Uncommon Enemy (9 page)

The following morning the delegates were informed that they would be taken to the Reich Chancellery where the official peace talks would begin. At precisely 9 o’clock the motorcade of the six Mercedes-Benz limousines pulled up outside the hotel foyer. The delegates seated themselves in their same positions and the cars glided smoothly away.

The absence of the cheering crowds gave the New Zealanders the opportunity to study their surroundings more closely. As the vehicles swung left into Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse Stuart heard Brendan catch his breath. Mindful of the two Germans in the front, Stuart nudged his friend and gave him a quizzical look. As their car moved slowly down the street Brendan pointed his finger towards a rather utilitarian-looking five-storied building on their left.

Glancing quickly at the two officers in the front seat he mouthed, “Number 8 – Gestapo Headquarters.”

Hitler’s ostentatious Reich Chancellery designed by his personal architect Albert Speer occupied the entire length of Voss Strasse. As the vehicles glided up to the giant square-columned entrance, the two black uniformed, white-gloved SS Leibstandarte guards who maintained a constant vigil at the entrance, snapped to attention and gazed impassively ahead as the delegates assembled on the broad white steps.

Moving quickly to the front von Muller-Rechberg led the party up the marble steps through the entrance.

“On our way I would like to take you through the Great Marble Gallery,” he began. “I’m sure you’ll be interested to know,”
he continued proudly, “that it is twice as long as the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.”

It was impressive. A highly polished floor reflected the ornate furniture and the imposing marble doorways that led off to various parts of the Reich Chancellery. High walls reaching up to a plain white ceiling were hung with giant tapestries of classic battle scenes, interspersed with huge framed photographs of the Third Reich’s military victories. At precise ten metre intervals, pairs of SS Leibstandarte guards stood at attention opposite each other. As the Baron and the Prime Minister, at the front of the group, reached each facing pair the soldiers snapped their weapons into a ‘present arms’ position and stared stonily ahead. The cumulative effect of the high ceiling, the long hallway, the huge tapestries and photographs, and the close proximity of the robot-like soldiers, while owing nothing to subtly, was intimidating.

By the time they reached the end of the Great Marble Gallery all the delegates had been silenced by the overt display of German military might.

From the Gallery the delegation was ushered into the large Mosaic Hal, assigned as the venue for the ‘peace negotiations’. Around the tall marble walls pairs of giant grey eagles were inset into lofty panels. At the opposite end an eagle with a swastika in its claws surmounted two huge mahogany doors.

Men in suits met the delegates at the entrance. They directed them across a gleaming marble floor to a long table placed in the centre and covered in a heavy red and gold tablecloth embroidered with swastika patterns. Seating was provided on dark red Empire chairs, each decorated with the German eagle and the ubiquitous swastika. Slightly under lit and devoid of any natural light the area created an air of prescient foreboding.

Standing motionless at regular intervals around the Mosaic Hall were twelve SS Leibstandarte guards each holding a Schmeisser machine pistol in his white-gloved hands.

“Please find the place that has been allotted to you and be seated, gentlemen,” smiled von Muller-Rechberg.

Spaced around the table were red leather folders with the name of each delegate embossed on the cover. Peter Fraser was at the top on the right hand side, seated next to Walter Nash and Frederick Jones. Stuart and Brendan were seated opposite each other at the far end. When each of the delegates had found their place and sat down, the Baron clicked his heels, gave a brief bow in the Prime Minister’s direction, turned and strode out, leaving the sound of his footsteps resonating from the Hall’s cold marble walls.

The dying echoes were followed by an eerie silence. No external sounds penetrated the Mosaic Hal. The stillness was made more intimidating by the presence of the motionless armed guards. For a few moments each of the delegates sat staring at the door through which the Baron had exited, and then one by one they began searching each other’s faces for reactions or some guidance. As the width of the table made it impossible for Stuart to talk quietly to Brendan he contented himself with a shrug and a raised eyebrow.

After about a minute had elapsed, Fraser cleared his throat and addressed his colleagues. “Gentlemen,” he began, looking down the table, “I’m not sure what is supposed to happen but in the meantime I suggest that each one of you opens your folder and begins to inspect the contents.”

