The Leader And The Damned (10 page)

'Who is the traitor?' he asked eventually.

'The traitor is yourself...'

Schulz moved while he was speaking. His right hand grasped the back of Mailer's overcoat belt. His left hand struck the Commandant a hard blow beneath his cap and above his collar, hitting a nerve centre. The SS man employed all his strength to heave Muller up and forwards. His victim's feet slithered on the ice, increasing the momentum.

The Commandant grabbed at the wall-top but there was no purchase. He dived into space like a swimmer leaving the high board at the side of a pool. His scream came back through the clear mountain air. Schulz saw the falling figure become tiny as it descended four hundred feet. The heavy mountain silence returned.

Schulz went down in the elevator, walked slowly along the passage and headed for the waiting car without going anywhere near the crumpled body. As a matter of interest, he observed the Commandant had hit the ground a surprising distance from the base of the Kehlstein. He started up the motor and drove back to the Berghof to report the accident.

'Most unfortunate,' Bormann commented in reply to Schulz's call telling him of the incident. 'You will return to Berlin at once. Inform Colonel Jaeger that he is to take over the post of temporary Commandant at the Berghof. By order of the Fuhrer...!'

Bormann replaced the receiver and took out his notebook, turning to the page where he had written down the list of problems to be attended to. He put his pen through two words, cancelling out another task successfully dealt with:
Commandant, Berghof
.

When Rainer Schulz arrived back in Berlin he found his marching orders waiting for him. He had been posted to the Leningrad front. Three days after his arrival he was killed by a rocket fired by the Russian defenders.

It is approximately six hundred miles as a Junkers 52 flies from the Berghof's airstrip to Rastenburg in East Prussia. Bauer's course involved flying over Czechoslovakia, on over Poland and, on the last lap, into East Prussia. The two men chatted about how to fly a Junkers and there was not the slightest hint of tension between them. They were in the same business. Flying.

It was during the late morning of March 14 when the plane was approaching the Wolf's Lair. In the copilot's seat Lindsay tried to flog his cold-numbed brain into some kind of alertness ready for the ordeal when he confronted the Fuhrer. Below they were passing over a desert, a plain of snow, which went on forever. Above loomed another desert — a low ceiling of dense, dirty-grey cloud which threatened further snow. Lindsay's mind went back to the interview in Ryder Street where this crazy scheme he had volunteered to undertake had begun.

Colonel Dick Browne, who briefed him, was not his favourite person. He recalled thinking this when he had sat on the far side of the desk as Browne continued in his clipped voice.

'If you reach Germany..'

'
When
I reach Germany,' Lindsay corrected him.

'When,' Browne said reluctantly as though it were the most unlikely outcome. 'Your first task is to locate the Fuhrer's headquarters. As your pre-war attitude was known to be pro-Nazi - above all, since you visited Hitler personally - you might just receive a warm welcome.. He extended his hand, offering his pack. 'Have a cigarette, Lindsay.'

He made it sound as though he were granting a condemned man his last request. Lindsay took the cigarette and used the German lighter he was accustoming himself to. He said nothing so Browne, who had hoped for some reaction, was compelled to go on.

'
When
you arrive at the Fuhrer's secret headquarters, your second task is to discover whether Hitler himself is personally directing military operations - or whether some field marshal is the real brain. If so, what is the identity of this man?'

'From some of the phraseology this sounds to come from pretty high up,' Lindsay observed.

'The origin of the directive is top secret. Having obtained this information - I gather the second bit is what they're really after - you then make your way back behind allied lines by whatever means possible, report your presence to us via the local commander-in-chief. We fly you home...'

'A piece of cake.'

'Really, Lindsay, I do hope you are not going to treat this mission in a flippant manner..

'For Christ's sake, Browne, you expect me to sit here shaking like a bloody road drill?'

'My rank is that of Colonel..

'And mine is that of Wing Commander..

'Which will prove helpful,' Brown said quickly, changing tack as he realized this RAF type might put in a complaint higher up than he dared to contemplate. 'They're bound to check up on you, put you under the microscope. The Allied order of battle documents you'll be taking may bolster your cover...'

'They're fake, I assume?' Lindsay queried as he eyed the package Brown had produced from a locked drawer. 'The Germans should have at least some information about General Alexander's troops.'

'Do let me put you completely in the picture, there's a good chap,' the Colonel said smugly. 'These documents...' he laid a fond hand on the package, 'list Alexander's present order of battle in Tunisia. You'll be perfectly safe.'

'You reassure, me mightily,' Lindsay responded.

'That bit about being perfectly safe where I'm going. And won't I be popular with Alexander - flying into enemy territory with that package in my hip pocket.'

Browne looked even smugger, if that were possible. 'That is the beauty of the whole plan.' He leaned back in his chair and smarmed his thinning hair with the palm of his lean hand. 'If they check with German HQ in Tunis they'll get confirmation that was our order of battle when you flew off to Germany. As soon as you fly off into the wild blue yonder Alex changes his troop dispositions. With a bit of luck Jerry will attack on the basis of what's inside this package - and come a real cropper.'

'So Alexander...'

'Is only too pleased to cooperate with us. That's how we got his go-ahead. Pretty neat, eh?'

'It would appear so.'

