Opposite Sides (44 page)

The men jumped to their
feet like a group of school children ready to go on an excursion.
But this was no picnic. A loud thundering drone of aircraft engines
tore the clouds apart. The dull rumble of giant tanks came closer,
passed and clattered across the flat farmland. Suddenly everything
around exploded into action as the big guns hurled their whining
shells high into the air. The armies of the Third Reich were on the
move. The killing was about to commence. Fresh blood was starting
to flow. Another war was poised to begin.

Back in his kitchen,
Uncle Karl had his ear close to the wireless. The valves squealed
and hissed and finally the news bulletin came through.

‘
Early this
morning, Germany was attacked by a band of Polish fighters. The
Führer now asks that you defend your homeland and demonstrate the
same bravery and strength of spirit as did our fine men who bravely
laid down their lives in the defence of the Fatherland. Heil
Hitler
!’

Uncle Karl
turned off the wireless just as the first bars of the Horst-Wessel
song began: ‘
Die Fahne hoch die Reihen
fest geschlossen . . . ’

Aunt Laura
spooned the two brown eggs out of the boiling water and cut a few
slices of bread which she laid with exactness in the middle of the
oval plate. Coffee was perculating quietly in the
background.
Aunt Laura and Uncle Karl then
sat down to enjoy their normal breakfast.

PART
II

CHAPTER
15

The
Meeting

As Poland was in the
process of being swallowed up, Britain declared war on Germany.
Before the European countries followed Britain, the Führer ordered
his generals to take Luxembourg, Belgium, the Netherlands and
finally, in May 1940, France. The French army was defeated. The
remnants of the British Forces were squashed onto the beaches at
Dunkirk. Herr Hitler was sure Britain would now sue for peace.
After all, they had been continually stating that they did not want
a return to the position of 1914.

All wireless broadcasts
were now under the complete control of Herr Goebbels, the Minister
for Propaganda. The radio continued to broadcast news of Britain’s
weakened position along with the anticipation of her announcement
of peace. That was until the National Socialists secretly listened
in on the BBC short-wave broadcast which rallied all the citizens
within the Empire to rise up together and take up the fight for
freedom and survival.

That same afternoon, not
far from the northern Polish town of Bobolice. a field radio was
turned on. Several men were sitting around a rough make-shift table
trying to listen to a whining and spluttering wireless set that had
been brought into the bunk-house room. Fighting on the Eastern
Front had quietened down and the men had time to listen to Dr
Goebbles speaking about Britain’s defiant stance.

“
Those
English must be mad!” exclaimed the Unterfeldwebel when he stomped
into the room, shedding clumps of field dirt from his army boots.
He saluted and handed over the latest despatch to his commanding
officer.

“
What gives
you that idea, Kurt? One of the others asked tucking his cigarette
case back into his top pocket.”

“
The English
don’t want peace!” Kurt replied forcefully. “How do they think they
can fight against the might of the Third Reich? Their weapons are
no pinch for ours. Their men don’t have the drive nor staying power
our men have.” Kurt watched as the Obergefreiter lit a cigarette
and after one puff began a fit of coughing. Finally, when his lungs
had quietened down, he was able to speak again. “Do you not
agreewith that, Herr Leutnant?”

Leutnant Resmel shrugged
his shoulders and waved the invading smoke away with the back of
his hand. He pressed his ear closer to the whistling wireless on
the small table before him. He was secretly thinking of the men
holed up on a French beach. Did their England seem as far away as
France had, the last time he had stood on English soil and looked
over the sea? When he and Gerald had sat on the hillside discussing
the possibility of crossing the Channel, the water had looked so
peaceful. Did it look that way now to those soldiers stuck on the
beach? The Channel no longer had a seaside beach and lazy waves to
paddle in but was now a hostile barrier, unfriendly and dangerous.
Had the English Government been too over-confident sending an army
to France? And yet, at the same time, he knew that they were not a
people inclined to rush in rashly. The lion had only roared: his
bite might prove to be worse.

Hans thought of his
friends and relations across that water divide. Opposite coasts.
They were on the opposite side now. It was just the same when his
parents were young. Again, the family found themselves in the same
stupid position and it was happening just the same as before.
Friends would be forced to kill friends, cousins to kill cousins
and brothers . . . would they have to die also before the fighting
was over? It was madness to go to war again. He could never think
of it being exciting, like Renard.

It was unnerving the way
Jan and himself were finally on good terms with each other and just
as they had become friends, their friendship had been rent apart
and just as he had discovered Miss Turner could easily have become
his aunt, a wall had been forced between them. It hurt him even
more when he thought of Andrea, for no sooner had his daughter
become old enough to recognise him as father, their relationship
was forced to end. And those who had done this to them were his
real enemy, not the people who had been his friends and family! But
they are his enemy! His own daughter was now officially his enemy!
It had taken just one short broadcast; a few words between
governments to separate them. For how long? Until hostilities
ceased. How long would that be? Crazy, crazy . . . nothing made
sense any more! Then, it occurred to him, that if everything did go
to plan and the army did reach England as Herr Goebbels had
foretold, he would be able to see Andrea again . . . and
Jan.

Hans thought
of his two brothers. Renard, the fanatic, who had jumped at the
suggestion to serve his
Führer
and Reich and who had volunteered, even before
1935, when conscription began. Where was Renard now? Probably
getting some young granadier to polish his jack-boots, proving he
was an excellent example of the Führer’s new ‘
Mensch
.’ Renard had always been one
for adventure. Joining the Nazi Party was an adventure for him but
the trouble with Renard was that once he had become a fully-fledged
member, he wanted everyone else to see things his way. He had
joined the Kriegsmarine with the ambition to serve on a new
submarine that would join the wolf-packs on their hunts somewhere
out in the Atlantic Sea.

