The Night of the Generals (8 page)

Kahlenberge often sat and listened to the G. H. Q. choir going through its paces. This choir--a male voice ensemble, needless to say--was drawn from every branch of the Corps Commander's staff. The sergeant cook was a member, as was the chief of the map-making section; clerks sang beside technicians, the leading tenor was a signaller and the mightiest bass belonged to a medical orderly. The choir-master's duties were performed by a dentist who enjoyed a great reputation as a festival conductor in his home town. He conducted with verve and endurance but wasted no time on musical subtleties.

"Westerwald!"General Kahlenberge called encouragingly.

The choir, which had just been allowed a short break for throat-clearing and nose-blowing, set to again with a will. Kahlenberge leant back comfortably in his chair and stretched his legs. The other ranks' mess hall in the cellar of the Liechnowski Palace, which provided the venue for this prodigal outpouring of emotion, seemed to quake.

Without warning, the singers' fervour suddenly redoubled in intensity. Kahlenberge was at a loss to explain this phenomenon until he swivelled round in his seat and beheld the G.O.C. He rose to his feet with decorum and came to attention. The choir continued to sing lustily of the wind that blew so cold in the Westerwald.

The G.O.C. took his Chief of Staff by the arm and led him out into the cellar passage. When von Seydlitz-Gabler treated one of his subordinates with this degree of intimacy his motives were bound to be interesting. Kahlenberge's eyes began to gleam like those of a cat scenting a plump mouse.

"A splendid choir," declared von Seydlitz-Gabler.

Kahlenberge nodded. "Practice makes perfect."

The G.O.C. cleared his throat. "We Germans have an inexhaustible repertoire of choral music. I'm particularly fond ofLützows wilde, verwegene Jagd."

"We'll practise it," Kahlenberge assured him. His curiosity mounted.

"Choral singing is an embodiment of the purest German traditions. It's not surprising that all our most characteristic virtues can be found in it--profound romanticism, for instance, and boundless love of nature, especially the German forests. Unquestioning loyalty, too."

Kahlenberge smiled. Digressions of this sort meant that something quite extraordinary was in the offing, but the G.O.C. was finding it patently difficult to steer the conversation round to it. "Let's go into the inner courtyard," said von Seydlitz-Gabler eventually.

The inner courtyard boasted a fountain, a stretch of lawn and some comparatively unobjectionable early baroque cloisters. Here the G.O.C. liked to pace up and down in peace and seclusion, lost in thought processes which he deemed creative, and here, once he and Kahlenberge were safely within its precincts, he turned on his Chief of Staff with the air of a man about to impart a revelation. "Imagine it, Kahlenberge! That man Grau is sitting in my outer office!"

"Not for the first time, sir, surely?" inquired Kahlenberge drily.

"No, no, but he's sent a message asking permission to put some questions to me--in an official capacity! What do you think of that?"

Kahlenberge could not find the right words at first--he was so surprised and delighted. With relish, he mentally reconstructed the sequence of events. Grau had turned up in the outer office and announced that he proposed to ask the G.O.C. some official questions--and the G.O.C. had promptly raced out of the back door and gone to find his Chief of Staff. "What a remarkable thing," he commented ambiguously.

"Something must be done--and quickly!"

"But why, sir?" Kahlenberge's tone was innocent.

"Now see here, my dear chap!" The G.O.C. drew himself up imperiously as though inspecting a whole division on the eve of battle. "This is an alarming state of affairs. We must map out a course of action at once. We can't just lie down and let the Abwehr ride rough-shod over us."

"Has Grau given any hint as to what questions he intends asking?"

"Oh, that's clear as daylight. The man's obviously trying to provoke me. Yesterday I thought he was just having his little joke, and since it was a joke in doubtful taste I treated it as such. In my innocence, I thought he would come to his senses if he were given a chance to do so--but what happens? He has the effrontery to waltz in here and try to ask me questions--me!"

"And you really think it has something to do with the story he told us yesterday? May I ask what makes you so sure?"

"My instinct tells me--instinct coupled with experience. Believe you me, Kahlenberge, this man Grau wouldn't shrink from following up the most preposterous red herrings. He's the sort who'd send his own mother to the gallows if it helped him to wrap up a case. We must put a stop to his game at all costs."

