Opposite Sides (39 page)

“
My name is
Oberleutnant Pfinger. Unlike the other gentleman, I am completely
under Wehrmacht orders although I am assigned to a special
intelligence branch. Now, Herr Resmel, your brother, Renard, has
already told us that your father was a professional soldier so we
know he knew the importance of serving one’s country. We are asking
that you also show your willingness to serve your Führer and your
country.” He lowered his voice. “You wish to see this country
become a great power again and regain it’s international respect,
don’t you?”

“
Well, yes. I
do.”

“
Your name
has come up for service. In other words, you are under conscription
orders. The Führer has given instructions for certain men to be
called up to serve their country and you are now one of those. I do
not have to explain the law regarding this to you. Your name is on
the paper and the Führer expects unwavering loyalty and total
obedience.”

The man’s eyes opened
wider as his voice got louder and louder. Hans’ insides jumped up
into his throat and he was almost choked by the suddenness of it.
Oberleutnant Pfinger reopened his attaché case fished out a
document from his which he then leaned across and placed in the
middle of the table. Hans noticed that a large black swastika
covered most of the top of the page. He had not been prepared for
that. He thought that he would look to the red and white flag of
Austria, not to the black hooked cross that was flying over the
Reichstag in Berlin.

“
Is this
necessary?” Hans was uneasy about its implication. What was he
letting himself in for?

“
Documentation is necessary. It states that you will be
salaried by the Reich. But not only that. Think what an honour it
will be for you and your family. Your brother, Renard, has informed
the office that he has spoken to you and he has already advised you
to accept the posting. Besides, I shouldn’t even think to hesitate
if I were you. Those against the Führer put their lives at risk,
especially when the secret police become involved, if you get my
meaning.”

“
Was one of
those other officers a secret police?”

Pfinger nodded. His
staring gaze penetrated right into Hans’ skull and Hans had the
feeling the man was capable of reading his inner thoughts. Hans
nodded. He made a guess at what the repercussions might be and his
guess did not please him. Pfinger half stood and pushed the paper
closer towards Hans.

“
We
need
all
your
particulars, Herr Resmel.” The man made sure he stressed ‘all,’ for
he wanted it understood that complete obedience was expected. “Now,
your father’s full name?” He paused. The clock kept ticking, a slow
second by second tick as the minute hand moved off the quarter. “We
already have your particulars,” Pfinger stated after a full minute
had passed.

Probably all
from Renard
, Hans thought.
Yes, Renard would do that. Slinking up to such
characters and willing to drop him into anything Renard was
involved with
. How he now despised his
older brother.

“
Ludwig Uland
Heinrich Resmel.” Hans watched as the fat man filled in the
details, carefully and deliberately using the old script. The thin
man continued with his questioning.

“
Your
mother’s?”

“
Alice
Margareta Kastner.”

“
We need to
confirm the names and birthplaces of your grandparents.”

The man began reading
their names off another paper. Hans recognised Renard’s
handwriting. Hans nodded in agreement. He knew the names of his
father’s parents very well as they had lived around Salzburg and he
had known them since he was very young. His mother’s parents were
less well-known and he had only known them as Oma and Opa Kastner.
The thin man began reading more names out loud again only this time
the names had been typed on government paper.

“
Konrad Uland
Kastner born Salzburg, Austria 18. . . and Julia Emma Crawford born
Surrey, England 18. . .”

Hans felt strange now
that he had heard his grandmother’s maiden name. ‘Crawford.’ He
never knew that Oma Kastner had been a Crawford. He knew she had
been born in England, but a Crawford? No. If he had known, he could
have told those English boys he was a ‘Crawford’ when he first
arrived. Then they may have accepted him quicker. A document was
pushed across the table to Hans.

“
You need to
sign there.” A slender well-manicured finger forcefully pointed at
the line on the bottom of the page. Hans noted that it came from
the Foreign Branch of the Abwehr. He thought it better not to
comment.

“
Now?” he
asked instead.

The man nodded and tapped
the line ready for Hans’s signature.

“
I’m not as
enthusiastic as my brother about this, you realise. And if I decide
not to sign?”

“
I wouldn’t
even dare to contemplate that idea, Herr Resmel. Any refusal might
be taken as treason against the Chancellor as well as the country.
Also, I’m not sure your uncle would like his government loan to be
suddenly recalled and his business liquidated.”

Renard had
said nothing all evening but the look Hans received told him he had
better not hesitate any longer. Hans reluctantly took the pen from
him, and signed. He was not happy about it but what choice did he
have? Renard had always managed to get the better of him even when
they were just boys. Hans wondered exactly how involved Renard was
with any of these men in their army uniforms and high leather boots
but before he could ask his brother anything, the officer produced
a leather-bound volume of
Mein
Kampf
which he held in his right hand just
above the table. Above them was a picture of a girl sitting on a
rustic, farm gate and behind, in a smudgy distance were mountains
with snow on their peaks. It was Aunt Laura’s favourite. Hans also
liked it. It reminded him of Austria and of Oma and
Heidi.

His eyes
lowered to the book on the table.
Mein
Kampf
by Adolf Hitler, written during his
imprisonment years
. The book that was now
the testament for the nation. A replacement for the Bible that had
served everyone for almost two thousand years. Herr Hitler stated
his Reich would last at least a thousand years.

That is an
awful long
time, Hans
thought. He sat watching Oberleutnant Pfinger arrange the
table. The new flag with its hooked cross. And then the
book.

