by Eric Meyer
They laughed at his joke and I smiled dutifully.
“Tell me about the platoon, the regiment, what’s happening?”
“We’re billeted here in Kharkov for the time being, division are fortifying the defences, they’re expecting the Russkis to make a counterattack before too long. The half-track is up to scratch, weapons, ammunition and supplies all good. We’re short of men still, of course, but so is everyone else, we’ll just have to manage.”
It was good to hear them and to know that everything in my command was on the top line. They stayed for half an hour, before Nurse Thalberg came to my bedside to throw them out.
“It’s ok, we’re going. Hey, I wouldn’t want to leave here if I had a nurse like you looking after me. What’s your name, beautiful?”
She laughed. “Get out before I throw you out, you’re disturbing the patients.”
“Ok, ok,” Mundt agreed. “We’ll call in again, Sir. Try not to get in the way of any more Soviet bullets.”
“But it wasn’t a Soviet bullet, Scharfuhrer. It was one of ours, German.”
I knew that voice, surely not, not again. Von Betternich was standing nearby, leaning on his cane.
The men looked at him, but his hard gaze was enough to send them on their way, his companion was no less menacing. Heide took the hint too and went off to attend to her other patients. I felt a pang of disappointment as she left. The SD man was with a stranger, a man dressed in civilian clothes. Black leather coat, trilby hat and he carried a briefcase. I knew that my problems were about to get worse.
“This is my colleague,” he introduced the civilian, “Gerd Wiedel.”
I nodded at him, “How do you do, you are working with the Obersturmbannfuhrer?”
Von Betternich interrupted him. “Gerd was with me in the Criminal Police before the war, he was my sergeant, and a very effective policeman.”
“So you have joined the Sicherheitsdienst?” I asked Wiedel.
“I am with the Gestapo, Untersturmfuhrer. The Reichsfuhrer grows concerned at this criminal behaviour, officers being shot at by our own people. He has insisted that we put a stop to it before it totally undermines the morale of our fighting men on the Eastern Front.”
So he was with the Gestapo, as I’d suspected. “It was a German bullet?”
Von Betternich nodded. “Yes, it was. We have taken charge of the bullet extracted from your head, it appears to be identical to the others that were used to kill those officers. You are lucky to be alive, Hoffman, I gather you leaned down at the critical moment, otherwise it would have hit you in the area of the heart. As it is, it almost killed you.”
I recalled the moment of the shooting, when I had leaned down for something, I couldn’t remember what it was.
“Why would they target me, I’m the most junior officer in the regiment, almost the whole of the Das Reich Division?”
“Because you were investigating the shootings, Hoffman. Obviously they thought you were getting close to them,” Wiedel said.
“That’s nonsense, Herr Wiedel.”
“Kriminalkommissar Wiedel,” he corrected. I knew it was the Gestapo rank equivalent of an SS Obersturmfuhrer.
“It is certainly not nonsense, Hoffman,” von Betternich interrupted, “but it is something we can use to our advantage.”
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“If they were trying to kill you, they will try again and we’ll keep a watch on you, see who makes the attempt.”
I had to point out the flaw in his plan. “What if they manage to kill me before you get to them?”
Von Betternich raised his eyebrows. “But Hoffman, this is wartime. We all have to take our chances, don’t we?”
I didn’t feel that being shot at by your own people was a reasonable risk to ask a soldier to take, but arguing with the SD and the Gestapo was not likely to change anything.
“What do I do now?”
“First of all you need to recover your strength, my boy, then go about your duties as normal,” von Betternich replied cheerfully. “We have some resources in the Deutschland Regiment, they’ll keep an eye on things and report back to me if anything looks suspicious.”
“Resources, Sir?”
He smiled. “Nothing for you to worry yourself about, Hoffman. You’d be surprised at the number of people that report back to Prinz Albrecht Strasse.”
Of course, RSHA Headquarters where both the SD and Gestapo were established. As was Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler.
