Opposite Sides (46 page)

‘
When the
British drop three or four thousand kilograms of bombs in a night,
we will drop three hundred or four hundred thousand kilograms. the
hour will come when one of us has
to break
. . . and . . . it will
not
be National Socialist Germany
!’

Every night,
starting on that warm September day in 1940, the great air attacks
on London began. The RAF were so occupied trying to bring down the
Luftwaffe bombers that very few enemy aircraft bothered with
sending their aircraft to the Fatherland. It appeared that
Göring
’s tactics were
succeeding.

Back at his
post many kilometres east of Berlin,
Hans
also listened to the broadcast of the day. It was the only way one
could hope to get any news of what was to friends and family at
home.

Friends.
Family.
Hans thought of his friends across
the Channel who had been dragged into the war: Robert, Gerald,
Eddie and Loppy together with the rest of the boys he had got to
know. Then, there was Anne with her two young children, together
with Jan and Andrea.

Andrea
, thought Hans.
What is she doing now? Is she as frightened of
the German planes as his aunt is of the British
ones
?

Hans could
hear the engine of several small planes fly overhead and it made
him think of Gerald. The
last he had heard
from England a few days before war began was that Gerald had joined
the RAF and was flying Hurricanes. A dangerous occupation. Was
Gerald even still alive? Was what he had been hearing over the
wireless even true? Was it true that the Luftwaffe was bringing
England to its knees?

Well, if
England did give in,
he thought,
I hope it will not be as smashed up as I have
seen around here.

The weather was dismal.
Autumn clouds hung low over most of northern Europe and, until the
clouds lifted, no planes could take to the skies. That made things
a lot quieter both at the airfields and in the towns. The citizens
of Eastern Europe did not have to seek shelter or try to snatch
sleep between falling bombs.

Hans was given a week
away from duties and was able to take a train west back to Berlin.
Night-clubs, theatres and restaurants were doing a marvellous trade
again and people pushed and brushed past each other in the streets.
It was as if the fingers of war had never touched the city. Lights
illuminated the streets again. Champagne bottles popped and saucy
dance halls opened their doors once more. Booming military music
blasted from the loudspeakers which had been set out in Unter den
Linden and large red flags gently swayed in the light evening air.
The city had transformed itself into one big, exuberant carnival.
No one was in fear of raids. The Führer had promised it so. It was
as if the war had never begun.

Aunt Laura was like a
mother hen, clucking and brooding around him until he was beginning
to wish he were back with his unit. He enjoyed seeing Axel again
and although his younger brother said very little about the war,
Hans was of the impression that Axel did have something to hide,
something he wanted kept secret, especially from Renard.

Two days later, a
dispatch rider turned up at the house. He handed over an envelope
with the insignia of the secret police. Hans found his hands
trembling as he closed the door and walked up to his bedroom. He
wanted to be alone when he opened it. He could not think why he
should have received such mail.

He fumbled with the
envelope but finally he withdrew out the contents. Slowly he
unfolded the letter, noting that the message was short and
handwritten, not typed. That meant it was not official and he
relaxed and his breathing was easier.

Dear Leutnant
Resmel,

SS
Sturmbannführer Ott and Major Streiter request that you come to the
above address this evening at 1700 hours for an informal meeting. A
small matter to discuss. We would appreciate your views. We hope
the outcome of this meeting will be favourable for you.

Hans noted
that the letter stated:
request that you
come.
They only requested a meeting; there
was no demand. It was a good sign.

They only
want to know my views,
thought
Hans,
but even so, one still needs to be
careful.

He thought it did not
sound too ominous. Hans had already been told that a different
branch of the military wanted to discuss the English problem with
him. He had heard about some plans to invade the island nation so
he wondered if these two men were interested to know more of how
the English mind worked. What was making them so sure they could
prevent an invasion taking place?

Hans took his small black
attaché case with him. He had written out a few stastics along with
some notes, just in case. It was as he had thought. That evening,
after several glasses of French wine which only those who moved
within the inner circles of the party were able to sample, the
conversation did come to focus on the English situation.

“
Sturmbannführer Ott, the more the English are hit, the
stronger they become. They are well organised. They pull together,
not because their politicians force them to do so but because of a
willingness the people have to co-operate and get the job done.”
Hans could not help noticing the SS insignia on Ott’s collar. It
signalled his authority but not his understanding of the situation.
“I was there during their great strike and during the time it was
on, people from all walks of life, women as well as men, became the
train and tram drivers, conductors, deliverers of goods or whatever
else was needed to keep the country on its feet. That strike could
have crippled the country, yet it didn’t. The government almost
wiped out the trade unionists. But it couldn’t. And why? Because
the people pulled together for what they saw as the good of their
country. They stuck to principles.”

Hans could see that both
men were more than interested. He wondered whether he had said too
much. He did not want to reveal the truth about his feelings. But,
the Sturmbannführer seemed satisfied and gave no hint that he
thought otherwise.

“
Yes, yes.
That may well have been the answer there. We have the Führer’s
principles to lead us,” commented Ott. He poured himself another
glass of wine and indicated to the other two men to do likewise.
Hans declined. He needed to keep his head clear. Streiter held out
his empty glass. Ott obliged. He carried on. “We have oneness: one
Reich, one People, one Führer . . . what better oneness can one
expect to have? And our Führer is adored by everyone. Not like that
fat pig Churchill who’s taken over.”

Streiter wiped his nose
with his handkerchief and continued to watched Hans most closely.
He had been instructed to watch out for any pro-British
sympathies.

