Читать книгу Our Only Shield - Michael J. Goodspeed - Страница 9

3

London, 9 December 1939

“GENTLEMEN, THANK YOU for coming here today. I know that some of you have journeyed very long distances and that you have been given precious little explanation as to what is expected of you.”

Geoffrey Harris, a moustached and anxiously precise man dressed in the red collar tabs and khaki uniform of a British colonel, looked at the solemn faces staring back at him from around the government-issue oak table. The room was overheated and stifling. London’s late afternoon sunlight shone tenuously through dusty windows. Harris was doing his best to inject a sense of gravity into his briefing. His audience was a group of seven sceptical-looking middle-aged men dressed in conservative wool suits. The colonel was younger than most of the men before him, and he was conscious that the differences in their ages could stimulate resentment.

“I’d like to be able to tell you with some certainty how the war is likely to turn out, but, I’m afraid, any of your guesses are likely to be as good as those from the experts here in the War Office.” Harris had a deep, crisp voice with a penetrating timbre that could have brought him success as an actor. Today, however, he was speaking softly, almost inaudibly. It could be intensely irritating to those he was speaking to, but it was a ploy he used frequently to command attention.

“I’m afraid the problem we will soon be forced to come to grips with is that we shall have to prepare contingencies to deal with what happens when the war gets going in earnest. I think we’re in a period that we could safely call a phoney war. It’s true that we’re at war, but everyone is staying politely entrenched behind their lines and nobody is getting hurt. That situation isn’t going to last long.”

Harris turned away from his audience and looked out the window into London’s hazy, refracted sunshine. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and jingled loose change, waiting a second for effect. “There’s a small group here in London, soldiers and politicians, who believe that when things get nasty, as they inevitably will, we may well be pushed right out of Europe. That’s certainly our worst-case scenario, and it’s the one we have to plan for.” He exhaled loudly and wheeled about.

“Frankly, I also think being pushed off the continent is the most likely possibility. Jerry has an army that is much better trained than ours. He has the initiative, and he has been earnestly equipping, preparing, planning, and exercising for exactly this scenario for the past ten years. For some of you here, what I’m saying will come as no surprise whatsoever. That’s one of the reasons, amongst others, that we have asked you to join us.”

Four of the civilians sat forward in their chairs. Although most of them had considered the probability of abject defeat at the hands of the Germans, this was the first time they had heard it expressed officially. No one had been forthright in speaking about the possibility of looming catastrophe on the continent. This kind of talk wasn’t heard in the House of Commons, in the newspapers, or even in the pubs. The atmosphere in the room changed noticeably from scepticism to rapt attention. None of them spoke.

Harris nodded almost imperceptibly and then went on. “If that happens, the army we so hurriedly sent off to France on the outbreak of war might well be lost entirely. We’ve never had that happen to us before. But even if we lose that army, it won’t be the end.” He looked around the room determinedly. “I need not remind any of you that whatever is said here stays here. All of us are bound by the Official Secrets Act.” He paused again.

“We have failed to keep Germany in check diplomatically, and our military response has been sluggish, defensive, and ineffective. To make things worse, Prime Minister Chamberlain has effectively refused to consider military catastrophe as a possibility. Many of us at the War Office think he is still hoping that there can be some kind of negotiated settlement, and the war can be ended without too much bloodshed. I’m afraid it’s the curse of being perpetually optimistic.” He paused again for effect.

“Unsubstantiated faith in the future is a wonderful trait in school teachers, but it’s a disastrous one in wartime prime ministers. There are many of us who believe that when they are ready, the Germans will go on the offensive. And, as more than a few of us in the army and elsewhere believe, we are now almost preordained to suffer a serious calamity. From that heretical perspective, which is both our worst-case and most likely scenario, no matter whether we sue for peace or not, sooner or later, we’ll find ourselves fighting for our lives again. Like many of you, I know the Germans and Corporal Hitler far too well, and neither Hitler nor the Germans intend to let us off easily. They’ll be at our throats again whether we sign a peace treaty or not.”

There was an uneasy silence and more shifting of hard wooden chairs around the table.

“First off, neither I nor the people I work with have any intention of acting overtly or covertly to influence Britain’s political outcomes over the foreseeable future. I hope to put your mind at rest on that account. We understand that we are here to protect democracy, not overthrow it or supplant it. However, we do have to be prepared to react to the worst possible scenario, and our worst possible scenario is a decisive German victory on the continent. And that, for reasons of wishful political thinking, is currently viewed as an heretical and unthinkable possibility.”

