‘I have news for you, Colonel.’ Brooke interjected, speaking for the first time. He casually brushed an invisible speck off his immaculate uniform. ‘It would seem that the Americans have had a lucky escape. A rocket crashed into the sea just off New York, an hour or two after the second launch in Germany. It must have been one of their longer-range efforts, the one your source hinted at. The good news is that, as it landed in the sea, there appears to have been no human casualties.’
‘What?’ Menzies was temporarily amazed. ‘You mean they actually managed to fly one across the Atlantic? Good God!’
‘Yes. Rather worrying, isn’t it?’ He smiled wryly. Brooke was not known for an overt sense of humour, but he was the master of the dry, understated comment. ‘The Prime Minister received notification from them today. One gets the impression that our American cousins too scarcely believed just how far these rockets can travel, but now they’re taking the threat very seriously indeed. Anyway, the upshot is that they’re driving hard for the Nordhausen area. The First US army is leading the charge.’
‘And what about the bombing? Sir, have we had any positive results?’
‘Nothing as yet. Air Chief Marshall Harris was here earlier, but neither the RAF nor the American Air Force has achieved any measurable results, as far as we can tell.’
‘So you see our concern, Colonel Menzies.’ Churchill’s eyes bored into him, pressing him intensely. ‘It would seem that Himmler is intent on carrying out these murderous tactics, as we have just seen.’ He almost spat the words out. ‘Do you have any further information? Is there anything else you can do? Can your source in Germany help stop these rockets, before this deadline your report mentions?’
Menzies thought hard. Even now he was reluctant to discuss certain events and reveal identities, for fear of an inadvertent leak. It went against all his training to disclose operational details – the old ‘need to know’ basis of intelligence sharing, even in the presence of such senior and powerful men.
‘Yes. I believe he can,’ he said slowly. ‘We have an agent who has access to the factory, and he has a supply of explosives. He now has a definite deadline in which to act before Himmler’s threat to launch a general offensive. The message has gone out today. But he’s only one man. If I may say so, sir, it would be wise to have other options - just in case he fails.’
‘Hmmm. Naturally, I agree, but finding those options is not that easy.’ The Prime Minister paused. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting we actually negotiate with Himmler?’ The tone in Churchill’s voice was that of disbelief, with more than a suggestion of menace behind it.
‘Good Lord, no, Prime Minister.’ Menzies was suitably aghast.
Churchill fixed him with a steely gaze, puffed up his cheeks and sat up in his chair. ‘Just so that there’s no confusion on this issue, I wish to make it quite clear that there will be no real negotiation with Himmler or any other Nazi thugs,’ he said in a hard, no-nonsense voice, slamming the table to emphasise his words. ‘That is something I am absolutely determined to uphold. As a nation we have suffered far too much to be held at gunpoint by a murderous criminal. If necessary we may have to suffer a little more to see that Hitler and his cronies, and all that they stand for, are destroyed once and for all. Do we all speak as one on this?’
Both Menzies and Brooke nodded their heads in agreement.
‘But it might be worth trying to play him for time, if it’s at all possible’, Menzies persisted.
The Prime Minister appeared to be marginally more mollified, but still gave Menzies a distinctly baleful look.
‘I’ll bear that in mind. If necessary I can make contact via by the Foreign Office - get a message through using the Swedish Ambassador in Berlin.’ He paused for a moment, still clearly uncomfortable with such a ploy. ‘Field Marshall Brooke was briefing me just before you arrived. The Americans are putting together a scratch airborne force, but it’s taking time and this option might not be the answer we’re looking for. What about their ground forces?’ Churchill turned towards Brooke.
‘The good news is that the Americans have linked up with our forces to encircle the Ruhr Industrial Area. Intelligence estimates that we’ve trapped an army group there, maybe a quarter of a million or more. That should clear the way for the drive to Berlin.’ Brooke shrugged. ‘As for Hodges’ Fist Army, they’re pushing as hard as they can, but SHAEF estimates it will take them another week to drive past Kassel and reach the Nordhausen area.’
