Authors: Sven Hassel
"Mail?" barked Hinka. "What mail?"
"German mail, sir. We figure they must've pinched it from us. The prisoners, I mean."
Hinka frowned. "Are you serious, Obergefreiter?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Porta jerked his head at Tiny. "Fetch 'em out and let the colonel have a gander at them."
The prisoners were hauled into the open by Tiny and deposited in front of Hinka. A gaping lieutenant came forward to untie their hands.
"Good God!" said Hinka. He stood staring at them, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
Porta looked the prisoners up and down with an air of pride. He nodded approvingly. "They're the genuine thing, sir."
Hinka passed a hand across his eyes. The strain of such prolonged staring was obviously beginning to tell. I found myself wondering if the man had actually ever seen a Russian before.
Porta seemed also to be experiencing doubts. "Your real genuine native," he said earnestly. "Your real honest-to-good-ness . . ."
"Yes, yes," said Hinka. He took a last look at the prisoners and dragged his eyes reluctantly away to look at Porta instead. "Tell me, Obergefreiter, are you aware of the rank of these men?"
"They're your real genuine Russians," began Porta in a defensive bleat. He glared at the prisoners. "They had this bag of mail, sir.
Our
mail--
German
mail! When we was in Torgau, that was a very serious offense, that was. Swiping mail. I mean, you could ..."
"Obergefreiter!" Hinka thundered.
Porta looked up at him in surprise. "Yes, sir?"
"These--gentlemen--whom you have captured--you are obviously not aware that one is a lieutenant general and the other a colonel!"
There was a moment's uneasy silence. I saw Porta's Adam's apple move slowly up his scrawny throat and bounce back again. As one in a dream, he turned on his heel and saluted.
Tiny stood watching him with his mouth agape. He looked wonderingly at the prisoners--at the lieutenant general he had kicked in the shins, and the colonel he had punched in the stomach--and slowly he, too, saluted.
As for me--well, I hadn't actually used physical violence on either of them. I hadn't actually abused them. I'd only tied their hands up and threatened to shoot them and shoved them about a bit ...
Quietly, I sunk my neck into my shoulders and slipped away unnoticed.
We swear to you, Adolf Hitler, that we shall keep faith.
August Wilhelm, Prince of Prussia, 1933
SS Obergruppenfuhrer Reinhard Heydrich, head of the RSHA,* stormed angrily through the corridors of No. 8 Prinz Albrecht Strasse, abusing all those who had the temerity to cross his path. He reached his own office, kicked open the door, strode past his astonished adjutant and snatched up the telephone. "Schellenberg! I want to see you up here immediately!"
Without waiting for a reply, he slammed down the receiver again.
*Bureau of State Security.
"
Sir--" began the adjutant.
Heydrich ignored him and pressed a button on his desk. The response not being instantaneous, he pressed it again, keeping his finger on the buzzer.
The loudspeaker crackled and a coarse, grating voice filled the room. "Gruppenfuhrer Muller, Gestapo."
"Muller!,What's the matter with you? Wake up! I want to see you in my office straightaway."
The adjutant bit his lip and slunk silently from the room. Heydrich threw himself into the depths of a leather armchair, crossed his legs and began drumming his fingers on his thigh. There was a rap at the door. An ordnance officer announced the arrival of SS Gruppenfuhrer Muller of the Gestapo and SS Brigadenfuhrer Schellenberg of the Security Service.
Schellenberg was the first to enter. He was, as usual, dressed in civilian clothes, in a discreet gray suit. Gestapo Muller bustled behind, eager and anxious, his big red face on its thick neck bobbing awkwardly above his uniform. The ex-mailman from Munich had never yet learned how to wear his clothes with the elegance required of a German officer.
Schellenberg, relaxed and smiling, saluted easily. Muller, rather more clumsily, followed suit.
"So very very nice to see you both," said Heydrich from the depths of his armchair. "I trust you had a good night's sleep? It's a luxury that's denied some of us, but I'm glad you manage to make the most of it, gentlemen." He narrowed his eyes and looked across at the two officers. "You!" He suddenly shot out a hand and pointed at Muller. "While you were snoring under your great overstuffed quilt this morning,
I
was at the receiving end of a complaining telephone call from the Fuhrer. Not very pleasant, as you may possibly imagine. It delayed my morning ride by over half an hour." He breathed deeply. "The Fuhrer was very angry, Muller. And he vented his anger on me--me, you understand! It seems I am to be held personally responsible for your intolerable sleeping habits! You choose to lie abed, while I am abused by the Fuhrer on account of it. Tell me, Muller, at what hour did you put in an appearance this morning?"
