Winter, page 50
‘You saved the division, Herr General.’
Ah, this was better. He ran it round his mouth before swallowing it. ‘We serve in an army that does not usually reward commanders who withdraw from captured territory, no matter what is otherwise gained.’
‘Intelligence have now revised their enemy battle order assessment. They say that they are not sure how many Red Army divisions were employed in the offensive of December 6. They have identified eighteen divisions the Red Army used. I have the latest bulletins.’
Horner smiled. ‘I saw them at close quarters back in the 1920s, when we were teaching them how to drive tanks. They proved apt pupils, eh Kleindorf?’
‘What were they like, Herr General?’
Horner swirled the burgundy in his glass just for the pleasure of looking at it. ‘Moody,’ he said at last. ‘Either they are desolate and melancholy and incapable of doing even the simplest thing right, or they are jubilant and indomitable.’ Horner reached for another bottle of wine. ‘So far we’ve only encountered a sad and shocked Ivan but a successful battle in front of Moscow could transform the whole nation into a far more formidable enemy.’ Horner sniffed at the wine. What was this fine old medley of half-forgotten smells? A Médoc. His father used to let him open the wines when he was small. Once he’d got up out of bed in the middle of the night and went round the vacated dining room trying the unfinished drinks. They found him in the morning, drunk and snoring. His father had been furious. Why did he care so much what his father thought? He’d always known that the estate would go to his elder brother. And yet … Did second children always spend their lives looking for reassurance and approval? Was that why he’d joined the army, and why Pauli Winter was working for those dreadful people in the Ministry of the Interior? ‘You weren’t at Lichterfelde, von Kleindorf?’
‘Alas, no, Herr General.’
‘It made me into a man.’
‘Indeed, Herr General.’
‘I went past the old barracks a couple of years ago. There are fellows in black uniforms using the place nowadays: “Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler”, they call themselves.’
‘I heard the LAH were there,’ said von Kleindorf.
‘Scoundrels,’ said Alex Horner.
Von Kleindorf noticed that his commander was getting progressively drunk. He’d never seen Horner drunk and was undecided what he should do about it. His general had to be on his way before dawn, to take up his new command back at corps headquarters. He wouldn’t want to do that journey with a hangover. And yet von Kleindorf didn’t feel that he could mention his concerns. ‘Yes, Herr General.’
Horner went quiet and drank some more of the wine. ‘We’re facing a new Russki commander; I feel it in my guts.’
‘The monitoring service heard Radio Moscow announce that Marshal Timoshenko has been replaced. A general named Zhukov has been named commander of their Central Front.’
‘Aha! So heads roll on both sides of the line, von Kleindorf. Mark that, my lad!’
‘Yes, Herr General, I shall.’
Horner belched but seemed unaware that his second-in-command might have noticed it. ‘The bridges, for instance. It’s interesting, isn’t it?’ General Horner had been attacking the next bottle of wine with the corkscrew, but finally he gave up and passed bottle and corkscrew to von Kleindorf.
‘In what way, Herr General?’
‘They’ve not bombed those damned bridges, von Kleindorf.’
‘Some strafing attacks,’ said von Kleindorf, who’d narrowly missed being killed in one such attack.
‘I mean serious attacks – bombing raids to destroy them.’
‘No, sir, that’s true.’ He passed the open bottle back to his commander.
Horner poured the wine carefully. ‘Why? Tell me why?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it, General.’
‘Think about everything, old lad. Everything. Why haven’t they tried to destroy those bridges? Because they want us to run away over them when they attack? No, they’ve enough strength to fight us, they don’t have to chase us away. Because they hope to come through so fast that they will capture the bridges and not have to build their own? I don’t think so. The Ivans are not opportunists: they work to plan. Why, then?’
‘Do you have a theory, Herr General?’
‘Suppose they attacked in a pincer movement: both pincers coming down the other side of the river?’
‘That would be a very big pincer movement, General.’
‘I estimate the December 6 offensive must have used about one hundred divisions.’
