The Night of the Generals Page 12

  “I hope so, too,” said Tanz with mechanical courtesy, “but I doubt if I shall be able to spare the time.”

  Here Kahlenberge intervened again, arguing that even if it proved possible to bring the division up to strength within ten days—and he would make every effort to do so—the first three, four or even five days would necessarily be occupied with routine work. “And that’s something I and your G.S.O.1 can handle on our own. Don’t you agree, Sandauer?”

  “Certainly,” said Sandauer with alacrity. A few days of preparatory work with Kahlenberge would mean a few days without Tanz. The thought seemed to appeal to him.

  “That’s splendid!” cried General von Seydlitz-Gabler enthusiastically. “A few days off will do you good, my dear chap.”

  “Out of the question!” Tanz repudiated the suggestion with the disdain of a bullfighter who has been asked to herd cows. “I must be there from the start.”

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler flung himself energetically into the role of father-figure. He was anxious, he declared, and his anxiety sprang from a sense of responsibility. Tanz was a model of self-denial and had given of his best. He never thought of himself and the idea of leave never occurred to him, but even the best motor needed an overhaul sometimes—and human beings even more so.

  “You must relax occasionally, my dear fellow.”

  “I can’t afford to.”

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler, a past master in the art of persuasion, refused to give up. He painted the advantages in glowing colours, but Tanz seemed to be colour-blind. He appealed, implored—even begged, but Tanz remained adamant. Finally, enlightenment dawned.

  “You leave me no alternative but to compel you to enjoy yourself. I consider it essential that you should relax for a few days, and I shall be happy to shoulder the consequences of my decision. I order you to take some leave. Is that clear? I order you to!”

  “Yes, sir,” Tanz replied promptly.

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler was patently delighted with his success. Diplomacy had been quite superfluous when he was dealing with a soldier. How could he have forgotten that a world ruled by discipline is the most convenient of all worlds?

  “We’ll put General Tanz up at the Hotel Excelsior,” he said with new-found authority.

  “I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” Kahlenberge replied. “I imagine the General would like to see as much as he can in the shortest possible time. In that case, I suggest civilian clothes, a private car and a guide with a comprehensive knowledge of local conditions. I happen to have just the man, a lance-corporal on my staff named Hartmann. He has ambitions in the field of cultural history and a wide range of other interests as well. I’m sure you couldn’t do better, General Tanz.”

  “Splendid,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler.

  INTERIM REPORT

  FURTHER DOCUMENTS FROM THE PERIOD IN WHICH THE EVENTS UNDER REVIEW TOOK PLACE

  Extracts from notes (not an official activity report) made by an agent known to the Sûreté under the designation A17A. These notes were in the possession of a Herr B., formerly a sergeant in German counter-espionage, who has since published several informative works on his activities in Paris:

  “Notes made by A17A in the course of inquiries into a murder in the Rue de Londres. Third of seven conversations. Person interviewed: Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler. Subject of conversation specified by M. Prévert.

  “I opened by saying that I was there on behalf of the Sûreté. I realized that there was no legal basis for my interrogating a member of the Wehrmacht. This was not an official interview, therefore, but the Sûreté would be grateful for co-operation.

  “I also emphasized that my questions would be of a purely routine nature and were designed solely to fill in gaps. Their subject-matter was not directly related to any criminal offence at present under investigation. Five agents had been assigned to the case, and each of them had between seven and ten interviews to conduct.

  “Fräulein von Seydlitz-Gabler eventually declared herself willing to co-operate with the Sûreté as requested. My first question: How long have you known a man named Rainer Hartmann?

