The Night of the Generals (9 page)

Hartmann duly appeared, but stood in the doorway eyeing Kahlenberge mistrustfully. Kahlenberge's initial reaction was a long paroxysm of almost soundless laughter. Then his face grew abruptly serious.

"Well," he asked, "have you got things straightened out? Do you see why one wrong answer would be enough to send that handsome head of yours rolling? You must learn to be practical, Hartmann. Right, tell me this: have you ever had the smallest contact with the Russians, that's to say, the Communists?"

"Never!" protested Hartmann vehemently. "How could I have?"

"Wrong first time!" Kahlenberge shook his head. "Ringing assurances always sound fundamentally suspicious. If you want people to believe something, say it simply--unless of course you're addressing a political rally. It's always a mistake to bellow one's convictions in private, so don't yell 'never'--just say 'no.' And remember: look them in the eye like a good German and hold yourself like a proper soldier, confidently but with respect. That's what counts."

"Yes sir," said Hartmann promptly.

"Think carefully before you answer these questions--you're bound to be asked them. Have you ever been in contact with Communists? Did your father belong to the Party? What about your brother, your uncle, your brother-in-law? Has your sister or fiancée ever had an affair with one?"

"No," Hartmann answered simply. The General's admonitions were beginning to sink in.

"That's right. Stick to the word 'no' wherever possible," Kahlenberge recommended. "Never say 'I don't know' or give a qualified answer. It sounds suspicious."

Hartmann began to smile for the first time, sensing the goodwill Kahlenberge felt for him. "I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it, sir."

"To help strengthen your position a little, I propose to take you on to my staff. You'll work in my department until further notice--Otto will break you in. But just remember--make one mistake and you'll never get a chance to make another. What's more, you'll be endangering me as well. Is that clear?"

Hartmann understood. He nodded, breathed a sigh of relief and withdrew, rightly concluding that the interview was at an end.

General Kahlenberge did not watch Hartmann's departing figure. Instead, he picked up the 'phone and asked for Major Sandauer. Kahlenberge and Sandauer entertained a mutual regard for each other's tactical skill, which meant in effect that they intrigued against one another only when circumstances rendered it unavoidable.

Without special preamble, Kahlenberge asked whether General Tanz would be prepared to answer some questions which a certain Major Grau of local Intelligence proposed to ask him. The questions involved might well be of an embarrassing nature, to say the least. Indeed, said Kahlenberge, defamatory or insulting might be a more appropriate description.

"General Tanz," said Sandauer, wholly unimpressed, "is not in the habit of dodging an issue. However, may I draw your attention to the fact that the General is a man of very strong views and that he never hesitates to express them forcibly?"

"I'm aware of that--in fact I'm counting on it."

"With respect, General, may I ask what you're driving at?"

"Certainly," answered Kahlenberge with equal frankness. "I should esteem it if a certain gentleman could be reminded of the golden rule which states that subordinates may normally ask questions only when expressly requested to do so."

"That," said Sandauer, "is a view which General Tanz unquestionably shares. I shall hardly need to remind him of the fact."

"In that case I shall send our inquisitive friend to see you at a particularly suitable time. What has your General got in mind for this afternoon, my dear Sandauer?"

"A sort of dress rehearsal, sir," replied Sandauer. "That is to say," he added prudently, "he plans to try out a new technique on a very limited scale and for a very limited period."

Kahlenberge concealed his disapprobation and astonishment at Tanz's high-handed decision. As Chief of Staff, he would normally have intervened at this stage, but he was not a man to make two mistakes in succession. One ill-considered question was enough for the moment, so he contented himself with asking: "Is what you have just told me an official report or merely for my personal information?"

Sandauer was not slow to take Kahlenberge's point. "I thought we'd just been having an informal little chat, sir."

"Exactly what I thought too."

"But to return to your suggestion, I think the most unfavourable time and the most inconvenient place to ask General Tanz questions would be at fifteen hundred hours this afternoon, on the south side of Promenade Square."

