate rather than the forthcoming, Lehmann reminded himself that it would soon be time to make contact with his old friend Stenner. He would do that, then he would be able to relax, but it was not over yet. Though he trusted in the overall direction his life was taking, Walter Lehmann was not so incautious as not to peer from the speeding Storch to scan the skies for any interceptions that may have been made airborne by his hasty and sudden departure. The skies were clear though, and Walter Lehmann settled his large, lucky frame back into his seat and looked forward contentedly to the next phase of his so-far charmed existence.
The fact that no fighters were on Walter Lehmann’s tail, or had appeared over his horizon, had nothing whatsoever to do with providence, fate, or the good lady some men call luck. Nor was it an accident. On the contrary, it was a very well formed design, quite simply the result of a decision made in the mind of a single man – Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. If, as seen from his own point of view, Walter Lehmann considered himself blessed and favoured, from another point of view, that of Canaris, he was simply fat, bungling and stupid. Muffled and cocooned in a cotton wool ball of self-delusion and outrageous complacency.
How could Walter Lehmann think that he could show up at Templehof, commandeer an airplane, and fly off without thinking that his every move was being tracked, logged and second-guessed? Canaris knew this turn of events had saved him some trouble. No need to worry about what Lehmann may say in the chamber. The tracks of this operation would be so well covered if all went to plan that they wouldn’t even lead to Lehmann’s corpse. Yes, Lehmann’s very existence was in the hands of a higher power, just not the one he had so much faith in...
Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann had been kept informed as to Walter Lehmann’s movements by Admiral Canaris, since his arrival at Templehof. Lehmann had tried his best to blend in with the crowds of soldiers coming and going. His papers allowed him to travel as SS-Obersturmführer Luther, and he was wearing the black panzer uniform which confirmed his identity. Borgmann could have had him arrested easily, but his orders were explicit – allow Lehmann and Korsak, aka Wilhelm Stenner, to rendezvous and eliminate both. He had also been given the tools, the codes and frequencies with which to listen in on their communications.
With Lehmann and Stenner gone, all traces between him, Canaris, and the Tiger project would be erased. How right he had been to trust in Canaris! The only slight worry Borgmann had was von Schroif. The way the Tiger commander had looked at him on the Führer’s birthday had suggested a man with a suspicion. A man with suspicion alone is no great threat, but combine a man with suspicion and an ongoing operation whose ends are not yet fully in harness, and certain difficulties could arise. Much better a man with no suspicion. Better still a man with trust, complete trust. Then it came to him. The perfect plan.
Leaving the assembly area, the battle group moved slowly, following von Schroif’s previous route until Major List and his units left and split the group in two. Von Schroif, his senses now at their fullest state of alertness, studied the landscape for the smallest movement. Everything seemed as it was. Even the dead lay undisturbed, save for the flies or rats. To von Schroif, this meant nothing. He had absolutely no doubt that the immediate surroundings harboured an, as yet, unseen threat, and that their every move was being scrutinised and evaluated. He sensed they would strike, but when would the
y strike, and from where?
In the middle distance he could see the three abandoned Tigers, exactly as they had been left. This did not surprise him. The aim of the Soviets, surely, was to capture these machines intact, for study and evaluation. The best way for them to do this was to secure the ground around them. He was also sure that this plan would have to fit in with the overall objectives of this part of the front, but even though he believed the Soviets intended to capture the Tigers intact as part of a wider operation and therefore would not have elected to destroy them, this did not mean for one minute that he did not think the Soviets might have sent out teams to tamper with them. With this in mind, he had warned all crews to check for booby traps – those damn F1 grenades! – and also for degradation of their ammunition stocks.
Drawing closer to the Tigers, he elected to approach the two which were closest to the hill where the last Soviet attack had emanated from. Then he noticed something. One of the T-34s, charred and abandoned, its hull still in the same position... its turret had moved.
Von Schroif, if he had been nearly any other commander, may have spent a brief moment congratulating himself on his acuity of vision and his ability to memorise battlefields before, during and after conflicts, but that was not his way, and he was already weighing up in his own mind how best to react to this new information.
How big was the threat? It was too far away to present a significant threat for now, and any other burnt-out hulks were even further away, but if they proceeded further and the tank crews and repair teams were out in the open, then the magnitude of the threat would rise dramatically. What to do? Should he take them all out and reveal his presence, or send in some grenadiers to investigate? In little or no time he came to a decision.
Tiger Command! Page 23