  “Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler: ‘I met Herr Hartmann in Warsaw. That was in 1942, almost two years ago, at a reception during which a Chopin recital took place. We only exchanged a few words that evening, but a few days later we bumped into each other at garrison headquarters. We talked for some time and then went for a walk, after which we arranged to meet again the following Sunday. Herr Hartmann always treated me as though my father were present and his behaviour was never anything but correct. To be frank, I had a hard time breaking down his reserve, although that didn’t happen in Warsaw. It happened much later on, here in Paris. However, I really don’t see what business that is of yours.’ “

  Extracts from instructions regarding Lieutenant-General Tanz, Officer Commanding the Nibelungen Division, drafted and issued by the C.S.O.1’s office:

  “To the clerk on duty,

  The surface of the Divisional Commander’s field desk is to be thoroughly wiped with a woollen cloth every morning before the commencement of duty. Additional polishing with wax is to be carried out every Monday morning and immediately after every change of position. Any scratches or dents are to be dealt with at once. Ink-spots must be treated with ink eradicator without delay. This is kept in the G.S.O.1’s office.

  “The Divisional Commander’s desk must at all times be equipped with the following: ink, black and red; two penholders each with pen; a set of ball-point pens; three pencils, medium hard; two chinagraph pencils; one red pencil, thick; one green pencil, thin. All pencils to be sharpened, but none to within less than two-thirds of its original length. A double quantity of the above-mentioned writing-materials is to be kept in reserve. The reserve compartment is in the left-hand drawer. No india-rubbers!”

  To the Divisional Commander’s No. 2 orderly:

  (The General had two personal orderlies. The No. 1 orderly was responsible for indoor duties and the No. 2 for outdoor. The following is an extract from their instructions, which covered a total of eight type-written sheets.)

  Re: Iron Rations:

  “Since neither the commencement nor duration of any operation can be foreseen, care must be taken to ensure that a complete basic ration, or iron ration, is available at all times. This consists of the following items: one half-pound tin of dripping (rendered down and free of meat content); one half-pound tin of corned beef; one half-pound tin of game sausage; two packets of rusks, one white, one brown; a salt-cellar two-thirds full of dry, best-quality salt.

  “Further equipment must include the following basic items: steel eating irons (not silver) comprising knife, fork, spoon and teaspoon; two Thermos flasks with corresponding pouches, blue for cold drinks, red for hot drinks; two large napkins for use as tablecloths; six small napkins, white, linen; two cups; at least fifty folded sheets of toilet paper, strong and coarse-grained, white or grey (no bright colours).”

  Statement by ex-Sergeant Otto with special reference to the relationship between Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler and Lance-Corporal Hartmann:

  “Looking back on it now, I reckon those two led me up the garden path. I should have guessed, I suppose, but they were so bloody careful about it. They had every reason to be. If her ladyship had caught on there’d have been hell to pay.

  “Kahlenberge must have got wind of their little game because he was always going on at me to tell him all I knew about it. I didn’t know much, so I invented a few things to keep Kahlenberge happy. What’s the point of having an imagination if you don’t use it?

  “I’d lay odds on one thing, though. Running a general’s daughter like that must be a bit of all right. Handled the right way it could be a sort of insurance policy. Handled the wrong way—well, it’d be the exact opposite. Hartmann never had much luck. It didn’t matter where he trod, he always ended up with his foot in a turd.

  “All the same, he still had Raymonde!”

  3

  Paris was beginning to
get on General von Seydlitz-Gabler’s nerves. He felt increasingly old and enervated, surrounded by temptations and never at liberty to succumb to them.

  The General often sought refuge in red wine, pretending that he wanted to bury himself in his work. On this particular evening he sent for a bottle of Mâcon and Melanie Neumaier, and had two glasses and a pile of papers brought to his study.

  He eyed Melanie solicitously, a little like a breeder examining his favourite rabbit.

  “It’s very late. I don’t want to overwork you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she exclaimed. “You know I’m always at your service.”

  Melanie was an incomparable assistant, von Seydlitz-Gabler reflected, punctual as a clock and reliable as sunrise—ready for anything. This evening he felt inclined to test the extent of her readiness. He felt sure that it was unlimited, and the thought was immensely flattering.

  To begin with, they concentrated exclusively on the files in front of them. None presented any particular problem, but each needed working on.

  At intervals they refreshed themselves with Mâcon. The first bottle went quickly. Sergeant Lehmann, his face expressionless as a sheep’s, brought a second. His gloomy eyes were entirely devoid of interest. Years of experience had taught him that Melanie Neumaier was no more to the General than a piece of office furniture. It didn’t occur to him that the situation mightn’t last for ever. He left a third bottle ready and went to bed.

