The Twisted Patriot

by Pirate Irwin

Von Helldorf slept soundly, while Sebastian’s stomach churned as the car sped through the darkening streets of Berlin, passing the mass of Berliners walking back home or stopping off to fill their bellies at streetside cafés, laughing, couples necking or just bantering amongst each other.

  Sebastian desperately searched, as the car slowed down to the traffic lights, for a familiar face whom he could yell out to, but in the mass of bodies, half in some coloured uniform or in grey suits, it was hard to distinguish individual faces. “Ein Führer, ein Volk” had rarely seemed so appropriate to him where all individuality looked to have been swept up into a morass of national socialist fervour.

  What unnerved Sebastian more was that the car was certainly not on its way to the official Berlin police headquarters and he began to revert back to his earlier belief that he was to be gotten rid of by chauffeur and police chief in an unfortunate accident.

  “Relax, Stuart. There’s nothing to be concerned about!” murmured von Helldorf from under his cap.

  “Here, have another cigarette, we’ll be at our destination soon enough,” and with that he returned to his dreamland.

  Sebastian fumbled for the cigarette case in the Count’s uniform’s pocket, removed a cigarette, lit it and drew on it deeply, blowing out the smoke from nostrils and mouth, reflecting on what force from above had ordered his removal because it was clear that the slumbering police chief, Count and all, had not been acting on his own initiative.

  The chauffeur remained mute throughout the drive, not even sliding back the glass panel separating him from his master and invited guest for instructions.

  Sebastian was awoken from his reverie as he suddenly realized that the route they were now on looked the same as he used to take out to Dahlem to see Eric, but he didn’t see the point of being escorted out there as he had already said his farewells to the von Preetzs – so he surmised he must be being taken to another of the Nazi bigwigs who lived out there.

  However, it was with some relief that the car drew up outside the von Preetz household and von Helldorf on cue pushed back his cap, buttoned up the top two buttons of his uniform, yawned and smiled at Sebastian almost in celebration at having wrung the most tension out of the situation as he could.

  “See, Stuart, you shouldn’t have been so suspicious. I told you to relax!” slapped Sebastian’s thigh and laughed heartily.

  “You heartless bastard!” yelled Sebastian, before he was cut off with a stinging slap on the face.

  “I would advise you, young man, to restrain your anger and insults, because you are still in German territory and a guest of ours and I do not appreciate foul-mouthed abuse,” replied von Helldorf.

  The back door swung open while the chauffeur stood to attention and saluted and von Helldorf, having smoothed down his trousers and jacket after the journey, led the way up the garden path to von Preetz’s front door.

  The butler answered the door, took the Count’s cap and gloves and led them to the back of the house. He knocked on a thick, finely polished oak door, and was then ushered in to be confronted by Eric’s father and one other figure who was encased in shadow, standing with his back to them, hands folded behind his back.

  Von Preetz rose from behind his desk, in what Sebastian took to be his private study which was primarily made up of bookcases, though there was one wall covered in pictures and ancient maps, and walked over to greet them.

  He shook both their hands, warmly fixing their faces with a steady gaze, though Sebastian felt he looked tired and drawn which must have been a result of the wedding and all-night meetings with von Ribbentrop, though five minutes would have sufficed to have made him fall asleep with that dreary little man.

  “Drink, either of you?” he enquired as he made his way over to a heavily laden drinks trolley that sat adjacent to the still silent and shadowy figure by the window.

  Von Helldorf asked for a large Scotch while Sebastian, having relaxed a bit but still on edge at what this get together was all about, requested a vodka on the rocks.

  Von Preetz poured out the drinks, though his hand appeared to be a little unsteady and it had nothing to do with the amount of drink he had imbibed, but he still kept up an outwardly serene and smiling exterior as he returned to them and offered them a seat which were two softly cushioned large armchairs in a rather faded brown fabric.

  “Ah, Gerd, you really should get these covers changed, they must be centuries old and really brown is so not the fashion since Rohm and his cronies were eradicated,” laughed von Helldorf, making reference to Hitler’s former comrade-in-arms Ernst Rohm whose latent homosexuality and his rivalry with SS chief Heinrich Himmler had led to him and most of his acolytes being murdered in 1933 in what had become known as the “Night of the long knives”.

  “Oh, I will get round to it eventually but really I think there are other weightier matters to consider at the moment than traipsing off to a haberdasher’s!” replied the Baron.

  “Quite, quite, Gerd, and I think we should enlighten Stuart here as he did not take to our drive very well,” said von Helldorf, who smiled malevolently at Sebastian.

  “Well, what would you think if you were suddenly accosted by the chief of police and pushed into a car and . . .”

  “Now, now, Stuart, calm down and let us explain why you are here,” interjected the man by the window, who still stood with his back to the other three.

  “If I could be so bold, sir, it would ease my nerves somewhat if you could turn around so I could see who I am talking to,” replied Sebastian.

  With that the tall figure turned on his heel and walked into the light.

  He was an impressive figure with a striking face, blond hair lying rather untidily on his forehead, deep blue eyes; with one covered by a monocle, a crooked nose and a scar down the right side of his face which to Sebastian’s mind leant him an aura of coming straight out of the swashbuckling English novel the Prisoner of Zenda.

