by Pirate Irwin
“So are you going to accompany me to the plane and kiss me goodbye?” Sebastian commented drily.
“No, von Schlabrendorff will go with you, and let’s hope that the next time we attempt to finish this madness, clever Hans won’t be in the vicinity. Bloody idiot!”
“Amen to that!” said Sebastian, before shaking von Tresckow’s hand and returning to his quarters to pick up his kit and await the prince of darkness von Schlabrendorff.
“You’re a very lucky man, Murat. To be granted access to the Führer’s plane is a great honour and a rare one, but von Kluge was adamant you had to leave as soon as possible and his entourage acquiesced,” muttered von Schlabrendorff, who had as good as gold turned up promptly and had a car waiting to take Sebastian to the airfield.
Sebastian shrugged sulkily and threw his kitbag over his shoulder, striding to the tent exit and the car. They drove in silence to the airfield for while Sebastian adored von Tresckow for his humanity and kindliness he was not of the same opinion of his companion, who he considered cold and aloof. As they neared the plane, his unease over flying out on an aircraft which contained the most hated man in the world and his nearest associates grew and he yearned to be hoisted off and put on a flight direct to Berlin. But he realized that there was no chance of that happening and it only set him off thinking of what lay ahead either at Hitler’s Wolf’s Lair or when and if he was sent onto Berlin, and none of it could be good. The car pulled up alongside the plane, which was surrounded by SS guards fingering their machine guns nervously and a glum-looking officer from this group strode over to the vehicle staring at both Sebastian and von Schlabrendorff. They saluted each other while von Schlabrendorff handed over the papers for Sebastian, which the officer glanced at before allowing Sebastian out of the car and onto the plane. However, just as he was stepping down onto the muddy patch of ground, which surrounded the plane, he felt von Schlabrendorff tap his arm. He turned and was amazed to see he was smiling and holding a rectangular package.
“A leaving gift from myself and Henning. I think you have already tasted some of it and we noticed you liked it! I would suggest you not open it on the plane as the Führer is renowned for not abiding alcohol consumption and the last thing you need to do is to draw undue attention to yourself,” he grinned, though Sebastian noticed his eyes did not reflect the warmth of the smile. He was taken aback by the offering but thought it typical of von Tresckow to make such a gesture, though for von Schlabrendorff it was most unusual. He looked quizzically at his saturnine escort and took the package off him before saluting him and proceeding through the circle of SS guards, who would soon join him on board Hitler’s plane. Who would believe his story that he an Englishman was about to accompany their nemesis to his secret headquarters in East Prussia, he thought, then again it wasn’t one he planned on relating to anyone back home if he ever got back that is. He may regard it as a Boys Own story but it would not be looked on as that by his compatriots, and instead of wonderment and gasps of admiration from girls he would only have the noose awaiting him and the disgrace of being a traitor.
The SS officer who had looked at his papers ushered him onto the plane and showed him to the rear of the fuselage where he was pointed out his seat which was one of two either side of the aisle. He slipped into it while one of the SS guards took his place beside him, a gruff-looking fellow who bore a scar down the right side of his face and didn’t appear to be the talkative type. He sat in silence, waiting for the great leader to arrive with his entourage, and wondered how he would be received or if he would even get a sight of him, having briefly glimpsed him as he was whisked past the frustrated assassination squad on his way to lunch with Clever Hans. He had to wait 30 minutes at least before they arrived, von Kluge faithful as a good puppy dog to the end, accompanying him to the plane. He espied him out of the window as the “great man” stepped down from the car dressed in his trademark leather coat, brown cap and wondered how insignificant he looked with the pale pinched features, narrow face and ridiculous moustache perched on top of his mouth. He saluted von Kluge and von Tresckow, who Sebastian noticed glanced up at the plane as if he was searching to see whether he was already on board but he did not wave in case of attracting undue attention. The SS officer attending to the security arrangements lined his men up as a guard of honour while he raced ahead and mounted into the aircraft before drawing a curtain across the fuselage and then left the plane.
Hitler came up the steps and that was the last Sebastian saw of him as he took his place at the front of the aircraft along with his various adjutants from the different armed services as well as his lackey of a chief of staff of the Armed Forces Wilhelm Keitel, known, as von Tresckow had gleefully related to him, as “Lakaitel” or a nodding donkey. He settled back in his seat and sat there twiddling his fingers, nervously anticipating the take-off which was something he found difficult to get used to and with the added danger of Soviet anti-aircraft fire to battle through it would be one hell of a ride even without his eminent fellow passengers. The guard beside him opened up a package and drew out some garlic sausage, which stank out their part of the compartment. He sliced it up into several large slices, releasing more garlic fumes and gulped down one of the portions. He turned to Sebastian and grinned at him, proffering one of the slices, which he accepted and thanked him for as he had barely eaten in the last 24 hours. The plane roared down the runway and rose into the air, though Sebastian was slightly unsettled by the manner in which the huge guard grabbed hold of his hand and yelled above the deafening noise of the engines that he was scared of flying and made a joke about how fortunately he wasn’t in the Luftwaffe, which was accompanied by a torrent of garlic breath nearly provoking Sebastian into throwing up. The plane stabilized, having achieved its cruising altitude and after sharing several moments of conversation with his neighbour, Private Bruno Rieger, he finally relaxed and soon enough dozed off.
