by Eric Meyer
I nodded.
“However, I am certain that the Fuhrer would not approve of such an arrangement, neither would Reichsfuhrer Himmler. Be a little patient, I assure you this little matter will be cleared up shortly.”
“Yes, Sir.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, I seemed to have walked into a political shit storm, but he’d said to be patient so I resolved to forget about it.
“You recall I told you I was here to investigate a murder? Well, now there is at least one more murder to investigate.”
“A murder?” It was so strange, murder in the middle of so much killing. “Who was murdered?”
“Your Commanding Officer, Standartenfuhrer Werner Brandt.”
I guess I looked dumb for a few moments. “The Standartenfuhrer, impossible, he was killed in battle.”
“Indeed he was, Hoffman, at least, he was killed during the battle. The regimental surgeon is conducting an autopsy at this moment and I confidently expect him to find a German bullet inside him. Perhaps we can go and see how much progress the good doctor has made.”
He noticed my hesitation. “Hoffman, your CO explained that you’ve been fully assigned to me, that means you and your men are to escort and assist me in this investigation. I suggest we go.”
He stood up. He looked terribly out of condition, flabby and overweight, apart from being too old to be in a theatre of war. Then there was his wounded leg, I got up quickly and followed him out of the door as he limped across the snow to a tent bearing the red cross of the medics. Inside, a body was on the table, the trunk cut open and much of its contents removed to lie on the enamel tray next to the body. I felt like puking but I kept it down. The surgeon, a tired looking man, thin and arrogant, his apron bloody and filthy, looked up angrily.
“Really, I haven’t got time for this, Sturmbannfuhrer. I’ve got wounded men waiting for treatment, this could have waited.”
The SD man totally ignored his protest. “Do you have the bullet, Doctor?”
The medic sighed and picked up a white enamel bowl and handed it to von Betternich.
“Here, take it. Lodged in one of the ventricles of the heart, death was almost instantaneous.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
I followed him out of the tent and we stood in the snow to inspect the bullet. I didn’t need to look too hard, it was a German 7.92 mm round. The ammunition we used in both rifles and machine guns.
“Well?” von Betternich asked me.
“It’s one of ours, of course, but it proves nothing,” I said.
He nodded. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Look, Sir, accidents involving friendly fire are nothing new, it’s by no means unusual in the heat of battle for bullets to fly everywhere, it’s the risk we all have to take.”
“Yes, that’s true. It seems that our senior officers are taking more of this risk than usual, though.”
“Sir?”
“Brandt is the fourth senior SS officer to be killed by a German bullet in less than three weeks and all in the same Division, SS-Das Reich.”
“Four killed? That’s impossible!”
He drew me away from the main body of the camp. “Keep your voice down, Hoffman. Impossible or not, that is exactly what has happened. It is why I was called from my nice warm office in Berlin. Someone is killing our commanders and the Reichsfuhrer wishes to know who and why.”
So it was a direct order from Himmler. Possibly I could have had a worse start to my military career, but it was not likely. Nobody in Germany wanted to be under the direct scrutiny of the Reichsfuhrer, his fearful reputation was an incentive to steer well clear of him.
“But why do you need me? I’ve only just arrived, I don’t know anything about this, I’ve got no experience of the Eastern Front.”
“Exactly! You have only just arrived and so you can’t possibly be involved, that’s why I want you, Hoffman. I’ll need three of your men for now, you can leave the rest under the command of one of your NCOs. I may need more men later, of course, when I know what we’re dealing with. We’d better get back to the monastery, Major Muller is organising an office for me. Then you can bring your men over and we’ll get started.”
An hour later I reported to the temporary office that von Betternich had been assigned, it had formerly been a monk’s cell. I had three of my troopers with me, Scharfuhrer Mundt, Schutze Stefan Bauer and Schutze Dieter Merkel. The two privates, Bauer and Merkel stood guard outside the office, both wearing their steel helmets and carrying their MP38s ready for use. Mundt stood inside the door like a respectful butler, if a somewhat warlike one. I sat on the old wooden chair next to von Betternich’s desk, actually a repaired table that had been brought in for him to use. I smiled when I saw that his chair was in fact the deceased Standartenfuhrer’s comfortable old leather chair from the regimental office. Clearly the SD could throw their weight around.
