Accidental Saviors

by Jack A Saarela

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Berlin: June 12, 1942

  “Dr. Kersten, the Reichsführer is very anxious to see you today,” Brandt said over the telephone.

  “That makes today a rather ordinary day, doesn’t it?” Kersten countered sardonically.

  Brandt smiled, but chose to ignore Kersten’s irony. “It’s not to treat him this time, Doctor. Instead, he has something to show you. He says it’s important for you to see it.”

  Kersten took his time preparing to leave for Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Whatever Himmler had to show him, he would see when he was good and ready. He did have to admit to a certain level of curiosity. What might it possibly be?

  When Kersten arrived at the SS Chancellery, he was surprised to see that Himmler was not alone in his office. Standing before his desk was the tall SS officer whom Kersten had met briefly in Brandt’s office some months before. “He may be able to help you” is what Brandt had intimated to him about the officer: Lieutenant-General Walter Schellenberg, Director of Intelligence.

  Schellenberg bowed formally in Kersten’s direction by way of greeting. Kersten returned the greeting by extending his right hand to shake Schellenberg’s. They looked into each other’s eyes almost in a conspiratorial fashion.

  Kersten looked over at Himmler behind his desk to see if he had noticed the other two men’s mutual cordial greeting. Himmler might not have been summoning him for a treatment session, as Brandt had said, but Kersten saw immediately the look of affliction on Himmler’s face.

  “You called for me, Herr Reichsführer? Brandt tells me you have something to show me.”

  Without a word, Himmler pushed back his chair and stood, not as erect, Kersten noticed, as he usually did when dressed in his full SS commander’s uniform. Then he knelt on one knee above the black safe which had been installed into the floor, so that only its face and combination dial were accessible. He opened the safe, grabbed two identical red and black file folders and handed one to a dumbfounded Kersten, the other to Schellenberg.

  “This is to be handled with utmost secrecy, gentlemen.”

  Kersten looked down at the closed file folder, and back up with consternation.

  “Only I and Brandt have seen its contents. Other than Dr. Morell, of course. At least officially. I can’t help but suspect that before the file left the Führer’s Chancellery, Göbbels and Göring snuck a peek at it.”

  “Undoubtedly, yes,” chuckled Schellenberg.

  Schellenberg’s chuckling indicated to Kersten that Schellenberg was no greater a fan of Hitler’s two bootlickers than were Himmler and he himself.

  Kersten slowly opened the file folder. The title page read “The State of the Führer’s Health 1942.” Twenty-five densely typewritten pages followed.

  “You’re a medically trained man, Kersten. Go ahead and read it. I can wait. I’ve already had the displeasure.”

  Kersten began perusing the report, not taking the time to read every word. He hadn’t gotten through many paragraphs before he had a good idea of what was in the later pages. The first part summarized Hitler’s past medical history. It mentioned how Hitler had continued until the present to suffer the negative effects of poison gas in the Great War, and had been for a while in danger of total blindness. Morell also reported that in 1937, and again at the beginning of the current year, certain symptoms had reappeared of the syphilis he had contracted in his youth. Those included insomnia, dizziness, severe headaches. Of utmost concern, Morell reported, was the progressive paralysis, which had the likely potential, sooner or later, to affect Hitler’s mind as well.

  At this startling statement, Kersten stopped skimming the report. He made no comment, but looked at Schellenberg, who returned the glance.

  There just might be a once in a lifetime opportunity here to alter the course of this damned war without firing a shot. Seize it, Felix. For heaven’s sake, carpe diem.

  “You realize now what anxieties dog me, gentlemen. The world regards Adolf Hitler as a strong man made of iron—and that’s how he must go down in history. The greater German Reich will stretch from the Urals to the North Sea after the war. That will be the Führer’s greatest achievement. He’s the greatest military man who ever lived. We’re almost at the goal, gentlemen, but there’s still a mopping up operation to complete. The Führer needs a clean bill of health to finish what he started.”

