The Leader And The Damned (49 page)

'I visited him in Berlin before the war. Because of my links with the British aristocracy he took an interest in me. I was also an actor at one time. So I notice people's mannerisms - tiny things which pass unnoticed by others.'

'I understand that. Please continue.'

'At the Wolf's Lair when I first met Hitler he looked like the same man but I sensed he wasn't. Christa also thought something strange had taken place while he was away on that trip to Russia. And Bormann kept watching her closely after Hitler's return...'

'What is it you are really trying to say?' Hartmann persisted gently.

'Simply that some change had taken place...'

'What you are really saying is that the Hitler who returned late from Smolensk was not the same man who went away?'

It was out in the open. Lindsay made a helpless gesture with his hands. 'I'm saying they have put in a substitute …'

Hartmann grilled the Englishman, searching for a loophole in this theory. Lindsay welcomed the experience, it tested the validity of an event he himself had questioned over and over again. He told the Abwehr man of the nightmarish scene he had witnessed when he first arrived at the Berghof.

'And at that time the real Fairer was visiting the Eastern front,' Hartmann commented.

'I've told you the dates...'

'What about Eva Braun? He'd never have fooled her...`

'I don't think he had to,' Lindsay explained. 'Later on I caught a glimpse of this same man with his arm round her waist as they went into the bedroom she occupies at the Berghof.

'She was having an affair with the double? Now that would be in character,' Hartmann said. 'She's attractive but she's also shallow and flighty.'

'And surely her whole position rested on the existence of the Fuhrer? If he vanished from the scene..

'Goodbye, Eva Braun. She isn't popular -- especially with the wives of the leading Nazis ' Hartmann was becoming convinced. 'It would explain something else,' he suggested.

'What's that?'

Hartmann settled himself back against the rock. Puffing at his pipe, he glanced round to make sure no Partisan was near.

'The debacle at Kursk. Hitler is still controlling the military strategy. He showed himself to be a genius in the early years of the war. The attack on Poland --- the generals were nervous. Hitler was the driving force. The astonishing campaign when we seized Denmark and Norway. Again, it was Hitler's decision to launch the attack under the command of Falkenhorst - and again the generals shivered in their boots, predicting a disaster! France in 1940 - Hitler backed the audacious plan produced by Manstein - and put into operation by Guderian. The General Staff almost had a nervous breakdown. It would be a catastrophe! Instead it was a total victory...'

'He went wrong at Stalingrad,' Lindsay reminded him.

'A myth! Jodl told me Hitler was certain Stalin was massing armies behind the Don - but our Intelligence, the Gehlen lot - insisted any attack would be at Smolensk, hundreds of miles to the north. The generals agreed. For once Hitler gave in and let them go ahead. But how do you account for the fact that the double now at the Wolf's Lair is able to cope with directing the war?' Hartmann asked.

'When I was brought back by train to the Berghof for the second time I was given the same room where I had earlier watched the man with the mirrors. They had cleared the place out but missed a drawer at the base of a wardrobe. Inside I found a whole collection of military works - Clausewitz, von Moltke and others...'

'The very books I know the Fuhrer himself studied,' Hartmann confirmed. 'This new Hitler must have studied for his role in every aspect, maybe over a period of years. Obviously that included the same military manuals the real Hitler read. But he will lack his predecessor's flair - the war is being handed to Stalin on a plate...'

'You think I'm right, then?'

'Yes - and for another reason. Hitler no longer makes use of his old powers of oratory in public - the talent that lifted him to the heights. A strange omission - until you realize that is one activity a pseudo Fuhrer would never dare indulge in because he couldn't pull it off. That is the clincher. And here

comes Paco...'

'You wish to see how determined we are to fight the Germans?' asked Paco. 'Come with me, both of

you...'

She led the way from the rock pile across the slope of the hilltop towards where the Partisans had completed constructing their rampart of boulders at the brink of the drop.

'This is not my idea,' she told them. 'It is Heljec who insisted on this... demonstration.' 'Demonstration?' queried Lindsay.

'Of the Partisans' will to fight. I argued with him but still he insists. So, you will see...'

Heljec stood with a group of men behind the boulders, his waist decorated with grenades slung from a belt, a normal Partisan technique Lindsay found most alarming. They were all there. The amiable, round-faced Milic who smiled at Lindsay. Bleak Bora who looked away at the trio's approach. Dr Macek whose expression was anything but happy (Lindsay wondered why). Heljec's deputy, Vlatko Jovanovic who, behind Heljec's back, made a gesture of resignation to Paco. What on earth was going on?

Heljec himself seemed delighted. He beckoned them forward and placed them between two massive boulders where they could stare down the vertical drop into the abyss. He even laid an arm across the Englishman's shoulder and said something to Paco.

'He wants you to watch the road,' Paco translated. 'They are coming now,' she added.

In the depths a file of tiny figures were marching steadily along the winding thread of a road. As the column came closer, began to pass underneath them, Heljec handed a pair of field-glasses to Lindsay and spoke again. Hartmann was provided with his own pair of binoculars.

'He wants you to study the column,' Paco said tersely.

Mystified, Lindsay focused his glasses. In the twin lenses he was astounded to see the entire column was composed of women, women between approximately the ages of twenty and forty, women armed with every conceivable weapon.

