Through the Eye of Time (14 page)

Talking with Willi Johannmeier, Wehrmachtattaché to the Führer, about this very subject the other day and he remarked that if the Proletariat ever learned about the débâcle in Yugoslavia last summer there would be a real stink. Nothing at all leaked out about the episode – not a single word – despite the fact that we lost several divisions, both German and British, three Panzer corps, and Rommel himself admitted that the Yugoslav partisans in the mountains were a match for any army, however well trained, equipped and led.

I confessed to him that I had never understood how Goebbels had managed to cover up the defeat so successfully; after all, wouldn't the survivors talk about it on their return home? It needed just one soldier to reveal the truth and the ‘rumour' would spread like wildfire.

Willi smiled in that calm, lazy manner which, were one not careful, could deceive by its gentleness, and asked me had I ever heard of the Werewolves. I had heard of them but that was about the sum of it.

‘They are commanded by SS Obergruppenführer Hans Pruetzmann,' said Willi. ‘After the Yugoslavian compaign he was ordered by the Reichsführer to detain every last soldier, wounded or not, and to hold them at a camp near Modra, a small town to the north of Bratislava.'

I must have reacted visibly to this because Willi said, his smile intact, ‘No, no, Theo, they were not exterminated. Crack fighting troops are too valuable to feed into the ovens.'

‘Then what was the reason?'

‘Pruetzmann held them at the camp for two weeks' intensive indoctrination. He didn't try to fool them into believing the defeat had never happened – no, he was much more subtle than that. In fact his instructions were explicitly the reverse.'

‘From Himmler?'

Willi nodded, his eyes lazy with amusement. ‘Pruetzmann had a comprehensive and detailed dossier on the families of every man there: wives, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. He told them a dozen times each day, every day for two weeks, that if one word got out concerning what had actually happened during the Yugoslavian campaign the Werewolves would attend
to the lot of them – eliminate every relative down to the last babe-in-arms. They believed him too, and well they should, for he was deadly serious.'

‘The Werewolves are trained assassins, I take it.'

‘An underground organization,' Willi confirmed. ‘Their original purpose was to organize a German resistance movement should we be occupied by foreign invaders, but of course the Führer will not entertain such a notion for an instant. Therefore the Werewolves had to be found a new role.' He paused and drew on his fat cigar, leaning back in his chair, comfortably at ease. ‘A little story which might amuse you. You've met SS Brigadeführer Walter Schellenberg, Head of RSHA Amt VI, I believe? He was given the task of forwarding, via Himmler, a confidential report compiled by Major-General Gehlen on the Polish underground movement. It contained some useful ideas on how one should go about organizing such a movement if it seemed necessary. Well, Schellenberg submitted the report personally and waited while Himmler read it.'

Willi's face creased into a smile.

‘The Reichsführer went berserk. “This is complete and utter madness!” he shouted. “If I were to discuss such a plan with General Wenck I should be denounced as the first defeatist in the Third Reich. The fact would be served up to the Führer piping hot!” Poor Walter. Filled with such good intentions that always seem to go wrong.'

Yet it was evident that Willi revelled in poor Walter's discomfiture, not even bothering to hide his delight. I reflected, looking at Willi, how cautious one has to be, even (or especially!) with one's closest associates; not one of them would hesitate to stab his dearest friend in the back if there was anything to be gained by it.

We moved on to talk of other matters. Willi was unrelievedly gloomy about the spring offensive in the Far East. ‘The British can't fight the Japanese,' was his opinion. ‘They're too much the gentlemen playing a jolly game of cricket. The Japanese have their code of honour too, but it doesn't prevent them butchering the Filipinos. Do you know, Theo,' he said, looking at me keenly through the cigar smoke, ‘I sometimes
wonder what it would have been like to have had the Japanese as allies instead of the British. The Japs believe in total war too, you know.
Weltmacht oder Niedergang
*
.'

‘You think Mandrake has let us down?' I asked, watching him carefully.

‘No, not Mandrake himself. The British people. They've no heart for this fight. No stomach for it either. They'd never have ventured so far east if it hadn't been for Australia and New Zealand.'