‘That’s just about the same time as Himmler’s ultimatum.’ There was a lull in the discussion as the news sank in. Nobody spoke for a few minutes. In the hall the grandfather clock chimed the half past the hour mark. It was the Prime Minister who finally broke the silence.
‘Well, Colonel, the next step is up to you… and the Americans. Keep me informed – in person. You have access to me twenty- four hours a day. Speak to my secretary – he’ll sort out the arrangements with my staff.’ Churchill waved a hand.
Brooke nodded briefly in his direction. Menzies realised he was being dismissed. He got up, saluted smartly and left the room. As he left, the weight of expectation settled heavily on his shoulders, and he grimaced inwardly. No pressure then. Oh no - none at all.
SS Field HQ, Mittenwalde 1345 7 /4/45
Himmler’s Mercedes staff car rolled up to a halt outside the main operations tent. His ADC leaped out and hurried to open the rear passenger door while the Reichsführer emerged from the backseat.
‘Get me Brigadeführer Schellenberg. I need to see him immediately.’
‘Zu befehl! At once, Reichsführer.’ The officer snapped to attention, saluted, and hurried off. Himmler walked over to his tent, threw his briefcase on the table, slipped off his leather coat and sat down. A few moments later, Schellenberg arrived. He stood outside the tent flaps and coughed discretely.
‘Reichsführer, you wished to see me.’
‘Ah…yes, Walther, come in. Close the tent flap and sit down.’ Himmler pointed to a chair.
‘Thank you sir.’ Schellenberg took a seat. ‘How was your trip?’
Himmler had just returned from another visit to the Führer’s underground HQ in the centre of Berlin. The Reichsführer made a face, a combination of weariness, disgust and exasperation.
‘The usual pig’s ear of a mess, with the usual charlatans, flunkeys and yes-men all vying for the Führer’s attention.’ Himmler slumped in his chair. ‘Nothing’s changed. Thanks to that stupid idiot Goebbels, the Führer still thinks we’re all going to be saved by some sort of divine miracle!’ He laughed bitterly, snapping his fingers. ‘Fat chance!’
Schellenberg shrugged sympathetically. ‘Sir, did you manage to achieve anything at all?’
‘I gave him your latest report, not that it did much good.’ Himmler grunted, then sat up in his chair. ‘I crosschecked the contents with that spineless cretin Keitel before delivering it to him. The two reports are broadly in agreement. The Americans and British have cut off Model’s Army Group in the Ruhr – another Stalingrad, I’m afraid. The British are now well on the way to Hamburg and cutting off our remaining troops in Denmark – but that won’t be much of a loss. There’s only a couple of reserve divisions there, anyway. The Americans are being temporarily held up along the River Main, but it won’t be long before they get to the Kassel area and beyond.’ He looked meaningfully at Schellenberg. ‘Nordhausen is not that much further, so we’ve only a few days left.’
‘And in the East?’ It was not really a question. Schellenberg already knew the answer.
‘Pfft!’ Himmler’s usually emotionless face was for once animated. ‘The Führer still insists the Russians are near the end of their strength! Ha! The man is delusional. They’ve managed to force us back all the way from Stalingrad and the gates of Moscow all the way to the Oder. What’s to stop them now?’ Himmler was almost shouting. ‘He insists on sending our best troops to Austria to save Vienna from the Russians, while all the time the chief danger is here, in front of Berl
in. And even then, there’s precious little in the Harz and along the Elbe to stop the Western Allies overrunning us from that direction. Madness! Utter madness!’
Himmler slammed his fist on the table, two bright red spots on his cheeks high-lighting the anger he felt. Schellenberg could see that his boss was clearly very angry, a rare show of emotion on normally so expressionless a visage. He waited a few moments to let his superior cool down.
‘Sir, when did Keitel estimate that the Russians would attack?’
Himmler’s mind was elsewhere. For a moment he gaped uncomprehendingly, and then returned to the present. ‘Eh? Oh, probably no more than ten days or so. Aerial intelligence suggests that the Red Army is making its final preparations… repairing rail lines, stocking up ammunition dumps, the usual deception operations. He estimates the attack date as anything from the 15th to 18th. Do you have anything new from Zossen?’