'To recap,' Browne concluded. 'Find out where Adolf is holed up, check on whether he's running the show himself - and if not, who is his pet commander. Also the peace mission business. Then use the underground, who'll be waiting, and dash for Switzerland.'

'A piece of cake: Lindsay repeated drily.

The Englishman jerked himself into the present as he felt the machine change angle into a gentle descent. They were coming in to land at Rangsdorf, the airfield closest to the Wolf's Lair. Where, he wondered, peering down, the hell was it? Below was a sea of dense pine forest, the branches encrusted with snow, a forest dimly seen beneath a lake of white mist and nowhere was there a sign of human habitation. Bauer's voice spoke in his earphones.

'Five minutes and we'll be down.'

'Not in that lot, I trust?' Lindsay responded with a touch of grim humour, holding the headset microphone close to his mouth.

He heard the pilot's amused chuckle followed by his response. 'The radio works - none of those damned Bavarian Alps round here. I've contacted the airstrip and we're cleared to land. Watch my smoke!'

The airstrip appeared suddenly in a large clearing which seemed bereft of buildings, which struck Lindsay as strange. Where was the f-ff'ing control tower? It was a beautiful landing - Lindsay's professional expertise gave the German ten out of ten. The landing wheels kissed the earth and they glided along the runway.

Only at ground level did the buildings become visible. Their rooftops were camouflaged with netting entwined with creeper. Several even had plants growing on top. It was little wonder no one had so far spotted the Wolf's Lair from the air. Lindsay climbed out as soon as the plane was stationary - he had felt glued to his seat, petrified. First night nerves.

He thanked Bauer, shaking his hand warmly and genuinely as he congratulated him on his performance. The German made a self-deprecatory gesture but Lindsay could tell he was pleased.

'See you around.' Bauer grinned. 'How about a trip over the Russian front some time?'

'
Some
time..'

Lindsay turned his attention to the large Mercedes which had driven almost alongside the aircraft. A tall, good-looking man in army uniform greeted him, shooting out his right arm. 'Wing Commander Lindsay? I am Guensche, the Fuhrer's Adjutant. I am instructed to escort you immediately to meet the Fuhrer who has just arrived from the Eastern front.
Heil Hitler!
'

The news of his coming had preceded him, Lindsay realized at once. He noticed that all round the hidden airstrip men had stopped their work to stare at him. A Luftwaffe officer checking a Condor - the plane which had flown in the Fuhrer from the Eastern Front? The twin of the machine Bauer had described as taking off earlier from the airstrip near the Berghof? A mechanic holding a cloth also paused to stare at him and inside the small control tower someone was using binoculars to study him. He was the star turn!

'Thank you, Guensche. Do you mind if I ride in front. Sitting alone in the back I'd feel like the King!'

'But certainly, Wing Commander!' Guensche closed the rear door he had opened and led him to the front passenger seat. 'You know,' he continued after getting in behind the wheel and starting up the motor, 'whenever the Fuhrer is driven anywhere he, too, always insists on sitting next to the driver. He is truly a man of the people. Like yourself, sir, if I may say so..'

Lindsay reflected it was all so different from what he had feared. He was making friends hand over fist, a feat a certain Colonel Dick Browne of Ryder Street, London, would have found difficult to emulate. The Adjutant drove with skill along tracks between walls of gloomy pines as he continued to talk, providing interesting information.

'At the moment there is much activity, comings and goings, alarms and excursions..'

'Nothing serious, I hope?' Lindsay enquired.

'In the end, no! I am thinking of yesterday - there was a loud explosion. Like a bomb dropping. Then we realized it was the usual thing - a fox setting off a mine. Although this must have been several of them setting off two or three mines - the detonation was so loud. Wing Commander, you must not wander about without a guide. The Wolf's Lair is heavily guarded by minefields. I see the first checkpoint coming up. Don't worry - there are two more before we are inside the Wolf's Lair...' Ian Lindsay was not worried. He was petrified.

Chapter Nine

Adjutant Guensche had escorted Lindsay through three different checkpoints. Before getting into the Mercedes the Englishman had stripped off his flying jacket and was wearing his RAF uniform. He was intrigued that there were no signs of hostility from the various guards who stared at him with curiosity. He also noted that even Guensche, who must be known to all of them, had to show his pass which carried his photograph.

'The security is very good,' he commented as the German switched off his engine after the third vetting.

'Even Keitel and Jodl have to show their special passes before they're allowed through,' Guensche told him. 'The only exception is the Fuhrer himself...'

The journey from the airstrip had been depressing - everywhere the pine forest dripping with moisture, indicating a rise in temperature, had closed round them. The coils of drifting mist slipping between the trees like a ghost army added to the atmosphere of oppressive desolation. Now that they had arrived at the Wolf's Lair Lindsay was even more surprised at his primitive surroundings.

Beyond the wire they passed through was a jumbled collection of single-storey buildings which gave the impression they had been thrown up overnight. It reminded Lindsay of an army transit camp. The greatest attention seemed to have been paid to concealment.

As at Rangsdorf airstrip, the rooftops were covered skilfully with camouflage netting overlaid with creeper. The walls were painted in brown and green. Guensche turned and indicated a building they were approaching.