The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

  Beyond them he could make out Hofheinz leaning idly against the side of the Kubelwagen. He was casually smoking a roll-up. The exit road stretched away to his left, swiftly disappearing behind a thick clump of trees. He could just make out the camp administration buildings away to the right – barracks, offices, living quarters and the commandant’s offices. There was nobody else in view.

  He turned back to Koegel and his father. ‘Not far to go. You’d better make sure the guards let us out without a problem – no funny tricks.’ He waved the pistol in front of the commandant. ‘Remember – any false moves, anything at all…’ He let the words hang in the cool air.

  Koegel nodded, swallowing nervously.

  ‘Let’s go’.

  They turned the corner. The gates slowly drew closer. One of the guards spotted them almost immediately. He shouted to the other two. His two comrades rushed to the gates, lifted up the heavy wooden latch, and swung them open. As they neared them, the first guard dashed forward, stopped in front of his CO, and saluted.

  ‘Sir, may I…’

  Koegel stopped in his tracks. ‘Not now, Heinrici. I’m helping this officer with this prisoner. He is under orders to deliver this man to the Reichsführer.’

  ‘But sir…’ The guard looked puzzled. Simon cut him off. ‘Obey your commanding officer! Get that vehicle over here now.’ He pointed to where the Kubelwagen stood. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Zu befehl!’ The guard snapped to attention, then dashed off to where Hofheinz stood. In less than a minute the kubelwagen roared up to them in a cloud of dust. Hofheinz jumped out, saluted the commandant, and eased Mannfred Simon off him and in to the back of the vehicle.

  ‘Thanks, Charlie.’ Simon turned to Koegel. ‘OK. You’re coming with us – just to make sure we get out of here alive.’ He pointed to the front passenger seat. ‘Get in there. Charlie will drive. I’ll be sitting just behind you to keep you sweet. Get it?’ Koegel nodded through gritted teeth.

  Hofheinz drove slowly towards the gates. The other guards looked at them as they approached. The guard commander had disappeared into the guardhouse. Above them Simon could see the machine gunner watching them curiously. They reached the gates. Beyond them was a single red and white striped pole that hung suspended across the road. The stopped a few meters away from it. One of the guards raced up to lift up the barrier. At the same time the guard commander rushed up again.

  ‘Sir, I cannot let you out!’ The guard commander pushed his comrade away from the barrier pole. It slammed back down into its housing. ‘I’ve checked with your office. We’ve received a message from RSHA. The camp has been placed under an immediate curfew – nobody in or out, regardless of rank!’

  ‘That’s alright, Heinrici.’ The guard looked even more puzzled. Koegel continued. ‘This officer has written authorization from the Reichsführer himself. It supercedes any other orders…’

  ‘Sir, that’s not my name…You know me – Rottenführer Kempf.’ Simon tensed. The pistol eased away from Koegel’s back. Something was definitely wrong here. He looked back at Koegel’s face and saw the camp commandant desperately contorting his features, arching them back towards where Simon sat behind him. Kempf opened his mouth, and then quickly reached for his side holster, whipping the flap open and grabbing his pistol. His right arm was a blur of motion. At the same time Koegel threw himself backwards, trying to twist around and grab Simon’s right arm.

  He was too late. The gun went off in Simon’s hand. Koegel slumped forward in his seat. Simon swung the PPK around. His shot lifted Kempf off his feet, slamming him backwards and away. The second guard was just in the process of slipping his rifle off his shoulder when Simon turned and put two rounds in him. He could hardly miss. The man was no more than a meter away.

  ‘Quick, Charlie – let’s get out of here!’ Hofheinz needed no urging. He slammed the pedal to the floor. The kubelwagen raced away. There was a splinter of wood as the vehicle smashed through the barrier pole. Behind them there was a shout. Simon turned to look back. The remaining guard was pointing a Schmeisser at them.

  ‘Get down!’ A volley of shots reached out at them, but they were accelerating and too far away to be within the lethal range of a machine pistol. But that wasn’t all that Simon was worried about.