Kahlenberge's luminous cat's eyes narrowed. "Grau is not without influence," he said slowly. "It would be unwise to ignore the fact."

"I don't want any unnecessary complications," replied von Seydlitz-Gabler, "but I refuse point blank to overestimate this fellow's importance. He must be put in his place."

"Nothing could be easier," Kahlenberge said, watching von Seydlitz-Gabler's face keenly. "You've only got to answer his questions and he'll be forced to see how pointless it was to put them in the first place."

The G.O.C. folded his handkerchief into a pad and mopped his brow. His forehead was a high one and it took some time to pat it dry. "You're right as usual, my dear Kahlenberge--at least in principle. Under normal circumstances what you suggest would certainly be the simplest solution. Unfortunately, circumstances are anything but normal in this instance."

Kahlenberge paused near one of the cloister pillars. "Does that mean, sir," he asked gleefully, "that you wouldn't be in a position to answer Grau's questions fully?"

"You might put it that way," von Seydlitz-Gabler conceded with an effort. "Not, of course, that I feel in the least bit guilty about anything. However, I'll frankly admit to you in confidence that such an interrogation might prove embarrassing to me."

"That," said Kahlenberge, barely able to conceal his delight, "changes everything, of course."

"On the evening when the appalling incident Grau told us about took place I was, shall we say, in transit. I assure you that I have nothing whatsoever to hide, but it was--so to speak--a masculine excursion. You follow me?"

Kahlenberge nodded. He had every sympathy with masculine excursions.

"If you mean," he said, "that Grau should be choked off because he's being a nuisance, I'd agree. He urgently needs a change of air, somewhere as far away from Warsaw as possible."

Now it was von Seydlitz-Gabler's turn to prick up his ears. He could read between the lines. If Kahlenberge was so ready to commit himself on the subject it meant that he had reasons of his own, possibly of an equally intimate nature.

"Let's assume," the G.O.C. said, not without curiosity, "that I simply passed Grau on--to you, for instance, my dear Kahlenberge. Let's assume that I told Grau: put your questions to Kahlenberge first and then come and see me. How would that strike you?"

"Most unfavourably." Kahlenberge's reaction was unambiguous. "I have a private life too, and I'm just as anxious to avoid sharing it with strangers. With all due respect, we're in much the same boat."

"There you are!" von Seydlitz-Gabler exclaimed jubilantly. "We're both in the same boat, Kahlenberge, but we're an experienced team. What do you think we ought to do under the circumstances?"

"What everyone does when there's no other alternative-declare war," replied Kahlenberge with quiet irony. "If Grau refuses to be choked off we'll just send him to General Tanz. I can't think of anyone better equipped to deal with him. Tanz has an uncomplicated way of handling people--he just ups his horns and tosses everyone who crosses his path."

"Agreed," said von Seydlitz-Gabler with relief. Then, cautious as ever, he added: "You really think Tanz is the right man for the job?"

"The only man," said Kahlenberge.

General Tanz seemed to be magically attracted by one particular street intersection in the western half of central Warsaw. There was nothing noticeably different about it. It was just an intersection like a hundred others, a drab expanse of cobbles, trees, groups of houses--alternately grey and green--and dirty window-panes like dull, sightless eyes.

On the ordnance survey map in General Tanz's hands, however, this intersection bore the legend "P1", pencilled in bold, vigorous characters as red as fire. P1 stood for Point One--the place chosen as the jumping-off point for General Tanz's proposed mopping-up operation.

"So the G.O.C. hasn't rejected our plan," Tanz said thoughtfully.

Major Sandauer stood a pace or two behind his General in an attitude of alert and respectful attention. "We haven't received official confirmation yet," he replied cautiously.

"No rejection is the equivalent of approval," asserted General Tanz.

Sandauer did not dispute the point. Disagreement had an explosive effect on General Tanz.

"Coffee," said Tanz.

The Divisional Commander's current combat orderly, new at his job and destined never to grow old in it, sprang out of the staff car. Bustling round to the back he opened the boot, removed a Thermos flask, a china cup and the saucer belonging to it, wiped the two latter articles with a linen cloth, poured out some coffee and extended the result of his labours to the General with a slightly tremulous hand.