  However, his strong jaw and full lips face softened the image and when he smiled his eyes sparkled as well.

  He strode over towards Sebastian’s chair, gestured for him to stay seated, which was quite all right with him as it was pretty difficult to extricate oneself from the damn musty old thing, and leant down towards him.

  “Allow me to introduce myself Stuart, I am Count Fritz-Dietlhof von der Schulenburg,” he said and held out his hand, gripping Sebastian’s with such force that he thought he would be lucky not to break several bones in it.

  Sebastian reflected that while he cut an impressive figure, it was not because of the way he was dressed, which was a rumpled dark blue suit while his blue shirt collar showed signs of wear and tear and his striped tie had what looked like coffee stains on it – very much the odd one out in dress sense from the meticulously tidy images of von Helldorf and von Preetz.

  Von Helldorf had risen from his seat and the two of them embraced each other with genuine warmth, before the former walked over to the drinks trolley, refilled his glass and Sebastian’s, though he had asked for no such thing before returning to his seat and placing their drinks on a silver embossed table in between their respective armchairs.

  Von der Schulenburg, for his part, ambled back to the window but this time faced them while seating himself on a window seat which appropriately for his shabby attire had cushions that had more feathers outside of them than remained inside – more work for Victoria, thought Sebastian, if she only knew what housework and domestic chores were!

  “So, Baron, your wife is not joining us?” asked Sebastian.

  There was a sly chuckle from his right, leading Sebastian to frown at von Helldorf, who just winked back at him.

  “No, Sebastian, my wife as you refer to her, which is surely too formal for the relations you have enjoyed with each other since your arrival here and of whose pleasures the smiling Count beside you has also availed, will not be joining us,” replied von Preetz.

  While Sebastian was shocked to learn that his betrayal was known by the Baron he w
as relieved at the neutral tone of his voice – no broken nose to be suffered this time round.

  “You knew all along?” queried Sebastian.

  The Baron smiled, leant back in his chair behind his huge mahogany desk, stared down at the papers littering it and then shot a glance at his English guest with not the slightest look of the humiliated and cuckolded husband.

  “When you have only loved one woman in your life and she is dead, there is some comfort in having a younger wife and there are also the evident detractions. I opted to take the chance and I wish you nor the Count any ill will. Victoria is a woman of insatiable appetite and it is something which I have not been able to fulfil for her.

  “She is also extremely curious and there are matters which we want to discuss with you tonight that we would prefer her not to be aware of and which you will understand why by the time you take your leave.”

  “And they are?” asked Sebastian somewhat impatiently, who having glanced up at the clock had seen it was edging towards nine o’clock and he didn’t want to miss out on the last drink at Kessler’s before calling it a night.

  “They are of a delicate nature and we must urge on you the ultimate discretion, even were you to have problems on your way out of Germany,” von Helldorf said.

  Sebastian dragged on his Turkish tobacco-filled cigarette, looked at all three of the men in the room and thought this could be interesting, as intrigue seemed to be as dense as the smoke clouds drifting up towards the ceiling.

  “We’ll let Fritz explain the situation,” said the Baron, nodding towards the window.

  Von der Schulenburg smiled and stood up with the languid air of a man accustomed to commanding the centre of attention and not just because of his extraordinary looks.

  “You know, Stuart, there are many of us in Germany who in contrast to the daily propaganda both here and in your country do not wish for war and are willing to do anything to avoid another clash between ourselves and England.

  “We three here are just a fraction of influential people still in the hierarchy – though I must admit I am barely, having been stood down from being Wolf’s deputy – no matter, the thing is, we can conjure up enough resources to stop this madness and this bunch of thugs from plunging us back into an inferno.

  “The Great War was a blot on humanity and a disaster for Germany and while I, unlike Wolf, was too young to fight in it, I know from him and others how base human beings become once they don a uniform and are given a gun.

  “This, however, is not the only danger facing our two nations and the rest of Europe, indeed one could say war would be a lesser evil and a smaller stain on us Germans than the policy being enacted because of a cell of xenophobic, paranoid and, one could say, downright lunatic leaders hatred of the Jews.

  “Versailles all right was a blot on international diplomacy and one can argue that taking back the Ruhr and wanting Danzig are justifiable, but to lay the blame on innocent people like the Jews for the wrongs of that treaty is just crazy and unjust . . .”

  “Well, why didn’t you do anything about it when the Nazi thugs were let loose during Kristallnacht, you were, after all, both the highest ranking policemen in Berlin . . . or were you less enlightened then?” asked Sebastian, who found much of von der Schulenburg’s speech convincing but had found the last part somewhat self-justifying.

  “Let me enlighten, as you would put it, Stuart on that point,” interjected von Helldorf, as he once again went towards what appeared to be his favoured destination in the room, the drinks trolley.

  “You don’t know what it is like to live permanently in a one party state and to have to serve them every day, being treated like lickspittle and having to forever watch your back just in case you let slip the wrong phrase to the wrong person.

  “I might be in your eyes a typical self-serving member of the Nazis who has been kept in service because of my aristocratic background, but you would be far from the truth if you believed that.

