Chapter II: Part XVII
Chapter II: The Gambit of The West
Part XVII
April 14, 1936
The Führer’s forward headquarters outside Munich was a sea of noise and confusion by three in the afternoon. Adolf Hitler and his entourage had taken over the sprawling basement of a canned goods warehouse in Karlsfeld -- the only facility in the area that was underground, comfortably large and air-conditioned. The entrance to the warehouse was lined with hundreds of pallets of cans stacked higher than the tallest man: enough beans, pork and sardines to feed every soldier between Munich and the front.
The newly-cleared basement had been hastily fitted with additional lighting, telephone lines and office furniture to accommodate the Führer’s entire headquarters staff, which had now spent more than five hours trying to develop a coherent picture of the war’s development.
According to Army High Command, casualties remained fairly light -- most German units had not stayed in place long enough to sustain serious losses. Other units, OKH reported, had in fact bypassed the advancing French divisions and driven into France itself, according to the General Staff plan drawn up by Fritz Bayerlein in February.
From his place at the center of the great basement, the Führer had been directing repeated attempts to get into direct communication with Acting Generalmajor Bayerlein. Cristoph Scholl could only watch helplessly as the Führer became increasingly agitated with each minute that Bayerlein was not found.
“Where is Bayerlein?” Hitler had been asking the question to the room in general every few minutes. He stood at a large wooden table spread with maps and papers.
At the center of the table was a map of France, Germany and the Low Countries. Small wooden counters represented known German and French divisions. A large stack of blue counters was placed just to the east of Ulm, faced by only three gray counters. Several high stacks of gray counters were positioned along the Franco-Belgian border, but Scholl saw that two of the blue ones had advanced deep into eastern Belgium.
The Führer stared sourly at the map. “Standartenführer Junge?”
The SS officer glanced up from his typewriter. “Mein Führer?”
“Why have you not drawn the line of the front on this map?”
Junge stood and joined Hitler at the table. “Because, Mein Führer, we do not know exactly where the front is. Fortunately, I do not believe the French know very much more than we do.”
“What do you mean?”
“The combat is very confused, Mein Führer. We know that the enemy remains to the west of Augsburg. Kaiserslautern remains free, but Saarland is largely occupied by the enemy. We have taken a few cities near the Belgian border, and several divisions are reportedly fighting their way toward Reims.” Junge pointed to the blue counters in Belgium. “Arlon was taken by the French, and a force of unknown size is reportedly penetrating deeper into Belgium. The trouble, Mein Führer, is that the French have been cutting telephone and telegraph lines as they advance, and it has been difficult to communicate with enough units to learn exactly where that line should be drawn.”
Hitler took a steadying breath before smashing his fist against the table.
Junge gulped. “I shall make all effort to determine where the front lies, Mein Führer.”
From the Führer, there was no reply.
A stocky, middle-aged Luftwaffe officer approached the table. Oberst Alfred Keller had been directing Luftwaffe operations from one corner of the improvised headquarters.
Behind him, a pilot just in from a sortie was being led to the table by one of the Luftwaffe adjutants.
Still wearing his leather cap and flying jacket, the man was wiping his hands furiously on his trousers -- whether to remove sweat, grime or both Scholl could not tell. Scholl noticed that the knees of the trousers were torn and caked with dried blood.
Keller faced the Warlord and saluted. “Mein Führer, this is Oberleutnant Ihlefeld. He shot down three French bombers over the front and rammed a fourth before bailing out.”
The Führer turned from the map and appraised the young pilot. “Ihlefeld. I am pleased.” He inclined his head and shook the man’s hand vigorously.
Oberleutnant Ihlefeld recounted each kill for his Führer, who seemed momentarily drawn out of his despondency.
A moving shape to his right caught Scholl’s attention. A slender man wearing the brown NSDAP tunic and swastika armband had wandered into the headquarters. His distinctive gaunt, rodentine face was immediately familiar to Scholl. Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels was but the latest of a long line of high officials who had been drifting in and out of the Engmann St. Louis warehouse basement since morning.