  Kersten appreciated how severely anxious Himmler must be that he would share such confidential and possibly damaging information. Kersten took pride in how much the closed, guarded Himmler had grown to trust him. He obviously trusted Schellenberg likewise.

  “Herr Reichsführer, I am sure you realize what this report means,” Kersten commented, trying not to sound too eager. “The Führer must resign his position immediately, of course. He needs serious medical care.”

  He glanced again at Schellenberg to read his silent response. If Schellenberg disagreed, he gave no indication on his face.

  “He’s already receiving medical care from Dr. Morell,” Himmler responded defensively. Then he modified his response by adding, “Granted, I suspect that Morell is a quack. The man was nothing more than a ship’s doctor before the Führer rescued him from such trivial work. Though no one says it aloud, but some like Göring and Bormann spread whispers that Morell is conducting experiments on the Führer with drugs and all sorts of injections.”

  Schellenberg remained resolutely silent. Kersten thought perhaps he was deferring for the time being to the medical doctor. Kersten was eager to know where Schellenberg stood. He took Schellenberg’s silence as his invitation for him to continue.

  “Your Führer must be convinced by someone close to him, someone he trusts, that he needs to find and name a successor to take over from him—just temporarily, of course—while he seeks long-term medical treatment immediately. You understand, I’m sure, Herr Reichsführer, that it is quite possible, with his condition, that at any moment, under any crisis, his judgment could fail. Or at worst, his mind could be clouded by delusions and megalomania.” Kersten hoped that he didn’t sound too much as if he were exaggerating, which, of course, he wasn’t.

  “Whoever dares to suggest that to the Führer is looking to be out of a job. Or worse,” Himmler countered anxiously.

  “Actually, I was thinking of you, Herr Reichsführer, as the most logical person to give him such advice.”

  Schellenberg looked at Kersten, who seemed with his eyes to encourage him to continue with this line of argument.

  “Me? Are you insane, Kersten? The Führer has made no provision for a successor. He believes deep in his heart that he has been uniquely called by fate to continue to restore Germany to its deserved greatness, even after the war.”

  “I am under the impression that Herr Hitler trusts you more than just about any of his associates.”

  “Kersten, even if the Führer didn’t have me shot on the spot, Göbbels and Göring would be quick to point out to him that I am giving such questionable advice in order to further my own career, that I want to be Führer myself. They’ll have me just where they want me. Don’t you agree, Schellenberg?”

  “I’m afraid you are right about them, Herr Reichsführer. But Dr. Kersten is making good sense. This report helps explain those inconsistencies and discrepancies in the Führer’s long speeches in his meetings with us. You’ve noticed them, too, have you not, Herr Reichsführer?”

  Himmler looked as though he didn’t know how to answer.

  “The future of the Reich may be at stake here,” Schellenberg said very earnestly while looking at Himmler directly into the eyes.

  That was Schellenberg’s first explicit indication to Kersten of some unspoken, surreptitious alliance between them, even though one wore the SS uniform and the other did not.

  “What will you do then?” Kersten asked Himmler in a voice that was beginning to betray a growing exasperation. “Will you simply let the matter alone, for heaven’s sake, and wait for Hitler’s condition to get worse
and worse? Can—”

  Himmler interrupted. “I remind you, Kersten, that he is Herr Hitler to you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kersten said dismissively. “But what I want to ask is, can you endure the idea that your beloved German people are being led by a man who is very probably suffering from a progressive paralysis? Good heavens!”

  Schellenberg stepped into the conversation calmly, perhaps lest Kersten proceed to mention the term “mental illness.” “Herr Reichsführer, I remind you that though the campaign in Russia started well last year, and we have surrounded Leningrad, almost a whole year later we haven’t succeeded in penetrating the capital itself. Isn’t it an ominous repeat of our attempt to take Moscow last winter? We were stalled forty kilometers outside the city, you remember, and then shamefully repulsed. Does the Führer really believe that we will be any more successful in Stalingrad, which he has ordered the Wehrmacht to take next at all costs? The tide may be beginning to turn for the worse in Russia, and therefore the whole eastern front.”