The next thing he knew he was being shaken awake roughly and awoke to find Rieger and the officer telling him he was under arrest for espionage. He tried to rise but was shoved back into his seat by Rieger who laughed loudly. “Don’t worry you fool, it was only a joke. We are coming into land and thought you should view the dramatic scenery of our great redoubt,” the officer said. Sebastian held himself back from hitting the simple brute beside him and smiled thinly and stared out the window eyeing the dramatic descent into Rastenburg as they flew over dense forest which made one think that they were nearer crashing than coming into land. Suddenly there was a break in the green pine trees below him and they came upon a huge clearing and within seconds they were on the ground, much to his relief, though he couldn’t wait to get away from the current company and return to Berlin, although he thought it unlikely he would be able to leave that day as evening was drawing in and night flights were considered even riskier than those during the day. Rieger told him he would have to wait until the leaders had left the plane and he would then be taken to the guest quarters where he would be informed when his flight would be departing the next day. He was driven through several checkpoints in an open car allowing him to smell the sweet odour of the pine, which contrasted with the garlic emanating from himself and Rieger. Eventually they drove into a built-up settlement made up of one-storey housing constructed in dark wood and one would have thought camouflaged from any planes flying overhead looking for it. He was shown into one of the nondescript bungalows, which was guarded by two sentries while all around he saw a huge armed presence but as to where Hitler was, it was anyone’s guess. Rieger passed his papers to one of the guards who opened the door into a narrow dimly light hallway. He was accompanied by the faithful bloodhound Rieger down a passageway and into his room which was sparsely furnished with just a bunk bed, a wooden chair and a wooden table with one barefaced bulb hanging loosely from the ceiling and a blackout curtain across the window – to Sebastian there appeared little difference from the POW camp apart from the impending peace and quiet once Rieger had left. Rieger took
his leave after informing Sebastian that there was a dining hall for guests down at the end of the passageway and dinner would be served at eight o’clock. Once he had left, Sebastian removed his lieutenant’s jacket and slung it over the chair and went wandering around the building looking for a bathroom as he had not washed properly for several days and wanted to soak in a bath. He was guided on his way by an orderly and once in the bath lay for an hour in the hot tub, dozing off intermittently as he began to wear off the weariness built up over the past few months of constant action and arguments with von Kluge as well as the extra burdens of being part of the resistance cell and his continual concern over being discovered. On returning to his Spartan accommodation, he put on his uniform and with dinner still some time off he decided to open the package presented to him by his co-conspirators. He ripped away at the brown paper and lifted the flap of the box that contained the treasured cognac and lifted the bottle out, but gasped as he regarded the wires wrapped round the top of it which led down one side of the container. He gingerly put it onto the side table beside his bed nervous that the slightest tremble would set off an explosion and then he collapsed onto the floor in shock that he had been used as a suicide assassin by people he considered his allies and one of them a friend. He lifted himself up and surveyed the deadly bottle, wondering how he could disable the device. How to get rid of the evidence was another matter. There was little good news for him, save that he noticed the reason he and the others on the plane had not been blown to kingdom come was that the wires had severed because some of the liquid had seeped out and loosened them.
Inefficient bastards, he reflected, you can’t even get a simple thing right, how can you expect to get rid of him if you can’t pull such an easy task as that off with a guinea pig like me to carry it. It all made sense to him now why he had been placed on that plane and not sent directly to Berlin as he had wished. It was nothing to do with von Kluge wishing to get rid of him as quickly as possible but the two Machiavellis seeing the perfect opportunity to achieve their aim of killing Hitler. They had the perfect cover story as well, as the bomb was carried on board by an Englishman in German uniform so they would remain above suspicion. How neat, reflected Sebastian bitterly – what a patsy I am thinking they played a cleaner game to the regime they claimed to hate. However at least there was no chance of it exploding and he could rip off the wires and the explosive and place it in the drawer in his bedside table before dropping it into the bushes when he left in the morning.