They left me after another few minutes, promising to return in the next couple of days. Nurse Heide Thalberg returned and bustled around for a few moments, checking my dressing and making sure my bedclothes were tucked in properly. Was it my imagination, or was she deliberately spending a little more time with me than with the others?
“You’re doing a marvellous job, Heide. I’m really grateful.”
She looked sharply at my use of her first name. Then she nodded. “You’re more than welcome, it’s no trouble.”
I swallowed my nervousness and blurted it straight out. “Could I thank you in a better way, perhaps you’d have dinner with me when I’m discharged?”
She looked at me coolly, of course she would get lots of invitations like that.
“What were you thinking of, an SS field canteen?”
I nearly choked. “No, no, definitely not, there must be a restaurant around...”
Then I saw her smiling, that wonderful smile again. “I see, you were joking. There must be at least one good restaurant around here, I’ll find out where it is and book us a table, is that a deal?”
I could see she was considering it. Finally, she said, “I’ll think about it. I am very busy at the hospital, we’ve got casualties coming in all the time. But yes, if I can get away for a couple of hours, I’ll probably accept, thank you.”
She was going to say yes, I felt on top of the world. As she bent down to re-dress my head wound, I brushed her cheek with my lips and said, “Thank you, Heide. I’m feeling better already.”
She coloured red a little, but didn’t seem unduly worried, she didn’t slap me or call a guard. Excellent, it was worth getting wounded to find a girl like this to take out to dinner. Well, probably, she’d said. I would work with that. Mundt came in the following morning with Merkel, the others were preparing our equipment for the next phase of the operation. But it seemed as if our assault on Kursk may have to be postponed, the Soviets were closing in around Kharkov and before we went back on the attack we had to work to defend what we had already taken. They said there was another matter of a huge shortage of Panzers, they were waiting for hundreds of new Tigers to arrive from Germany. I had another mission for them and I whispered the details when I was sure that Nurse Thalberg wasn’t around.
Von Betternich came to see me on the third day, once more with the Gestapo Kriminalkommissar at his side.
“We are making progress, Hoffman, we think that we may have identified at least one of the conspirators.”
“Really, who is that?”
Wiedel smiled. “We have arrested Sturmbannfuhrer Muller, under a protective custody order.”
I said nothing, it was bad news for Muller. The real power of the Gestapo was called ‘Schutzhaft’, the power to imprison people without judicial proceedings on the theory of ‘protective custody’. This power was based upon the law, which in 1933 suspended the clauses of the Weimar Constitution that until then had guaranteed civil liberties to the German people. We all understood Schutzhaft and did our best to pretend that it didn’t exist, or if it did, that it wouldn’t affect people like us.
“So who is running the regiment?”
“Ah, that’s the clever thing,” Wiedel replied. “I applied for, and was granted, dispensation for Muller to continue as acting CO for the time being. They’ve lost one CO, it would not be good for morale to lose another so quickly.”
“It simply means,” von Betternich continued, “that Muller’s freedom of action is somewhat constr
ained. If he’s innocent, it will of course be proved in the course of my investigation.”
I ignored that, we both knew that Schutzhaft was the mark of guilt for any German citizen who fell foul of it. Muller’s career was in ruins and his future freedom in considerable doubt.
“As a matter of fact, he’s coming in to see you later, Hoffman.”
How on earth did they know that, I wondered? But then again, what didn’t they know? Except for the identity of the shooter, of course.”
“Be careful what you say to him,” Wiedel said, “he is under suspicion and he may lead us to the other guilty party, or parties.”
“He may be innocent, Sir,” I replied.
He smiled coldly. “Naturally, Hoffman, there is always that possibility. In the meantime, do not give him the impression that it was anything other than a Russian sniper that hit you, is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. We will see you when you report back for duty tomorrow.”