“I have a list of officers who were near to the Standartenfuhrer when he was hit, I want you to bring them here one by one for interview. We’ll start with Sturmbannfuhrer Muller who I believe was standing right next to him.”
I went with Mundt to find Muller, who was not in the mood to waste time.
“Untersturmfuhrer, I need to make preparations, we’re expecting the Russians to counterattack again very soon. Unless we shore up our defences they’ll come right through us.”
I politely persisted and took him grumbling into the office to speak to von Betternich.
“Yes, yes, I was standing right next to Brandt, the situation was very fluid, some of the Soviets were threatening to outflank us, there were bullets and shells flying everywhere. One moment the Standartenfuhrer was shouting orders, the next he was laying on the ground covered in blood. I took command and sent him to the surgeon, that’s all there is to it.”
“Did you see any of our men in the direction of where the bullet came from?”
Muller smiled grimly. “Yes, about five hundred of them.”
“Thank you, Sturmbannfuhrer, that will be all for now.” He handed Muller a piece of paper. “That is a list of the men who I understand were also nearby when the bullet struck the Standartenfuhrer, would you send them to me one by one?”
“Really, von Betternich, this is ridiculous, I have a battle to prepare for, we all have work to do.”
“Perhaps you would prefer a direct order from the Reichsfuhrer himself? I can arrange that?”
Muller gave him a vicious glance and stormed out of the office.
“I think that went well,” the SD officer said quietly.
Mundt and I exchanged glances.
Throughout the day we interviewed officers, NCOs and troopers, each time von Betternich made meticulous notes on a pad. We went on late into the evening, the next morning after a hurried breakfast we rejoined von Betternich, rounding up interviewees for further interrogation. By mid-afternoon he said he was satisfied and we could rejoin the regiment while he collated the various statements that he had already taken. It seemed pointless to us, officers and men saying the same things again and again, it was just bureaucracy gone mad. We managed to get some food from the cookhouse and sat inside the old church to eat it. There were several platoons billeted in there and they had found an old iron stove that they had rigged up, we clustered around it to enjoy some of its warmth. I could have asked to eat in the officers’ mess, such as it was, but in the SS it was encouraged for officers, especially junior officers, to fraternise with the men. After all, we were all equal in the service of the Fuhrer and Reich and eating with the men was supposed to support that viewpoint. I was listening to an old Scharfuhrer from another platoon extolling the merits of our Erma MP38 over the Soviet PPSh.
“Of course, it doesn’t have the capacity for a drum magazine, but it’s more reliable, packs a heavier punch, a much better all round weapon.”
One veteran of the old stormtroopers, the SA, muttered that the Bergman MP-28 was a much superior weapon and later models had got progressively worse. The others l
aughed, it was obviously an old argument.
“Untersturmfuhrer Hoffman to report to Sturmbannfuhrer Muller.”
I looked up, a Hauptsturmfuhrer, a captain, was looking directly at me.
“At once, Sir!”
I got up and reluctantly left the warmth of the stove to go out into the cold and over to the Regimental Office.
“Ah, Hoffman. You did well on that first reconnaissance mission, those prisoners have been more than useful,” Sturmbannfuhrer Muller said. “I want you to go out again, tonight, in fact. You’re new here, you need the experience. I need to find out more of the enemy’s intentions, make sure you bring back more prisoners. Ideally, we need another officer if you can find one. Our intelligence suggests that the Russians are planning another counterattack.”
I was astonished at the sudden change of mission. “Sir, I thought I was assigned to...”
“I’ve spoken to your SD friend, Hoffman. I told him that SS operational requirements come before everything, he knows he must accept that. I suggest you rejoin your men and prepare to move out as soon as it gets dark.”
So it was my SD friend now, von Betternich. It was a friendship I’d neither sought nor wanted. If it continued, it could drive a wedge between me and the other officers. Damn, of all the luck, to have run into the SD officer on the train. I determined to get out of the SD escort assignment after I got back from tonight’s mission. I went back to the church and found Mundt and the rest of the platoon still huddled around the stove.