‘One hundred divisions?’ Von Kleindorf shifted in his seat. The general was not a man who made reckless estimations. But one hundred divisions was a gigantic force for the Russians suddenly to produce out of nowhere. Germany’s momentous assault on Russia – ‘Barbarossa’ – had used only 153 divisions.
‘On a two-hundred-mile front. With air forces and artillery and everything Comrade Zhukov asked for. We do not, unfortunately, have a monopoly on encirclement tactics.’
‘Where would they get them?’
‘From their eastern provinces. Divisions manning the frontiers with the Chinese and Japanese.’
‘That’s quite a thought, Herr General.’
‘Enough for a big pincer movement, eh?’
‘Indeed, General.’ Von Kleindorf looked at his chief. He didn’t look drunk. If it wasn’t for those occasional slurred words, he wouldn’t have even guessed the general had been drinking.
‘We are to blame. The army is at fault. General Marcks, our chief of planning, said we could conquer Russia in nine weeks … seventeen weeks at the most. I saw the report. The Soviets, it said, would not have time to deploy their reserves. The Führer believes us when we tell him such things.’ Horner belched.
‘Indeed he does, Herr General.’
Horner drank more wine, an old Burgundy this time, and handed the bottle to von Kleindorf. ‘Is there any news about who will become C in C when Brauchitsch goes?’
‘Yes, the Führer,’ said von Kleindorf. He pretended to drink but only let the wine touch his lips. He’d decided that one of them must stay sober.
‘C in C of the army, I mean.’
‘Yes, the Führer has assumed that command, too.’
Horner could hardly believe it. ‘He’s Head of State, Minister of War, and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. And now you say the man has made himself commander in chief of the army too?’
‘Oh, and there was something else, General. The Americans and the Japanese are fighting each other. On Sunday morning, Japanese naval aircraft flying off carriers attacked American naval bases in the Pacific. I haven’t got any better details, but the reports sound accurate. All the news services have been carrying them.’
‘So the whole world is at war,’ said Horner gloomily.
‘That’s right. And on Thursday the Führer declared war on America, too.’
‘What?’ said General Horner, spilling his drink down the bright-red lapels of his greatcoat.
‘In a speech to the Reichstag.’
‘Declared war on the U.S.A.?’
‘Yes, it’s official.’
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ said General Horner. He laughed so much that he spilled his drink again and very nearly fell off his chair. ‘Ha, ha, ha!’ The tears came to his eyes as he laughed. ‘The British are bombing our cities, and our armies are stretched from Africa to Norway’s North Cape, and we are stuck in the Russian snow facing a hundred fresh divisions on this front alone. And the little Austrian corporal has chosen this moment to declare war upon the greatest industrial power in the world. Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!’ He clutched his stomach and laughed until von Kleindorf joined in, too.
They made so much noise that Obergefreiter Winkel, Horner’s driver, came down to see if there was something wrong.
‘No, it’s all right, Winkel,’ said General Horner. ‘The chief of staff and I were just discussing strategy.’
1942
‘I knew you’d wait’
The night was dark. It was February, and East Prussia was covered with its regular blanket of snow and ice. The German railway system, burdened by the ever-growing needs of the war against Russia, was showing signs of strain. Trains were crowded, dirty and late.
The railway-station platform at Königshof was illuminated only by gas lamps and some of these were not working. Inge Winter rubbed condensation from the window, and cupped her face with her hands, to see in the darkness.
‘Is this Königshof?’ she asked the young Stuka pilot dozing in the seat opposite her. He jumped to his feet and opened the window to lean out. Cold air, smelly with soot from the locomotive, came into the compartment.
‘Hey you!’ shouted the officer. ‘Is this Königshof?’
‘Königshof,’ called the woman railway official obligingly. And then, just in case any passengers from the Berlin train wished to alight at this rural town, she called more loudly: ‘Königshof! Königshof!’