  “They carefully arranged for me to be away at the time of Kristallnacht, Fritz had already been dismissed, and it was only on my return to Berlin that I learnt all my men bar a few more independent minded fellows had obeyed orders given by Goebbels to stand down and not to interfere with the looting, murdering and destroying of Jewish houses and businesses.

  “I called in my senior officers and went from station to station to harangue every member of my force at their appalling behaviour and said if I had been in Berlin I would not have let such a thing happen . . .”

  “But you’re still in your position,” protested Sebastian.

  Von Helldorf laughed, though it carried little humour.

  “Yes, Stuart, I am still there but on probation and with the goons such as the Gestapo, the Sicherheitsdienst (SD) and the SS running around under the chicken farmer Himmler’s instructions and that queer Reinhard Heydrich dictating matters from his office I can say I am in charge but do not have power over the city’s law and order.”

  “Do you see many protests against the regime? No. Do you see any marches against the possibility of war or against the treatment of the Jews? No. So what civil disorder is there for me to crush? We are now no more than accessories to the brutal repression the Nazis hand out and when they have need of extra bodies to help out.

  “When I sign things it is usually to countermand a parking ticket for some ill-educated farmer’s son from Bavaria, who is now a puffed up official of the party. I am a cipher. Heil Hitler!!!” and again he laughed mirthlessly.

  Sebastian followed von Helldorf’s example and paid a visit to the drinks trolley, fixing himself a large vodka; he cut himself a slice of lime and retook his seat.

  Wow, he thought, what a hotbed of conspiratorial aristocrats we had here, no wonder Victoria’s presence was not welcome, as her loyalty to a former lover and her husband would not outweigh her fanatical devotion to the party.

  He looked at all three and wondered, are they just lost aristocrats living in their ivory towers, unwilling to accept that for all their nastiness Hitler and his cronies had the people behind them, or did they really have a larger circle who could successfully block the inexorable rush to war?

  Whatever, his estimation of von Helldorf had risen, though it was at basement level before so it could hardly have fallen any lower; he had taken to von der Schulenburg immediately with his crumpled clothes and idiosyncratic looks, while von Preetz was evidently a man of principle and not the slavish follower of the dullard Ribbentrop.

  Sebastian took a sip of his drink, allowed the sharp taste to hit the back of his throat, light another cigarette inhaled deeply and smoothed back his hair before putting the question which was hanging in the air.

  “So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  With the question proffered there was an almost palpable lifting of tension as with it Sebastian had given his acquiescence to their plot.

  It was von Preetz who took the baton up, having remained silent while his two co-conspirators had their say.

  He rose from behind the desk, shedding his pinstripe jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair, walked round to the front of it and leant back against the ledge legs outstretched.

  “Sebastian, what we would like you to do is to use your influence when you get back to England and ensure that people get to know that there is a body of people here who want this madness to stop and will do anything to halt it, but we can only do that if we receive some form of assurance from the government.”

  “Time is running out, as you well know I spend more time these days with the champagne salesman than I do with Victoria and I can assure you that Poland will be invaded unless your dog – Mr Chamberlain – picks the right bone,” smiled von Preetz.

  Sebastian laughed and thought they must be desperate if they are asking a callow youth like myself to help them out of a hole.

  “I see you find it amusing, Stuart,” observed von Helldorf.

  “Yes I do, Count, because with the greatest of respec
t, I think you will find my name does not open too many doors in Whitehall, let alone a pub door after closing time!” replied Sebastian.

  “Yes, but surely through your mother’s connections and her family there are people you could gain access to?” pleaded von Helldorf.

  “Yes, there is that side but also there is another way,” cut in von Preetz.

  “What is that, Baron?” asked Sebastian.

  “There are still people in the British Foreign Office who I had good relations with in my time at the embassy. I had to deal with them on many occasions not least when Ribbentrop and his prissy wife felt they had been snubbed,” replied the Baron. “If I can give you a few names then you can make the effort to at least see them on your return and state our case.”

  Sebastian raised his eyes to the ceiling and followed the trail of his smoke, imagining it to be one of those dogfights Goering had so impassionedly described only days ago and thought, what the hell have I got to lose, so long as this does not lead the British Government to believe I am a fifth columnist nor an acolyte of the British Fascist leader Oswald Mosley . . .

  “Listen, I am prepared to do anything to avoid war as I sure as hell am not too keen to dress up in uniform and fight . . . I’ve got more important things to be getting on with,” he replied, although his nonchalant tone fooled none of his audience.

  “Very well, Baron, give me the names and I will do my best to see them but I doubt this is going to be a successful venture . . . furthermore, how can I convey to you whether I have succeeded, because understandably I won’t be returning here to let you know personally!”

  “The names I will give you only verbally while to make contact with us you can go through a trusted friend of mine at the German embassy and he will pass on the information,” replied the Baron.

  “Fine, gentlemen, I will see what can be done but I must say that while you are all men of some standing and stature it would help your case immeasurably were you to have someone high up in the regime who you could use as a figurehead for your plans to prevent the conflict,” opined Sebastian.