The Twisted Patriot

by Pirate Irwin

  Sebastian tried to keep to the back streets as he made his way to von Helldorf’s headquarters, estimating that he might not be so fortunate the next time he was stopped and any association with the Reserve Army deemed him suspect. Occasionally he came upon squads of German army units making their way to the Bendlerstrasse, but they passed by without stopping him. Sebastian wondered on what side they had been earlier that tumultuous day and what thoughts must be going through their minds, as at first they were told Hitler was dead and the war all but over and then ordered to take the Reserve Army’s headquarters because of a failed assassination attempt on the Führer. While of course they had to obey their orders, surely they felt a reluctance and a disappointment that the carnage and destruction of their country was to carry on. That’s what Sebastian hoped they felt, but in truth he realized that one of the leading plotter’s failures had been not to have assurances that the ordinary soldiers would follow them, and without troops there was little hope of a successful putsch; you can have so many heads of Medusa but without the roots there was little chance of winning. He was bitter at yet again being led against his better senses into another futile rebellion against authority. It had once more shown that those who believed they were born to rule had little grasp on reality and were singularly out of touch with those they felt would follow them unswervingly just because they had a title or a von before their name. That is why he had been so keen to keep his own counsel at Eton and Oxford, but there again he was a bit different, being the son of a single mother and therefore regarded always with a little suspicion, not quite one of us, you know, they would remark. Well, none of those puffed up peacocks he was sure had experienced quite such a war as he had had. He was certain he was the only old Etonian stumbling around Berlin in the dying stages of the one and only putsch against Hitler, and, he reflected darkly, the only one with a death sentence hanging over him from both sides and for the same crime, treason.

  As he approached the police headquarters he stumbled into, of all people, the perverted Amery, who was wandering around drunk as usual with his teddy bear tucked under his arm. He was the last person he wished to come upon and wondered what on earth had dragged him away from his table in his usual bar. He hoped he wouldn’t recognize him in the darkness but caught under a lamp there was little chance of that. “Oy! You there, whatever your name is. What the hell has been going on?” slurred Amery. Sebastian shrugged him off, repelled by the overwhelming odour of alcohol emanating from his foul mouth. “Don’t you do that to me, asshole. You’ve already tried it once and seen what protection I have from on high. So I suggest you stop and tell me. Is it true some traitors tried to kill the Führer and are now being rounded up and dealt with?” he asked in his shrill high-pitched voice. Sebastian nodded and again tried to get past him so he could at least gain some form of sanctuary in the police building. Amery, whose tatty suit befitted his decrepit appearance, tried to hit him from behind as he walked on but missed and because of his drunken state he lost his balance and fell against the lamp post. He eased himself back up and yelled so all and sundry in the street could hear: “Stop him, he’s one of them, one of the traitors. Arrest him!” Sebastian looked around nervously but was relieved to see that there were few people round them and those who were looked more interested in getting on with their business, which at this late hour more or less implicated them in the plot, given that it was nearly midnight and there was little other reason to be out on the streets.

  He walked back to Amery and hissed: “You pitiful piece of excrement. Who is going to believe a psychopathic alcoholic like you, Amery? If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will take justice into my own hands as I see your high level protection isn’t here for you tonight. Unlike you, Amery, I have tried and failed to do something about bringing this dreadful regime to its knees and I will take the consequences like a man, something which you will also have to assume, but in a British court of law, when the end comes, as it will do.” Having finished, he pistol-whipped Amery, leaving him sprawled unconscious on the pavement.

  Sebastian strolled coolly into the lobby of police headquarters and demanded to see von Helldorf. He was surprised to see so few policemen around but the sergeant who was at the desk eyed him warily and rang upstairs, whispering into the receiver so Sebastian couldn’t make out what he was saying. The middle-aged sergeant replaced the receiver then gestured for two of the other officers lounging around to accompany him up the stairs. They climbed silently round the elegant curved stairway and Sebastian became increasingly nervous that he was walking straight into a trap. He noted with some relief that neither officer was carrying their pistol, but nor were they responding to his questions about why weren’t they out in the streets rounding up the suspected coup leaders. Finally they stopped outside two large doors and the elder of the two knocked three times on the door before hearing a grunted response and opening the door. It was no trap but neither was it exactly a joyful atmosphere that he entered into, with von Helldorf, legs splayed out in front of him sitting by one of the large French windows overlooking the street, Nebe somewhat to his surprise was also there but clearly agitated and was walking up and down the length of the large room while in the dim light he could also make out a larger man who he didn’t recognize.