‘It's a difficult war out there. The conditions aren't what they're used to. Now in France and the Low Countries their rule is strict and absolute. Their invasion went even more smoothly than ours when we took Poland.'

‘What days those were,' Willi said dreamily, a rapt smile encapsulating his cigar. ‘That was the Reich at its best, the flower of German manhood in full bloom. “Our finest hour”, as Mandrake said.'

‘It was a brilliant speech,' I agreed. ‘A graceful compliment.'

‘Do you think the Allies will win?' he asked abruptly, gazing at the ceiling as if the question was of no consequence.

I considered my reply. ‘I think America is the stumbling-block. They're not yet fully committed to the war effort. If they decide on complete mobilization then the Allies could be up against it. We need to strike
at
them, not wait for them to come to us.'

‘True, true.' Willi lowered his head and glanced round the room. ‘You're closer to the Führer's privileged circle than I am.'

‘I'd hardly say that,' I smiled modestly.

‘Come now, Theo, you know it's true.' He lowered his voice. ‘Have you heard any talk of a secret weapon? A wonder weapon? Something that could be used to knock both Russia and America out of the war at a single stroke?'

I gazed at him without, I hoped, any expression. Was he testing me? Was there some doubt as to my political loyalty? This would need delicate handling. ‘Not a wonder weapon as such,' I replied ambiguously.

‘But you have heard of
U235?'

‘Oh that,' I said. ‘Oh yes.'

‘It hasn't even been mentioned in conference yet – ultra top secret known to just a select few. Christian put me wise.'

‘Christian?'

‘Eckard. Chef Luftwaffenführungsstab.'

‘Oh yes.'

‘The scientists are almost at the stage where they are ready to test it. Apparently – I find this impossible to believe, quite frankly – they say it will decimate an area
ten thousand kilometres square
.'

‘That's what I heard too.'

‘Can you imagine it?' He waved his cigar in the air. ‘With a device like that we could wipe out Moscow, Leningrad, New York, Washington, San Francisco, Tokyo …' He became lost in dreadful contemplation, a small bemused smile on his lips.

‘How big is it, this device?'

‘No idea,' Willi said. ‘Not a clue. Eckard says it contains some kind of new material, very unstable stuff by all accounts. That's what they call
U235
. But how it works and what the actual device is like he couldn't say.'

‘An area ten thousand kilometres square.'

‘Tremendous, eh? That'd teach 'em who was boss.'

‘And we're almost ready to test it?'

‘Later this year. They've selected the Ukraine as the site. Wipe out a few million more peasants. My God, they'll wonder what's hit them.' He emitted a little squeak of amusement and choked on the cigar smoke.

‘Probably why they call it the wonder weapon,' I said, punching his arm.

*

20th April, a great celebration: the Führer's birthday!

Unfortunately he wasn't feeling very well and we had to curtail the festivities. An informal party for about fourteen people had been arranged, to take place during the afternoon, but when I attended him shortly after 2 p.m. he was in a dreadful state. His left arm and left leg were shaking uncontrollably and when he rose to his feet his stoop was even more pronounced than usual. He complained of a headache and said that
his vision was affected; there was also a strange pallor to his skin, like a mottled grey. Most odd.

Immediately I prepared a triple injection: 200 mg. of Amylobarbitone to calm the nervous system, 60 mg. of a parasympatholytic (Hyoscyamine) to relieve the tremors in his limbs, followed by 6 mg. of Picrotoxin to act as a stimulant.

He became lethargic for half an hour, went into convulsions (probably the effect of the Picrotoxin) and then revived and seemed to be his old self once more. It was important that he look fit and healthy because Goebbels had sent a film camera team along to take some newsreels of the Führer on the balcony, enjoying his birthday celebration. By about three-thirty he was able to stand and walk unaided, so we went outdoors and Hitler played with Blondi, making a great fuss over his Alsatian. Eva had put on (at my insistence) a bathing costume and we frolicked about for twenty minutes or so for the benefit of the camera.

