by Pirate Irwin
They strode down the corridor, brushing past several other officers and soldiers going in the opposite direction, though where they were going and what they were doing wasn’t obvious to Sebastian. “So what’s so bloody important, Willy?” asked Sebastian irritably. Beckmann sighed and replied: “He’s still alive!”
“Jesus! You can’t be serious. But that can’t be true because we got the password that he was dead,” stammered Sebastian. “Well, all I know, Sebastian, is that Remer went to the Propaganda Ministry to arrest Goebbels and ended up having a discussion with Hitler over the telephone. I would say that is pretty conclusive, wouldn’t you?” he said sarcastically. “And Remer, what did he do? Did he carry out the orders as he was instructed?” asked Sebastian more in hope than anything else. He got the response he feared.
Beckmann shook his head sadly and said: “Quite the contrary. He is on his way over here to place us under arrest. He was always a risk and it just reflects the lethargy of the officers in charge that they didn’t replace him with someone else.”
“Yeah, someone like me, for instance,” said Sebastian bitterly. Beckman nodded and swept his one hand through his greased back black hair. “So what next? What are the gods on high dictating? Are they carrying on or are we to meekly surrender to our day of judgement which I am sure will be German justice in the finest traditions of a vengeful dictator,” said Sebastian sarcastically.
Beckmann smiled, but it was one that carried no real joy, more of accepting that they had failed and this time there would be no recourse to trying again. “Sebastian. Our great leaders have collapsed, well General Beck has, though von Stauffenberg is still urging action and I tend to agree with him because there is nothing to lose now. A lot of the younger officers are willing to carry on but the result will be the same. Without the troops we can do nothing, save take a few of the bastards with us. Damn Fellgiebel anyway!” he said bitterly. Sebastian’s first thought was to go back to the office from whence he came and shoot Fromm, because that arsehole was about to get away with it and should he live, he would have Sebastian first up on the list of those who had been a ringleader.
“Where are you going, Rupert?” asked Beckmann.
“I’m going to shoot the bastard,” replied Sebastian evenly.
“No, you’re not, Murat,” came the clipped voice from behind him. Sebastian turned and saw von Stauffenberg standing alongside Beckmann, and from his appearance one would have been mistaken for thinking that everything was all right and it was just a normal day at the headquarters instead of the bloody mess they were in. Sebastian jumped smartly to attention and saluted his superior, who returned the gesture and then told him to relax. “I understand your impetuosity, Murat. But I am afraid taking Fromm’s life would not equate to the failure to kill Hitler. He would be replaced in the morning, probably by Remer!” von Stauffenberg said resignedly.
He then motioned for Sebastian and Beckmann to follow him down to the office where Fromm was being held. They entered to find Fromm pacing up and down impatiently and he carried on this routine even when von Stauffenberg addressed him.
“Herr General, I am sorry for this inconvenience which was an order issued by me but was misunderstood by Murat,” said von Stauffenberg smiling at his commanding officer. The smile was not returned but, undeterred, the crippled but extraordinarily resolute Colonel pressed on. “The thing is, sir, is that Hitler is dead and whether you like it or not the political scene has changed dramatically and it would be most unwise if you were to stay on the other side. So I would simply ask you to issue the relevant orders that will release the troops we need to ensure Berlin remains in our hands.” Sebastian and Beckmann were taken aback at the stunning gamble that von Stauffenberg had taken, but realized also that even at this late stage there was a possibility at least that they could take Berlin and hold out which if things were progressing as they hoped they were in Paris where the security forces such as the SS and Gestapo had been rounded up, then Hitler would have a merry old time of it explaining that to the rest of Germany. Fromm rubbed his face in his hands and unaccustomedly for a man who at least prided himself on his appearance wiped them on his uniform, leaving a greasy smudge on it, though avoiding his various decorations, won no doubt for some creepy crawling remark to those on high. He nodded his assent resignedly but asked on condition of his assistance that he have his pistol back. Von Stauffenberg overruled Sebastian’s protestations and said the General should have his Luger handed back to him.