  “Come in, Murat, and fix yourself a nightcap, or should I say a pre-decapitation refreshment,” muttered a clearly semi-drunk von Helldorf. Sebastian regretted his decision to have come here at all, as the ambience was little better than it had been at the Bendlerstrasse. The smell of alcohol and tobacco allied to sweat was almost on a par with the creepy Englishman he had left outside.

  However, acknowledging that he had little place else to go, he availed himself of a large whisky and walked over to the window as he had little time for Nebe and while von Helldorf was coarse and boorish he was virtually the last link back to those heady days of the von Preetz wedding and had been present at every significant moment of his time in Berlin. Now was the time not for discontent, Sebastian mused bitterly but for nostalgic reminiscing.

  “So von Stauffenberg has really fucked us!” opined von Helldorf, which was greeted with nods from Nebe and the other man who he had not been introduced to. Sebastian ventured to disagree and explain that it had been the lethargic response by those left in Berlin that had been the root cause of the failure, plus Fellgiebel’s panicked comment down the phone that Hitler was still alive when if he had kept his mouth shut more of the officers would have fulfilled their duties without thinking they were digging themselves deeper into the mire. “So what. If we hadn’t put our faith into a demonic cripple we would probably have succeeded. The man was bound to fail and now we as a result are in the shit,” commented sourly the man with no name.

  Sebastian smashed his hand with full force against the wall, angry at this torrent of abuse being aimed at the one person who had tried to do away with the evil at the top of the regime. “I don’t know who the hell you are, sir, but without von Stauffenberg we wouldn’t be in this situation now,” said Sebastian angrily.

  “Quite,” came back the acerbic reply from anon while Nebe smiled patronisingly at Sebastian. Sebastian ignored them and looked to von Helldorf for assistance, but there was little coming from that direction as like the Emperor Nero, the once proud ruler of the Berlin police force looked out on his old dominion while it collapsed around him and instead of playing the fiddle he drank to its and his demise. Finally he switched his attention from the street and raised his eyes to meet Sebastian’s. He smiled warmly at the man he had taken under his wing following the death of Eric and raised his glass, suggesting he wanted a refill. Sebastian obliged, nudging the creepy Nebe out of the way and filled both of their glasses with what was some very fine Scotch. He lit them both a cigarette which he remarked came from the very same case von Helldorf had on him the night he thought he was being secreted away to a lonely death, and returned to the Count.

  Sebastian told his audience that he had seen von Stauffenberg and
three of the others summarily executed and how von Haeften had jumped in front of his friend in one last desperate act.

  “I wouldn’t have done that,” said the stranger. “Ah, Christ, Gisevius, give it a rest. The escapade is a failure and the man is dead and hopefully he has taken a lot of the secrets with him. One thing he was not was a coward, and inadvertently Fromm, through wanting to save his neck may have saved ours,” said von Helldorf, though Sebastian thought he was being a little over optimistic. Gisevius, at last he had a name for the unlikeable figure spreading bile in their last redoubt, and he remembered hearing of this figure from the Gestapo who like Nebe were much valued for their being the moles inside the security apparatus – much good that had done them in any case, save if they were to be interrogated by the Gestapo man they might receive a more lenient time.

  “We’re not done yet anyway,” said von Helldorf. Sebastian looked at him bemused. “Well, Paul von Hase has gone to dine with Goebbels to explain why we reacted as we did and that we had no option but to send the police and his troops under his command in Berlin to arrest certain types after receiving the orders from Olbricht and the news that the Führer was dead,” clarified von Helldorf while winking at Sebastian.

  “Great Baron. That is fine for you but what about me. I was in the Bendlerstrasse and pulled a gun on Fromm,” said Sebastian acidly. Von Helldorf looked at Nebe and Gisevius with some concern before replying coldly: “Well then, Murat, I would suggest you leave here immediately before you implicate us all by association. It is time for everybody to look after themselves and get through the next few terrible days, which I can see being as gory a part of our history as we have even already experienced.”

  Sebastian was stunned by the sudden shift in tone of the Baron, whose warm bonhomie had changed so quickly into cold-hearted realism. He didn’t need to look around to see if Nebe and Gisevius shared his opinion because he knew there was little sympathy and that he now symbolized for them in their deluded minds the failure of the coup. “Very well, Baron, and where, dare I ask, would you suggest I go?” asked Sebastian sardonically.