Harris quickly scanned the room, looking each man at the table in the eye. “I hope, gentlemen, that you will agree with me that it’s our job to think through the current difficulties as we see them, and then quietly and unobtrusively insert a degree of common sense into the political process. And if we can’t do that – and I might add, we have been entirely unsuccessful in doing that over the last five years – then we have to be ready with an alternative plan when all the unworkable alternatives have come crashing down on us.” Harris’s speech slowed and he began to sound somewhat uncomfortable. “Secondly, although I’m in uniform, I’m not addressing you as soldiers. I see you gentlemen as the first of a new style of fighter. If you agree to fight with us, you will be the first of a new kind of shadow army. It will be the beginning of a civilian resistance unlike anything the world has seen before.”

He paused again and stared out the window.

“So what exactly are you coming to here, colonel?” The impatient question came from Rory Ferrall, the Canadian with the eye patch and missing fingers. He looked irritable, and to reinforce his point, he looked at his watch. Two other men at the table muttered agreement.

Harris fixed the Canadian with a penetrating stare. “Yes, well, that’s precisely where we are going, Chief Superintendent Ferrall. If we’re driven off the continent, we fully intend to go back some day. With, of course, the help of the Dominions: nations like yours, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, and, of course, Empire troops – and I don’t know how, but with any luck, we have to get the Americans onto our side as well. But I fear that’s a long way down the road. Who knows? This could take decades. I personally agree with Churchill’s private assessment of the Nazis: they’re a scourge and it may take the world’s free nations generations to defeat them. So let me come to the point. If that’s the case, we have to start preparing now for a war that could last decades. If we get run off the continent, we intend to set up a network of behind-the-lines saboteurs: men and women who will wage guerrilla war, assassinate key leaders, harass the enemy, and provide us with accurate intelligence from which to base future operations.”

A ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a Scottish accent steepled his hands and spoke before Harris could continue. “So, colonel, I just want to be clear. Have you brought us here to organize some kind of resistance for you? A resistance for which there isn’t a legitimate or a politically sanctioned need; or are we somehow to be involved in exerting this political influence you speak of?”

“I don’t want you to do anything just yet,” Harris said. “What I am asking of you is to start thinking about what we might do when we lose on the continent. Please bear with me. Each one of you has been brought here after a very careful selection and vetting process. Two of you had direct experience in the last war in military intelligence operations in Germany. Three of you have been selected for your demonstrated organizational skills, and two for your knowledge of the German security services. All of you have been carefully vetted for your common sense, trust, and loyalty. Despite such qualifications, we haven’t been authorized any money, people, or equipment to prepare for this kind of eventuality. Given what I’ve just said, that’s not surprising. But that should not stop us from thinking about how we shall proceed, if and when we find ourselves with our backs to the wall.”

Harris clasped his hands behind his back. “So, yes, I’m not asking anything of you just now, except for you to think about how we are going to do this. I’d like you to stay right where you are. Remain in your jobs until such time as we need you. And we will be contacting you, trust me, on that score. But for some of you, we need your help to convince a number of those in key decision-making positions that we should be planning actively for the desperate situation we’re going to find ourselves in. And, yes, for all of you, I’m seeking your support in creating a resistance to a possible Nazi occupation of Europe.”

* * *

“REINHOLD, YOU MUST ADMIT that the Führer is even more impressive in person than he is on the radio or when you see him on the movie reels,” said Oberst Scheidler, sipping enthusiastically at his glass of sekt. Oberst Scheidler, of the Schutzpolizei, was one of Vienna’s three deputy police chiefs and an influential man who was clearly going to continue to rise in both the Nazi Party and the Reich’s police ranks. “I had the impression tonight that we were witnessing history being made: the Führer giving a speech that was being broadcast to all Germans, describing for us his vision of the future. Mark my words, this is a man who holds destiny in his hands.”

Major der Schutzpolizei Reinhold Neumann nodded and smiled, but unlike Scheidler and the other senior officers at Vienna’s Imperial Hotel, Reinhold Neumann hadn’t been impressed by the Führer and his speech. And for that matter, he wasn’t much impressed by his police Oberst either. He had always thought of Scheidler as being somewhat stupid. And worse, Scheidler was often naively obsequious around his superiors. Neumann was well aware that Scheidler wouldn’t have made it to the rank of Oberst if he wasn’t a Nazi. But since the Anschluss – the union of Austria and Germany – his rise had been meteoric. Aside from his demonstrated skill in flattering the right people, Scheidler was an unremarkable policeman, an indifferent plodder who barely got the job done; there was no real spark that distinguished him from other senior officers. But Scheidler had one talent, and that was an unerring ability to get close to and stay close to the right superior. So, even though Scheidler might be a plodder, Reinhold Neumann was shrewd enough to appreciate that Scheidler’s single strength was the one he needed to exploit and cultivate in himself if he were to rise.

“I think you’re right, Herr Oberst,” Neumann said, smiling.