The General nodded his appreciation and then asked to be taken to the communications room so he could issue the command that would deliver to the conspirators the much-needed soldiers. Von Stauffenberg hurried him along the passageway while Sebastian and Beckmann followed, hoping that no one would pass by and let slip that Hitler was in fact alive, they also had to worry about the imminent arrival of Remer as he could ruin everything now that the momentum seemed to have swung back to them. They marched briskly up the flight of stairs while several of the men and officers looked on bemused at the quirky quartet, the erect but portly Fromm, the one-armed duo of von Stauffenberg and Beckmann and the tall good-looking Englishman. Thankfully none of those they passed uttered a word except to salute and then stand idly by waiting for the next move or for orders to be issued. None looked panicked or nervous and Sebastian had to admire the bravery of them all, regardless of their incapacity to act before von Stauffenberg had returned which had wasted several crucial hours and in which they could have seized every major target – however, thanks to the extraordinary chutzpah of their leader they could be on the verge of turning things around and that was in itself remarkable. They passed the office where Generals Beck and Olbricht were conferring, though the former looked all of his 60-plus years and certainly didn’t look capable of leading anyone, while von der Schulenburg was strolling around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Fromm entered the communications room and delivered his instructions to those units who had doubted that Hitler was dead, though several of the officers who took his call replied that he was wrong and that they had been in contact with Rastenburg. Fromm looked bemused and demanded to be put through himself, but that was enough for von Stauffenberg, who ushered him out and into an office, leaving Sebastian and Beckmann to stand guard.
An hour passed and Sebastian again felt like a useless tool standing outside the office, not knowing what the hell was going on outside and whether they had control now or whether they were on the point of being attacked. Finally the torpor was broken as von Stauffenberg reappeared, striding down the corridor with a man dressed in field marshal’s uniform, which somewhat surprised Sebastian as he hadn’t been aware there was someone of that rank apart from von Kluge involved in the plot. The duo picked up the ailing Beck on the way and brushed past Sebastian and Beckmann and into Fromm’s office – the elderly field marshal looking not best pleased. “Who the hell was that?” Sebastian asked Beckmann. “Field Marshal Erwin von Witzleben,” replied Beckmann.
“What army does he command?” asked Sebastian as his hopes rose that a whole battle group were stationed outside, having come from one of the fronts to help them when they most needed it.
“That’s the point, he doesn’t have an army. He has been retired for two years. It sums it all up we have a field marshal but one with no troops under his control. Terrific,” said Willy gloomily.
Sebastian listened to as much as he could of what was going on inside while other interested parties such as von der Schulenburg, who was for once dressed in uniform though it didn’t smarten him up much, ambled over and endeavoured to try and ascertain what the group inside were discussing what to do next. Clearly things were not going well as all parties raised their voices and Sebastian could hear the field marshal – he of no army – slamming his fist down on the table and screaming at Beck and von Stauffenberg while Fromm stirred the situation by interjecting whenever he could. Finally the meeting broke up with the squat von Witzleben storming out yelling to all and sundr
y gathered around, “What a mess!” before he disappeared down the stairs and out into the courtyard, leaving those in the conspiracy, and those in the building, who were not directly implicated but had been carrying out orders all day in the belief they were authorized to do so, no clearer as to what was happening. It was at this point that Sebastian sized up the odds and decided he was going to make a run for it and try and find von Helldorf, as there was little hope of making it back to Dahlem, given his paperwork would reveal he was stationed at the Bendlerstrasse and that he must be implicated in one way or the other and to swear ignorance wouldn’t be accepted. He told Beckmann that he considered it was every man for himself and his friend agreed, adding he would join him. He also knew a tunnel that could take them away from the doomed headquarters which had previously been used by several of the other junior officers, so if Sebastian could hold on a few minutes he would lead him down there. Von Stauffenberg remained, the only one still believing in things turning out all right, but all over the building there were colonels and generals revising their decision in aiding the core of the plotters and quickly making their excuses and leaving – prepared to make their peace with the regime and claim it was all a misunderstanding at carrying out orders under a lie from Fromm’s subordinates.
