The Leader And The Damned (5 page)

14 March 1943
. Almost eight hours later Reichsleiter Bormann was again waiting at the airfield which served the Wolf's Lair, watching a Condor land at the airstrip. As before, he waited alone except for the new team of SS guards which had been flown in earlier from Munich.

As he had mentioned to Colonel-General Jodl, 'The Fuhrer was warned that a spy had been infiltrated into the previous SS team. Which may explain certain mysterious happenings. So, the whole bodyguard has been flown to the Russian front and replaced by a group of fresh men.'

Certain mysterious happenings. Jodl had no need to enquire as to the meaning of the phrase. For some time the Russian High Command had always seemed to have advance warning of impending German attacks - as though someone at the Wolf's Lair was transmitting the Fuhrer's plans to Stalin as soon as he made his decisions.

'Rather drastic,' had been Jodl's only comment. 'Sending all the section for the sake of one man...'.

'It was the only way. By order of the Fuhrer,' Bormann had intoned.

The new Condor cruised to a stop between the landing lights which were immediately switched off. In the. gloom Bormann walked forward as the plane door opened, the flight of steps was lowered and the single passenger ran down them at a jaunty pace.

Exchanging a few words with the passenger, Bormann led him to a waiting six-seater Mercedes with a running-board and magnificent headlamps. Bormann opened the rear door, saluted and followed the passenger inside. He slammed the door and no time was wasted. The engine was running and the moment the two men had settled themselves the driver released the brake and headed away from the airfield in the direction of the Wolf's Lair. The Mercedes was preceded by a motorcycle escort of the fresh SS team while another escort brought up the rear. Bormann handed the new arrival a map marked with the walking-path through the minefields in the forest. 'For when you feel like a little exercise...'

During the drive Bormann talked at length with his passenger who merely nodded and stared ahead. This lack of reaction surprised Bormann and was the first time he sensed events were not going to take the course he had planned. A glass partition separated them from the driver who was not able to hear one word of the conversation. The car swept past Checkpoint One and then past Checkpoint Two, pulling up in front of Security Ring A.

Inside the
Lagebaracke
Hitler's military staff waited, poring over a large-scale map of Russia spread out over a table. A feeling of tension pervaded the large room, which was normal on such occasions. Jodl was irked by the fact that the lights were dim and flickered frequently, although he knew the reason. Bormann had explained earlier what was happening.

`There has been an interruption to the power supply - it is probably a technical fault although the possibility of sabotage is being investigated. But for the military conference we have to rely on the emergency generator..

Jodl was occupying himself by commenting on the disposition of the German forces on the Eastern Front to Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, a stern-faced man whose immobile expression concealed the fact that he was an orthodox professional soldier of the old school. In other words, like most generals on both sides - with the exception of Guderian, Montgomery and McArthur - he had never had an original thought in his life. He simply did what Hitler told him to.

'He's coming.. ,'

Keitel had been the first to hear the car pull up outside. All conversation ceased. All eyes turned to the doorway. The sense of tension increased. What mood would he be in, everyone was wondering nervously. He was so unpredictable - and only the more intelligent Jodl suspected that this was how their chief kept everyone off balance. The door opened.

Adolf Hitler, Fuhrer and Commander-in-Chief of the German Armed Forces, strode into the room. He was wearing his military greatcoat, flecked with snowflakes collected during the short walk from the car to the building, and his peaked cap surmounted with the German eagle clutching the swastika in its claws.

He stood in the doorway, his face grim as he surveyed the gathering while Bormann helped him off with his greatcoat and cap. The famous forelock drooped on his forehead, his protuberant eyes stared hard at Keitel. 'Christ,' the Field Marshal thought, 'he's in a bad mood.'

Hitler strode to the head of the table and adopted a characteristic gesture, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood in the shadows and glared at the map on the table. For a whole minute he didn't speak and Bormann remained impassive, hiding his intense nervousness. The silence was suddenly broken.

'Give me a full report on the present situation - and in all details '

He had barked out the command, his accent still showing traces of his Austrian origins which he had never eradicated from his speech. He listened in silence as Jodl spoke. His expression still grim although in the dim lighting his figure was little more than a motionless silhouette. When the General completed his survey the familiar figure looked round the room. His tone was harsh.

'The flight back from Smolensk was tiring. Everyone will be here for the midday conference tomorrow. I will then announce the details of the new offensive to be launched against the Red Army without delay...'

As he marched out of the room Bormann prepared to follow him to his quarters but Hitler brushed him aside. Bormann preserved an impassive countenance but inwardly he was bewildered and disturbed.

To explain the phenomenon which took place at the Wolf's Lair on 14 March 1943 it is necessary to go back four days - and then five years to the golden days of 1938.

Chapter Four

10 March 1943
. Outside the Berghof, perched on the Obersalzberg on the fringe of the old frontier of Germany and Austria, the snow lay thick, the temperature was low and an awesome silence which was almost a sound lay over the desolate mountains.

Inside a large room in the Berghof, Hitler's private retreat, it was not so silent. A nightmarish scene was taking place inside the room which was a wilderness of large mirrors. They were positioned at varying angles so that the man performing could judge the effect he was creating all round.