  Von Helldorf stared out the window mulling over the conundrum, biting his lip before lighting another cigarette. As he exhaled and picked off some of the tobacco from his bottom lip he said: “Well, you could always turn yourself over to my custody and I would make sure you were well looked after.” Sebastian went cold and could feel sweat rolling down his forehead and stinging his eyes, which he wiped away but he could feel Gisevius and Nebe closing in on him from either side while the indolent von Helldorf looked as if transfixed by the view from the window. Their progress towards him was checked as the phone on the desk rang and Gisevius broke off his advance to answer it. He was curt with whoever was on the other end of the phone, but when he replaced the receiver it was clear it was yet more gloomy news, though his features looked as if they were set permanently in joyless mode; “That was von Hase.”

  “Yes, so. What happened, Gisevius?” asked Nebe impatiently. “That was his last phone call. He has been placed under arrest for treason and so gentlemen will we be soon,” he replied dejectedly. Von Helldorf, amazingly under the circumstances, laughed one of his belly laughs. “Ach, my men will not lay a hand on me. They know who their boss is and they love me and respect me,” he chortled. Sebastian concluded his host had finally gone completely mad and decided that he would make good his escape. Gisevius and Nebe, too, had opted for this route as they both placed their respective hats on their heads or in Nebe’s case his SS cap and said their farewells to von Helldorf. He barely acknowledged them while Sebastian stayed a little bit longer, somehow torn like he had been with von der Schulenburg to leave his comrade to his lonely fate.

  However, despite von Helldorf’s confidence he knew he couldn’t stay for long and indeed soon enough the Count had himself come over to his opinion. “Well, we can’t stay here, can we Sebastian? Let’s go to Kessler’s for a farewell drink and then I will drop you off at Victoria’s,” he said. The thought that Kessler would welcome them into his establishment on a night like this appeared his craziest suggestion yet but then Sebastian liked the irony of implicating the loathsome manager into their cabal even if he was completely innocent and he gratefully accepted it. On a night like this there was no other option than to get unmercifully drunk – it would make the torture, should it come the next day, that much more bearable.

  They came for him three days later. This time it was another couple of goons, who were joined by two more, who stood guard outside, one at the back of the house and one at the front, and did Victoria stand in their way? – Fat chance. Instead she treated him as if he had betrayed her like, she added, all the other accursed men who had set foot in the house and she heavily pregnant and all. She screeched abuse at him, some of the words not even the housemaid would have used and it made even the two Gestapo officers smirk and remark that perhaps he was safer with them than he was with the screaming virago. He offered no resistance, just gathered up his cap and put on his uniform bedecked in medals and accompanied them to the forbidding building from whence few had emerged alive but he had resigned himself to this from the very moment he had seen von Stauffenberg executed.

  Fromm was still very much alive, though he knew he had been arrested despite his vain attempts to cover his tracks and no doubt would be telling all he knew in a vain bid to save himself. As for von Helldorf’s confidence that he would not be arrested by his own men – that only stood the test of time for 24 hours as he was escorted by those very men he believed adored him down to the Gestapo headquarters. There was no news on Nebe or Gisevius but he didn’t really care what happened to them and he was more concerned at the fate of those outside Berlin such as von Tresckow.

  He was surprised at the softly, softly approach taken by his arresting officers, though he knew they had all the time in the world once he entered the cells for doing what they wished with him. He was thrown into a tiny cell, which reeked of damp but was probably the least offensive smell as he could sense vomit, excrement and all sorts of other delights inhabited his new accommodation. He waited for hours alone in the darkness before the door was swung open and he was led out down the badly lit corridor and along to the interrogation room, passing on his way several cells on either side and from which he could hear moaning and also bizarrely, given the hellish circumstances, prayers being said. On his way to the interrogation he glimpsed a body being dragged down the passageway, the man’s legs hanging loosely behind him and his head bent forward as if he were unconscious. He was virtually naked, though strips of his once pristine uniform hung off him. Sebastian tried to look away but his escort tugged his hair and forced him to look at the withered features of von der Schulenburg as he passed him. “That is what awaits you, traitor,” the guard hissed menacingly.

  Sebastian felt himself go wobbly but with a supreme effort steadied himself before he entered not so much an interrogation room but what was a torture chamber. He was thrown down onto a wooden chair and blindfolded, while he heard water being run behind him. He could hear the guard exiting as maybe two or three other men came into the room and heard whispering before a voice piped up that sent a chill down his spine and doubly so once the blindfold had been ripped off his eyes. “So, Sebastian, or is it Major Rupert Murat, we meet once again, though this time, my friend, under much more uncomfortable circumstances,” and staring down into Sebastian’s face was Colonel Johns.