Yes, Renard
would like that
, thought Hans.
He would love being one of the elite.

Then, there was Axel . .
. so different; the other side of the coin: a sensitive young man
who was repulsed by any idea of war. He had already confided in
Hans that, while at university, he had met with a group of young
students who had distributed anti-Nazi pamphlets but that his
connection with them had not been long standing. Hans warned his
younger brother to be extremely careful with all the friends he
chose to have and to trust no-one, not even one who proffessed to
being his best friend. The Nazi organisation was out to round up
and destroy all those who did not fit in with their idea of what a
good German should be or those they thought might oppose them. So
far Axel had been lucky. He had been able to keep his head down and
now that he was able to work for their uncle, he would be protected
as he was classified as being in one of the reserved occupations.
But even so, now that war had been declared, Hans feared for his
younger brother. Would he be watched? Would he remain safe? Hans
had heard rumours that foreign workers were being brought in so
that those men in the factories could be drafted and turned into
fighting men. So far Axel’s number had not been drawn and he could
remain apart from the stresses and pressures of life in service.
Hans had no wish to see his quiet, mild brother be dragged into
bloody fighting.

Just before
Hans had received his orders for Bobolice, he had discussed his
fear for his younger brother with Uncle Karl but he did not
indicate that Axel had been involved with anti-Nazi sentiments. It
was important for all the family to keep Axel away from such
influences if their own lives would not be endangered. He was most
relieved when Uncle Karl announced that he would make certain that
Axel was employed by him and he gave his nephew a most impressive
title and a smart uniform that would have made any general envious
as he rubber stamped Axel for one of the most important positions
in the business. Karl Kl
ö
n could not do without his newly
appointed business official and, so far, the authorities seemed to
be satisfied.

Following the fall of
France, on July 22nd, 1940, Leutnant Resmel received instructions
to take the train back to Berlin. In a locked case, chained to his
wrist, he was ordered to deliver some important military papers
directly to the Führer’s headquarters. The thought of that made him
extremely nervous. There was a slight possibility that he could
meet the Führer in person. All of the personnel in the Chancellory
had been selected and hand-picked by the Führer or Dr Goebbels and
even being introduced to any of them was deemed a great honour in
the military circles. Hans was told that a new uniform would be
provided, for nothing less than perfection was permitted. He
already knew that he must polish his boots until they reflected his
face like a mirror and knew that a loud click of the heels and a
perfect salute was part of the order. He would be judged on the
execution of such expectations.

The huge, high doors were
swung wide open. At the far end, a long way across an expanse of
highly polished marble flooring, was one large mahogany table. The
seated figure appeared so small one could have been mistaken that
he was only a metre tall. Statue-like, the man waited for the
Leutnant to approach the desk, a haze of strong-smelling tobacco
smoke drifted like early morning mist above his table. Hans stopped
three metres in front of the table. He clicked his heels, then
raised his right arm.

“
Heil
Hitler!”

The diminutive figure at
the far end of the room rose from his seat; not small at all. He
was a tall man, almost one metre ninety with a thick covering of
grey curly hair that had been strangely shaved, close around his
ears so that it looked as though he were wearing a toupé. He
reached for his hat and returned the salute.

“
Heil
Hitler!” he replied and then sat.

Leutnant Resmel unlocked
the clasp and handed over the attaché case containing the
documents. He stood to attention, and waited.

“
Thank you,
Leutnant.”

Oberst Herschel nodded
and leaned forward. He picked up his smoking pipe and sucked on its
brown end as he extracted the papers with the precision of a
surgeon. The vastness of the table top kept a good distance between
the two men yet Hans was now close enough to review the man sitting
on the other side. He was considerably older than most of the men
who buzzed in and out of the offices at the Chancellory. Hans noted
the way Oberst Herschel could not easily reach the things in front.
He appeared stiff and awkward, almost too old to be regarded as a
serving soldier.

Herschel concluded the
papers were in order and looked up.

“
Your
papers!”

Hans obediently took out
his cards from his top pocket and handed them over. The man glanced
through them, all the while taking small audible sucks on the end
of his pipe. He nodded, satisfactorily, to himself; nodded again
and handed them back. “Erwin Hans Resmel. Mmm. Leutnant Resmel.”
Herschel removed the pipe and laid it back on its stand. “Where
were you born?”

“
Freilassing
Herr Oberst.”

“
Freilassing?
I do not know that place.”

“
In Bavaria,
Herr Oberst. Not far from Salzburg.”

“
Ach,
Salzburg. Interesting,” murmured Herschel with interest. “Related
to the Resmels there, I presume?”

“
Yes, my
parents and my grandparents were from there.”

“
Then, I
believe I do know of your father. A professional diplomat and
soldier? I do believe he was assigned to the Kaiser’s palaces in
Berlin for a few years.”

“
That is
correct, Herr Oberst.”

Oberst Herschel
nodded.

“
You may drop
the Oberst and just call me Herr Herschel,” he said
dryly.

“
Yes, Herr
Oberst Herschel.”

Hans did not want to
appear out of order. The man at the desk had a higher rank so he
remained at attention. Herschel looked up.

“
Forget the
formalities, Leutnant Resmel. You can stand at ease.” Hans noted
the way Herschel’s features screwed sideways into an unusual smirk.
“Interesting. Most interesting,” Herschel kept muttering. He leaned
back in his chair so far Hans wondered whether it would tip over.
But it didn’t. “Interesting to meet with the son.”