‘No, Reichsführer. I spoke to Oberst General Reinhard Gehlen this morning. He’s my counterpart over there. We both agree that Stalin will set his forces off around these dates. I would not be surprised if he has already reached an agreement with Churchill and Roosevelt – the Russians will take Berlin, and the Western Allies will meet up with them halfway across the Reich. I estimate somewhere along the Elbe.’
‘In that case there’s not much time to lose, then.’ Himmler stood up and paced around the inside of the tent, arms clasped behind his back, deep in thought. After a few moments he stopped pacing and walked over to his desk, opened his briefcase, pulled out some papers and handed them to Schellenberg.
‘Today’s trip was not entirely in vain,’ he grunted. ‘The Führer has finally approved my request to deal once and for all with certain undesirable elements within the Reich.’ A small smile of triumph lit up his pasty features. ‘See for yourself.’
Schellenberg leafed through the paperwork, with a growing sense of dismay. The names were all familiar to him – Oberst- General Hans Oster, Judge Advocate General Carl Sack, the Reverend Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Dr Theodor Strünck, Hauptmann Ludwig Gehre – all suspected if not proven of treason against the Reich. Most of them were known to have been involved to some degree in the Bomb Plot of the previous July, or linked with other anti-Nazi activity. But it was the last two names that that made him feel sick to the core – Oberst Mannfred Simon and Admiral Wilhelm Canaris.
‘At last,’ Himmler exulted, looking extremely satisfied with himself. ‘I’m finally going to settle some old scores, especially with that slippery old bastard, Canaris. He’s going to get the fate he deserves, once and for all.’ In his gloating triumph, Himmler failed to notice the look of regret on Schellenberg’s face. With barely a glance at his subordinate he resumed his pacing up and down, all the while his mind feverish with plans and deadlines.
‘Walther, here’s what we are going to do,’ he continued, oblivious to his subordinate’s anguish. ‘’I want you to arrange for two legally qualified officers from Amt II to go down to Flossenberg in the next day or two, along with these death warrants. They will arrange the legalities, and make sure that all paperwork is in order. I will alert the camp commandant myself. I wish him to be very clear as to how these executions will be carried out.’ Schellenberg shifted in his chair, trying to hide the shudder of revulsion he felt. He had some idea of what Himmler had in mind. He’d seen the newsreel of the executions after the Bomb Plot. It had not made pleasant viewing.
‘As for Nordhausen, I want you to go down there and personally make sure that all is ready. In the meantime I will continue to pursue a diplomatic solution here in Berlin, via the Swedish embassy. But if it all falls through then the rockets will fly in the early hours of April 12th. After that there may still be room for a settlement before the Reich is conquered. You will then fly to Stockholm and continue the diplomatic pressure from there, especially with the Russians. Make sure that Hartmann has planned for the next batch of rockets to go eastwards. That should focus Stalin’s mind wonderfully. There should be just enough time to stop him launching the final Russian offensive.’
What? Enough time? He’s completely flipped. The timescale is far too tight. I’m going to have to move really quick on this… And I’ve got to do something about Canaris and Simon…
‘Walther?’ Himmler had stopped pacing, and was looking closely at Schellenberg. ‘Did you get all that?’ The Reichsführer had a suspicious look on his face.
‘…Yes sir.’ Schellenberg forced his mind back to the present. ‘My apologies, Reichsführer. I was just thinking about how I’m going to plan the logistical side of this. Leave it to me.’
‘Good.’ Himmler appeared momentarily mollified. ‘Make sure that you get things organised immediately. I want twice- daily situation reports, at the very least. Let me know the names of the two officers you will be sending to Flossenberg. They must have impeccable credentials and be completely trustworthy. There will be no mistakes or failures this time. This is our last chance to save the Reich. See to it.’