In a brief respite later on, standing by the rail and pretending to be drinking in the marvellous alpine scenery, I asked Eva what she had heard of this device known as
U235
. She said that it had been mentioned but that was all, and I told her to find out everything she could about it.

Obersalzberg, May 1943

More meddling interference from Brandt and his cronies. ‘We are concerned,' they write in a memorandum, ‘for the health of the Führer. His general demeanour we find disturbing and we think it advisable to meet with yourself and discuss in some precise detail the medication you are prescribing.'

It is signed Dr Karl Brandt, Begleitarzt (Surgeon to the Führer); Dr Hans Karl von Hasselbach, Deputy Surgeon; Dr Erwin Giesing, E.N.T. Specialist.

If the idiots think I am going to allow them to step in now, after all these years, and make a mess of all I've worked for, the careful planning, the scrupulous diagnostic case-work, the hours of preparing new compounds and mixtures – if they really believe I am going to stand aside and let them queer the pitch they must be out of their heads.

Himmler arrived this morning bearing more bad news. As if
the North African and Middle East campaigns weren't going disastrously enough, the Reichsführer now brings word that the anticipated breakthrough on the Eastern Front hasn't materialized and isn't likely to in the foreseeable future. The Russian forward position (‘the thin red line', as Himmler remarked of it contemptuously), when just on the point of breaking, received American and Japanese reinforcements; not a large force, so it appears, but they were equipped with the new GM tanks and Mitishubi armaments. The result – stalemate.

I wasn't present when the news was given to the Führer but I heard later that he was speechless, eyes bulging, foaming at the mouth, and he had another bout of the twitches. This from Julius, who keeps me informed of everything that goes on during my absence.

The strategic dilemma, it seems, is that the Allied General Staff is very much afraid that if a breakthrough isn't made during the summer months the fierce Russian winter will bog down the troops of both sides till the spring of '44 at the earliest. The Führer will not stand for this and Himmler's mission is to agree an immediate strategy and carry the decision posthaste to Field-Marshal Reichenau. However, I very much doubt whether Hitler is in sufficient possession of his faculties to make any kind of rational appraisement of the situation; nor is he able to form a workable or even coherent plan of action.

Julius also mentioned that, during his audience with the Führer, Himmler broached the subject of a special squad, to be known as the SS HADER Unit, whose purpose, as near as I can make out, is to create discord and strife amongst the civilian population of occupied territories. Why it is necessary to do this I haven't a notion, unless the Reichsführer believes it will hinder their resistance movements. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the idea emanated from Wulf, Himmler's personal astrologer, who has a strong influence on all his decisions.

I haven't confided this to anyone, not even to Eva, but the behaviour of many of the high-ranking officers seems to me of late to be verging on the lunatic. They are more concerned with building their own little empires than with trying to win the war. At this rate it will drag on for years and might even lead to the unthinkable possibility of defeat for the Third Reich.

Felix and I have discussed this matter before, on several occasions, but I think it might be advisable in the very near future to open an account in Switzerland. Should the worst happen and all assets are frozen it would be foolish to be left holding millions of marks which wouldn't be worth the paper they're printed on. The plan would entail a discreet transfer of capital to Switzerland, buy gold, deposit it in a numbered account, and make preparations for a speedy departure.

I shall inform Felix of my intention without delay. One never knows.

*

Another disturbed night: they seem to be occurring much more frequently now.

I had settled down with a good book, a nightcap, and a box of my own special brand, and after reading for about an hour was drifting off into a beautifully relaxed sleep when my bedside telephone started ringing. It was Heinz Linge, the Führer's manservant. He told me to come at once and tend to the Führer who had, in his phrase, ‘gone cuckoo'. I put my dressing-gown on, picked up my bag, and hurried along to the Führer's private apartments on the floor above.

The bedchamber was in a frightful mess. The dressing-table had been swept clean, there were bottles and jars all over the floor, including several vials of Dr Koester's Antigas Pills; the wall drapes had been torn from their fitments, and one of the wardrobe doors had all but been wrenched from its hinges. The large ornamental mirror of Venetian glass had a splintered crack from top to bottom and all the lightshades were askew.