To Find A Crooked Line

15^th April 1940

Hanover was a beautiful city, even in wartime. The old part of the town still had a medieval look about it, the red tiled roofs, the ancient church tower and the Leineschloss, an aged stone castle that was still the seat of local government. The scene was almost magical, shimmering in the gentle heat haze. It was so typically Saxony. Even in the mists of war, no one glancing lazily over the picture post card setting could have foreseen the horror that was to overcome this tranquil place and the whole world. That horror would begin here. It would begin today.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sky was cobalt blue, the air still and warm. The long, arrow straight avenue of Leineschlob was lined with tall trees, their extremities heavy with pink and white blossom. The air was thick with their scent. A group of children played on an ancient bicycle with one square wheel. Walking past the children were two young girls, maybe early 20’s carrying wicker shopping baskets, dressed in smart tweed both with shoulder length blonde hair falling down from the back of knitted woollen bonnets. Private Heinz Reidle had been born in the most German of communities in Heidelberg, sitting majestically across the Rhine with its’ pretty university and its’ quaint old market square. He was twenty-two years old and, he was told, the spitting image of his father. That was something others would have to reassure him about. His father, a simple tailor, was killed in France in the last few days of the last war. A few grainy old photographs were all that Heinz had to remind him. His mother was forty-two but looked sixty. She had never recovered from the shock.

The taller one of the two girls smiled at Heinz, he held on to the strap of his Karabiner 98K assault rifle, and touched the rim of him helmet, nodded and smiled back. He followed their route past watching their long slim legs disappear into the distance. The taller one looked back twice over her shoulder and dissolved into a schoolgirl giggle with her head on her companions’ shoulder. Heinz stood motionless lost in his fantasies.

Heinz was tall, 6’ 2” fair-haired with a wiry frame. His face was clean-shaven with a stereotypical square jaw, the very epitome of the master race. His dark green uniform was spotless and pressed, his boots bulled to a deep shine. His shoulders bore the insignia of the XV1 Panzer Corps, German 6^th Army.

He had been here a week. Why this was he wasn’t quite sure. However, he had to admit this was a nice diversion, beds to sleep in and decent food, even beer to drink. Watching the girls vanish into the distance Heinz thought that he didn’t mind this duty. A few days here in Hanover might just be a pleasant change from the thin tents, bare floors and 6am musters.

Heinz thought he knew what was happening to day. There were some very important people coming. No one would tell the likes of him who they were but soldiers hear things. Heinz had heard a rumour that the Furher himself was coming. He just might get a glimpse of the man. He had never seen the Fuhrer. The fact that such a large number of the German High Command were to descend on this little corner of a quiet city made sense to Heinz. Leather coated Gestapo and SS officers had been swarming over the area all morning.

Heinz walked the length of the red and white coloured barrier that straddled the road at the end of the avenue. Unseen eyes watched every step. In front was a long driveway that lead to an ornate entrance hall and vestibule at the front of the opera house. A semi circle of steps on top of which stood four white Roman style pillars flanked the entrance itself. Immaculate lawns and the myriad of red and yellow flowers in crisply cut beds on either side of the driveway made for an appealing sight.

Anxious staff officers paced up and down checking their watches. An honour guard of black uniformed SS with white gloves and gleaming helmets lined the final 20 yards to where a long snaking red carpet lead to the foot of the steps.

Heinz idly rubbed his hands along the top of the barrier and enjoyed the serenity of it all when the heavy throb of motorcycle engines in the distance broke the peace. Heinz’s eyes strained to the far end of the avenue where outriders came into view flanking several large black motorcars. A motorcyclist riding point two hundred yards in front of the cavalcade approached with speed. Heinz swallowed hard as the motorcycle pulled up next to him.

“ It is the Furher. Raise the barrier and stand to attention.”