Flossenberg Concentration Camp 1630 7/4/45
He lay against the damp wall, shivering, barely conscious. His body was a mass of burns, cuts and bruises, but they were nothing compared to his face. He could not focus properly on his surroundings, and his head felt as if it was stuffed with red-hot needles. His nose bled profusely, probably from the last barrage of blows those thugs had inflicted on him. Gingerly he traced the outline with his least painful finger. Halfway down from his forehead the profile was bent to the left, markedly deviated from the normal direction. Some of his remaining teeth felt loose, but his tongue was swollen and felt different, and he was not entirely sure that what it told him was indeed reality. None of that was of any great consequence, he reckoned. The dental plate he’d worn for years had disappeared some time ago, and he couldn’t remember when they’d last fed him. Was it yesterday or the day before? His mind feverishly tried to count off the last few days, but there was nothing to break up the endless hours of solitary confinement, nothing apart from his recent beating. He desperately wanted to close his eyes, but something warned him that if he surrendered to blessed unconsciousness, he might not wake up again…
So the buggers have broken my nose this time. They finally seem to have lost their patience, or is it something else…? Maybe they’ve decided to get me after all this time. Has Himmler finally received permission to do what he’s always wanted to do? He tried to laugh but it was too painful.
This time Canaris had sensed a difference. Nobody held back. They were no longer fooled by him playacting the old imbecile. The sadists were out to inflict as much pain as they could without killing him on the spot. He had to admire their devilish ingenuity, even if their loyalties were somewhat misplaced. They knew exactly where to hit to cause the maximum pain without pushing him too far. But there was one thing he was reasonably sure of – the end must be near. His starved body could not take much more of this. There was only one thing left to do, one final duty.
He began to tap as best he could on the damp wall surface. Each knock brought a gasp of pain, but at least it kept him awake. His knuckles were quite badly bruised, but he ignored the agony. It was important that he send his last message out. He needed to know that somehow, someday his wife would learn of his fate, and what was last in his mind. Hopefully they would spare Nils Lunding, the Danish Colonel who was incarcerated on this side of his cell. He doubted he had the strength to crawl over to the other side. And if his head was on the chopping block, then so was Hans Oster’s. The Nazis would never let either of them go.
He ceased tapping. He could just make out Lunding transmitting a reply. ‘How are you?’ Lunding tapped on the wall. ‘Not good’ went Canaris’ reply. ‘Badly mishandled. Nose broken at last interrogation. My time is up. Was not a traitor. Did my duty as a German. If you survive, please tell my wife…’
Flossenberg area 0730 8/4/45
The early morning view was dominated by masses of heavy, dark fir woods that stretched as far as the eye could see
. They wrapped the Erzgebirge, the range of hills that formed this part of the old border between the Reich and what used to be Czechoslovakia, in a thick dark green blanket that clung to the folds in the land in an all-embracing grasp. The mists that had descended during the night and slowed their journey from Nordhausen to not much more than a crawl were gradually beginning to lift. Up above he caught the occasional glimpse of a patch of blue. It promised to be a fine day, probably by late mid-morning, but there were far more important things on his mind.
The Kubelwagen was parked behind a small, dense grove of trees, just off the winding forest road that led up to the camp area itself. Hofheinz was struggling to jack up the front nearside. A puncture had gradually deflated the tyre, probably a few kilometers ago lower down the road up towards Flossenberg village and the infinitely more notorious concentration camp of the same name. It must have been a piece of sharp stone, or maybe something else, maybe one of the many potholes on the road that they had struggled to avoid in the poor light. The delay, as much as he found it irritating, was unavoidable. Their plan was based on speed and precision. If they had any hope of carrying it out successfully, then everything must work like clockwork, with no room for error, least of all silly problems with transport.
Simon looked at his watch – it was just after 0730. Five minutes to loosen the wheel nuts, then take the spare from the rear and replace the damaged wheel and tyre. His map told him that the gates of the camp were only a minute or two away by car, hidden from his view by the dark outline of a hill. They still had plenty of time. The two SS officers from Amt II were not due to arrive until 1000, at least according to the schedule that Schellenberg had told him last night.
The Fall of the Father Land Page 22