The Pale House (8 page)

“The UstaÅ¡e's capacity as an effective fighting force in Sarajevo is very low. It is questionable the extent to which they are still following orders from Zagreb in any meaningful way. As they grow weaker, they seem to be growing more desperate and out of control in the way they govern what little territory is left to them, with an increase in the use of terror, corruption, and brutality.” Those ought to have been the UstaÅ¡e watchwords, thought Reinhardt—to go along with their ridiculous triptych of “knife, revolver, bomb”—and most certainly this Langenkamp had seen a little too much of all that. Reinhardt could see it in the man's eyes and the rigid set of the tendons in his neck. UstaÅ¡e liaison. Reinhardt could imagine few jobs more distressing and degrading.

“I would add one piece of intelligence. It seems a purge may be about to take place within the UstaÅ¡e in Sarajevo. There are rumors that some of the more senior UstaÅ¡e have disappeared, possibly deserted, and General
is allegedly furious, suspecting treason and betrayal.”

“Nevertheless,” Herzog interrupted, impatience writ large across his boxer's face, “despite their weaknesses and internal divisions, they remain our allies. Our
allies
, gentlemen,” he said, rolling his spiky little eyes around the group. “As our allies, they have ruled out any kind of accommodation with the Partisans, and the two groups seem set on a fight to the death, with no quarter being asked or given. The UstaÅ¡e are paranoid about Partisan infiltration into the city, and regularly conduct sweeps and arrests in an effort to break up the Partisan cells and capture or kill Valter and his commanders. They are utterly obsessed with him.

“And for good reason. Make no mistake, gentlemen, Partisan infiltration is very real. Those fuckers are everywhere. You have all heard by now, I think, of the rather audacious coup they carried out recently. The theft of the army's defense plans, two days ago, from right out of the locked safe where they were held, in this very building.”

“Hats off to whoever did it,” said Scheller, to a general murmur from the assembled officers. “That was a hell of an operation.”

Herzog frowned at Scheller, though he nodded. “We tried to keep it a secret, and officially it still is. However, too many people got questioned, and too many things now need changing as a result of the theft, and it has been chaos. To make matters worse, the officer in charge of drafting the plans, Colonel Wedel, committed suicide yesterday, increasing the rumors and worsening the confusion. Back to you, Langenkamp.”

“Our dealings with the UstaÅ¡e proceed on a delicate basis,” Langenkamp continued, as if Herzog had never spoken. “With the evacuation, we are under pains to ensure they do not take the wrong impression, and believe we are abandoning them completely. That would lead to unpredictable consequences for our troops here, and across Croatia. In addition, UstaÅ¡e activity in the city, even if it is causing problems for our occupation and evacuation, has been given an implicit seal of approval by the general officer commanding in Sarajevo, General Kathner. Lastly, for your information, I have a counterpart in the UstaÅ¡e, a Captain
. Should you not be able to locate me, you may request his assistance. Thank you,” he finished, ending as he had started, with his hands folded on the table and his eyes focused somewhere else.

There was silence after Langenkamp had finished, and Reinhardt wondered whether any of the Feldjaeger had an inkling of what awaited them out there, with the UstaÅ¡e. “Captain Langenkamp,” he said, leaning into the silence, feeling the weight of Herzog's eyes boring into him. “You mentioned an UstaÅ¡a called Ante
. I wonder, did he used to be in the Sarajevo police?” Langenkamp nodded.

“Friend of yours, Reinhardt?” asked Scheller, eyebrows raised over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Not exactly.”

“So you'll not be wanting to run into him again, I'd think?” Reinhardt's mouth opened, but he did not know what to say to that. “Hold that thought, then, Reinhardt. Let's listen to Major Neuffer. Major, please,” said Scheller, indicating he had the floor. With his smoothed-back hair, wide cheeks, and a pinched mouth stitched across his narrow chin, Neuffer suddenly reminded Reinhardt of no one so much as the old Kaiser, Wilhelm II.

“Thank you, Colonel. I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you and your men to the city, and say that we are counting on your assistance to maintain order within the ranks. We are very happy to have you here with us,” he said, though he looked, like Herzog, anything but happy. The major went on longer in that vein, a formalistic and formulaic litany, with only a few real pieces of information and intelligence sprinkled through it until Herzog grunted at him to “fucking get on with it.” With flushed cheeks, Neuffer informed them that the Feldjaeger were to be deployed at certain hot spots, such as the train station and the main barracks here in Kosovo Polje.

“Colonel, if I may,” Reinhardt spoke up. Scheller nodded. “General, sir, what is the role of the German forces in maintaining law and order within the city itself?”

“I would like to reiterate what Captain Langenkamp has said about the UstaÅ¡e. They remain our allies, and as such, it is our duty to assist them or, failing that, to not hinder them in their operations. Our responsibility is to ensure that our men maintain good discipline pending their evacuation, and to put the fear of God into them if they step out of line. Except in matters of strategy, and in operational security, and in those touching directly upon our troops, we have no authority over the UstaÅ¡e.”