Having concluded his business with Major Sandauer, Kahlenberge made another telephone call, this time to Major Grau of the Abwehr. He informed Grau that the G.O.C. was unfortunately prevented by social obligations from placing himself at Grau's disposal and would therefore have to forgo that pleasure for the time being. He, Kahlenberge, was also unable to spare the time, and for similar reasons, but Grau would be quite at liberty to see General Tanz at fifteen hundred hours on the south side of Promenade Square.

Major Grau extended his thanks for this information. Kahlenberge was irritated to detect a trace of a smile in Grau's voice, but he had no time to dwell on such things because the evening's arrangements once more claimed his full attention.

Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler was scrutinizing the preparations for her soirée, in particular the activities of Melanie Neumaier.

"You're doing an invaluable job as usual," Frau Wilhelmine told her. "My husband and I appreciate it so much. I know the General's extremely fond of you. No, don't blush, my dear girl, I'm sure you're fond of him too."

"I admire the General immensely," breathed Melanie. "He's a great man."

"But a very human one." Frau Wilhelmine conducted this exchange as though she were discussing clothes, the weather or National Socialism, running her eagle eye over the list of invitations meanwhile. Not a name escaped her, and she discovered three or four important omissions which Melanie Neumaier dutifully added to her list. Frau Wilhelmine nodded approvingly.

"My husband, dear Fräulein Neumaier, has led an arduous life in the service of his country. He isn't the strongest of men, you know, and it has taken its toll of his health. Unfortunately, I can't always be with him. This posting in Warsaw is a fortunate exception to the normal rule. If he ever falls ill, can I rely on you to look after him?"

"I should be honoured, madam!" said Melanie fervently, welling over with gratitude. She felt like the recipient of a sacred trust. "You can rely on me. I'll do everything within my power."

Frau Wilhelmine was entirely satisfied with this reaction. She thought she knew her husband far too well to be uneasy about the passionate devotion of a doubtless highly inhibited girl. In fact she had no scruples about amusing herself--in a well-bred way, of course--at Melanie's expense.

In high good humour, Frau Wilhelmine decided to seek out the second of Kahlenberge's organizers, Captain Kraussnick, the recreation officer. Kraussnick hailed from the restaurant business (dancing and entertainment section) and was destined to return to it after the war.

Kraussnick was quite equal to introducing a little culture into his programmes of entertainment when so desired. On this occasion he had paid a visit to the Warsaw Conservatoire, lined up the entire establishment, staff included, and issued the simple order: "Pianists stand fast! The remainder, dismiss!" He was left with a round dozen individuals of either sex, none of whom disclaimed a special ability to play Chopin, especially as it had been announced that the fee was to be a parcel of "fodder." Looking them over with the eye of a connoisseur--though not of music--Kraussnick had settled for a firm-fleshed, lusty-looking brunette named Wanda.

Wanda now stood before him with Lance-Corporal Hartmann at her side. Hartmann had been assigned to Kraussnick by General Kahlenberge, who had hinted in confidence that the young man was something of an art historian and had pretensions to culture. Accordingly, Kraussnick had detailed Hartmann to discuss Wanda's recital programme with her.

At this moment Frau Wilhelmine entered the room. Kraussnick hurried over to her, came to attention and delivered a semi-military report. He bent over her graciously extended hand and kissed it with near reverence. Then he drew the attention of the "verehrte gnädige Frau"to sundry details of organization, pointing to the numerous baskets full of bottles, the battery of glasses, the piano, Wanda, and Hartmann.

Frau Wilhelmine assumed an air of unwonted interest and approval. She even nodded benevolently, though with a touch of condescension, at Wanda. Then, looking down from the invisible platform on which she always stood, she directed an inquiring gaze at Hartmann.

"Are you new here?"

Hartmann did not reply "Yes ma'am." He merely bowed, but with a grace and deference which made an immediate impact on Frau Wilhelmine. The young man not only made a pleasant impression. He obviously had manners too.

"You mustn't let me detain you, my dear Captain Kraussnick. Please finish what you were discussing."

"Certainly ma'am!" The recreation officer obediently turned to Wanda and Hartmann. "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he said briskly, "what are we going to give them afterwards? Frau von Seydlitz-Gabler wants Chopin and her wish is our command--but which pieces by Chopin?"