In truth, Neumann thought the Führer was much more impressive on the radio than in person, although he certainly wasn’t going to admit it here. Scheidler would never understand. The Führer was wooden, his entire performance predictable. Neumann had heard it all before: the themes of sacrifice and hardship and the inevitable furious crescendo aimed at Germany’s enemies. It wasn’t that Neumann disagreed with what Hitler said; he was impatient with the Führer’s theatrics and wanted to see the Third Reich’s expansion sooner rather than later.

Neumann was wise enough to keep those thoughts to himself, and smiled self-deprecatingly. He said to Scheidler, “Oh, there’s no question that the Führer understands where he’s taking us, Herr Oberst. I’m just delighted that I’m alive now to serve him.” He rocked back on his heels and looked down at his wine glass as if he was unsure of himself. “I’m glad to be a part of the Reich, even if it’s just in a small way.”

“Your part may not be quite as small as you think, Reinhold. You and I were amongst the first police officers to join the party. This story, as we heard tonight, has a long way to go yet. And you know, being in the police is going to be a much better spot for a man with your talents. Once the fighting ends, the best place to be in the Third Reich will be in the SS – especially in the SS’s police and security services – not the army. The army is good, but it’s not the future for the Reich. This is where we think men like you, men with talent and ambition, will advance the interests of the police and the SS. The SS is the future of the Thousand Year Reich, and you are lucky and smart enough to be one of its early members. That will be something to tell your grandchildren.”

Neumann shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Maida absorbed in some tedious conversation with Scheidler’s shy, fat, garishly dressed wife. “Herr Oberst, for me, joining the party seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was obvious where the country needed to be taken. And lots of good men have joined since.”

Scheidler beamed. It was what he wanted to hear. Like Neumann, he’d joined the party when influential officers frowned upon it. Not that his superiors disagreed with what the party stood for; but in the early days, Austria’s Nazis were regarded as a déclassé bunch, scruffy and dangerous – the kind of people who routinely ended up in Vienna’s jails on a Saturday night. That image had changed now and Reinhold Neumann was proud of his new status.

“Look around you tonight, Reinhold,” said Scheidler. “This is a splendid example of how well the party has fared here in Vienna, but there aren’t many police uniforms here. Yours, mine, and handful of others. And that’s the very point: you joined at the outset and you stayed on even after the party was outlawed. That showed insight and allegiance.” Scheidler looked around the room and lowered his voice. “And tonight, I think I can tell you that we are both going to Berlin very shortly.”

Neumann nodded and fixed the older policeman with his most captivated stare.

“Yes,” said Scheidler, “Himmler himself has directed that we are to send our most promising officers to Berlin. I received the order this afternoon. There is to be a course to standardize our procedures and to develop methods to make certain that when our enemies are defeated, we have the processes in place to ensure that our new territories are properly governed and are no security risk to the German state.”

Neumann didn’t have to pretend that he was pleased with the news. He smiled broadly. “I’m truly honoured by this, Herr Oberst. As I said earlier, I feel we’re at a crossroads of history, and it’s my good fortune and privilege to play a part in it.”

“Oh, we shall both be playing a part in the historic days ahead of us, and very soon. Mark my words, Reinhold.” Scheidler gestured towards his medals, nearly spilling his wine in the process. He leaned forward, until he was almost in Neumann’s face. “Your generation is much luckier than mine. We endured the Great War, only to be betrayed by Jews, socialists, and the rich; but you and your generation will enjoy our final triumph. The Third Reich is going to be something we can all dedicate ourselves to building. Before long, the war is going to heat up again. Believe me, when we are ready, we will be on the move, and we will crush the British and French and take our rightful place in Europe. This time things will be very different.”

Neumann was listening intently and waved away a waiter with canapés. Scheidler’s voice grew low and he leaned forward even closer. “We will also get ourselves ‘Lebensraum’ in the east. We will have land to expand and grow Germany in that direction. It’s our destiny. It’s not just talk, Neumann. Trust me. I heard this from Himmler himself at our briefing this afternoon. This is not just wishful thinking. The next year will be the most momentous period in all of European history. We are going to smash the German people’s traditional enemies and carve out for ourselves and future generations the Greater German Empire. Our destiny has been sleeping since Charlemagne, but not for long now. What this means for people like you and me is the opportunity to distinguish ourselves in the service of the Reich.”

Despite his previous scepticism, Neumann felt a frisson of pride and enthusiasm. The disdain he felt earlier was rapidly disappearing. He had undergone this transformation in the past. It happened so frequently now that Neumann didn’t even notice it. He had often been ambivalent about the party, but his ambition was kindled by the prospect of opportunity, and this created an uncritical kind of enthusiasm. The rapid change from cynic to disciple was no longer quite so remarkable. Reinhold Neumann had come such a long way from a Viennese slum, and now his talents were clearly being recognized for what they were. It was hard not to feel exultant.