  Schellenberg grew increasingly animated and impassioned as he spoke. Pointing his head in the direction of the Finnish masseur, Schellenberg continued. “Those who were paying attention in ’39 and ’40 to the Russians’ eventual defeat of the Finns know how capable they are of raising thousands, if not millions, of reinforcements to defend Leningrad, and then mount a counteroffensive.”

  Kersten gave a nod that was tinged with regret. “We Finns learned that the hard way, to be sure.”

  Schellenberg paused strategically and looked earnestly into Himmler’s eyes.

  Go for it, Schellenberg. You’re making progress.

  “You have said yourself that Göring’s Luftwaffe is ineffective in defending against Russian airstrikes on our troops. The Führer isn’t aware of that, of course, and I think you know why, Herr Reichsführer. The others in the Führer’s inner circle are sycophants who share only information with him that they know he wants to hear.”

  Kersten noticed that Himmler looked unusually pensive. Was at least a part of him agreeing with Schellenberg?

  It was Schellenberg’s turn now to look over at Kersten for some sign of solidarity as a tag team. In spite of being not quite sure of Schellenberg’s own ambitions, Kersten carefully nodded his head slightly in Kersten’s direction for encouragement, hoping that Himmler would not notice.

  “Herr Reichsführer, you are a brilliant leader. Surely, you can discern the signs that we are having difficulty fighting this war on two fronts. But now with this additional information about the Führer’s health, especially his mental health, the likelihood of victory has diminished greatly, has it not?”

  “Do you really have a crystal ball that makes you so sure you can predict the future accurately?” Himmler shot back.

  “No, of course not. But we military men are trained to observe what direction the winds are blowing…I am wondering if this may not be the opportune moment to pursue your idea of an independent peace with the Western allies so that we can focus all our attention and deploy all our resources trying to triumph in the east. Herr Reichsführer, did you not yourself raise that possibility with me in a conversation? That was when you took protective custody of Professor Haushofer after the Führer discovered that he had assisted Hess make his daring but ill-conceived flight to Scotland to try to make a secret separate peace with Britain. Do you remember?”

  Himmler stared hard at the surface of his desk and adjusted his spectacles. He looked as though convicted by a prosecutor in court. Kersten was surprised at this new information. He admired the forthrightness and candor, the sheer doggedness, of Schellenberg’s strategy. Again, Kersten filed it away for future reference. Still, Schellenberg remained an enigma.

  Himmler remained silent for a long time. Then he rose from his desk resolutely, adjusted his posture so that he was once again as straight as a board, and announced his decision. “The Führer’s illness has still not yet gone far enough. I will watch carefully and there will be time enough to act once it’s established that Morrell’s report is correct. These symptoms—and remember, gentlemen, that they are only symptoms— are likely the effects of the Führer’s exhaustion from his single-minded carrying out of his heroic duties on behalf of the German people, that’s all.”

  Kersten and Schellenberg exchanged glances that silently communicated their mutual regret that they had been unable to move Himmler off the spot and get him to pull his head out of the sand.

  Himmler extended his hand to both Kersten and Schellenberg. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. That is all. Good day. Heil, Hitler!”

  HISTORICAL INTERLUDE

  Algot Niska and Jiri Hudak participated in the so-called Winter War between Finland and the Soviet Union in 1939-1940 (Chapter Twenty). The Soviet Union had sought to claim parts of the Finnish territory adjacent to the border in exchange for land elsewhere. The Soviets wanted the Karelia region of Finland as a buffer to protect Leningrad. The Finns refused the exchange. Consequently, on November 30, 1939, Soviet forces invaded Finland.

  The Finns fought the vastly more numerous and better equipped Russian forces alone. Germany did, however, provide Finland with critical material support and military cooperation during the Winter War as part of its overall plan to keep its options open on a possible eastern front.