“Men, we’re going out again, another mission. Get yourselves ready, they want us to bring in another prisoner, a Soviet officer.”
I heard someone mutter something about sending over one of ours for one of theirs, a straight swap, I wasn’t sure if they meant me. I ignored them, they were a good platoon. Within minutes they were lining up with their weapons and equipment, all wearing snow camouflage and carrying white packs. Even their machine pistols were covered in strips of white material. While Mundt checked them over, I buttoned up my own camouflage uniform, put on my steel helmet and pack, and picked up my MP38. As I was getting ready, a thought struck me. Why would anyone kill several of our senior SS officers? It was strange, a conspiracy, perhaps, it sounded as if it could be. I’d need to ask von Betternich, perhaps when I requested him to get someone else to escort him would be a good time.
“Ready, Sir.”
I nodded at Mundt. “Let’s go.”
I knew that this time it would be more difficult, the Soviets were fully alerted to the likelihood that we were planning our own counterattack on this front. I pondered the problem as we walked towards the lines. We headed to the north of where we’d crossed the lines before, at least a different starting point may help us a little.
“Mundt, we need to rethink this, I don’t want to walk straight into a Soviet trap.”
“Nor me, Sir. What did you have in mind?”
I told him I didn’t have a clue, and was rather hoping he would.
“Sorry, no, nothing. Whatever we do they’ll be waiting for a German raiding party to walk straight into their laps.”
He struck a chord in my mind and I had an idea. “Mundt, does anyone in of our platoon speak Russian?”
“Well, yes, Merkel’s mother was Russian, I believe he’s fluent.”
Schutze Merkel was brought to the front to speak to Mundt and me.
“Merkel, I want you to become an officer, a captain.”
“Sir?”
“In the Soviet army, Merkel. If we get near any Russian troops, start giving us orders in Russian, can you manage that?”
“Well, yes, I guess.”
Our winter uniforms were almost identical to the Soviets, they would certainly pass muster during the night. I had the men take a quick lesson in Russian.
“Da, Nyet, Comrade, that should be enough, pull your white camouflage hoods over your helmets, their silhouette would give us away. Da, Comrades?’’
There was a chorus of ‘Da’ and ‘Comrade’ from the men, one wag said ‘Nyet’. The plan was all I could think of on the spur of the moment, short of an artillery barrage or Stuka attack to divert the Soviets, so we pressed forward. One of the men had a captured Soviet PPSh, I directed him to give it to Merkel, at least we would have one soldier that may convince the Russians that he was authentic. After the first kilometre, we began to see the lights of enemy campfires about another kilometre further on. I directed the men to drop to a crawl and we edged cautiously forward. We were within half a kilometre of the Soviet perimeter when the challenge came.
“Halt!”
Merkel was in the lead, he walked slowly forward speaking in Russian. We’d come upon a hidden sentry, the man got up and went forward to speak to him. They exchanged a few words and the Russian looked at me and barked out a question.
“Da,” I replied.
It was the wrong answer, his expression changed to alarm and he started to swing up his rifle but Merkel swung his PPSh and hit him hard on the skull. Fortunately for us, he wasn’t wearing a steel helmet. The man hit the ground and Mundt ran up to him, his combat knife flashed and the man’s blood started to pour out onto the snow. They’d obviously done this many times before, they threw the body into the foxhole where he’d been hiding and scooped snow over the evidence.
“What did he say to me?” I asked Merkel.
“He said ‘Yob tvoyu mat’, Sir. He was swearing at you for getting him out of his warm foxhole, it means ‘Fuck your Mother’. You replied da, yes, which no Russian would ever do of course.”
I smiled inwardly. We moved carefully on and dropped to the ground when we heard voices. I saw a chink of light show as a canvas shelter flap moved to one side and the figure of a man climbed out, still talking to the occupants. Merkel whispered to me.
“Soviet Commissar, he’s doing the rounds of the troops, giving them pep talks.”
“He’ll do nicely, Merkel. Perhaps he can give a pep talk to our intelligence people. Challenge him, as if you were a sentry.”