Inge stood up and put on her fur coat while the young flier got her leather bag down from the rack and opened the door for her. He smiled and said goodbye reluctantly, for Inge in her mid-forties was a very attractive woman. She was slim, with a pale face and naturally wavy hair. But most of all he’d remember her for those deep, luminous grey eyes that seemed to be for him alone.
Inge was cheerful and self-sufficient, almost defiant of the world about her. It was this wonderful confidence that so many people, such as Pauli, saw and admired. That was what had made Pauli want to marry her, and that was what made casual acquaintances, such as the Stuka pilot, her willing slave.
By the time Inge had stepped down from the train, the handsome young pilot was forgotten. Her mind was on other things, not the least of which was the speech she’d be making to the local RADwJ – young women enlisted as an agricultural labour force and factory workers. This would be the biggest audience she’d ever addressed.
She began to pick her way between the heaps of snow. It was dark; a thick layer of cloud obscured moon and stars. Whistles were blowing to announce the train’s departure, and the signals were green. There were no porters, so she carried her own bag: she was used to it by now, it was the war.
‘All blackout blinds down!’
Steam enveloped her, and the train jolted forward, its wheels screaming and groaning upon the icy metals.
She seemed to be the only passenger getting off at this remote place. The passengers were all soldiers, or civilians on official business like her. There were no spare seats nowadays on the express trains. People stared out the windows as the train clanked past, reluctant to close the blackout blinds. In another hour or so these men would be in Königsberg, East Prussia, and transferred to trains that would take them to the fighting front.
She pushed her way through the heavy sprung doors and then put her bag down for a moment. It was warmer inside the station building, and the air smelled of wartime cigarettes and unwashed human bodies. The concourse was crowded with people waiting for the local trains. Civilians of one sort or another, going back to their little towns and villages after a day’s shopping. Farmers and agricultural workers from the huge estates that made up this part of Prussia. All of them were prosperous nowadays, benefiting from the boom that had come with German’s assault upon the U.S.S.R. The German army needed food, fodder and all kinds of horses, in ever-increasing amounts. Whenever possible they favoured German suppliers. So here, in that part of North Germany closest to the fighting, the hotels and restaurants were kept full by army procurement officials being fêted by those with something to sell.
Yet it was amazing how many of these civilians had contrived to wear a uniform: forestry and falconry officials, brownshirts, women auxiliaries, Hitler Youth and part-time SS men in their forbidding black uniforms.
Inge looked around expectantly. ‘Under the clock’, the message said, but there was no one there except two steely-eyed Feldgendarmerie sergeants, with their metal gorgets, and two men of the railway police, who were questioning two flashy young girls.
She looked at her watch. The train was late. She hated to be kept waiting, especially in public places like this. Already some of the soldiers sitting on a mountain of kit were appraising her and smiling invitingly. Any moment now those policemen would turn their attentions to her. Not because she might be a whore, a spy, or a fugitive, but just to pry and be officious. Military policemen were all bastards; Pauli had told her that and he knew.
It was five minutes before a pot-bellied brownshirt came huffing and puffing and apologizing abjectly.
‘Frau Winter?’
She stared at him and said nothing. The man, a red-faced fellow too old for the army, picked up her case and, using his free arm, pushed a way through the crowd. She followed him.
In the station forecourt was a superb old Mercedes: shiny black paintwork, with an official pennant affixed to the front. The brownshirt opened the luggage compartment and put her case inside. Then he opened the door for her to get in.
‘Did you have a good journey?’ said the man sitting in the back seat.
‘No. I bloody well did not,’ said Inge. ‘And you’re late.’
‘I knew you’d wait,’ said the man. He grinned. He liked to annoy her.
‘Go to hell,’ she said. No one who knew her as the self-confident girl who needed nothing and no one would have recognized her now.
The man laughed.