  They had almost reached the bend and the copse of trees when a high-pitched rasp opened up, as if someone was tearing a calico sheet in two. Simon knew that sound from long experience. It was the sound of an MG 42 firing, a weapon that had saved him in many desperate situations – and one of the last things he ever wanted to face. Thank God it had been pointing inwards, towards the camp. Otherwise they would never have made it this far.

  The man behind the gun must have been out of practice, or the gun sights out of kilter. That in itself was nothing unusual. After all the concentration camp wasn’t in the front line against the Red Army. The first burst missed them by a few meters. The gun was aiming low and off to the right, but the necessary correction would take but an instant. The second burst caught them just as they reached cover, clipping the rear and side of the kubelwagen. The windscreen disappeared in a hail of smashed glass. Several heavy blows thumped against the bodywork – and then they were gone. The tree cover had saved them. Another prolonged burst followed them but it was too late. They were safe, for the moment. There would be a pursuit, no doubt, but they could lose them easily. There were many forest trails that led down into the valley and the main roads going north and west.

  Simon glanced quickly at his father. Mannfred was still slumped in the right rear seat. He looked greyer than before, but otherwise appeared just the same as when he was rescued. Hofheinz drove the vehicle as fast as he dared, skidding around bends and accelerating as hard as possible down the few straights. After two minutes of this they came to a crossroads deep in the fir trees.

  ‘Turn right’.

  Hofheinz drove along this road for another few minutes, and as then road began to plunge downhill, pulled off into the cover of cutting. He gently braked the Kubelwagen to a halt.

  ‘Why are we stopping, Charlie?

  ‘Engine’s getting too hot. And there’s a funny vibration from the rear.’

  Hofheinz got out to check the rear of the Kubelwagen, and then moved around to the front to lift up the bonnet.. Simon glanced at Koegel, but instantly knew that he was beyond any form of help. Well, the bastard had had a quick release, more than could be said for many of his victims. Simon’s only regret was that Koegel died far too easily. The rage inside him, the brutal treatment of his father and the agony of Canaris’ death, was still there. There was simply no justice in this world…

  He pushed Koegel’s body out of the front of the car. It fell onto the forest floor in an untidy heap. Simon lifted the seat forward and got out. As he moved towards the front, Hofheinz stepped out from the cover of the bonnet. A Luger was in his right hand. It was aimed squarely at Simon.

  It was a moment before he could take it in. ‘What?’ He couldn’t believe his eyes. This must surely be some kind of perverted joke. Not Charlie, his long-time friend and confidante. Surely not? But the gun spoke volumes, and it was pointed directly at him.

  ‘Sorry, Max, but I can’t allow you to go any further. Drop that pistol, and get your hands in the air - slowly.’ There was nothing Max could do except comply. The pistol was as steady as a rock. ‘What you’ve just done is high treason – treason against the Reich and everything I believe in. That’s enough to hang you.’ Hofheinz was deadly serious. Gone was the normal Charlie. Now something fanatical looked out at him, someone he didn’t recognise. Simon was dumbstruck for a few moments, and then finally found his voice.

  ‘Come on, Charlie. This is a poor time to be playing games. We’ve got to get out of here, and fast. They’ll be sending out patrols to hunt us down.’

  ‘Not us. Just you.’ Hofheinz’s face broke into a broad grin. ‘The joke’s on you, Max and you’ve been blissfully unaware of it for the last two years - ever since yo
u joined the Leibstandarte. Do you think you could just stroll in and join the club, without someone keeping an eye on you?’ He laughed scornfully, but the muzzle of the pistol never wavered. ‘All transfers in from the Wehrmacht are watched carefully. But even though you passed the test and turned out to be a good soldier, we always watched you. And then came that funny mission - England, wasn’t it? I’m told that you were out of contact for a bit and then returned home, the mission a failure – apparently. Well, the Reichsführer wasn’t so sure. He never really trusted you. He suspected MI6 all along, but he had no real proof and nothing to hang on you. Now he does.’

  ‘What? You’re in contact with Himmler?’

