“Yes, Oberst-Gruppenführer Hausser,” I said as I turned my head and looked into a man who’s eyes had seen death. He had dealt death. He was a loyalist to both Hitler and Himmler. I highly believe he would be opposition, but for now I must learn from him. I must learn the methods of the Waffen SS if we are to liberate Germany.
With his notorious eye patch giving me the creeps, “Papa” as he was affectionately known began to speak. “Herr Schnack,” he politely said, which somewhat eased my nerves. “Your name precedes you, your grandfather, father and brothers have served the Reich well. It is only customary then for you to be able to assist Germany in one of her greatest times.”
Hausser graced himself past my legs and sat to my right. We had begun our departure from Berlin say about five minutes ago. I had fears of being on a train loaded with troops and high priority targets like our panzers. Yes, I had braved being shot at before while being driven around by my nephew Rhiley. We had survived several close encounters – never being fired at but witnessed on several occasions’ Allied fighters looking for possible targets. “Do you have any children?”
I smiled. This conversation I think could have gone two ways, either negative or positive. I’m glad it went positive. “Yes, I do. I have a three of them in fact. My eldest son, Philipp currently garrisons the city of Copenhagen. My youngest son has also been spared the wrath of the Allies and currently assists with the defense Berlin. Lastly, I have a very precious daughter has I have last heard is pregnant. I am to be a grandfather. I can only hope that I survive the war to at least see my grandchild at least once.” I had struck a tear to Papa’s eyes. I had never known a Waffen SS man to cry. I had only heard rumors that even the elite of the elite cry out for their mother after being severely wounded.
This conversation is really intriguing. It brings hope to me. I truly do miss my family. It lifts my spirits knowing that deep down there is still a man out there besides me that truly cares about the German family. My eyes catch the attention as we leave the last district in Berlin. Berlin is a city that has been destroyed. Only a few rooftops of the city have been spared from complete damage. We have been subjected to at least a dozen “one thousand bomber” raids by both the Americans during the day and British at night within the last month. I had spent two nights within the Fuhrer bunker and I could hear the dreaded humming of their engines and whistling as the bombs descended onto the city. I have awoken several times to nightmares of air planes. If I were to choose between being death by artillery or aerial bombardment, I would choose artillery.
One of the many streets of Berlin left in ruin from Allied bombing.
I hesitated a moment before thinking through the question I was about to ask. “General,” I began politely.
“Call me Paul or Papa,” he said with a beautiful smile. “Not many are allowed to call me this to my face, but I like you Tristan.”
Amazing to say the least, in fact I felt a bit overwhelmed. “Yes, Pa…, Paul,” I said deciding to go with his first name only because he had called me by my first. He could have called me by mine, but I don’t think I really have one that anybody has told me about. I guess you could call me Tristan “the Traitor” Schnack, but, that wasn’t a nickname most would want to get out. “Do you have nightmares at night?”
He reached an arm out to my nearest shoulder. “Tristan, we all have nightmares. I am worried about men. I am worried about the future of the Fatherland. I am worried about my family. Only after those worries are satisfied do I tend to look after myself. It is my mission to protect Germany, regardless of leader. I have served three masters, I am a soldier, I will follow orders.”
His emphasis on leader, being a soldier and following orders intrigued me. Was Herr General, the father of the Waffen SS, perhaps willing to follow orders if Hitler and the National Socialist regime overthrown? I highly doubt it. I am half tempted to just ask Hausser what he would do. How would he react? If it’s a negative reaction, I know I am dead. I am on a train of Waffen SS. If the reaction is positive, we are still on a train of Waffen SS men, what if the men do not support their general’s decisions?
Papa had noted my silence but did not speak up for a good thirty seconds. “Tristan, what are your nightmares?”
Thank god. “I too fear for my family, for Germany. I also fear that Hitler may not live through the war – either through his own actions or the actions of men around him. I have heard of rumors of conspiracies against our Fuhrer, but I do not believe them. Who would want to depose of the man that has brought Germany back from the brink? Yes, our situation is not the best at this moment. But I have confidence that the Fuhrer can deliver us again.” I hoped that was with enough confidence. I know most of it was a lie. I have been accustomed to lying. If I am going to suffer eternal damnation for it, I hope that my Creator realizes that my lies were for the betterment of Germany.
Hausser looked at me with his remaining eye. I always thought somebody staring at you with both eyes was just frightful. I was wrong. Just one functioning eye is more of a nightmare than two! “Go on,” he said. I knew I had Papa reeled in.
I smiled, wishing to further explore how much deeper the situation could evolve into. “What if I told you I knew of a plot to assassinate the Fuhrer?”