Murmuring in agreement the delegates reached forwards.

“Achtung!”

The order was barked from the far end of the room. Instantly the Leibstandarte guards snapped into a ‘present arms’ position. Slowly, but emitting no sound, the huge mahogany doors swung open. Standing motionless in the doorway his chin tilted upwards was a slightly portly man with a receding hairline, dressed in an elegantly cut pinstriped suit.

“Gentlemen of the New Zealand delegation!” the voice of Baron von Muller-Rechberg echoed from the marble walls and ceilings. “The Foreign Minister of the Third Reich, Joachim von Ribbentrop.”

Stuart stared at the figure who began walking slowly towards the head of the table. He’d always been intrigued by the man who was reportedly one of Hitler’s favourites. Married to the heir to the Henkell champagne fortune, Ribbentrop had acquired the aristocratic von in his name when in his early thirties he persuaded an aunt with a titled husband to legally adopt him. Appointed as German ambassador to Britain in 1936 and German Foreign Minister in 1938, many allied diplomats had regarded him as a man of more vanity than ability. Rumour had it that his nickname among his German colleagues was ‘Ribbensnob’.

Two men appeared in von Ribbentrop’s wake carrying a podium, surmounted by an elaborately carved eagle. They placed the podium at the head of the table and rested a red leather folder on the bird’s extended wings.

“Wouldn’t look out of place in an Anglican cathedral,” thought Stuart.

As the Foreign Minister approached the table Peter Fraser, followed by the other delegates stood up. He extended his right hand. Von Ribbentrop accepting it, bowed briefly.

“Good morning, Herr Fraser.”

Fraser turned to his left preparing to introduce the other delegates but von Ribbentrop indicating with a wave of his arm that they were to be seated, turned his back on Fraser and walked over to the podium. Another well-dressed man had now appeared and stood a metre away to the Foreign Minister’s right.

Speaking in German, von Ribbentrop addressed the assembled New Zealanders.

“Germany has great admiration for New Zealand and its people,” he began. “During the recent battles in the Western desert, Field Marshall Erwin Rommel gained a great respect not only for the fighting quality of New Zealand troops but also the
excellent treatment given to the German soldiers that were held as your prisoners - temporarily.”

Von Ribbentrop paused and smiling benignly at the listening delegates, nodded to the interpreter on his right. On the word “temporarily” the German foreign minister’s faint smile grew broader.

“New Zealand is a stable country populated by well educated people,” he continued. “It is our intention to develop a special relationship with your people based on the principles of mutual respect and cooperation. After all your country has a socialist government; our country has a National Socialist government.”

Stuart noticed that Fraser and Nash immediately exchanged uneasy glances.

“Both are based on the principles of giving strength and happiness to our peoples,” continued von Ribbentrop through his interpreter. “We will therefore be establishing a New Order in New Zealand that will be of benefit to all your people.”

He paused, brushed a speck of dust from the sleeve of his dark suit and beamed at his audience. When the interpreter had finished he then invited the delegates to open their red leather folder at the title page.

There were only two additional pages. The first elaborated on von Ribbentrop’s earlier sentiments regarding the mutual respect between the two nations and the principles of cooperation that would be the cornerstone of the New Order. The second page briefly spelt out the ‘peace terms’. As the delegates read through each point, it became painfully obvious that room for negotiation was limited. Clearly the German government had already decided on the type of regime that was to be established in New Zealand.

For several minutes von Ribbentrop remained silent but watchful as the delegates perused the document. Then, ostentatiously clearing his throat he continued.

“Tomorrow, gentlemen, you will be given full details of the peace treaty. Unfortunately the Third Reich has received unjust criticism for its disciplined occupation of Poland and other countries. Of course, these are lies manufactured by our enemies. The New Order that we will establish in your country will be based on the principles of mutual understanding and respect. Our prosperity will be your prosperity. Our progress will be your progress.”