“Meaning, sir?”

“Meaning that law and order in the city is the almost exclusive preserve of the UstaÅ¡e.”

“
‘
Almost' exclusive? Meaning . . . ?”

Herzog frowned, clearly annoyed by Reinhardt's questioning. “Meaning we leave them the fuck alone.”

“Meaning we leave them alone to do whatever damn thing they want?” asked Reinhardt, who had been irked by the general's dismissive profanity into slipping one of his own into his words.

Herzog's eyes narrowed. “And remind me just who the hell you are?”

“Reinhardt, sir.”

Herzog turned his squinty eyes on Neuffer, who nodded. “Reinhardt. Right. Colonel,” said Herzog, addressing Scheller, “this is precisely what we were afraid of. I must bring up the actions of Captain Reinhardt earlier this evening, about which we have received a written complaint from the UstaÅ¡e, and a report from one of our own people.”

“Who would that be?”

“An officer who observed Captain Reinhardt's dealings with the UstaÅ¡e.”

Scheller cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Reinhardt. “There was a Feldgendarmerie unit there at that checkpoint earlier this evening, sir.”

“And what cause for complaint did Captain Reinhardt give, sir?” Scheller asked.

Herzog's mouth moved, and Reinhardt could not tell if he found the question distasteful, or the whole thing funny. “Captain Reinhardt got in the way of things, shall we say. The natural order of events.” Scheller cocked his head, inviting Herzog to say more.

Neuffer shifted uncomfortably. “If we might return to the matter at hand . . .” He paused, as if inviting Herzog to say more, but the general remained silent. “Such unilateral actions as Captain Reinhardt's, going directly against the wishes of the UstaÅ¡e, are detrimental to our smooth relations and operations in this city. I have been asked for your assurance this will not happen again.”

“Quite,” said Scheller, his chin sunk on his chest. He looked up at Herzog from beneath his lowered brows, looking calm and reasonable, but those who knew him—and Reinhardt was starting to read his moods—could see the annoyance that was on the verge of turning to anger. Scheller was, as Reinhardt had learned in these past months, a man intensely loyal to his subordinates. He expected a great deal of them, but he gave a great deal back in terms of trust and responsibility and freedom of action. “We must all hope Captain Reinhardt, and indeed any of my men, not be faced with such situations.”

“Too fucking right,” Herzog grunted. “A rule of thumb, gentlemen. Think of it as colors. Our jurisdiction begins and ends with those in field gray. We have no authority over those dressed in black. And on that, I'll leave you to it, shall I? Neuffer's your man if you need anything. Best of luck and all that,” he said rising, tugging his tunic straight, and then something seemed to change in the way he stood, and spoke, as if he suddenly stood in focus. “This is no picnic, gentlemen, and although it may seem like the worst of times, this is a prelude. Sometimes, you know things have to get bad, sometimes really bad, before they get better. These, gentlemen,” he said, jutting his chin at the Feldjaeger, “these are such times, and this is such a place. When they look back, they'll look at this place, these times, and they'll wonder at the caliber of the men who lived and fought through it all.” Herzog paused at the door as Neuffer held it open, looking back at them. “And with that, gentlemen, I wish you luck.”

“Right, lads,” said Scheller when they were alone. “Morten, be a good chap and reach that bottle out from the cabinet.” There was quiet as Morten poured four glasses of brandy, and then they sat back, lighting cigarettes. Each of them, it was clear, was thinking of General Herzog. Reinhardt exchanged a glance with Morten, who raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the door. “Here's what I want. I want us all out of this city intact. I don't want anyone lost if we can help it. Not for this dump—you'll excuse the reference,” he said, nodding to Reinhardt, who raised his glass back, “and not for these psychopathic UstaÅ¡e, either. So, we back up the Feldgendarmerie where they ask us to, but particularly at the train station. Things can sometimes get out of hand there, apparently.”

“That's to be expected, sir. Men can go a bit crazy so close to a way out,” said Morten.

“Quite. I want a few of our own patrols out, as well. I don't know how long we'll be here for, and I want our own eyes and ears and feel for the ground. Lainer, you take care of that, will you?

“Reinhardt, I'm taking you off operations. I want you on the staff here, and I want you liaising with army command. You know the city. I want your experience at hand if Lainer's and Morten's boys call in, or need intelligence.”

“Sir,” began Reinhardt. He looked at the other two captains. Both of them were, as was normal for the Feldjaeger, highly decorated and immensely experienced combat officers. Lainer was given to sporting a rather rakish appearance with his hair permanently combed back from a widow's peak, and Morten was somewhat piratical with a patch over his left eye. It had not been easy to win the respect of these men. Reinhardt was still not sure he had it, feeling that they all looked sideways at him, wondering if they thought him weak, or not tough enough, and sometimes the urge to tell stories of his days as a stormtrooper in the first war—to show them he was once as young and strong and hard as them—was powerful, but he stopped himself, not wanting to be seen as someone living in the past. Not some old man holding up the bar with stories from a bygone era. “If it's because of the UstaÅ¡e . . .”