He didn’t sleep a wink that night, tossing and turning and worrying whether he would be searched on leaving the guesthouse the next day. He eventually gave up on sleeping and stumbled down the corridor to the dining hall to have an early breakfast before returning to his room to gather his things and await the call to go to the airfield. To his astonishment, he found von Schlabrendorff sitting by the table cross-legged smoking a cigarette. The saturnine one smiled at Sebastian, though to his annoyance it wasn’t a particularly apologetic one and Sebastian decided to ignore him and get on with his packing. Von Schlabrendorff remained silent, puffing on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the floor, grinding the dead tobacco into the wooden floorboards. Sebastian sighed and carried on rearranging his few possessions in the bag, dearly hoping Rieger would be along in a minute to call him to the car. Finally his patience snapped. He wheeled round on von Schlabrendorff and flung the broken wires at him. “I suppose this is what you came for,” he hissed, and raised the bottle above his head as if he was going to bring it down onto the German’s head. Von Schlabrendorff waved his hands dismissively and picked up the wires stuffing them into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I would advise you to be very prudent with what you say while we are still here, Murat,” von Schlabrendorff whispered.
Sebastian charged across the room and lifted him out of the chair and slammed him against the wall. “Ah fuck you, von Schlabrendorff! You and your amateur cohorts thought it was a wonderful little scheme. Probably knowing your antipathy to me it was your idea, to lay all the blame on British intelligence by having me carry the bomb that would kill Hitler. How could you set me up like that? You’re as twisted as the men you’re trying to get rid of. You make me sick!” Von Schlabrendorff shrugged him aside, smoothed down his crumpled jacket, and bent down to pick up the wires, which had fallen out of his pocket. “You really don’t understand anything, do you, you naïve fool,” he sneered derisively at Sebastian. “Do you think that your life is worth anything when we have a golden chance to wipe out the Führer? You, like myself, Henning and all the others are mere pawns in the game. The future of a country and in fact several others are greater than the life of one man and a traitor to boot,” he snarled. Sebastian had had enough of this and hurled himself at him, battering him with his fists to his stomach and face, breaking his glasses, but von Schlabrendorff put up no resistance and the one-sided pummelling was halted when someone hammered on the door. Sebastian pulled himself off von Schlabrendorff leaving his victim on the ground, who wiped the blood seeping from his top lip and nose before getting up. Rieger entered without being given permission and surveyed the scene with some relish as he had always thought the weakness in the regime lay with the army officer corps and the sight of the fight that had gone on in the room served only to reinforce his prejudices. He grinned at both of the dishevelled officers before him and told them that they could carry on their duel off the grounds and in the plane that was to take them both to Berlin.
They said very little on the flight to Berlin, Sebastian felt betrayed and his initial dislike of von Schlabrendorff had only been reinforced by the charade he had been put through, while his German fellow officer knew it was pointless to talk sense to him because he just couldn’t see the bigger picture and his own feelings that Murat was just out to keep himself alive no matter which side he was on had been confirmed. The trouble, mused von Schlabrendorff, with von Tresckow was that he was too trusting of anyone who even said a word against the Nazis and this Englishman was just the latest case as it had been with von Kluge who played both sides of the coin just to keep everybody happy. Sebastian realized he was in a dreadful fix because he had no way to get out, he had pinned himself to the resistance mast and would be delivered up as a sacrifice should he show any sign of relaying information to the authorities and would probably not be believed, given he was a member of one of the enemy states. He could see himself approaching that spiral staircase again as he stared into the abyss both morally and physically as he saw no escape from the clutches of either side of the battle for supremacy in Germany, neither of whom were offering him much hope of surviving the war.
Halfway through the seemingly interminable flight, von Schlabrendorff decided he would at least offer an olive branch before they parted at Tempelhof Airport. He went and sat beside Sebastian and offered him a cigarette, which he took reluctantly. “You know, Murat, war has a dehumanising effect on everyone, even the kindest of souls, and when the goals become ever larger and more daring then all thoughts of the value of human life are dispensed with and that is why you became the latest victim of such a process. It was not because of a personal dislike of you, it was simply an opportunity presented itself and we made sure we took advantage of it. Look on the bright side, you are obviously blessed by somebody up above!” Sebastian refused to answer to this softening in tone of von Schlabrendorff’s, believing it just to be garbage and stared straight ahead, blowing smoke rings as if he hadn’t a care in the world. There was one truism and that was yet again he had survived but it hardly improved his humour as surely at some point his luck would run out and when it came it would not be a pretty sight, of that he was sure. Von Schlabrendorff carried on regardless chatting about different matters such as hunting wild boar, great composers and writers of the different warring nations and who was the greatest but Sebastian steadfastly refused to break his silence, though he acknowledged that he would eventually concede and continue his work for the resistance because only thro
ugh that could he see some way of salving his conscience.