  The night, however, had hardly begun. Von Seydlitz-Gabler raised his glass to Melanie with a wide, world-encompassing gesture. He drank with evident enjoyment and Melanie did the same.

  “Perhaps you’d rather call it a day,” he said. “I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you.”

  “Let him wait!” cried Melanie archly.

  “I find that very flattering, my dear Melanie.” Von Seydlitz-Gabler’s voice had grown suddenly husky. The time was ripe and the fruit long since over-ripe. His bedroom was immediately next door to the study. He felt tempted.

  “Come and sit next to me, my dear. We’ll be able to work more comfortably.”

  Melanie Neumaier pulled her chair round the desk and placed it next to his.

  Casually, as if to prop himself up, the General laid his hand on Melanie’s left thigh. She cautiously shifted her leg to give him a better purchase and, though she needed no fortifying, took another swig of red wine.

  Melanie had waited literally years for this moment, but she knew that she must not abandon her self-control prematurely now that the end was in sight.

  “Angry with me?” asked von Seydlitz-Gabler softly.

  “I’m happy!” There was an artificial catch in Melanie’s voice as she answered.

  The General hesitated, still not fully resolved to jump the last hurdle. His satisfaction at the knowledge that he could do so temporarily outweighed his desire for the act itself. He blinked at the flies lying in the pool of light cast by the desk-lamp. The muted glow which pervaded the rest of the room, ranging from warm flesh-pink to dark and dramatic red, lent it a vaguely theatrical air. Oppressed by this, the General closed his eyes and abandoned himself to pure sensation.

  However, borne in on his sense with far more immediacy than the warmth and softness under his groping hand was something else. He became aware of a loud and persistent booming sound. Someone was knocking at the door.

  Melanie leapt to her feet and smoothed down her skirt with trembling hands, face beetroot red and eyes dilated like those of a frightened deer. Von Seydlitz-Gabler recovered himself with miraculous speed. He had just turned back into a general when Kahlenberge entered.

  “I was sure I wouldn’t be disturbing you. I caught that lazy dog Lehmann slinking off to his kennel for the night and he told me that you and Fräulein Neumaier were still working, so I thought I’d pop my head in. I’ve got something rather important to discuss.”

  “Of course you’re not disturbing us.”

  “Really not?” asked Kahlenberge, thinking that Melanie looked slightly dishevelled but dismissing the notion as absurd. “Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes, Fräulein? That is, if the General doesn’t mind.”

  Von Seydlitz-Gabler sanctioned this customary display of independence on the part of his Chief of Staff with a silent nod. Melanie departed crestfallen, feeling as though a door had been slammed in her face. She had never found Kahlenberge particularly congenial. Now she hated him.

  “You said you had something important to discuss?”

  “Yes. I’ve just been told—in the strictest confidence, of course—that our network has been considerably extended and strengthened. Field-Marshal von Kluge is reported to be definitely sympathetic, General von Stülpnagel is actively involved, and General Fromm has been initiated and is only waiting for the word.”

  “Good, good. But couldn’t all this have waited until tomorrow?”

  “Plans have been brought forward. According to latest indications from the Bendlerstrasse the balloon may go up on the 20th—only three days hence—so now is the time to muster our resources. There ought to be immediate consultation with the groups already involved—C.-in-C. France, for example. Time is running short, sir. May I go ahead with arrangements on those lines?”

  “We must, of course, be prepared for every possible eventuality,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler. “I repeat—every eventuality. We owe it to the army and our country.”

  “I agree. But my colleagues and I foresee a special problem arising in our area. I refer to General Tanz. It’s true that we’ve managed to isolate him temporarily, but he’s quite likely to create further difficulties.”

  “You know my motto,” said the G.O.C. in measured tones. “Look before you leap. All in good time. Thorough preparation is half the battle. I strongly advise you not to make any premature moves. However shrewd one is, there’s always the risk that ambition will take a hand, so be careful. As far as General Tanz is concerned, he’s safely out of the way for two or three days at least, and that’s surely good enough for the time being. Incidentally, I hope your arrangements in that respect leave nothing to be desired.”