  ‘Yes – of course. What took you so long to work that out?’ He laughed again. ‘He visited me while I was recovering from that Russian bullet. In that nice Bavarian clinic I told you about. Himmler arranged my transfer to the Panzer school. The plan was simple – get back into your confidence, and be there should anything funny start to happen. I was to keep in close contact. Couldn’t follow you everywhere, could I? But don’t worry - the Reichsführer prides himself in covering all bases. And now you’ve given him an excuse to interrogate you at length.’ He smirked nastily. ‘I will have the responsibility of getting all the answers out of you – like who set you up to come here and rescue that doddering old admiral, and your treacherous father. The Reichsführer is very interested in finding out who has been helping you. And I’m sure the guards at Flossenberg will take a keen interest in making you talk – especially seeing as you’ve murdered their commander and a few of their mates.’

  Simon still couldn’t quite believe it. The Jekyll and Hide change in his former friend stunned him. He had been played like a fool. All the time he thought he had confided in a friend, someone privy to most of his inner thoughts. But all he had succeeded in doing was clutching a viper to his breast. The man in front of him had become unrecognizable.

  ‘I thought you were a friend, someone who couldn’t stand the pomposity and stupidity of the Nazis. And all the stories you told me about your experiences since we parted. Just after Auschwitz, wasn’t it? And what about those Jews? Even you were shook up after what we’d all seen there.’

  ‘Yes. Not very pleasant, wasn’t it?’ Hofheinz laughed. ‘But who cares about a bunch of stinking Jews? Not me. They all deserve to go up in smoke. Somebody else can do that job. And all those stories about France and Hungary? Yes, they’re true. But the war’s not over yet. And I’m sure that Himmler has a few tricks up his sleeve that will give us final victory, even at this late stage. Now get back in. You can drive us back to Flossenberg.’

  He was mad. There could be no other explanation. Simon watched as Hofheinz moved away from him, keeping well out of striking range.

  ‘Drop the bonnet and get behind the wheel’. Hofheinz waved the pistol at him and motioned him into action. As he got in the driver’s seat Hofhinz slid in beside him. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right side. Hofheinz had dug his pistol deep into his ribs.

  ‘Just make sure you drive us back to the camp, and no funny stuff. Let’s go.’

  Simon started the engine. The kubelwagen was turned around in no time, and he began to head back towards the crossroads. He took a quick look back at his father. The older man appeared even greyer than before. His eyes were closed, and there was a deathly pallor to him.

  ‘For Christ’ sake, Charlie, let me stop and look at my old man. He’s looking terrible.’

  Hofheinz glanced quickly at the rear seat. The pressure of the pistol eased for a moment. Mannfred Simon indeed looked very ill. But what the hell did he care?

  He turned back. ‘Forget it. Just keep your eyes on the road. And if he dies on the way back it’ll be a small mercy, compared to what’s going to happen-‘.

  There was a loud crack. The centre of Hofheinz’s chest suddenly erupted in a shower of blood and bone, thumping him forward and into the dashboard. He was dead in an instant. Simon slammed on the brakes. The kubelwagen skidded to a halt. He jumped out, tore the dead man out of his seat and climbed into the back. His father lay weakly across the rear seats. A red stain was slowly growing around his right side. It could only have been from that second MG42 burst. A pistol lay in his open hand - probably Koegel’s. It must have slipped out of Simon’s pocket. The man was barely conscious.

  ‘…Sorry I couldn’t help earlier…’

  ‘Father…’ Simon’s voice choked. So near, yet so far. The older man was near death and there was damn all he could do.

  ‘…tell mother and Kirsten that I never stopped loving them… nor you…’

  The light in his eyes gradually faded away. Not so long ago there had been four living men in the car. Now only one of them remained alive.

  Near Niedersachswerfen, Nordhausen area 1330

  Colonel Charles ‘Chuck’ Horner, commanding officer of the United States Army 517th Independent Parachute Infantry Battalion, stood on a small hillock and gazed around at the empty farm landscape in front of him. To his north lay the undulating hills of the Harz, less than a mile away. Over to his right lay the small town of Niedersachswerfen, peaceful in the spring sunshine. Behind him and to the east was more farmland, and beyond that some low wooded ridges. No sign of the enemy – as yet.