Sebastian knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped from the taxi and walked up the path to von Preetz’s residence. His sixth sense had the hairs standing up on the back of his neck and it was with some trepidation that he pressed the doorbell and waited for the butler to open the door. The door did indeed swing open but of its own accord and Sebastian stepped into a scene of chaos. There was smashed furniture and paperwork littering the floor of the hall and down the passageway that led to the Baron’s study, even more alarming there was dried blood on the carpet. He pushed open the door to the study and the scene was replicated but several times over with the Baron’s superb book collection thrown on the floor with its pages torn and lying one on top of each other as if someone had wanted to repeat the ritual burning of the books that Goebbels had initiated before the war in one of his rants against the insidiousness of the Jews and their influence on the arts, though he couldn’t bring himself to mention that word. All the lamps in the once graceful but now shambolic room were on their sides, some smashed to pieces while others had their lampshades torn. His desk had been upturned as if someone had taken shelter behind it from whatever forces had invaded the peace and quiet of this sanctuary where the introverted but brilliant diplomat had retired to when he had enough of Victoria’s mindless propaganda or to consult with his fellow resistance members. Sebastian peered behind the desk fearing that he would find the Baron lying there but to his relief that was not the case. However, there was not the slightest indication of anyone remaining in the house, no servants or family members, that was for sure. He started, though, when he heard what he took to be a foot treading on a loose floorboard above him in what was the Baron’s bedroom. He moved gingerly through the study and then to the main staircase before walking up, taking each of the marble steps carefully, peering round the bend in the stairs for any sign of danger before continuing, having satisfied himself there was none. All the paintings that adorned the staircase, in contrast to what lay below, hadn’t been touched while the blue carpet, which covered the stairs, bore no signs of the blood he had seen in the bottom passageway. Once he had got to the top, he inched along the corridor with his back to the wall on the side of the Baron’s bedroom, reasoning if there was somebody meaning him harm he would present less of a target if he was on the same side. There was definitely somebody up there because he could hear feet shuffling around the bedroom. All the other doors were shut but the Baron’s one was slightly ajar and he tried to ascertain who it was inside the room by looking through the crack in the door, but to no avail, as whoever it was, was not in view. Thus he unholstered his pistol and steadied himself before thrusting the door back and running into the bedroom before stopping in his tracks. There was more than one person in the largish room, two plainclothes thugs and the Baron, who was seated in the middle of the room and was not looking too good. He bore bruising on his face, blood trickled from his nose and his lips were a purple mess while his eyes were still untouched. One of the goons turned around at Sebastian’s unexpected entrance and glared at him, more in annoyance at having his pleasurable afternoon’s work interrupted, just as he was about to reach an orgasm in his brutal assault on this wanker of a baron’s facial features which would never bear that haughty self-satisfied air again even were he to come out alive of this difficult spot he had got himself into. “What the fuck do you want!” snarled chief goon while junior moved menacingly round the room towards Sebastian. Sebastian eyed them both with distaste, sizing them up and concluding that like the thugs in Cottbus they weren’t up to much; if one wielded enough authority they would wilt and retreat like the bullies they were. Sebastian laughed derisively at goon senior, which provoked him into a look of such vitriol that he thought maybe it wasn’t such a good tactic. “Well, I am Baron von Preetz’s houseguest and surrogate son, if you really wish to know. Lieutenant Rupert Murat, late of Field Marshal von Kluge’s general staff in Army Group Centre, and just flown in from the Führer’s headquarters in Rastenburg,” he replied evenly but made no bones about emphasising the last bit of his sentence. It had the momentary desired effect of dazing the bullies in front of him, whom he surmised must be a couple of the thick bloodhounds from the Gestapo and the very mention of Rastenburg would be like an angel visiting from heaven, such was their reverence for anything to do with their dear demented leader. Goon senior looked at junior for how next to proceed but received little in the way of a helpful response. The Baron meantime flashed his eyes at Sebastian, alerting him to the danger of challenging the authority of the cheaply suited duo in front of him. For while they as individuals did not add up to much, the body they represented with such sadistic fervour certainly did and many a person was known to have wilted before their fists because of daring to stand up to their authority. Goon senior put one of his bloodied fists through his greasy hair leaving a sinister red mark on his forehead and whistled through his teeth before finally addressing Sebastian. “Well, Lieutenant, we have a situation here which you would be better off not getting involved in unless you already know the details of it,” he smiled in a distinctly unfriendly way at Sebastian. “Which is, Herr Dumpkoff?” Sebastian asked sarcastically, though the usage of Dumpkoff made the Baron groan at his English friend. Goon senior bristled at the term and started whacking the rubber sap in his fat fist into the palm of his other hand in menacing fashion which provoked Sebastian into grinning patronizingly at him. “So you’re going to follow up a physical assault on a man who is not only the scion of one of Germany’s most famous families but also a front rank diplomat and aide to Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop, himself, with handing out a beating to a frontline officer who has seen men shed their blood so you thugs can sleep easier in your beds. I don’t think so,” and he laughed again.