Muller swallowed noisily. "At eight-thirty, Obergruppenfuhrer."
"Eight-thirty! You're in the Gestapo now, Muller, you're no longer delivering mail in the streets of Munich. What do you think this war is--a joyride? We can't afford to carry passengers, Muller. Anyone who chooses to sleep while the rest of the world is working is a highly dispensable commodity--there are plenty of other mailmen, both in and out of Munich, who would be only too pleased to walk into your shoes."
Muller's fat red face seemed on the point of bursting in two like an overripe tomato. It crossed his fuddled mind that life had really been far simpler and happier in Munich.
Heydrich's voice barked on. "The Army Secret Service has intercepted a telegram that was sent by the Belgian ambassador in Rome to his Minister for Foreign Affairs. In that telegram, Muller, were set out our entire plans for the invasion of Belgium and Holland. What do you have to say about that?"
At this point, Schellenberg suavely intervened. "Pardon me, Obergruppenfuhrer, but we have known for some time of the existence of that telegram. In fact, as I recall, it was first brought to our attention on the very day our troops crossed the Dutch border."
Heydrich inclined his head in Schellenberg's direction. "Thank you, Brigadenfuhrer. I was aware of that. However, if you will allow me to say so, there is all the difference in the world between your department knowing of it and the Fuhrer coming to hear of it. You understand me?"
Schellenberg smiled. "Perfectly, Obergruppenfuhrer. Forgive the interruption." He hesitated a moment. "May one ask what the Fuhrer intends to do about it?"
"Who can tell?" Heydrich hunched a shoulder. "Everything is always ultratop secret at that end, as you very well know. The Fuhrer doubtless lays his plans much as we lay ours." Heydrich turned back to his savage attack on Muller. "Well? How about you, Herr Sherlock Holmes? What information do you have on our little nest of traitors? Admiral Canaris--Ambassador Ulrich von Hassel--Oberburgermeister Goedler--Generalmajor Oster--General Beck--to name but a few. What can you tell me about them?"
"Obergruppenfuhrer--" Muller shifted heavily from foot to foot, washing his hands in the air and sweating uncontrollably.
"For God's sake try to keep stilll" snapped Heydrich.
The head of the Gestapo obediently rooted himself to the spot. "I can assure you, Obergruppenfuhrer, that all these traitors are followed night and day by my men."
"All of them?"
"All of them, Obergruppenfuhrer."
"Mm-hm--" Heydrich gazed down at his fingernails.
"And Sturmbannfuhrer Axter from your division 111/2? Is he
one of those on watchdog duty?"
"Oh, yes," said Muller eagerly. "Oh, yes, he is, indeed! All my men are trained--they are all told--I make quite sure . . ."
"Precisely;" agreed Heydrich. "But to return to this man Axter. You doubtless receive daily reports from him?"
"Er--yes," allowed Muller, rather more cautiously. "Yes, that is so. All my men are instructed . . ."
"You will therefore have heard from him within the last twenty-four hours?"
"Er--no." Muller shook his head miserably, and began washing his hands again. "No, as a matter of fact I haven't, Obergruppenfuhrer. But the man shall be punished for it! I shall see to it personally. Such behavior is most unusual, my men are always most punctual, most efficient, most . . ."
"I'm sure they are," agreed Heydrich. "But I fear the miscreant Axter is beyond reach of all punishment. He was killed last night in the Morellenschlucht and his body has been disposed of."
"But . . ."
"The man was a spy," said Heydrich curtly. "Did you never check up on his background? Did it never occur to you that anyone who had served two years on the Fuhrer's staff and suddenly switched his loyalties to the Gestapo might bear a little investigation on your part?"
"I always check on all my men, Obergruppenfuhrer."
"Evidently not well enough. I suggest that in future you do your own homework. I cannot always be expected to play nursemaid. In the meantime, I leave it to you to answer any awkward questions that may be raised about the man's death. Do you suppose you could at least be trusted with that?"