* * *

ANNIKA’S SURPRISE PARTY for Saul was a tremendous success. Everyone she’d invited had come, and they were joined by people she had never seen before. It didn’t matter. They were all friends of friends. Saul’s sister’s house was crowded with dozens of their colleagues and associates. The air was blue with cigarette smoke, and two dozen people were talking at the top of their lungs. A gramophone trumpeting out a scratchy swing-band tune was losing hopelessly against the chattering of so many boisterous conversations.

Annika sidled up to Saul, who was talking animatedly in German with a small circle of guests. In another part of the room she could hear a conversation in French. In the background someone else was speaking English. One of the things Annika loved about the Netherlands was the nation’s fluency in so many languages. It was a skill that made them unique in Europe. It also helped keep the country prosperous, as it gave them a great trading advantage over all their largely unilingual neighbours. Both she and Saul, like all their educated friends, spoke Dutch and German, and could get by in either English or French. She slid her arm around his waist.

“Annika,” Saul said enthusiastically, “I want you to meet Pauli Herschel.” He introduced her to a tall man with a fair complexion, horn-rimmed glasses, and thinning brown hair. “Pauli has just come from Germany. I was explaining to him that next semester he could probably get a spot teaching a tutorial in the law school. I’m sure he could eventually get a job here at the university.”

Annika nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. I don’t know what positions are open, but I hear that you have excellent qualifications. Where exactly did you come from in Germany?”

“We lived in Stuttgart, but we managed to get out three months ago via Switzerland. We’re lucky to be here in the Netherlands. Things were getting unbearable at home. I got my immediate family out. I used to have a small office specializing in business law, but I haven’t been allowed to practise law for several years now. It’s hard to believe what it was like living in that environment.”

“Will you be able to sell your house and have the money forwarded here?” someone from the circle of guests asked.

Pauli laughed bitterly. “No, not at all. We were lucky to get out with the clothes on our backs. Jews must have travel permits and special exit visas to get out of Germany. We had a phoney set of papers made up for us, identifying us as non-Jews, but I won’t tell you how we got them. Others are still using the system. But no, there’s no possibility of getting money from your bank account or from any kind of sale. Still, I think we were lucky. We had to leave home separately, without luggage, and we met at the train station. My wife took my daughters and I took my son. We travelled separately; travelling as a family would have been too suspicious.”

“What would have happened if you were caught?” Saul asked.

“Jews who break the law are sent to a special prison camp at Oranienburg. I’ve heard conditions are pretty grim there, but nobody really knows, as everything we’ve heard about it is some kind of rumour. As far as I can see, the Nazi plan is to isolate the Jews from the population and strip them of their possessions and their livelihood. We’ve heard rumours about the possibility of mass deportations, but they’re only rumours. We’ve been progressively restricted in our contacts with German society, yet we can’t legally emigrate. I don’t understand it.”

“We’ve been reading about this in the papers for several years now,” said a fair-haired woman with a bright red headscarf wrapped around a tight perm. “I believe you, Pauli, but I lived in Germany ten years ago. Things were tense, but I know the Germans: they are fundamentally decent people. I know them. I have friends in Germany. They are not so unlike us; this is just so hard to understand.”

“Hard to understand, like a nightmare is hard to understand,” Pauli said. “In the last three months, I’d have to say that most people I’ve met don’t want to believe it. It’s too inconvenient. If they believed it, what would they do? It’s only been a year since Kristallnacht – the Night of Broken Glass. Jews right across Germany and Austria were driven from their homes, vandalized, robbed, and beaten while the police watched or helped. The rest of the world seems to have conveniently forgotten already. In Switzerland, we were treated with suspicion. We were almost sent back as vagrants. We were lucky; we went to a Swiss synagogue and were forwarded along a chain that led here; but even here, in the Netherlands, we aren’t guaranteed of finding a home. Yes, this is hard to imagine.”

The woman with the headscarf was not going to be put off. “I have a difficult time with all of this. I know the Nazis are criminal louts, but this is the culture that gave us Wagner, Goethe, Bach, the printing press. Germans are practically related to us Dutch. The Nazis are a stopgap, something to protect the Germans from communist anarchy.”

“They won’t last forever,” someone else chimed in. “Besides, the Germans were treated abominably after the war. The Treaty of Versailles was a travesty and they suffered so much. Hitler at least has led them out of all that. I’m sure the German people will sooner or later put a stop to all the rest of this. People all over the world just want to live in peace. We all know that.”

Pauli said nothing. He looked disbelieving and jaded.

Members of the circle swirled their drinks pensively or fumbled about busily lighting cigarettes or searching for lost items in handbags. Saul was the first to speak. “Well, Pauli, you’re here now, and you’re right, I don’t know what we can do, but we’re grateful that you are here tonight and that your family’s safe.” The others burst into smiles, relieved at not having to find a solution to the problems of Germany.