Merkel called out to him and the Russian looked around. We were lying flat in the snow, he didn’t see us in our white uniforms, only Merkel standing there with his PPSh. His voice sounded irritated when he replied, but Merkel persisted, obviously demanding some kind of identification. He finally came over to us. Merkel simply put the barrel of the PPSh against his nose and told him to shut up. Simultaneously, the rest of us jumped up and Mundt put the blade of his combat knife against the man’s throat. It was enough, he froze without protest.
“Merkel, tell him he’s our prisoner, he won’t be harmed if he comes quietly but if he makes a sound Mundt will cut his throat.”
“I speak German, there is no need to translate.”
“Very well, you are a Commissar?”
“Yes, Commissar Captain Valentin Tereschova.”
I told him who I was. “Are we going to do this the hard way, Captain, or the easy way?”
“I have no wish to die, SS man, I will come quietly.”
We walked slowly from the area, I judged that if we crawled away it would look suspicious. When we got near the point where we had killed the sentry I ordered them to drop to a crawl. I went in the lead, the Russian behind me, then Mundt and the others. Merkel brought up the rear, as a Russian speaker he’d be able to answer any challenge that came from behind us. In the event, it came from in front of us.
“Halt!”
We all froze. To his credit, Merkel crawled forward and spoke in Russian, but I could tell from the cold voice that the man didn’t believe we were genuine. As the cloud drifted across the sky I was able to make them out, two men standing up, one armed with a rifle, the other with a PPSh, both pointed at us. I silently took off the safety of my machine pistol and felt the trigger. Merkel was arguing with them when I took up the final pressure and let loose a long burst that took the pair of them. Both men spun to the ground, I could feel my platoon’s incredulous eyes on me. A voice called out from the Russian lines, then a
burst of machine gun fire, tracer bullets, spat across the snow-covered ground about thirty metres from us. We had one option left.
“Run!” I shouted to them.
I dragged the Commissar to his feet and began to sprint for our lines, the others scrambled after me. The machine gunner shifted his aim and a hail of tracer flew over our heads, then we were over the lip of the low hill and racing through the snow towards the shelter of the trees. We had about a hundred metres to go when all hell broke loose, a flare burst in the sky, then another machine gun opened up and several sub-machine guns and rifles fired. All around us bullets buzzed and zinged past our heads, fortunately their aim was high and our camouflage made us difficult targets in the night.
“Down, get down, take cover!” I shouted. It was rotten luck, we’d encountered a large Soviet patrol, they were sheltering in a foxhole and we had run right past them without noticing. Now they were shooting at us and we were out in the open. I pressed the Commissar’s head into the snow, and then looked around my command.
“Is anyone hit?”
“We’re fine,” Mundt replied, “but we’re not going any further until those Russkis are dealt with.”
“Unless they deal with us first,” a sullen voice murmured.
“Shut up, Bauer,” Mundt told him.
“Mundt, keep an eye on the Russian prisoner, I’ll see if I can’t lob a grenade to take that machine gun out.”
“It’s too far, you won’t get them from this distance.”
“No, I’ll crawl nearer. Can you give me covering fire? I just need a minute to get myself ready.”
Voices were calling out from both the Russian and our own lines now. We’d stirred up our own mini battle, exchanges of gunfire all along the front. I unclipped a stick grenade from my webbing and pulled out the pin. When I let go it would explode in four seconds.
“Now, Mundt.”
They started to fire, I saw Mundt out of the corner of my eye as I ran. He had one hand holding down the prisoner, the other firing his MP38. Merkel still had the PPSh he’d borrowed, he was emptying the drum towards the enemy, the rest of them were firing furiously. I got halfway toward the observation post when one of the soldiers popped his head up, saw me and loosed off a burst. I dived to one side and rolled, but I was near enough, I threw the grenade as accurately as I could and pressed my head down into the snow. The soldier saw me throw the grenade and ducked down for cover, it exploded on the edge of their hole. Quickly, I unclipped a second grenade and crawled forward while they were still stunned from the first explosion. I could hear voices shouting in Russian, I pulled the pin and threw my second grenade neatly into their shelter. There was a scream of fear, then the explosion and they were silent. I ran back to my men.