Suddenly Sebastian grew very uneasy as he saw that even within the apparent sanctity of the conspirators’ nest not everybody could be considered a friend and he cursed Beckmann for taking so long. The reason soon became apparent as Beckmann staggered out of one of the offices, blood pouring from his neck followed by three officers that Sebastian knew by sight but had not wished to be more familiar with. Beckmann tried to stay upright, but he slumped against the wall and slid down it, blood smearing the finely panelled surface. Sebastian drew his pistol and fired a few shots at the trio who quickly dived for cover while he sped in a crouching position along the passageway to tend to his friend. Beckmann was dying, blood was dribbling out of the sides of his mouth, but he clasped his former comrade-in-arms one last time and raised his beautiful full face as much as he could to whisper his farewell. “Get out Sebastian, the tunnel is too complex for me to describe; just escape. The farce is now tragedy and at least I can die knowing you escaped to live the sequel. Look after Henrietta, that poor accursed woman, and may God look after you and ensure you live to tell what went on this day. I love you as a brother and I am only sad that we will never enjoy those things that one would do in peacetime but it has been an honour to serve alongside you even if you are English, you silly bastard!”
Sebastian closed Beckmann’s eyes as he let out one last rasping breath and left him lying in the corridor before tenderly making his way down the badly lit passageway and step by step down the stairs to temporary freedom from the hellhole and cemetery his former headquarters was fast becoming – for once he didn’t need to think or worry about the spiral staircase for he was treading it physically now and it was as bad in reality as it was when it existed in his mind.
As he reached the bottom step and brushed past some pale-faced general and his aides and was making his way towards the exit, someone pulled him from behind and yanked him into a small room adjacent to the entrance. He spun on his heels angrily and was about to land a blow on his assailant when he realized it was von der Schulenburg. He relaxed and smiled apologetically at his older comrade. Schulenburg grinned and walked round to a small cupboard and pulled out a bottle of cognac along with two large tumblers and poured a healthy dose into each one, before handing one of them to Sebastian. They clinked the glasses and drank in silence before the Count commenced the conversation, though this time it was not the optimistic even idealistic man Sebastian had come to know and respect but a resigned and defeated man that stood before him. “So the bastard has got away again and it is us who will end up on the gallows and Germany will go on suffering. What a curse we have had to endure as a united country. Seventy-four years united and two World Wars and we have gone from being respected to being despised by everyone including many of our own people. The country of Kant and Dürer has self-immolated into one of nihilism and lacking any soul, save the gangsters who still run what is left of it,” he sighed despondently. Sebastian patted him on the shoulder to console him but he knew that to get much out of his associate which related to the present circumstances was past. Von der Schulenburg had put the day’s events into a greater context and he was preparing himself for his inevitable fate, aligning it to Germany’s decline and its equally violent death that had been delayed because of the failure of him and the rest of the leading conspirators to deliver what they believed would be a new and hopeful legacy to the people they had grown accustomed to ruling from the day the country had been united by Bismarck. Regardless of his friend’s agony, Sebastian was desperate to get away, because judging by Beckmann’s violent end the rest of the conspirators were bound to be chased down and he did not wish to be subjected to Fromm’s form of justice which he imagined would be summarily carried out. He shifted from foot to foot as Schulenburg ran his finger round the rim of the glass. “Listen, Count, all is not lost why don’t you come with me and we will find von Helldorf at Police Headquarters where at least they will not think of looking for us immediately,” Sebastian suggested gently. The Count shook his head sadly and raised his eyes to meet Sebastian’s, his monocle hanging loose over his chest.
“No, Sebastian, I will stay with my friends and accept whatever fate awaits them and myself. We have been found wanting and we must pay for it. I have done enough running both from myself and from my responsibilities and now is the time for me to accept them; even at the age of 42 it is never too late!” he laughed bitterly.
“Very well, Count, I will try my luck out there because I have no intention of sharing in what you are waiting for. I am sorry that we have not been able to return to the house in Dahlem for a victory banquet as we hoped would happen but I feel there is still something to go on trying for and that is only possible if we survive. Besides, there is always von Tresckow and his circle out in the East and the French sector. What if they have succeeded in persuading their respective commanders to retreat or hand over the troops to the enemy? Then we will look like fools if we have surrendered meekly and we are in jail when the others return triumphantly. They will not look upon us with great respect,” Sebastian said somewhat optimistically.