Clad in a military uniform exactly like Hitler's, Heinz Kuby was making a speech, his only audience himself. Shrieking at the top of his voice, increasing the volume, he gestured violently. His right hand shot forward in an emphatic movement. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead.

'I will no longer tolerate that bloody swine, Benes!' he shouted. 'He is crucifying the Germans in the Sudentenland. I will crucify
him
..!'

His small moustache bristled with venom as he raised both fists in a threatening stance. And as he worked himself up, Kuby studied with care the seven Hitlers reflected in the mirror images. He observed right profile, left profile, the twist of his shoulders in the rear view.

In the cinema in the basement of the Berghof he had spent long hours studying films of the Fuhrer making speeches and attending functions - films provided by Martin Bormann.

An actor by profession, he had noted Hitler's every mannerism - down to his occasional odd twitch of the right shoulder accompanied by a slight jerk of the left. There were two Adolf Hitlers he had observed. The modest, retiring man who smiled shyly and displayed great charm and consideration. And the incredible demon of energy he was now imitating as he hypnotized an audience of thousands.

Kuby had spent equally long hours listening to records of the Fuhrer's voice, playing them over and over again so he was familiar with every intonation of speech. Staring now into the weird ring of mirrors, he raised right arm and head at the same moment - a well-known gesture as the Fuhrer reached the climax of a speech.

The images gyrated, the voice climbed to a manic scream. The nightmare was reaching its peak. '
Benes is a bloody murderer! He is knee-deep in the blood of our German brothers and..
'

A second image appeared in the mirrors, the image of a fair-haired attractive girl. The many reflections emphasized that, although attractive, she was not overburdened with brains. Confined to the Berghof while the Fuhrer was at the Wolf's Lair, she had grown bored, bored -
bored
!

She liked dancing but read nothing more mentally demanding than the pages of women's fashion magazines. Now she waved her hand as Kuby frowned and broke off his speech. Knowing interruptions annoyed him - the two men were rather alike in character as well as the astonishing duplication of appearance - she coaxed.

'Heinz, enough is enough. Come to bed..'

'
Mein Fuhrer
!' he corrected her. 'How many times do I have to tell you..'

'
Mein Fuhrer
,' she began submissively, 'let's go to bed..'

He was in a daze and clasped the extended hand automatically as she led him upstairs out of the mirror room. Eva Braun was a girl who liked male attention and the Fuhrer seldom provided it. And there was something gloriously erotic about climbing into bed with the Fuhrer's twin. Besides, Kuby was a more vigorous lover.

An adjutant at the Berghof had told Martin Bormann about Heinz Kuby in October 1938 some months after Germany had merged with Austria. Bormann's original intention on hearing about Kuby had been to arrest him on some trumped-up charge so he would disappear for ever inside a concentration camp.

'This Heinz Kuby,' the adjutant had informed Bormann, 'performs in a small private night club in Salzburg. He imitates the Fuhrer — makes fun of him..'

'In Salzburg!' Bormann was more scandalized by the creature's brazen impertinence, insulting the Fuhrer on his own doorstep. He was taken to the club in the back streets of the Old Town by the adjutant that same evening.

The earlier acts were charades recalling the wild days of the pre-1930s Berlin. There was even a tall, slim-legged girl in long black stockings rather like Marlene Dietrich. Bormann watched as she stretched her right leg full-length.

'Disgusting!' he murmured to the adjutant, his eyes glued to the suggestive movements of the leg. The adjutant kept a poker face. At the Berghof it was well- known no secretary was safe from advances from Martin Bormann, who also kept his wife permanently pregnant.

But nothing the adjutant had said prepared Bormann for Heinz Kuby.

'The likeness is incredible,' he whispered. 'I thought you said he made fun of the Fuhrer...'

'Well, doing that on a stage..'

The adjutant was lost for words. He had also lost Bormann who was staring fixedly as Kuby proceeded with his act. He noticed the uneasy hush which had descended on the small audience, uncomfortably seated at the closely packed tables.

Heinz Kuby was
not
caricaturing the Fuhrer - he was giving an impersonation of the German leader which was so life-like it was quite uncanny. Had he not known, had the surroundings not been so unsuitable, Bormann would have been convinced he was staring at the Fuhrer himself. He was very thoughtful as Kuby completed his performance.

'We'll go backstage and see him at once,' he announced.

'We arrest him, of course. The charge will be.. 'Perhaps you will remember it is I who give the orders,' Bormann snapped.

His interview with Kuby in a cramped room hardly larger than two 'phone kiosks and smelling of stale face powder and grease paint was brief. He had been born in Linz, quite close to Hitler's birth-place - which accounted for the Austrian accent so uncannily like that of the Fuhrer.

'Any relatives?' Bormann demanded.

'No, sir.. Kuby was frightened, recognizing his visitor who had not taken the trouble to introduce himself. 'Both my parents died in a car crash when I was..'

'How old are you?'

'Forty-seven...'

More and more remarkable. Kuby was only two years younger than the Fuhrer. The manager of the club opened the flimsy plywood door and peered inside, gazing at Bormann in disbelief.

'Is anything wrong? We can always cancel Kuby's act..'