Guns At Cassino (12 page)

‘
Prost!
' he brought the glass up level of the third button on his tunic, elbow extended at a right angle to it, as military custom prescribed.

‘
Prost!
' von Dodenburg responded.

`Well,
Major von Dodenburg, I am sure you are wondering what the Reich Main Security office has to do with an establishment, which, I suppose one could class in the parlance of the man-in-the-street, as a whorehouse, eh?' He smiled and sipped his wine carefully.

`Somewhat.'

`You could say that I started my official career here when my old chief General Heydrich thought he would take a leaf out of Stieber's (1) book and open a discreet little establishment, catering for all types of sexual pleasure among those who one might classify as – high society. We modernized the Stieber concept of course. Our girls – and boys, we must concern ourselves with that particular one too – are all trained members of the SD, speaking two foreign languages, and each room is wired to the central listening system in the cellar.' He saw the look in the young officer's eyes. 'Oh, yes, every word, each groan, any perverse little desire is being recorded at this very moment beneath our feet.' He chuckled. 'What a treasure chest our records would be for a blackmailer, eh! Ciano, Ribbentrop, Goering - they have all been here, though the good Reich Marshal was not very effective, I can tell you. Yes, my dear Major, I really learned about life in the good Kitty's establishment - '

`But,
sir,' von Dodenburg cut in, a little irritated by the smart young SD chief's loquacity. 'I can't really see what all this has got to do with me.'

`Of
course, all that was by way of a preliminary. In short, what I wanted to say was, I have listened long enough. Now the time has come for action.'

`What
kind of action?'

Schellenberg
tapped the ends of his long, well-manicured fingers together. 'In essence, von Dodenburg, the problem is whether we can rely upon you to support Colonel Geier in his direction of the Wotan when the time is ripe.'

`Who
is we and what is the time, sir?'

Schellenberg
took a careful sip of his Moselle.

`Let
me answer the second question first. We lawyers, von Dodenburg, are very fond of the oblique approach, I'm afraid. Well, in any period of internal crisis, we feel there ought to be certain troops like yours – elite formations, which can be relied upon to help to solve that crisis. In Berlin we have the Guards Battalion, for instance; In Poland the Greater Germany Division; in Italy your own Wotan – all units located in strategic places throughout the Reich and the occupied territories.'

`And
the we, Group Leader?' von Dodenburg persisted.

`Ah,
the we,' Schellenberg looked hard at von Dodenburg. `Well, I could tell you they are certain key officers of the Wehrmacht, the Armed SS and naturally my own service.'

`You're
talking in circles, Group Leader,' von Dodenburg snapped, growing angry as well as apprehensive at Schellenberg's procrastination. 'You haven't answered my question.'

`Naturally,'
Schellenberg said without offence. 'I'd risk my head if I did.' He paused momentarily. 'And that of your good father.'

`
My
father!
' von Dodenburg gasped.

`Yes,
after all, he was one of the instigators of the whole affair. Now he is a key member of our organization in your native East Prussia.'

`To
do what?'

`Well,
in essence, we must take certain action if the Führer will not make peace before it is too late.'

`And
that action?' von Dodenburg rapped.

`
To
overthrow
Adolf
Hitler!
'

`Wagner!'
Schellenberg shouted, finally breaking the shocked silence which greeted his announcement.

The
big doors opened immediately to reveal Wagner stuffing back his pistol into its holster. He grinned at von Dodenburg's look.

`Just
a precaution, Major, just a precaution.'

`Is
General von Dodenburg on the line, Wagner?'

`Yessir
and spitting blood too because I made him wait.' He looked at von Dodenburg. 'Your father is an exceedingly hot-tempered man. He threatened to come up to Berlin personally and whip my arse if I didn't hurry up.'

`Come,'
Schellenberg ordered, 'the scrambler's in the other room.'

They
passed into another ornate and vulgar room where a green telephone receiver lay on the table next to a painting of the sexual act, which looked as if it had been painted in the previous century.

`I
am sure your father would have no objection to my listening to the conversation,' the SD man said. 'I'm sure you won't either.' He did not wait for confirmation but picked up the attachment.

`Certainly.'

Von Dodenburg picked up the phone.

`Is
that you, Kuno?' his father's voice exploded in his ear; the old man could never get used to the idea that one did not need to shout to be heard over the telephone.

`Yes,
Father.'

`And
damned time too, Kuno. I want to speak to you, naturally, but I am also in great need of an opportunity to pass water. You know the state of my damned outside plumbing?'

Kuno
von Dodenburg did. It resulted from 'living well but not too wisely', as the old General was wont to bark whenever the doctor had to be called to deal with the problem. In spite of the gravity of the situation he smiled, and imagined the old man sitting on his old regimental saddle in the dark library, filled with the dusty tattered momentoes of ten generations of his family's service in the cause of the Hohenzollerns (2) and what came thereafter: the tattered old flag which had flown at Bluecher's side at Waterloo; the large ornate chandelier looted at Metz in '70; the great sword a remote ancestor had wielded for the Great Elector; the letter under glass which had been written to a von Dodenburg by Old Fritz - a score of items proving the von Dodenburgs' loyalty to their masters. And now that family was preparing to betray its leader for the very first time.