Schulenburg smiled grimly, poured them one more glass, and replied: “I am afraid that neither of those scenarios has worked out to our advantage either and I would imagine that von Tesckow will be returning to Berlin but not in triumph, rather handcuffed and in disgrace. No, the adventure is over and it has come to its natural bloody conclusion, sadly not one that I take any great pleasure in,” he smiled darkly. Sebastian grimaced and gulped down the contents of his glass, choking on the burning sensation when it hit the back of his throat. “Count, I must go. I am reluctant to allow you to stay behind but if it is your wish, so be it. I can only say it has been a remarkable privilege to have known you and to have been included and trusted in the conspiracy is an honour. It has restored some of the faith I had lost while out in the East and I just hope that there will be others like you who will surface once the rotten affair is brought to its conclusion. I am just sad you will not be there to see it because you are a remarkable man, with your brains and Stauffenberg’s charisma and energy, Germany could have gone a long way to regaining its reputation. God bless you!” and with that Sebastian embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks which he sensed as he let go were wet with tears. The Count sat back in his chair pulled the bottle towards him and swivelled the chair so that he was sitting sideways to where Sebastian was standing, so his crooked nose was brilliantly in profile, and leant his head on his hand while dismissing Sebastian with a wave of the other. “You take care, Sebastian. You are now a hunted man by not only your side but by the Nazis as well. I am sorry that I will not live to see how you come out of this one, but I wish you the best of luck,” he sobbed but Sebastian did not hear him as he
had already slipped out.
However, he didn’t get very far because while he had been drinking with Schulenburg, various units of German soldiers had surrounded the building and infiltrated the courtyard, these soldiers had only hours ago been on their side but now with Hitler’s survival confirmed they had reverted back to their loyalty to the regime and if anything would be more brutal with the plotters so as to prove their devotion to the Nazis. Thus, as Sebastian exited into the courtyard, he was blinded by lights from various vehicles and shouts telling him to kneel down and throw his weapon on the ground. This he refused to do, protesting his innocence. The units surrounding the headquarters, feeling they had enough men, sent them into the building meeting little outgoing fire. An officer took care of Sebastian, a kindly looking middle-aged colonel, who asked him his name and his role within the Reserve Army. Sebastian replied that he was attached to Fromm’s personal staff and he had tried to escape several times that day but only when it was clear the plot had failed did it become easy to slip away. The colonel guided him away from the entrance and behind one of the troop carriers. “So why are you not still in there helping Fromm retake the building?” he asked sceptically. Sebastian thought furiously at how he should respond before they were interrupted by several men coming out of the building where from within there were shouts but little in the way of gunfire, though he had heard two or three pistol shots moments earlier. The men coming down the steps were being led by Fromm and in between the two lines of armed soldiers were four other figures, one of whom was Stauffenberg. In the glare of the lights, Sebastian was only thankful that Fromm would not be able to make him out and he just hoped the colonel didn’t order him to rejoin his commanding officer. To be honest, the colonel appeared more interested at what was going on in front of him as the two lines of soldiers lined up and Fromm ordered General Olbricht to stand in front of them and within seconds as Sebastian watched aghast, he was dispatched by one volley of shots. Von Stauffenberg was next, though he looked calm Sebastian noticed he had stripped himself of the eye patch from the socket where he had lost the eye in an air raid in Tunis. However, just as the order was given to fire, his adjutant Werner von Haeften, who had accompanied him on the fateful trip to Rastenburg threw himself in front of his beloved superior. Stauffenberg’s head slumped onto his chest in sorrow at the sacrifice of his friend and then steadied himself once again, head erect and took his penalty with the usual grace and courage he had displayed throughout the day. The final one of the condemned quartet, Mertz von Quirnheim, was quickly dealt with and their bodies were picked up and dumped into a truck while Fromm returned to the building, no doubt in search of other plotters who could testify against him. The colonel turned to Sebastian, who noticed he had tears in his eyes. “Now I see why you didn’t help Fromm,” he said sadly. Then he gestured to Sebastian to follow him and he led him away from the execution scene and to the gate where he saluted him and told him to get as far away as possible. When Sebastian refused to budge, the colonel said forcefully: “For Christ’s sake, Major, get out of here unless you want to share the same fate as those poor bastards. I was with you earlier in the day, out on the streets cleaning up some of those goons that are now going to wreak revenge, and no doubt I will be one of those they come for. However, for the moment I still have the power to decide who goes in and who goes out and I want you to clear off. So go and good luck to you,” he smiled and turned to return to the courtyard having told the guards that the Major was free to go.