“
You are
required to take the oath,” said Pfinger.

“
I wish to
point out again that I am not political.”

“
I
understand. We must all swear an oath.”

“
I do this
for my family. . .” Hans noticed the slight head shake of his older
brother. “ . . . and for my country,” he added in the hope that
this would satisfy.

“
As you
wish,” Pfinger said sending Hans the message that he had no
interest as to what Hans’ motives might have been. “Everybody in
the payment of the Reich must take the oath. Loyalty and obedience
are paramount. When you look at the flag, remember: white for
Nationalism, red for Socialism and black for the purity of the
Aryan race. Put your left hand on the book and swear your
oath.”

Hans read out the words
on the card he had been given in a flat, inexpressive voice. In the
back of his mind he was wondering whether he was doing the sensible
thing. He loved his country yet he hardly recognised it for how
rapidly change was taking place.

“
I swear by
God and by this sacred oath to the Führer, Adolf Hitler, the
supreme commander of the armed forces, that I shall render
unconditional obedience and that as a brave soldier, I shall be
willing and ready to give up my life for him. So help me
God!”

Under his breath Hans was
silently cursing Renard for getting him into this situation. He was
sure Renard had something to do with his conscription although he
knew men had been conscripted for a year now. It was all rather
like being in a boys’ club, only he felt this would prove to be far
more sinister.

Pfinger snapped to
attention.

“
Heil
Hitler!” he barked.

“
Heil
Hitler!” Renard jumped to his feet. He was full of gusto and
enthusiasm for his brother’s inauguration.

“
Heil
Hitler!” Hans mimicked the sound but within his heart it was an
empty echo.

Pfinger handed him a
small card. It was a military one.

“
Don’t lose
it. You are now a servant of the Reich. Carry this identity card.
Always. You never know when you will need to produce it. When we
need you, we will contact you. You will be hearing from us. Now, I
must take my leave, gentlemen.” Pfinger looked upwards. “I do
believe we are in for a storm.”

He clicked his heels but
this time gave a military salute. He repacked his bag, bade both
Resmels farewell, and left. The sky outside was darkening. A
barrier of black clouds had begun to extinguish the
stars.

“
Heil
Hitler!” Was Renard’s reply. What else would one expect from
him?

Heil
Hitler!

Hans would
have to get used to it. There could never be any more of the
friendly
Good mornings
for him. From now on it would be a curt
Sieg Heil
or
Heil Hitler
. That would be the
greeting he would hear. That would be the greeting he would be
expected to use.

When he saw the wide grin
covering Renard’s face, Hans worried about what he had done.
Renard, the Party member. Renard, the ardent National Socialist.
Such men were dangerous. Even one’s own brother. What option did
Hans have, but to obey? From now on, there was no more freedom to
decide. His identity would be controlled. He was now a military
number: Number 00342, Subsection 2B of the Abwehr.

Mr Erwin Hans Resmel the
civilian existed no more.

CHAPTER
14

Prelude to
War

London again. It had been
too many years since he had been there and he discovered that he
had missed the city with its familiar buildings and busy port.
Leutnant Resmel began work in a small office in number 9, Carlton
House Terrace which was used as the German Embassy. It was his job
to sort through foreign government and public papers that came into
the office. He was also sent out into the busy London streets to
gather information from careless gossip and conversations which he
overheard, together with listening to wireless broadcasts. His
weekly reports in which he tried to express the mood and thoughts
of the British people were regularly sent through to Pfinger in
Berlin. The new ambassador, von Ribbentrop, had made it clear that
these reports were vital for the Fatherland to know the mood of the
English people so that the Führer-led government knew how best to
organise their foreign policy.

While working in the
embassy, Hans was expected to be in uniform but as soon as he was
able, he put on a suit and caught the train from London to stay the
weekend at Anne’s place. It was important for him to be with Andrea
for a few days and, at the same time, try to sort out the child’s
welfare before the authorities decided to remove her. Any intention
on his part to take her out of the country would turn him into a
criminal and that would only make things worse for him as well as
for Andrea. The thoughts tore at him and made him nervous,
especially when he received a letter from Anne to say she was
expecting again. Hans had a feeling deep down in his gut that the
situation was about to change and for the worse.

Anne and Gerald had been
living on the Sutherland estate since their marriage. Anne had been
happy with this arrangement as it allowed her to be close to her
mother as they could see each other on a regular basis. Now the
family was set to move away from the cottage which had been their
home for several years. Anne wrote to Hans and asked if he could
make the trip south and stay with them a weekend or two before they
moved.

Hans was impressed by the
picturesque neatness of the small garden surrounding the cottage
and thought the cottage with its trellis of wild roses around the
entranceway was like something out of a picture book, even though
their flowering period was well finished.

The morning was cool and
the air smelt sweet and fresh. It was as if the whole world was
catching its breath, poised in a silence that hangs in expectation.
A wisp of lazy smoke told him that the family was home. No wind. He
noticed the smoke curled upwards in a tight spiral just above the
roof thatch before it evaporated into the still air.

He unlatched the gate and
let it swing closed behind him. The door-knocker was in the shape
of a fox. He lifted it and banged it several times on to its metal
base. It would be good to see Anne again for he had missed the
closeness of their friendship. Writing letters was not quite the
same as meeting face to face and after the greetings and a quick
catch-up of all the local small town news he had missed, the
conversation focused on Anne’s last letter.