`The
East is lost,' his father was saying matter-of-factly. 'At night we already can hear the guns here. The Reds have proved better than us. They have transformed their country into a perfectly organized inhuman ant-heap producing more guns, tanks, soldiers than we can ever do. Soon the Red tide will overrun us, if we don't do something to stop it now.'

Kuno
von Dodenburg attempted a joke.

`Well,
you've got your defences organized in the estate, haven't you, Father?'

`Naturally
I won't be taken personally without a fight. After all I am - I was - a soldier. But that is not what I meant. We cannot stop the Reds militarily any more. That is obvious. We must do so through a combination of political and revolutionary means.'

Von
Dodenburg caught his breath. Now he realized, for the first time, the full extent of what the man standing next to him had planned. 'Revolutionary, what do you mean, Father?'

`Politically,
by surrendering what we have taken by force in the East - and in the West naturally - and revolutionary - well, it's self-evident isn't it, Kuno? If your Führer does not agree, then we must get rid of him.'

`How?'
Overhearing the contempt in his father's voice, he forced himself to ask the impossible question, 'how will you get rid of him, Father?'

`By
force, of course. Wake up, boy - by
force
!
'
his father snapped testily.

`But
that ... that would be rank treason,' he breathed in horror, 'you cannot do that!'

`Of
course, it's treason, Kuno, and of course we are playing for high stakes. But it must be done for the sake of our country, even if it means breaking our holy oath as soldiers and von Dodenburgs too.' He paused for breath. 'Are you still there, Kuno?'

`Yes,
Father.'

`I
must go now, but look after yourself, boy. You are the last von Dodenburg.' Then the phone went dead.

Schellenberg
looked across at Kuno von Dodenburg as he took the phone from the pale-faced young officer's hand and replaced it in its cradle, but he said nothing. Wagner spoke for him, the humour gone from his voice now.

`If
I may take the liberty of summing up your present situation, Major von Dodenburg,' he said slowly, 'you are faced by two alternatives. You join us and save, not only Germany, but your father's life too, for we shall be found out if we do not act soon. That is obvious. Or you betray us and thus deliver us into the hands of the Gestapo.' He smiled faintly. 'In the language of the front-line swine, my dear Major, we have you truly by the short and curlies, haven't we?'

Ten

The brother of the whore pushed a glass of weak wartime beer across the stained counter in the smoky little pub opposite the station.

`No
good,' he said, hardly opening his lips lest he be overheard by the mixed company of black marketeers, soldiers waiting to catch their trains back and the whores, who filled the place. 'The comrade in the RTO (1) tells me that they are looking out for you at the barriers.'

`It's
my handsome mug,' Schulze answered, taking a swig at the beer and pulling a face. 'Once seen, forgotten for ever.'

`But
you must be serious,' the boy said. 'Your life is at stake. They take our comrades to Neuengamme Concentration Camp for less than what you have done this day.'

`You
and your shitty comrades,' Schulze growled. 'Can't you call them mates or something?'

In
his heart, he knew the boy was right. He had struck a chain-dog and floored a Gestapo man; and if that weren't bad enough, he had helped a Bolshevik to escape. They would have the bollocks off him for that.

`But
all I wanted to do was to get the dirty water off my chest and then go and see my old man out in Barmbek.'

`There
is no question of doing that now,' the pale-faced boy said with the assurance of a man twice his age. 'They have your description and the fact you belong to the SS. You must get out of the Reich and back to your unit at the front as soon as possible. There you'll be safe.'

Schulze
looked incredulously at him through the smoky haze. `Safe at the front - that I don't laugh! They're killing people out there, you know.'

`I
know,' the boy answered gravely. 'But believe me, far worse things than death are happening back here in the Reich. Out at Neuengamme, they are torturing people to death slowly, very slowly, by means which you cannot even imagine. That's why we must strike at the fascist beasts soon before they have killed the best of the comrades. We
must
get rid of them.'

Schulze
thought of the many millions of Germans, who blindly served the National Socialist cause and told himself the boy was living in a dream world; he and his 'comrades', whoever they might be, would never make the man in the street turn against Hitler until it was too late.

`You
might be right, but at this particular moment, sonny, I'm worried about Mrs Schulze's boy. You got me into this mess, how about getting me out of it?'

The
young communist's grave face brightened.

`Don't
worry, comrade, we'll get you out of Hamburg and back to your unit all right. Tell me first, where you have to return to?'

Schulze
quickly filled in the details, while around him the dark-eyed whores screamed hysterically on the soldiers' knees and the black marketeers exchanged their wares surreptitiously under the beer-stained tables.

`Good,'
the boy said finally, 'we shall see that you meet your officer at the
Lehrter
Bahnhof
by four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I think we'd better go and see Fat Erna. It looks as if she could pull off the wounded soldier routine with you.'

`And
who's Fat Erna when she's at home?' Schulze asked, finishing off his beer.

For
the first time since Schulze had met him in the Herbertstrasse, the boy's face broke into a smile.

`You'll
see, comrade. All I can say at the moment is that she's a helluva lot of woman.'

Fat
Erna was washing her enormous bulk in a chipped enamel bowl in front of the green-tiled stove when they opened the door of her room. Schulze's mouth dropped open at once. Fat Erna, who must have weighed well over a hundred kilos, was completely naked save for a tiny white washcloth with which she was rubbing her left breast, as if she were kneading dough for the oven.