  He surveyed the scene in front of him with considerable satisfaction, although he was careful not to show it. All around him his battalion had made a perfect drop, smack dab on the correct drop zones. The last transports were departing, and as they did so the rest of his battalion floated down, directly on target. To the uninitiated the unfolding scene looked like organised chaos, but he knew better. Almost all the parachutes were folded away. Men were racing to open weapons canisters. The rest were deployed in an all-round defensive posture, waiting for the order to advance.

  The pathfinders had gone in on time, and the USAAF Transport Command had done a fine job in getting them there - with no cock ups. So far it had been a milk run. Even Nature had played its part – cool, clear blue skies, light winds, no more than 5mph – nothing that would cause any real difficulties. And there had been no flak, thank God. The Luftwaffe was yet again conspicuous by its absence. High above him two squadrons of Thunderbolts circled the drop zones, weaving complex vapour trails across the sky - all eager for the slightest sign of trouble. No – there was no real threat from above. The hard part would be when they moved north towards the Harz – the hills were so close he could almost touch them from where he stood. Who knows what they would find there?

  The fact that he had back-up coming was some comfort, although he knew from bitter experience that nothing ever went according to plan. The briefing, a rush job from some senior G2 officer at SHAEF, stated that there should be little opposition in the area. Most likely they might run into units of the local Volkssturm – old men and young boys, maybe armed with a few rifles and Molotov cocktails, but nothing worse than that. There were few, if any, surviving Wehrmacht units in the area – the rest were either bottled up in the Ruhr pocket, or busy stemming the advance of the US 1st Army. The word from the top was that the advancing spearheads of the 3rd Armoured and 104th Infantry Divisions were only a day or two away – worst case scenario. Most likely they would show up tomorrow – motorized infantry, backed up by heavy weapons and tanks. Enough muscle to deal with anything – in theory. That was all very well, but he would only count on them when he could see them for real.

  But there was one thing he knew he could immediately rely on, a real comfort if things started to go pear-shaped - there was another friendly parachute battalion in the area. This one was a composite force from the remnants of the British 1st Airborne Division, the Red Devils who had endured the agony of Arnhem last September. Barely a third of the division had escaped that disaster, but those who had returned to Britain were still ready and willing to fight, and had jumped at the chance of one final hurrah before the war ended. They were damn good soldiers – he’d seen them in action in Sicily at the Primosole brid
ge back in ’43, when he had been attached to them as a liaison officer. They would give it their all, just as he knew that his own boys would.

  The plan was pretty simple. The British would drop in the open area just west of the village of Werna, about five kilometers to the north-west, and then sweep east. His boys would advance to the north, keeping Niedersachswerfen to their right. Their joint target was an area just beyond the railway line that cut across this area. The briefing had told him that the objective was some sort of underground factory producing V2 rockets. Its precise location was still in doubt – photo reconnaissance was still unable to pinpoint the entrance. They’d already tried saturation bombing by the strategic air-forces, with little apparent success. SHAEF had called off the bombers a few hours ago, and now it was down to the Airborne. Get in on the ground and neutralize the target, no matter the cost. The mission was deemed to be of vital importance. The rockets were a deadly menace, and the factory needed to be shut down permanently.

  The two battalions could not land any closer, due to the rolling and wooded nature of the terrain in the area where the factory was thought to be. So it was going to be a fighting advance, hopefully with little to oppose them. Their biggest obstacle would probably be the terrain itself – the area inside this part of the Harz would almost certainly have been torn up and pulverized by the bombers. Well, that was something they’d just have to take in there stride.

  ‘Excuse me sir.’ It was 2nd Lieutenant Clarke, from his HQ section. Beside him was a signaller with a field radio. ‘Just made contact with the British. Their 2ic says they’ve landed without any appreciable problems. A few Krauts took a few pot shots at them as they came in, but they didn’t last long. Their CO’s waiting for the all clear from us to advance.’