‘You’ll regret it, mark my words’
Lothar Koch knew that there was always an array of drinks in Fritz Esser’s corner cupboard and that Pauli had a key to it. Lothar would never have dared to drop in and ask the deputy minister for a drink but recently, on his regular visits from Gestapo Headquarters, three blocks away, he’d call on Pauli to see if Esser was out and suggest that they have a schnapps. Pauli found it irritating sometimes, but he never said so. He wished Lothar would go. He looked out the window. In the street below, the linden trees were in full leaf, and the windows were open to let in the warm, sweet-smelling air.
Today the usually melancholy Lothar was excited and outgoing, wearing a new suit. He stood in the middle of Fritz Esser’s large office, gesticulating and pulling appropriate faces. Lothar liked to go into Esser’s office when it was unoccupied. He pretended to himself that he was the deputy minister. Lothar was like that. ‘So the Führer went out in the street to ask passers-by what they think of Hitler. He is disguised with a false beard and so on.’
‘Lothar, you are quite hopeless at telling jokes,’ said Pauli, whose mind was on the work that he should be catching up with.
It was no use: Lothar thought he was rather good at telling stories. ‘Listen,’ said Lothar. ‘The Führer goes up to the first fellow he sees, and says, “What do you think of this chap Hitler?” The man grabs the Führer by the arm and takes him to the Tiergarten. He goes across the grass until they can be quite sure that there’s no one in earshot. Then the fellow leans close to the Führer and whispers, “For myself, I don’t too much mind him!”’ Lothar cackled loudly and slapped his thigh.
‘I heard it before,’ said Pauli.
‘“I don’t too much mind him!”’ said Lothar, repeating the punch line and smiling enough to show his gold teeth.
‘They arrested the comic at the Admiralspalast last week,’ said Pauli, who was drinking Apollinaris water.
‘So I heard. What was he saying? Was it funny?’ Lothar asked.
‘He came on the stage and looked at the audience in silence for several minutes; then, when everyone was getting nervous, he’d say “Well, that’s enough of the political discussions; now we’ll tell the jokes.”’
‘And for that they arrested him?’ said Lothar. ‘That’s rough.’
‘There was a group of party leaders there with their wives after dinner. There were complaints. Fritz thought we ought to do something.’
‘Did he go to a camp?’
‘It would never have stood up in court,’ said Pauli.
‘I suppose not. It’s rough, though. And he wasn’t even Jewish.’ Lothar took his glass over to the cupboard, where there was a sink and a glass rack. He rinsed it off and put it in the rack. He never had a second drink. That was part of his training as a cop: one free drink was a perquisite; two was corruption.
Suddenly, while Koch’s back was turned, Pauli said, ‘By the way, Lothar, is it true that Jews are being systematically killed in the camps?’ Lothar always seemed to know what was going on.
Lothar Koch looked at him for a long time before answering. ‘Yes, it’s true. At certain camps.’
‘Systematic killing?’
Again Lothar Koch paused. ‘It was a top-level decision. Heydrich chaired meetings at Wannsee in January. Endlösung – a final solution to the Jewish problem – it’s being kept very secret. How did you hear?’ Koch had become more composed now. He was back to being his old mournful, wary self.
‘I didn’t. But I’ve had the lawyers from I. G. Farben up here. They’ve been supplying one of their patent chemicals to the camps. Now there’s an argument about it.’
‘Lawyers?’
‘Fritz had been handling it, but once Farben brought their lawyers into it he dumped it on me. You know what he’s like.’
‘A legal opinion about chemicals?’
‘It’s a poison gas: a vermin exterminator called Zyklon-B. Now, there is a very big order for it, but the camps want it supplied without its “indicator” – that’s some kind of noxious smell that warns humans of its presence in the air. Farben won’t supply it until they’re sure that omitting the indicator won’t endanger the company’s rights to the patent. I’ve been in and out of the Patents Office on Gitschiner Strasse so many times, and read so many specifications, that I found myself wondering what the hell it’s all about. I started wondering what the camps are doing with all that odourless poison gas.’
‘Why not ask Fritz Esser?’
‘I did. He laughed and told me to buy some shares in Degesch.’
‘Degesch?’
‘That’s the Farben subsidiary that manufactures the stuff.’