When the interpreter concluded, von Ribbentrop swept his eyes slowly round the delegates and drew a deep breath. For the first time he raised his voice and, speaking in English, he intoned, “Gentlemen of New Zealand, together we will build a new and glorious tomorrow!” He paused and thrust his right arm stiffly into a horizontal position. “Sieg Heil!” he shouted. Instantly the Leibstandarte guards stationed round the perimeter of the hall shouldered their weapons and thrusting their right arms forward echoed the Nazi slogan. As the repeated cry resonated from the marble walls and ceiling, the New Zealand delegates sat uncomfortably on their chairs exchanging uncertain glances.

Abruptly von Ribbentrop lowered his outstretched arm. The chanting ceased immediately and the echoes died slowly away. Holding both sides of the podium he frowned at the seated New Zealanders then smiled thinly.

“Gentlemen,” he said in soft, measured English, “it is a common courtesy among diplomats to acknowledge the culture of other nations and join in their celebrations.” He paused, his smile vanished and his eyes narrowed. “Gentlemen, please stand and join with us in a salute to our beloved Führer.”

Each delegate turned his eyes towards the New Zealand Prime Minister. There was a long pause and then, signalling to his colleagues to remain seated Peter Fraser stood slowly to face von Ribbentrop. His face was pale and behind his thick-lensed spectacles he was blinking nervously. He coughed, swallowed and began speaking in his soft Scottish tones.

“Mr. Foreign Minister, on behalf of my colleagues, I thank you for your courtesy and hospitality.” He paused and glanced at the interpreter but von Ribbentrop gestured impatiently. “I understand, Herr Fraser. Continue, please.”

Fraser swallowed again. “We thank you also for the compliment that you have paid to the fighting quality of our soldiers and their treatment of your soldiers.”

He paused and met the ambassador’s unwavering gaze. “Earlier you spoke of implementing a New Order based on the principles of mutual understanding and respect between our two nations.”

He paused again and looked down at the tense upturned faces of his colleagues. “While we respect your right to salute your leader, at this present moment such methods are not part of our New Zealand culture. I will therefore ask my colleagues to confine themselves to standing as a mark of respect between our two nations.”

Fraser made a short gesture with his upturned palms and the members of the New Zealand delegation rose uncertainly to
their feet and stood silently. Colour had drained from every face.

The interpreter leaned towards von Ribbentrop but was waved impatiently away.

“You will not salute the German Führer?” asked the ambassador with deliberate slowness.

“We are standing as a mark of respect to you, to the German people and Chancellor Hitler.” The delegates close to Fraser could see that his hands were trembling and that he was making a considerable effort to maintain his self-control. “That is all we are able to do at present,” he concluded looking directly at von Ribbentrop.

“You will not salute?”

“We are standing as a mark of respect to you, to the German----.”

Von Ribbentrop, while still holding Fraser’s stare, made an almost imperceptible movement with his right hand. Instantly two of the Leibstandarte guards sprang forward. White-gloved hands gripped both of the Prime Minister’s arms. Von Ribbentrop made a second gesture and the guards snapped to attention while maintaining their unwavering grip. A collective murmur of protest rose from the New Zealand delegates. Instantly a tight circle of soldiers, holding their Schmeissers conspicuously in front of them, surrounded the table.

The ambassador’s smile was devoid of mirth. Still holding Fraser’s gaze he spoke very softly.

“Herr Fraser, I invite you to reconsider your position. The cooperation of you and your fellow New Zealanders is very important to the continued success of the peace talks.”

“Do as he says Peter,” muttered Frederick Jones.

“We’ve got no choice, Peter,” echoed Walter Nash.

Fraser made a supreme effort to control his trembling. Then he spoke rapidly. “Mr. Foreign Minister, you referred earlier to the lies about your occupation of Poland. My people know that the Germans carried out mass executions of thousands of unarmed, defenceless Polish citizens within weeks of the surrender.”

Von Ribbentrop opened his mouth but Fraser determinedly pressed on.

“These actions defy every accepted practice of human decency. Therefore, sir, until you are able to demonstrate that such actions are no longer practised by your government, I must advise my delegates to confine themselves to merely standing.”