  On June 22, 1941, Germany launched Operation Barbarossa, an all-out invasion of the Soviet Union. Germany wished to invade the Soviet Union from at least three directions, including the north. Hitler petitioned Finland to grant permission for his troops to transect Finnish Lapland from Nazi-occupied Norway and infiltrate the Russian border from the north. Meanwhile, other German units pinched into the Soviet Union from Poland and the Balkans. In retaliation for the Finns’ giving consent to Hitler, the Soviet Union launched a major air offensive on Finland on June 25. The so-called Continuation War, essentially Part II of the Finno-Russian conflict, had commenced.

  In response, Finnish leaders sought a mutual assistance arrangement with Germany. The two nations were to become “cobelligerents” working together to defeat their common enemy, the Soviet Union. This was a unique and unprecedented military accord. The Finns were careful to specify in the pact that it was not a conventional military or political alliance, merely a covenant of mutual convenience between two sovereign nations. Finland would participate in the first phase of Operation Barbarossa as “brothers-in-arms” with German forces, but under Finnish command. In exchange, Germany guaranteed promises of military materiel and food supplies.

  It was stipulated that once the joint Finnish-German forces had succeeded in recapturing Finnish Karelia and conquering East Karelia, Finnish forces were to halt their offensive. Much to the frustration and disappointment of Hitler and the German generals, the Finns ceased their advance 30 kilometers outside Leningrad at the pre-war Finland-Soviet Union border.

  In 1944, Soviet air forces conducted further devastating air attacks over Helsinki, other major Finnish cities, and Finnish airfields used by the Germans. Eventually, in mid-1944, an overwhelming Soviet offensive drove the Finns from most of the territories they had regained. A ceasefire ended hostilities on September 5 and was followed by the Moscow Armistice. Finland agreed to cede its repatriated territories, pay sizeable reparations to the Soviet Union, and forcibly expel all German forces from its soil (The Lapland War 1944-1945).

  In its precarious position sandwiched between two major combatants, the Finnish government managed miraculously to maintain its independence from both Germany and the Soviet Union.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Vinnitsa, Ukraine: July 16, 1942

  Kersten almost tripped on an upraised root as he walked through the copse of pine trees between the cottage he had been assigned and the cottage that served as Himmler’s office at the German field headquarters in the Ukraine. Hitler had summoned his top leaders there to receive first-hand updates from Wehrmacht officers on the progress of Operation Barbarossa, the massive incursion into Russia initiated in
1941.

  Himmler didn’t look up from the papers he was skimming at his desk when Kersten entered the makeshift office.

  “Good morning, Doctor. In the mood to get some real Finnish home cooking?”

  Kersten tried to feign a look of confusion by the question. He had heard from Ambassador Mäki about Himmler’s possible imminent mission to Finland. The fact that Himmler even asked the question seemed to indicate that he still wasn’t aware that Kersten was serving as an informant to the Finnish delegation in Berlin.

  “You look a little baffled this morning, Kersten.”

  “A little, yes. Where could you possibly get genuine fish pie, Karelian pies, salmon soup and whipped lingonberry porridge here in the middle of the Ukraine?”

  “You misunderstand, my dear Kersten. I’m offering you a week or so of Finnish cuisine, which I know you have been missing, instead of all the heavy cabbage rolls and sauerkraut in Berlin.”

  “Well, of course, I’d love the taste of Finland. But I don’t quite understand how.”

  “The Führer has ordered me to Finland to have a little friendly chat with your President Ryti and Field Marshall Mannerheim about the little agreement to cooperate you Finns made with us last year. We leave in a little over a week. I want you to be with me in case my condition flares up.”

  “Wasn’t your Führer there just last month?”

  “Yes, he was there to charm Mannerheim and thus pave the way for my visit. He warmed up the audience, and now I am to regale them with the punchline.”