"The Polonaises," suggested Wanda.

"Sounds a good idea," said Kraussnick approvingly. "Polonaise--that's a sort of dance, isn't it? Plenty of go. No one'll doze off, and that's an important consideration."

Frau Wilhelmine looked at Hartmann. "What do you think? Do you agree with the suggestion?"

"Chopin's Polonaises are superb," Hartmann observed politely, "but not perhaps what might be termed appropriate under present circumstances. The Polonaises are patriotic compositions. In fact Robert Schumann once described them as cannon garlanded with flowers."

"Out of the question!" exclaimed Kraussnick. "If we're going to have cannon they'd better not be Polish ones. And garlanded with flowers, too! That's all we need!"

"You're a very alert young man," Frau Wilhelmine told Hartmann, "and obviously not without talent. I leave it entirely to you to find a suitable programme for this evening's recital. When you've done so, come and report to me. Would you be so kind? I'm only expressing a wish, of course, but I know you'll do me this little favour." She smiled benignly. "Good, then I look forward to seeing you later."

"Promenade Square, south side!" Major Grau called to his driver.

As he spoke the sun broke through the clouds, dazzling him a little. He leant back in his seat and bunked at the road ahead. "Are you armed?" he asked.

"Of course, sir."

"We're on our way to see General Tanz," said Grau affably.

The car swept through the almost empty streets of Warsaw, its engine humming like a swarm of bees. Glancing skywards, Grau saw that the sun had disappeared behind the clouds again. They looked like a thin pall of smoke, and for some reason he was vividly reminded of the fact that he had gained his first real success as a policeman in the old days by solving a case of arson.

"They've sealed off the approaches to the square," announced the driver.

Major Grau emerged from his reverie with a start. He now saw what had been apparent to his driver for some time. Fighting units were deployed everywhere, dressed in mottled grey-brown-green denims and equipped with small arms. An oppressive silence enveloped them. Hardly anyone spoke, and no one spoke loudly. They stood there like a herd of cattle waiting for someone to open a gate.

"Men from Tanz's division," said the driver.

"Some exercise, probably," said Major Grau. "When they're not in action they're training and when they're not training they're asleep. Take no notice, the regulations don't apply to us."

Grau's expression did not change. It was as though he merely registered what was going on round him but was not particularly interested or impressed by it.

"Halt!" cried a clear, incisive voice. "No vehicles beyond this point."

A tanned, hard-bitten face appeared at the car window, half obscured by a jutting steel helmet. Dour determination was written in the pale blue eyes that stared into Grau's and in the grim slit of a mouth beneath. Any obstacle erected by Tanz had to be dislodged by force.

Grau attached no importance to complications of this sort. He calmly got out of the car and completed the hundred odd yards that separated him from the south side of the square on foot. There he caught sight of General Tanz, a powerful figure despite his rapier-like build, standing aloof from the men who surrounded him.

Looking round for Sandauer, Grau found him leaning against an armoured scout car some distance to the General's rear. He was not examining the map in his hand but appeared to be lost in a sort of expectant day-dream.

The same applied to the General himself, except that he looked incomparably more impressive. Sandauer stared at nothing: the General gazed into infinity. A war correspondent attached to the division was improving the shining hour by taking a few photographs while the General stood there motionless. A better contemporary subject for the camera could hardly have been imagined.

"Phase One," said the General.

The General's A. D. C. transmitted this order to Sandauer, who straightened up and said: "Away we go." These words, uttered in much the tone of a housewife buying a pound of sugar, were addressed to the wireless operator who sat waiting in the scout car.

"I have an appointment with the General," said Grau, "but I don't want to disturb him."

"It's impossible to disturb the General if he doesn't intend to be disturbed." Sandauer preserved his schoolmasterly demeanour whatever the circumstances. "But you're quite at liberty to approach him. He's expecting you."

Grau went over to the General and made his presence known. Tanz seemed to be wrapped in a shroud of silence, so much so that Grau could almost detect a faint odour of decay.

The General continued to stare fixedly ahead, and it was impossible to tell whether he had heard Grau or not. Eventually he said: "Another few minutes, Grau. It's almost time."