That was news to me, I had hoped it would be tomorrow, but obviously the SD and Gestapo were privy to more exact information than mere mortals. The two men left and I spent the morning longing to see the beautiful apparition of Nurse Thalberg appear beside my bed, but it seemed that she was off duty. Her replacement was a burly woman from Bavaria with all the personality of a suet pudding, but rather less beauty than the popular German recipe. She nearly ripped my head off looking at my wound and applying a clean dressing, bellowing at me to make sure that I had regular bowel movements so that the whole of Kharkov could hear. In the afternoon, Muller came to see me. He was a wreck, a shocking sight, his strength and optimism, the burning drive and ambition that had pushed the Deutschland Regiment into the recent counterattack was completely absent. Instead he was faltering and unsure of himself.
“Hoffman, it’s good to see you’re looking better.”
“Yes, Sir, thank you for coming to see me. How are things at the regiment?”
“We’re gearing up to repel a Soviet counterattack on Kharkov, no doubt you’ve heard?”
“Yes, Sir, I have.”
“Have you also heard about my problems?”
“Problems? No, Sir,” I lied.
“I’m under a Gestapo protective custody order. Still in command of Deutschland Regiment, but for some reason the fucking Gestapo have got their claws into me. What happened to you, was it the same sniper, one of ours?”
“I don’t think so, Sir, there were Soviet snipers in the city. It was just a case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not one of our people.”
“Good, that’s good.”
We chatted for five minutes or so about aimless things to do with the regiment, then he abruptly left. One thing I knew for sure, Muller was nothing to do with the shooter. It was absurd and made no sense to even accuse him. At the end of the afternoon Heide Thalberg came back on duty. I had found out her shift hours from a medical clerk and knew her dinner break was at ten o’clock that evening. At nine o’clock I slipped out of bed, washed, shaved, and put on my best field grey uniform that Mundt had brought in for me. Then I went back to the ward and got into my bed, pulling the covers over to hide my clothes. Just before ten, Heide walked through the ward checking on the patients and came to my bed.
“How are you, Untersturmfuhrer?”
“I am well, thank you, Heide. Are you going for something to eat?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised, “why do you ask?”
I swept the covers aside and got out of bed, resplendent in full uniform and gleaming jackboots. Her eyes goggled.
“Because I’m taking you to dinner, Fraulein.”
She was laughing now. “But they won’t let you into the staff canteen.”
“Which is why I have a table booked at a local restaurant.”
I had mounted a devastating surprise attack and she had no choice but to capitulate. She tried the usual female excuses, ‘I’ve nothing to wear’ and so on, but I brushed them aside, and following Mundt’s detailed directions led her to the restaurant. As it was run by a Ukrainian who hated the Russians, the Scharfuhrer assured us we were unlikely to be poisoned. When we went into the building, our table was ready for us with candles lit and a bottle of champagne waiting in an ice bucket. Her eyes were shining. “Jurgen, this is wonderful, how did you manage it?”
I had to admit to her that I’d got my sergeant to fix it up, but she was still impressed. Most of the tables were full with SS officers, some of them with female companions. Not all of them looked totally respectable. I hoped she wouldn’t notice, but it was a forlorn hope, she knew instantly.
“I hope they don’t think that I’m one of those women, those, harlots,” she said.
“Of course not, especially in your nurse’s uniform. Besides, some of these women are undoubtedly with our army, clerks, nurses like yourself, some SS Helferin.”
She calmed down. “Very well, then. I am impressed, the officers here all look like important people.”
I smiled. “Probably not, don’t let the uniforms fool you, they’re probably clerks mostly, quartermasters and administrators. Most of the fighting soldiers will be with their units.”
I noticed a chubby Hauptsturmfuhrer at a nearby table look at me sharply, but my head covered in a huge bandage, and my nurse companion, made it clear that I was a fighting soldier. His immaculate uniform made it eloquently clear that he was not.
We ordered the food, a Ukrainian veal speciality rather like our Wiener Schnitzel.