At their waists swung the inevitable hand grenades, festooned round them like some hideous decorations. Pistols were shoved inside their belts. Sheathed knives adorned their sides. Many carried rifles, a few machine-pistols.

They wore the Partisan cap with a red blotch which, Lindsay assumed, was the five-pointed Communist star. There was an eery atmosphere about the endless column which plodded past remorselessly. Not a single woman glanced up to the sheer rock wall rising above them, although Lindsay felt sure they knew a group of their compatriots was watching.

'Who are they?' he asked, lowering his glasses.

'The Amazon Brigade,' replied Paco tonelessly.

Heljec began talking excitedly and Paco, her eyes blazing, turned to confront him, arguing back, her voice and manner as cold as ice. Heljec's expression became ugly as Paco shook her head. He raised his pistol and pointed it at Lindsay. For Hartmann's benefit Paco spoke in German, turning her back on

the Partisan leader.

'Heljec wishes me to tell you both this. The Amazon Brigade are the survivors of a small town which was attacked by a German company. All their men were killed in the battle. They formed themselves into this so-called Amazon Brigade, trained with the Partisans - and then went to hunt down the company which had attacked their town. You both understand that I am telling you this story only at Heljec's urging?'

'Get it over with,' Lindsay suggested.

'They thought they had found the Germans they sought trapped in a defile. The German were surrounded, had not eaten for days and were exhausted. They surrendered...'

'Go on,' Lindsay said quietly.

'After the Germans surrendered, those women down there castrated every man with their knives. The next bit Heljec does not know I am telling you. They had found the wrong Germans. The men were innocent. Now Heljec parades those women to show you how all his people - women as well as men - fight the enemy. Sometimes I wish I had never joined these people.'

Hartmann's expression was grim. Heljec lifted his pistol and placed the muzzle against his forehead. He said something to Paco.

'He wants you to look at those women through your binoculars again,' Paco told him. 'He says if you don't he will pull the trigger..

'Tell the murdering swine to go ahead..

Hartmann threw the field-glasses at the Partisan leader's feet and braced himself. Lindsay saw Heljec take the first pressure. Paco burst out with a stream of Serbo-Croat. The Englishman had never seen her look so contemptuous. Heljec pulled the trigger.

There was a click.

There had been no bullet up the spout. Hartmann remained very still. His face was now bloodless. Heljec removed the weapon and spoke again.

'He says you are a very brave man,' Paco translated.

'Tell him I can't repay the compliment,' Hartmann retorted.

The German shoved both hands inside his jacket pockets and walked away. Paco and Lindsay followed him up the hill to the rocks where they had sat earlier. Hartmann sat down and looked at Lindsay.

'You know why I concealed my hands? They are trembling uncontrollably. I nearly messed myself back there...'

'We have to get away from these bastards as soon as we can,' Lindsay said savagely.

The Heljec incident seemed to have forged a bond between the German and the Englishman. And Paco

made no attempt to object to what had just been said.
Escape
...'

Chapter Thirty-Three

They brought Sergeant Len Reader into the Partisan camp after darkness had fallen like a black cloak. It might be more accurate to say Sergeant Reader brought in the three Partisans - led by Milic - who had found him.

Dressed in British Army serge uniform, Reader marched in front of the group as though in charge. Twenty-seven years old, about five feet eight inches tall, he had a beaky nose, alert eyes, was clean-shaven and exuded an air of confidence.

'Who's in charge of
this
bloody mob?' he enquired. 'You're English..!'

Lindsay stood up, holding the bowl of food he had been consuming with no great enthusiasm, stupefied by the appearance of the new arrival. Reader displayed no such surprise. He addressed his compatriot as though meeting him was the most natural thing in the world.

'London, born and bred. Sergeant Len Reader, Royal Corps of Signals. Plumber by trade - so naturally they say we're going to make a wireless operator of you, Reader. Oh, I'm insubordinate, too.

Would you by any chance be Wing Commander Lindsay?'

'I would.'

'Sir!' Reader threw up the most impressive salute he had encountered. 'Any of these buggers crowding us understand English?'

'Only a blonde girl called Paco - she's elsewhere just now...'

'So I can talk and only you'll get my drift?'

Reader was holding in one hand a sten gun and Lindsay was beginning to understand how he had managed to retain possession of the weapon. From his belt hung ammunition pouches which appeared to be bulging to capacity. A backpack completed his equipment.

'Yes, Sergeant. And this would be a good moment to talk.

'I was supposed to join up with the Brigadier - Fitzroy Maclean, that is - who jumped with his lot from the first aircraft. I was with the team in the second plane. I jumped all right then my bleedin' parachute has to drift away from the rest of 'em. So I find myself all on my own-some. Funny thing, the container with my transmitter lands plonk! Nearly bashed my brains out.'

'This Brigadier Maclean - can you tell me what he's doing in this part of the world?'

'Suppose I can tell
you
- seeing as part of the job was to airlift you out and fly you back to where we

came from...' Reader lowered his voice. 'Tunisia.

Maclean's main job is to contact the Partisan boss over here, better not mention his name, seeing as we're surrounded with all these Peeping Toms. So I find myself wandering round for days dodging Jerries and some of the locals who seem to be hobnobbing with the enemy. A right balls-up, if you ask me...'

Cetniks,' murmured Lindsay, 'the locals collaborating with the wrong people...'