"Oh, yes, Obergruppenfuhrer, you leave it to me, I'll deal with that, I assure you."
"Let us hope so. And now, about this business in Rome. Tell me what you know of it. As head of the Gestapo, you presumably have up-to-date information?
"Er--yes. Well--" Muller put a hand to his mouth and closed his teeth over his index finger while he sought for words. "We knew, of course, about the telegram. And we knew the agent who sold the information to the Belgians."
"Really?" said Heydrich pleasantly. "I congratulate you, Muller! What did you do about it?"
"Well--unfortunately--we weren't able to discover very much until it was too late. But the agent's well out of the way by now. You needn't worry about that, Obergruppenfuhrer. No, indeed!"
"Your men took care of him? Brought him in for questioning?"
"N-no--not exactly. The fact is," said Muller, in a burst of confidence, "the man was killed in a car accident on the Via Veneto!" "I see."
"We did what we could. It was hardly our fault if he walked across the road without looking . . ."
"One moment." Heydrich held up a slim and shapely hand. "You say you have dealt with the agent. But have you yet dealt with the agent's contact, I wonder?"
Muller opened his mouth to speak, but Heydrich cut across him.
"Obviously not," he snapped. "Do I have to think of everything around here?" He stared piercingly at the unhappy Muller, then turned to Schellenberg, who had been listening to the scene with a whimsical smile on his lips. "I think from now on it might be as well to keep a special eye on our friend Admiral Canaris. I heard this morning that the Fuhrer has entrusted him with the task of discovering the traitor in our midst--the man who sold the agent the information in the first place."
"Ludicrous!" muttered Schellenberg. "It does strike one," agreed Heydrich, "as being dangerously close to appointing a wolf to look after one's sheep, but there you have it, gentlemen. Let us make what use we can of the opportunity." He gave a narrow-lipped smile.
"Canaris!" Schellenberg shook his head as though even now he could not believe it.
"Canaris," confirmed Heydrich. "Of all people! It did occur to me, Brigadenfuhrer, that since you are on good terms with the admiral, it might be as well if you--ah-- flung him a few choice scraps to pass on to trie Fuhrer? Perhaps we might even furnish him, very discreetly, with one or two assistants from your department? For instance, you have a secretary in Section IV/2/B--married to an officer, with a brother in England. She might do rather well --you follow me, I take it?"
Schellenberg nodded gravely.
"At the same time," continued Heydrich, "we must naturally do all we can to help the admiral lay his hands on the traitor. That is your pigeon, Muller. And any more incompetence from your department and you can prepare to pick up your mailbag and start tramping the streets of Munich once again. Do I make myself clear?"
The Battle of Krasny Oktyabr
Several days later we arrived at a position to the northeast of Stalingrad, before the large naval steelworks factory called Krasny Oktyabr ("Red October"). For some months past, this area had been the scenes of many clashes between German and Russian troops. Two enemy regiments were holding out in the steelworks and had so far refused to be dislodged. The factory itself was now a tangled mass of twisted girders and fallen brickwork. Repeated bombardments from German artillery had blown huge holes in the walls, and the smell of death and demolition was rampant; a mixture of brick dust and charred human flesh. The ruins were full of rats. They had grown big and bold, they were the size of large tomcats, and they were scared of no man. We, on the other hand, were absolutely terrified of them. According to Heide, it was only a question of time before we had an outbreak of the plague, and we hurled grenades at them indiscriminately every time we caught sight of the loathsome creatures in our makeshift position. To hell with demands that we save ammunition; plague-carrying rats were worse than Russians any day!
We had been in the area for almost a week when one morning the Old Man was called to see the company commander, Captain Schwan. He was away for some time and we sat grumbling and speculating while he was gone.
"Just take a little trip around the enemy lines and see how it's going, there's a good fellow!" Porta turned and spat in disgust. "Always us, ain't it?"
"It oughta be someone else's turn," said Gregor piously, "It's time they picked on someone else."
"Who are you kidding?" I demanded. "Who had to go off last time to see what the stinking Russians were up to? Not you, as I recall!"
"Yeah, and who came back with a pissing general tucked under his arm?" jeered Gregor.
At this point the Old Man returned. He beckoned grimly to Heide, and the rest of us fell silent as they moved away together.