Hans Kirst - The Night of the Generals

“Well, I had to take this Hartmann along, and a few witnesses as well. One of them said she was a general’s daughter. I had a good laugh at that until I found out her old man really was a general. Anyway, I reported the matter. What else could I do? It was my duty.

“What sort of impression did Hartmann make on me? Well, as I said, he was a poor stupid bastard. Nice chap all the same—a bit soft, but nice, there’s no denying that. He sort of tickled me. I got the feeling he wasn’t quite right upstairs. Why? I don’t know. It was just a feeling.”

Deposition by ex-Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer, formerly G.S.O.1 in General Tanz’s division. This deposition was accompanied by an assurance that it could be used as an affidavit at any time. It was supplied in writing, seventeen years after the events referred to.

Exact date: 18th September 1961: “I should like to stress that there can be no talk of ‘squandered lives’ in connection with the Nibelungen Division of which General Tanz was the commanding officer, neither during operations in Poland and Russia nor during similar engagements in France. The transfer of our division to the Greater Paris area in July 1944 was not in any way a reflection on its commander.

“The true facts are as follows: iThe losses sustained by General Tanz’s division remained within what may be described as normal limits at every stage. iiEven if our casualties sometimes appeared unusually high by layman’s standards, this was attributable solely to the fact that, as an elite division, we were always in the forefront of the fighting. iiiThe division’s chain of command remained intact at all times, and was never for a moment endangered or interrupted. The only possible exception to this was the situation which developed outside Leningrad in December 1941. On that occasion General Tanz was cut off while personally leading an assault, and our command post was subjected to concentrated artillery fire. Due to a combination of these two unfortunate circumstances the division temporarily ceased to be operational. ivThe widespread rumour that General Tanz received orders, allegedly from the Führer himself, to refrain from direct and personal participation in military operations does not accord with the full facts.

“As a private individual, I should like to add the following rider: “General Tanz was essentially a fighting man, but after the Leningrad incident he was always at pains to keep the division under strict control at all times. Since the only normal method of doing this was from Divisional Headquarters, the General was compelled to avoid personal involvement in the field.”

General von Seydlitz-Gabler’s nights had recently been growing more and more unendurable. He lay there like a lead soldier slowly melting in a furnace, the blood creeping reluctantly through his ageing body. He was thoroughly miserable.

One of the main reasons for his insomnia was an increasing propensity to brood about his country and its leaders. How many times in German history, he wondered, had a general found it necessary to dwell so persistently on the subject?

The General tossed to and fro on his bed, gasping like a stranded fish. He even found it impossible to dream clearly any more. In his younger days he had been able to picture whole battlefields, coronation ceremonies and parades in his dreams—all with such overwhelming clarity that he could identify the battle honours on a flag or the colour of a plume on a helmet. Now he found himself submerged in a confused blur of murky colours to the accompaniment of massed brass bands blaring outParlez-moi d’amour.

“Time to get up, sir,” said Sergeant Lehmann.

The General struggled painfully to the surface. He levered himself on to his elbows with a groan and swung his bandy legs to the floor. Then he groped for the glass in his batman’s outstretched hand. It was tinned orange juice, a morning treat which von Seydlitz-Gabler got only because Lehmann drank it regularly himself.

While he stood there drinking, a short and rather pathetic figure in a night-shirt, he cocked an eye at his watch. For the first time that day his face assumed a human expression.

“Good God, Lehmann, were you trodden on by a rooster this morning, or something?” he asked testily. “It’s only seven o’clock!”

“The General is breakfasting with her ladyship at the hotel today.” Lehmann spoke as though he were reading the weather forecast. “Her ladyship telephoned yesterday evening and expressed the wish that you should join her, and since the General did not return to quarters until late…”

“All right, all right.” Von Seydlitz-Gabler cut him short and hastily began his morning toilette.

“I’ve already had the car brought round, sir,” said Lehmann, when the General’s normal veneer of majestic elegance had been restored. The batman looked him over critically and seemed satisfied with the result.

Leaving his headquarters at the Auberge Moulin Noir on the eastern edge of the Bois de Vincennes, von Seydlitz-Gabler drove to the Place Vendôme in the centre of the city and stopped outside the Hotel Excelsior, which was his wife’s temporary abode. At least, he hoped it was temporary. Fortunately, circumstances in Paris made it impossible to duplicate the domestic arrangements which had existed in Warsaw.

“I see you so little these days,” said Frau Wilhelmine, after she had greeted him in her hotel room.

“Duty, my love, duty. There are critical times ahead.”

The General gazed into his wife’s blue eyes with unflinching gallantry, then past her at the twin beds, one of which had been intended for him. The virgin counterpane stared at him accusingly. To his relief he noticed that they were not alone in the room. His daughter Ulrike stood by the window, firm-fleshed and graceful as a young racehorse. Even her corn-coloured mane of hair reminded him of a horse.

“We’re all going to have breakfast together,” announced Frau Wilhelmine.

It was a long time since they had eatenen famille. They exchanged a few amicable remarks and chatted about home and Paris. Ulrike, who was temporarily stationed in Fontainebleau, complained that it was dull compared with Paris and said she would rather live in the city.

“Paris is not for you,” Frau Wilhelmine said resolutely, glancing at her husband. “Paris does no one any good. For all that, I may let you come up for a day or two soon. General Tanz is on his way here, I gather, so we shall have to entertain him a little.”

“In that case give me Fontainebleau!”

Ulrike’s spontaneous outburst evoked a stern reprimand from her mother, who was duly backed up by the General. Frau Wilhelmine launched into a lengthy monologue in which she summarized all she had to say on the subject. Numbed by the ruthless logic of her mother’s arguments, Ulrike maintained a sullen silence. Her father, on the other hand, repeatedly assured his masterful spouse how greatly he appreciated her advice.

“I shall discuss the necessary arrangements with Kahlenberge immediately after breakfast.”

“So your bosom pal Hartmann is in it up to his neck again.”

General Kahlenberge was addressing Otto, who had left a report from the garrison authorities on his desk without prior comment, knowing that Kahlenberge would learn the more embarrassing details of the Mocambo Bar affair soon enough.

“Hartmann’s idiotic behaviour is becoming dangerous. Preaching his kindergarten idealism in public is going too far. Don’t misunderstand me, Otto. I’ve nothing against his personal opinions and I don’t demand gratitude or any other kind of emotional twaddle from my men—all I expect is a grain or two of common sense. There are some things people can’t do if they want to go on working for me. I’ve no use for emotional blockheads.”