Mila 18 - Leon Uris

Water and electricity would be shut off the same night his troops moved into position.

It was a marvelous, simple, and efficient foolproof plan.

Everything was ready at Treblinka to give “special treatment.” The entire process would take three to four days. Five at the absolute most.

Now, about the Jewish Forces, he thought. He wanted them to open fire first and commit themselves to combat. This way he could clean them out in a few hours. Once they were gone, the liquidation of the rest would be much easier. But would they fire at heavily armed troops? Damn it, no—they’d cower.

If these Jews did open fire it would cost him troops. Ten or twenty casualties. Should he send in Ukrainians the first day and let them take the casualties? No. The honor had to go to the Reinhard Corps! Shame to risk blooding the Elite Corps, but such were the fortunes of war. They would be insulted if they did not enter the ghetto first.

He ran over the map again, replaced his tanks for reserve, and set his artillery in positions to effect better cross fire, then set the magnifying glass and picked up the roster of troops being placed at his disposal.

SS UNITS

SS staff and officers, Warsaw

Reinhard Corps, Warsaw

Special Waffen SS, Trawniki and Poniatow

SS Panzer Grenadier Battalion

SS Mobilized Cavalry Battalion

SS Police Regiment, Lublin

SS Dog Company, Belzec

All Gestapo units, Warsaw

WEHRMACHT UNITS

Battalion, Infantry

Engineer companies, detached

Flame-throwing companies, detached

Battalion plus battery, artillery

Special detachment anti-aircraft searchlight units

Medical Corps company

LOCAL UNITS

All companies, Polish Blue Police

All companies, Polish fire brigades

FOREIGN RACIAL GUARDS

One battalion mixed, Baltic guards

One battalion, Ukrainian guards

Alfred Funk sighed with contentment. His special brigade of eight thousand men was being assembled rapidly. Those from outside the Warsaw district were en route. It was a nicely rounded force. He muttered his unhappiness at having to expose SS people to the first fire, but ... no choice ... simply no choice.

Horst von Epp returned from his regular four-day monthly trip to Krakow with the knowledge that Oberführer Funk had been in Warsaw for three days. The instant he entered Funk’s office the Oberführer snapped up from his desk. “Aha!” Funk cried with obvious delight. “Aha! Enter Neville Chamberlain, the great negotiator. The great appeaser!”

“From the tremors of joy in your voice, I should say that you have come on a mission of annihilation.”

“Look!” Funk said, proudly pointing to the map. “I am grateful for this chance to vindicate myself.” He clasped his hands behind his back snappily and paced with a jaunty step. “The instant I returned from Denmark, Himmler called me in. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ Himmler told me. ‘Der Führer commands you to obliterate the Warsaw ghetto immediately. This symbol of Jewry must be wiped off the earth. You, Alfred, have priority on all troops in the General Government Area.’ ”

Horst von Epp grimaced and swung open the liquor cabinet.

Funk had his knuckles on the desk and bent forward rigidly, his blue eyes alive with vehemence. “You know, Horst, you actually had me fooled for a moment with your silly talk. Negotiate with the Jews, indeed! I was a fool to listen to you. I should have carried out my orders to the letter in January.”

One quick jigger of scotch roared down Von Epp’s throat, and a second followed, and a third was poured. Then he turned and faced Funk and began to laugh ironically. Funk’s face quivered as his expression changed from anger to puzzlement.

“ ‘With reasonable men, I will reason; with humane men I will plead; but to tyrants I will give no quarter ...’ ”

“What in the name of hell are you babbling about, Horst?”

“As a good propagandist, I studied the art of another good propagandist. We should all study our predecessors, don’t you think?”

“I don’t recall the phrase, nor do I see the occasion for your laughter.”

“I give you William Lloyd Garrison, master American propagandist.”

The muscles in Funk’s face knotted with anger. “Perhaps it would be more fitting if you quoted Nietzsche.”

“Ah yes. That great humanitarian, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. To enter into a higher civilization, a super-race must ruthlessly destroy the existing inferior civilizations. We must divest, purge, cleanse ourselves of Judeo-Christian perversions in order to achieve this ultimate form of life. Now, how’s that for Nietzsche, Alfred?”

“It is men like you, who compromise with sub-human forms of life, who will keep the German people from reaching their goals.”

Horst flopped his hands. “Here we go, underestimating the Americans again. A chronic, incurable illness of ours, underestimating Americans.” Horst settled opposite Funk’s chair, tilting the bottle of scotch once more. “I paraphrase an underestimated American. Reasonable men reason. Compassionate men show mercy. Tyrants destroy. We destroy because we must destroy because we must destroy.”

“You are playing dangerous games with this radical thinking, Horst. Take my advice. Change your tune. Berlin is not so happy over some of your attitudes.”

“Save it, Alfred. You will need apologists around like me after the Third Reich is crushed to expound the theories of apologetics. What shall I say? Ah yes, there was no one here but us anti-Nazis. What could we do? Orders were orders.”

“You speak treason against the Fatherland,” Funk said menacingly.

Horst jumped up from his seat and slammed the bottle on the desk. It was the first show of temper Alfred Funk had ever seen him make, and he was clearly startled into silence.

“Damn you!” Horst cried. “I am neither damned fool nor coward enough to keep smiling and pretending and clicking my heels and bowing from the waist in the face of absolute disaster. Say it, Alfred! Germany has lost the war!”

Funk’s eyes bulged with disbelief.

“We have lost the war! We have lost the war! We have lost the war!” Horst bellowed.

Funk paled and sat down.

“Now we have the opportunity to soften the blows of defeat if we have the intelligence to recognize defeat and prepare for it carefully. So, what do we do? Step up the murders at Auschwitz. Five thousand more Poles and Slavs a day ... We respond to the reality of defeat by throwing open the doors for our own destruction.”

Funk mopped his brow and smiled weakly. He thought he had better change the subject. Von Epp always tied him in knots when they argued. He was like the devil himself! One lovely day Himmler would tell him to get rid of Von Epp. What a pleasure that would be.

Alfred Funk cleared his throat. “One of the things I discussed with Goebbels concerns you. Next week we are to meet in Lublin and design a campaign to minimize the unpleasantness in Poland. We start by understating the numbers of Jews involved in the final solution. Then we deny the special-treatment camps have facilities for other than labor. Bone-crushing machines are being installed in all special-treatment centers to eliminate the evidence. In fact, those given special treatment by firing squads are being exhumed for cremation. Eichmann has full-time staffs at 4B making a duplicate set of records—court trials, epidemics, and such—which can account for a good part of the deaths. In Czechoslovakia, at Theresienstadt, we have established a model camp for Jews and invited the Red Cross to inspect it ...”

“Shut up, Alfred! We scratch like dogs to cover dung piles while we proceed to drown ourselves in our own vomit.”