Mark Frost - The Second Objective

“We are not here to turn you into soldiers,” he said in English, his voice ringing out over the yard. “That was someone else’s job. If they failed, there’s nothing we can do for you now. Nor is there time to train you properly as commandos; the urgency of our mission is too great. It is the responsibility of every man to do the best he can with what we give you. Your principal weapons will be intelligence, ingenuity, and cunning.

“What I do expect from you is this: the willingness to change your entire pattern of behavior. Nationality, race, and culture are qualities you express unconsciously in your basic instincts, habits, and attitudes. They are much more deeply ingrained in your mind and body than you know. As far as the outside world is concerned, these qualities, these ‘German characteristics,’ have to change if you have any hope of surviving what lies ahead. It is no use dressing you in olive green and teaching you American slang if you click your boot heels and snap to attention like a Prussian grenadier the first time one of their officers barks out an order.”

He gave a comic, self-deprecating demonstration, like one of the boys in the ranks. A big laugh spread through the assembly. Bernie glanced over at Von Leinsdorf, standing down the row. He watched Skorzeny with almost religious rapture. Skorzeny smiled and waited for the laughter to subside with the polished air of a comedian.

He’s got them in his hands. They’re ready to die for him right now.

“No similar operation of this size has ever been attempted in the history of warfare. I won’t minimize the dangers you face. But I assure you the Führer has entrusted us with a responsibility on which the future of our country depends. You have his full support and absolute confidence. I know in my heart that you will not let him, or Germany, down. The rest is up to God and chance. Heil Hitler!”

Skorzeny turned with a click of his heels and marched away, his adjutant and officers falling into step behind him. He radiated command and iron confidence, tempered by empathy for his troops and self-deprecating humor. Von Leinsdorf and the others around him glowed with patriotic zeal; they looked ready to burst into song.

Skorzeny watched the brigade’s military division go through maneuvers that morning on the training ground. Two captured American Sherman tanks and twelve German Panthers, which had been retrofitted to resemble Shermans, rumbled through their paces. In the afternoon, Stielau’s commando company conducted a sabotage demonstration, blowing up a mock bridge ahead of schedule against a running clock. Skorzeny appeared pleased with their performance.

When Skorzeny returned to the officers’ quarters for the evening, his adjutant was waiting for him outside. “Sir, a lieutenant from the commando company has requested a word with you.”

“I don’t have time for that now.”

The adjutant lowered his voice. “He is SS. From a diplomatic corps family.”

Skorzeny looked past him into the next room, where a young, upright man with close-cropped blond hair waited.

“All right, leave us,” said Skorzeny.

Skorzeny walked in to join the man, who snapped to attention and saluted. “ Unterstürmführer Erich Von Leinsdorf, sir. It is an honor to meet you.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, as a fellow SS officer, I take the liberty of speaking directly. The wildest rumors are circulating through camp regarding the mission. Once the men learned you were in charge, imaginations ran riot.”

“Give me an example,” said Skorzeny.

“We are going to rush across France to liberate our trapped garrison at Brest. Some have us crossing the Channel to invade London. There’s even one that claims we’re to cross the Atlantic by submarine and attack Roosevelt in the White House.”

Skorzeny shook his head, amused. “And what do you think, Lieutenant?”

“I believe I know the real objective of the 105th Panzer Brigade, sir.”

The man radiated such conviction that for a moment Skorzeny wondered if his seconds had disobeyed orders and taken him into their confidence. Skorzeny poured a drink, stood in front of the fire, and listened as Von Leinsdorf explained his theory. Hiding his astonishment at what the man told him, Skorzeny rolled the brandy in the snifter, a grand master with his hand poised over a suddenly useful pawn. He said nothing when Von Leinsdorf finished, letting him squirm.

“I will share this much with you,” said Skorzeny finally. “The Führer has given us a specific military objective, the details of which I am not at liberty to disclose.”

“I understand, sir,” said Von Leinsdorf.

“He also gave us a second objective,” said Skorzeny, moving closer. “No one else knows about it, not even your superior officers. Never mind how, but you’ve hit on it exactly. Let me tell you my problem, Lieutenant.”

Von Leinsdorf tensed. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-”

Skorzeny held up a hand for silence. “For some time I have been looking for an officer capable of leading this phase of the operation. I’ve found my man.”

“I’m honored, sir.”

“Choose a few others from your company. The best English speakers, three men, each qualified to lead a small squad. Do any come to mind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take them into your confidence, but without the particulars we’ve discussed. Have each of these men assemble his own four-man team. Then consider this objective carefully and work out the tactical details yourself.”

“What guidance can you give me, sir?”

“None. The rest is up to you. I don’t like to limit a talented young officer’s initiative. In the meantime, to help morale, introduce a rumor of our own into camp. Three American commandos were recently captured wearing German uniforms near Aachen. They were given safe passage back across the American line by the SS a few days later.”

“Is that true?”

“Of course not. They were shot immediately.” Skorzeny opened the door for him. “We’ll meet again on the eve of the attack and finalize your plan. Good luck to us all.”

“You may count on me, sir.” Von Leinsdorf saluted, spun on his heel, and exited the room. Skorzeny’s adjutant entered moments later.

“Bring me that man’s dossier,” said Skorzeny. “Ask Captain Stielau to come in.”

Skorzeny watched the fire as he waited, and felt the threads of three different fabrics bind into one satisfying whole. The adjutant and Stielau returned together. Skorzeny quickly scanned Von Leinsdorf’s dossier, while Stielau stood by.

“How did he end up here? His father was one-quarter Jewish.”

“Yes, on the mother’s side. According to Party standards that still made him half-caste, Mischlinge .”

“And he was Ambassador Ribbentrop’s right-hand man in London at the time?” asked Skorzeny. “I remember hearing about this. A minor scandal.”

“Ribbentrop shipped him off to an obscure post in Sweden. The mother took ill, went home, and died shortly after. When the father committed suicide a few months later, the boy, Erich, became a ward of the state.”

“How did he kill himself?”

“The rope. A coward’s death. Fit for a Jew.”

Skorzeny read something in the file. “Erich found the body.”

“Yes. He was sent back to Germany, and enrolled in the Hitlerjugend . He so excelled in every youth program they put him in-the Hitler School, the Political Institute-that he was transferred to the Ordensburgen . It’s for only the most fanatical young National Socialists. Intense physical discipline, military instruction, education in the racial sciences, and the Jewish question-all under SS.”