  Lance-Corporal Rainer Hartmann felt sure that there were a few pleasant days ahead. Everything pointed in that direction. He had been excused normal duties and issued with a good and unobtrusive suit of civilian clothes. He had also been entrusted with a gleaming eight-cylinder Bentley—a 1939 model requisitioned during the French campaign—a wallet stuffed with French money, a sheaf of petrol coupons and numerous permits of various kinds.

  His special assignment, as transmitted by Kahlenberge, was to accompany General Tanz on an excursion through Paris lasting several days. Kahlenberge had concluded his instructions with the words: “Carry the job out properly, Hartmann, or you’ll be carried out yourself—feet first.”

  Undeterred, Hartmann viewed the days ahead with a thrill of anticipation. Few military assignments could have presented such an enjoyable prospect.

  “Don’t worry, sir.”

  “Now go and report to Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer. “

  Hartmann did so. He stowed his civilian clothes away in the suitcase which he had also been supplied with and drove off to Romainville, where the headquarters of the Nibelungen Division were temporarily located. There he asked for the G.S.O.1 and was duly directed to Sandauer’s office by a crowd of soldiers who gawped at the Bentley with befitting admiration. He might have been an ambassador presenting his credentials.

  Sandauer inspected Hartmann’s pass, examined his civilian clothing, scrutinized the Bentley and checked the papers that went with it, exchanging scarcely a word with Hartmann in the process.

  “Show me your hands,” Sandauer said.

  Hartmann did so, feeling as though he were playing charades. Sandauer reminded him of a pompous uncle.

  “Now get the Bentley ready for inspection,” ordered Sandauer. “Sergeant Stoss, the General’s driver, will supervise you. You’ll receive further instructions in due course.”


  As Hartmann emerged from the office a bullock of a man lumbered over to him. It was Sergeant Stoss. He eyed the massive silver-grey Bentley with a blend of mistrust and envy and said: “The car’s to be cleaned from top to bottom. Get cracking.”

  Hartmann got cracking. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when he started. At five o’clock he hadn’t even finished the body-work. Stoss spoke little, and then only to criticize. He circled the Bentley like an alert sheep-dog, barking out complaints in a hoarse voice. By six o’clock he was not wholly dissatisfied with the body-work, and at seven he pronounced the interior to be “just adequate.”

  “Now the engine,” he said.

  Hartmann was glistening with sweat. He ground his teeth, muttered some inaudible imprecations at Sergeant Stoss and all the other sergeants in the world, and set to work again. Stoss seemed to relish his fury. He made him clean the sparking-plugs, polish the engine-block until it shone and rub the contacts down with emery-cloth.

  At nine o’clock Sergeant Stoss declared himself satisfied. He nodded with evident reluctance, barked “That’ll do!” and departed grumbling.

  Shortly afterwards Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer appeared. His pale blue eyes examined Hartmann’s exhausted figure critically. “Change your overalls,” he said, “clean yourself up—especially your hands—and then report to me. I want to introduce you to the General.”

  A quarter of an hour later Hartmann reported to Sandauer as ordered. The latter rose, opened an inner door and motioned to Hartmann to follow.

  It was not the first time Hartmann had seen General Tanz. He had had an opportunity of observing him from a respectful distance in Warsaw, but now they were face to face. He saw a lean, angular countenance whose every detail was as clean-cut and precise as if it had been designed on a drawing-board.

  “Lance-Corporal Hartmann,” announced Sandauer in a flat, almost indifferent voice. “Christian name, Rainer. Height, five foot nine. Weight, eleven stone four. Has been in the army since the outbreak of war. Infantry. Driving licence since nineteen thirty-nine. Matriculation. Intends to study art history. Born in Berlin, age-group nineteen-twenty-two. Father, railway official medium rank, now dead. Mother resident near Berlin. No brothers or sisters. No criminal record. Unmarried.”