Web Of Intrigue

The Commandant of the Wehrmacht Headquarters. He stood at the window of his office staring into space, seemingly oblivious to the bombing and explosions that were increasing in volume with every passing minute. His hands were clasped tightly behind him as he turned his back to the window and started to pace nervously from the window to his desk and back again to the window. On every visit to his desk he would grasp the long leather whip that lay on his executive chair and strike it viciously against the edge of the desk. On either the fourth or fifth time that he did this, he knocked a picture to the floor that had been sitting on the right corner of the desk. He picked it up, stared at it, and whispered, Es tut mir leid, meine Erma und Sophie (“I’m sorry, my Erma and Sophie.”)

He returned to the window and watched as his top officers were dashing off into the unchauffeured limousines that were parked in front and across the street from the headquarters. “Cowards, all of them. The Fuehrer would have had their heads if he saw them running away like scared rabbits.” He didn’t realize or want to recognize the fact, apparently, that committing suicide was also an act of cowardice.

The Oberfuehrer Schmidt continued to pace, stopping once for a brief moment to look at himself in the full length mirror that was attached to the rear of the entrance door to his office. “Yes, I am indeed a handsome devil in my dress uniform, every brass button and buckle gleaming even in this semi-darkness, and how I love my leather knee-high boots. What a polish!”

His thoughts then moved to the priority of the moment. He had a vital, life or death, decision to make. Time was drawing short, but he refused to join the ranks of the panic-stricken. He knew he had to focus completely and only on his next move. So while continuing to pace, now carrying with him his favorite leather whip, slapping it occasionally against his thigh, he began to consider his options.

“If I go home to my wife and daughter, I will be captured and, if not shot on sight, I will certainly have to appear before a Tribunal that the American President Roosevelt had been recommending for months now. There will most likely be a price on my head, if there isn’t one already, for my capture dead or alive. Undoubtedly, they will  find me guilty for the war crimes I committed against humanity and hang me. And I do not regret being  responsible for the gassing and hanging of thousands of Jews at the Treblinka extermination camp. I am proud to have been one of the leaders in participating in my Fuehrer’s Final Solution. I did my best during my visit at Auschwitz, killing a few more there, and at the Warsaw Ghetto too. That was my duty, and I am happy and proud to have performed it to the best of my ability.

“If I try to escape, leaving my family, I may be successful in saving my own skin.  It’s a gamble. I will have to say good bye forever to my wonderful wife and beautiful family. That is my decision. There is no other solution.” The bombs and artillery shelling had suddenly ceased.

A knock on his door and without the Commandant’s invitation to enter, three of his top aides barged in.

“Herr Oberfuehrer! Why are you still here? I think the invading forces are practically around the corner,” the tallest among them called out excitedly.

“Relax, Hauptsturmfuehrer Dienst. Why haven’t you run away like the rest of them?”

Hauptsturmfuehrer Schuler replied, speaking for the three of them. “Herr Oberfuehrer, we decided that we would not desert you. We have served you as your Captains on the Russian Front, at the Warsaw Ghetto, and at the Treblinka extermination camp in Poland, and we decided that whatever you intend to do, we will follow as we always have.”

The Oberfuehrer stared at his men briefly and then spoke. “Gentlemen, if that is the case, then this is my plan.”

He then told the men that they would have to abandon their families and friends immediately without even going home for a final farewell. He opened the safe in the corner of his office and withdrew a sack of money. He told them that they would take off immediately toward France, cross over the German border, and head toward Normandy where he and his Erma had honeymooned many years ago before World War 2. Once there, they would separate and arrange to meet every so often at one yet to be designated rendevous spot. When there and out of harm’s way they will devise a more thorough survival plan.

“Are you all in favor?” he asked, and the three agreed to follow their commanding officer and to abandon their families, perhaps never to see them again.

“I have a car outside, Herr Oberfuehrer, with a full tank of gas,” Captain Mueller said with a noticeable tone of impatience in his voice.

“Good! Then let’s go now; right now!” These were the Oberfuehrer’s final words as they raced down the stairs to the car. He still held his whip in his right hand and the sack of Marks in his left hand, forgetting his cap which remained on his desk. This was something he never would have done under ordinary circumstances.