"Too cold," said Tanz after a brief appraising glance.

The combat orderly froze in his tracks, realizing that he had committed some inexcusable blunder. Either the coffee had not been hot enough when he poured it into the Thermos, or the flask itself was defective, or he had paid insufficient attention to the external temperature. Whatever the reason, he was to blame. His hands started to shake so violently that the coffee slopped over the rim of the cup and flooded the saucer. However, he had ceased to be the centre of attention.

General Tanz was contemplating, almost lovingly, the houses on the far side of the intersection. Major Sandauer was watching the General. Sergeant Stoss, sitting at the wheel of the Mercedes, appeared to see nothing but the street ahead of him. Behind the Mercedes stood two armoured scout cars, both equipped with wireless, and the Divisional Commander's permanent dispatch-rider detachment, four soldiers encased in gleaming black leather and mounted on powerful B. M. W. s. For all of them, nothing existed save what lay ahead, least of all the trembling orderly, who slunk back to his place.

"We'll carry out a tactical exercise," said Tanz.

"Without the G.O.C.'s approval?" Major Sandauer, G. S.O.1 of the Nibelungen Division, asked the question in an undertone. His words were intended for the ears of the Divisional Commander alone.

"An operation of this type," said Tanz undeterred, "requires the most meticulous planning. I consider it vitally necessary that we first try out on a small scale what we shall have to carry out later on a large scale. Only then will we be able to operate with any guarantee of success. Alert the division, Sandauer. Code word: Waldfrieden."

Sandauer nodded, but permitted himself a small aside. "Is Corps to be notified?"

"Later. The operation will be little more than a test exercise, but I regard the experience to be gained from it as absolutely indispensable. We'll try out on four or five streets what we may have to do later with forty or fifty--without arousing any unnecessary attention. Afterwards we'll see."

"Is the whole division to be alerted?"

"Down to the last man. When I do a thing I do it properly or not at all."

"You must keep up appearances," declared Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler. "People expect it of you. You owe it to your position."

"Of course. " The G.O.C. was convinced that he had possessed a marked talent for keeping up appearances ever since his infancy. His father, also a general and land-owner, had instilled it into him at an early age, and one of his earliest recollections was of shaking family retainers' hands at harvest festivals and on Christmas Eve. He still remembered the moist and fleshy hand of the housekeeper, the dry leathery fingers of the first coachman and the soft, velvety little paw of the chamber-maid who used to sigh at him provocatively in the upstairs corridors.

"You're absolutely right, my dear," he said, mustering a smile. "As always."

"An evening of convivial good taste," she declared, as though issuing an edict.

General von Seydlitz-Gabler groaned almost inaudibly. His feet hurt. The new shoes which his wife had put out for him that morning had a certain solid elegance, but they were too tight. Wilhelmine's solicitude was something of a trial at times.

"We ought to make the occasion a cultural event," announced Wilhelmine. "I'm thinking of a reception for a few specially invited guests, with music."

"Excellent," said the G.O.C. deferentially.

"Not a big concert--no orchestra, not even a string quartet--just a pianist."

"We'll dig one up."

"He must play some Chopin, of course."

"Of course."

"We are in Warsaw, after all."

"True, my dear. Don't worry, well arrange it--some time in the next few days."

"This evening," Wilhelmine said blandly.

The General nodded in reluctant but unequivocal agreement. "I'll get Kahlenberge to lay it on."

"He is already doing so." Wilhelmine subjected her husband, who sat slumped exhaustedly in his arm-chair, to a look of searching tenderness. "Take those new shoes off if they're pinching you, Herbert. Be comfortable while you have the chance."

Major-General Kahlenberge was organizing things. As always, he made it his first concern to organize the organizers. Otto the Fat was detailed to make the reception rooms look festive. Captain Kraussnick, an acknowledged specialist in the field of entertainment, was made officially responsible for the guests' comfort, and Melanie Neumaier, the Corps Commander's "Iron Maiden," was entrusted with the compilation of the guest list.

Having got his plans safely under way, the chief planner found himself sitting around with time on his hands. He decided to send for Lance-Corporal Hartmann.