“
The English
have a parliament in which they debate any issues. There are
ministers who not only advise but make decisions. It’s not just Mr
Churchill telling the population what they should do.”

“
There I must
disagree with you.” Ott put his glass down on the table. He
swallowed his last mouthful. “You have only to listen to that
loud-mouth Churchill talking. He’s always calling them to arms,
always trying to lead them away from common sense. He’s a dangerous
man, that one. Even the Führer says that man is dangerous. Get rid
of Churchill and the English will give in. They’ll buckle under
when they have a taste of what our Luftwaffe can dish
out.”

“
I beg to
differ. Are you interested in knowing why I think you are
incorrect?” Hans knew that he was on dangerous ground and with a
sentry on the door, the meeting had the trappings of being very
official. Hans realised that men had been known to disappear when
they had voiced any opposition to such men in the black uniform of
the secret police.

“
Of course!”
Ott pulled back his lips and showed his teeth. It was more of a
snarl than a smile. “We’d appreciate your views, Herr Leutnant and
they will not cross these walls, I can assure you. Feel
free.”

Hans swallowed hard. He
felt his mouth spit dry up and his throat become as parched as if
he had been in the desert.

“
If they feel
threatened,” he began. “Then, like the she-wolf, England will
defend her cubs, come what may, Sturmbannführer Ott. I’ve found the
English to be very much like ourselves: we have the same
tenacity.”

Ott snorted a laugh. It
was full of sarcasm.

“
Then,
Leutnant Resmel, they’ll become a most formidable foe. Quite a
challenge for the superior forces of the Reich!” The
Sturmbannführer sneered in triumph. “We hope you are not siding
with the English, Herr Leutnant.”

“
It is only
an idea for your consideration, Sturmbannführer.”

“
Possibly. We
demand your loyalty. Your Führer and country must be
paramount!”

At that point, the
conversation ended. A waiter arrived and quietly removed the empty
glasses as if by making any noise, it would have been “off with his
head.” A few minutes later, he returned with fresh glasses and a
second bottle.

“
Thank you,
Konrad.” Ott filled his glass again and handed the bottle to
Streiter. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Leutnant. Beautiful
wine. Straight from the vineyards of France.” He laughed. “One of
the perks of occupation. Prost, meine Herren!”

“
Prost!”

Streiter drained his
glass like a beer-drinker. His manner appeared more relaxed than
Ott’s. He offered the others a cigaretto from the silver box he had
withdrawn from the top pocket of his jacket uniform.

“
Thank you
for the offer, Major, but no thank you. Not this time.” Hans was as
polite as he could be.

Major Streiter laughed
off the comment and replaced the container. As he buttoned his
pocket flap, he indicated that they all move over to softer
armchairs to continue their conversation. They had come to the
second item on their agenda.

The Major indicated with
his finger that Sturmbannführer Ott had the floor.

“
You’re not
married, I believe, Leutnant? No pretty wife to warm your bed when
you return from the front?”

“
No,
Sturmbannführer.”

“
That’s what
I’ve been led to believe. No young lady you already have your eye
on?”

“
No, none,
Sturmbannführer.”

“
It is every
good soldier’s duty to be equipped with a wife.” Hans smiled
inwardly as the man’s use of ‘equipped’ as though a wife be thought
of like a piece of essential equipment. The Sturmbannführer
continued. “The Führer wishes all his good officers to be well
looked after each time he takes leave from his duties in the field.
Also, how else are we to provide the Fatherland with strong sons
and daughters? It’s your duty, as an Aryan and as a soldier of the
Reich. The Aryan race must be kept pure. It must be the dominant
race in Europe. We must be the masters.” The Sturmbannführer smiled
his cold, uninviting smile. “Herr Oberst, here, thinks it is time
for you to have a wife. I agree. A soldier without a wife only
fights with half a heart. The Führer wants your whole heart,
Leutnant. He demands total loyalty: loyalty in the field and
loyalty in the bedroom, if you get my drift.”

“
I’m sure
Leutnant Resmel knows exactly what you mean, Sturmbannführer,”
Streiter lowered the half empty glass from his lips.

“
Loyalty,”
Ott repeated. “Only then will you become an honourable soldier. So,
a fighting man who shows loyalty to his country needs the comfort
of a good woman. A wife; that is what you need. A wife of good
breeding.” He tapped the side of his nose and grinned. Next, he
turned and spoke directly to Herschel. “One should be found at
once.” He addressed Hans once more. “Then, you will know what it is
like to be a good Aryan.”

Ott gave a catalogue of
the life Hans had led so far. Hans was surprised at the information
Streiter had about him. He could only think that it had come from
their link with Renard but there was no knowing where the secret
police got their information from. However, he was relieved to hear
that neither of them knew of his love affair with Caroline or that
he already had a child. Of that he was now certain. And, it was
better that it remain that way.

“
I have heard
that your successes in the field have been most pleasing,
Leutnant.” Sturmbannführer Ott beamed.

“
Thank you,
Sturmbannführer. I do only what is expected of my duty, that is
all.”

Streiter poured himself
yet another glass of the expensive French wine.

“
This is
excellent wine, gentlemen. Sure I cannot tempt you?” He held up the
bottle. The others declined. Ott was more interested in
talking.

“
Several
times your name has been brought to my attention.”. Ott was still
smiling. “Almost as impressive as your brother, Renard. Now there’s
a man who knows exactly where his loyalties lie.”

As Renard and
this man Ott appear to be on first name terms
, Hans thought,
it is no wonder that
he was taking such an interest.