The Kaiser’s Last Kiss. Alan Judd

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ displayed none of the stand-offishness of the other officers in the Wehrmacht unit to which Krebbs was attached – had even secured a room to themselves.

      But when he arrived with the major late that afternoon he found the battalion dispersed. Headquarters was still there but the commanding officer was away at a senior officers’ briefing. Only headquarters company was still in residence, functioning as guard and administrator, the others having been hurriedly deployed many kilometres away in some undefined coastal defence role, allegedly temporary. The second-in-command had gone with them, taking most of the remaining transport. There were rations only for the headquarters company and now, suddenly, many more Dutch prisoners than anticipated. No one had any idea how long they were to be kept, whether it was permissible to disperse them to their homes, whether they were to be set to work, or what. Everyone was appealing to Hauptmann Buff, the harassed adjutant, who had neither the authority to make decisions about such matters nor any guidance from higher formations, who were preoccupied with their own problems. The quartermaster had taken the room that Krebbs and Stefan had found for themselves.

      The parade ground was crowded with disarmed Dutch soldiers, sitting, talking, smoking or simply standing in surly groups. They were not men who had been defeated in battle; there had been some fighting – one or two Dutch units had fought well – but most Dutch soldiers had not fought. They had been ordered by their officers to surrender in the face of the overwhelming force that had swept across their country like the North Sea breaking in to their beloved polders. Surrender doubtless bred both relief and resentment. Krebbs told the lorry driver to park at the edge of the parade ground and be ready to return with him and his escorting soldiers within twenty minutes. He told Major van Houten to wait while he asked where, or to whom, to consign him.

      The major glanced at his several hundred morose compatriots who, though unarmed, could easily have overpowered their captors. His long face was as lugubrious as ever but something in his eyes suggested the nearest Krebbs had seen to a smile. ‘Don’t bet your pay-packet on getting an answer, Herr Leutnant,’ he said, calling Krebbs by his Wehrmacht equivalent rank.

      Krebbs had left the barracks early that day in good spirits, having been told that guarding the Kaiser was an important task which the High Command wished to be performed by Wehrmacht troops under command of an SS officer. It appeared he would combine the advantages of having his own independent daytime command with the comfort of good barrack accommodation at night. Now, however, guarding the Kaiser seemed the last, and least, thing on anyone’s mind. The adjutant’s office was crowded with supplicants and applicants, while engineers squeezed in and out testing telephones and laying new lines. Everyone was talking and at first no one heeded Krebbs’s clicked heels and crisp ‘Heil Hitler!’ salute at the door. He always made a point of that rather than the traditional army salute.

      Hauptmann Buff half raised one hand, holding a cigarette, but without getting out of his chair and without interrupting his questioning of an engineer. When he had finished with the man he looked up at Krebbs with weary eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

      Krebbs explained.

      ‘Feed him to the birds, if you like,’ the adjutant interrupted. ‘You can see what it’s like here. We’ve been made a collection point for Dutch armed forces throughout the province, only no one told us. At the same time all four rifle companies have been detached to coastal protection in case of English raids and I’ve been left with the remnants of HQ company to do everything. Just be grateful you’re not here. I should stay at Doorn if I were you and keep your head down. If the old man wants you to have dinner with him, eat it. There’s bound to be more of it than anyone will get here. Meanwhile, just make sure no unauthorised persons approach him and that he doesn’t make a bolt for it or do anything stupid. Note anything important he says or does so you’ve got something to report to your SS Standartenführer, your colonel – what’s his name? – Kaltzbrunner.’ He pronounced the name with careful distinction. ‘As for your Dutch major, tell him if he’s got any food in his pocket he should eat it now, before anyone else does. Then make yourself scarce before I find you something to do. Heil Hitler.’ He put the cigarette in his mouth.

      There was an ironic edge to the adjutant’s dismissal that took Krebbs aback. It suggested an attitude corrosive of discipline and endeavour, the sort of thing for which he had seen men sacked from Braunschweig, the SS officer academy. SS personnel were supposed to report such instances; he would remember it. He went off to retrieve his kit from the room that was now part of the quartermaster’s ample suite of offices, then returned to find Major van Houten standing smoking by the lorry. Nobody, anywhere, guards or prisoners, seemed to have any idea what to do. Everyone was standing and staring at everyone else. There was no tension, no expectation, only a depressed waiting. There was not even a football.

      ‘Your driver, Herr Leutnant, may have gone absent without leave,’ said the major. ‘As soon as you left he said he was going to the toilet and he has not reappeared. Your escort – my escort – are catching up on doubtless well-deserved sleep in the back. It may be possible to find and reprimand your driver in this sad situation but it would take some time and meanwhile someone might commandeer your lorry. If I were you, Herr Leutnant, and speaking as one officer to another’ – the major’s expression gave nothing away but the exaggerated lowering of his voice suggested humour – ‘I would take your lorry and your men and go, quickly. In all armies it is the same: you are either doing something, or something is done to you.’ He transferred his cigarette to his other hand and took a key from his tunic pocket. ‘I took the precaution of relieving your driver of his ignition key. I hope you don’t object to a German soldier taking orders from an enemy officer. If you do, you can add it to his charge sheet.’

      Krebbs had never driven a car, let alone a lorry. Nor, he knew, had any of his men. Finding the driver and then dealing with him would certainly take time. He might not get back for dinner with the Kaiser. He was as determined not to let that happen as he had been about anything in life, except perhaps getting his commission. It was essential, he told himself – and would have protested to anyone who asked – that this first move of the Kaiser’s should be accepted. It was important to the Reich to have a co-operative and approving, or at least acquiescent, Kaiser in exile. Neutral countries would be impressed by that, just as they would be impressed the other way if the Kaiser defected to England or somewhere – well, it would have to be to England or its empire, since there was no other enemy left to fight now. But behind all his reasoning, like sunlight filtered through leaves, was the pleasing image of the maidservant. He had persuaded himself that she would be there; and if she would, he would, even though she was only a servant.

      ‘Can you drive?’ he asked.

      Major van Houten’s eyebrows arched. ‘I am a qualified army instructor.’

      ‘Would you be so good as to drive us back?’

      ‘If that is an invitation to co-operate with the invader, it would be treasonable to comply. But if it is an order from a captor to his prisoner-of-war, it would be correct.’

      Krebbs permitted himself a smile. ‘It is an order, Herr Major.’

      The major drove the unfamiliar lorry better than its Wehrmacht driver, with less grating of gears and less bumping and jerking. The noise in the cab made conversation difficult, which suited Krebbs because he wanted to think. At least, that was what he told himself but now that he had the opportunity he found nothing on which he wanted, mentally, to dwell. He wanted neither to recall the past nor – his more usual state – to fantasise about a glorious future. He felt he was somehow floating in no-man’s land, seeking nothing, imagining nothing. It was a novel state, but not unsettling. As they approached the tall trees of Doorn the major turned to him. ‘I am sure you will take good care of your charge, Herr Leutnant, but there is one small piece of advice I should like to offer, if it is permitted.’

      ‘It is permitted.’ СКАЧАТЬ