“Heide, tell me about yourself, I’m fascinated.”
“You mean what’s a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?” she smiled.
“Something like that, but how did you get here, were you always a nurse?”
“Not at all. I’m not really a nurse, just an auxiliary helper. No, I was at university, training to be a teacher but I thought that our fighting men needed me more, so here I am.”
“What is your home town?”
“I was born in Dusseldorf, but eight years ago we were forced to move to Bremen.”
“Really, why were you forced to move, that sounds very dramatic?”
She looked cautiously around the restaurant. “My father is a communist, he was getting a lot of trouble from the locals.”
I thought about the Nazis’ persecution of the communists. Along with the Jews, they regarded them as their mortal enemies.
“It must have been difficult, the state gives communists a hard time.”
“Yes, it was hard, he was beaten up, thrown in the cells a couple of times. Finally he was threatened with a Schutzhaft, you know what that is?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, we moved on to Bremen and he found work there in a shipyard. Of course, he’d left the communist party by then, or at least it had been made illegal and so we were able to live our lives as ordinary citizens.”
“It must have been bad for you.”
“Not really, we coped, somehow. It wasn’t as bad as the disgusting treatment given out to the Jews. That was really terrible.”
Her voice had risen slightly, it was obviously something on which she had passionate views.
“Heide, please don’t think me rude, but this restaurant is reserved for SS officers and high ranking Nazi party members. It would be as well to not discuss certain subjects.”
She looked around angrily, some diners glanced at her with puzzled expressions. She opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, then relaxed and smiled that wonderful smile. “You’re right, it’s the wrong place and the wrong time.”
The food arrived just in time, a wonderful meal rich with local spices and flavours. Afterwards we had apple pie with cream, real cream, and coffee, real coffee too. I ordered a brandy and cigar to finish, but she declined both. “I don’t smoke and I’m going back on duty, Jurgen, so I can’t drink.”
Afterwards I took her back to the hospital and she allowed me to give her a long, passionate kiss of f
arewell. Then it was back to business.
“You get those clothes off and back into bed, Untersturmfuhrer, or I’ll call the ward sister.”
“Jawohl, Fraulein Helferin. Sofort!”
I folded my uniform neatly, put my nightshirt back on and got into bed. I lay there for a long time, enjoying the glow of recalling the evening with her, hoping that she would come into the ward before I dropped off to sleep, but she’d been assigned elsewhere and I was out of luck. Nurse Suet Pudding came in and chided me for not being asleep, how could I ever recover if I didn’t get my sleep and so on? The following morning there was still no sign of Heide. The doctor called round and said I could be discharged once my dressing was removed. Two hours later I reported back to SS Deutschland Regiment. Muller had just called an officers’ briefing and I went straight into the room of the old school that he was using as a headquarters.
“The Soviets are trying to retake Kharkov,” he announced without any introduction. “Our job, gentlemen, is to stop them!”
He unrolled a large chart of the area and we immediately saw the problem. The eastern, northern and southern edges of the Kharkov district were surrounded by arrows, that indicated the Soviet line of advance.
“I want our regiment deployed before first light tomorrow, that’s when we expect the first of the new Soviet attacks. If they get through, it means that any hope we have of retaking Kursk is going to be pushed back a long time.”
He went on giving orders and directions, our unit was pulling out at two am. I left the briefing and went to check on my platoon. The moment they saw me, my men let out a ragged cheer and I had to endure several minutes of their obscene jokes about my dinner with Heide. Then I called for quiet.
“Listen, you’ve heard about tomorrow morning?”
“We have, Untersturmfuhrer, the unit is all ready to go. The half-track is fuelled up, ammunition and supplies all set,” Mundt said.
“Thank you, Scharfuhrer. I’m going back to the hospital. I want to see Heide before we go.”
“Is that wise, Sir? I mean, just hours before we kick off the offensive, the Feldgendarmerie would have a field day if they caught you.”