Joseph Goebbels arrived at the Führer's forward headquarters by mid-afternoon.
“I hear that there is a new hero to be found in here, Führer.” In person his voice seemed somehow more nasal, more grating than it had in the radio broadcasts Scholl had listened to.
Oberst Keller made his way eagerly toward the Propaganda Minister, but Goebbels brushed past him on his way to Hitler.
“I said that I heard that there is a new hero to be found here, Führer,” Goebbels drawled.
The Warlord had been fixated on the map again. “Do you have news of him yet?”
“Who?”
Turning at last from the map, Hitler seemed to recognize his old friend. “Thank you for coming.”
Goebbels nodded stiffly. One eye seemed to be set in a slight squint. “I hear there is a new flying ace here, whose exploits can inspire the German People to greater resistance.”
Oberst Keller drew up alongside the Propaganda Minister, Ihlefeld in tow. “Yes, Herr Reichsminister. This is Oberleutnant Ihlefeld -- he scored two kills in Belgium, followed by four bombers today.”
“What is your forename, Ihlefeld?”
“Herbert, Herr Reichsminister.”
“Good. Very good. You there!” Goebbels snapped his fingers at one of the Führer’s junior staffers. “One: Oberleutnant Herbert Ihlefeld is to receive the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross and all prerequisites.”
The aide was furiously scribbling notes on a pad of a paper.
“Two: Oberleutnant Ihlefeld is to be featured in the
Völkischer Beobachter. Three: Herbert Ihlefeld postcards are to be printed and sold for the war effort in the same series with the postcards of Major Bräuer and Major Bayerlein.”
An exasperated shout from the Führer cut Goebbels short. “Can no one get me Bayerlein? I must speak to Bayerlein!” Hitler wheeled on the Propaganda Minister. “I warned of this catastrophe. I tried to prepare Germany. I warned all of you again, and again, and again, and again, and --” His voice trailed off. “This is unheard-of! Foreign armies in Bavaria… I said -- I tried to -- ignored! Ignored by the defeatists!”
“Mein Führer --” Goebbels was incredulous.
“Ignored! Everyone assured me that France would not attack. Everyone tried to quell my fears. Everyone tried to placate me.” Hitler beat his chest. “
I knew!
I begged everyone to listen.”
The female secretaries had stopped typing, and the room was growing quiet. But the storm had passed.
Adolf Hitler saw that he had lost control and stilled his anger. “I knew,” he said again, more quietly. Those in the basement returned to their work.
As Goebbels led Ihlefeld, Keller and the aide out of the basement, Scholl found a seat and buried his face in his hands. Things were going badly. Everyone in a position to know anything seemed to agree on that much.
Many minutes passed before one of the Führer’s deep sighs drew his attention. Apparently Hitler was reading a report containing more bad news. “Generalmajor Stumpff regrets to inform me that the Luftwaffe has been ineffectual in preventing the Royal Air Force from inflicting serious losses on the Wehrmacht in a meticulously waged tactical bombing campaign against our divisions in Belgium that has crippled some Army units. He regrets to inform me!”
Scholl seemed to have better luck than most in his attempts to calm the Führer. “I am sure the general merely --”
“Two hundred vehicles!” He was now reading the second page which enumerated losses.
“I --”
“Two hundred! I thought they were busy bombing schools and libraries.”
“And so the world should think.” Goebbels had drifted back in.
“Are none of those atrocities real?”
“A bomb fell on the lawns of a hospital in Antwerp but did not injure anyone. A few factories were hit hard. Stray bombs hit a cathedral, and small numbers of Belgians have lost their lives or property. Rather disappointing.”
“What about the, the -- abductions? What of the abductions?”
“I am pleased to report that the International Red Cross believes that there is significant merit to that case. Your friend Herr Hoffman was of great assistance to me in fabricating the photographic evidence.”
The Führer slumped over the table. “That is not why I am worried. Stumpff believes that IX, XII and VI Armeekorps have been bombed so precisely they must have been given information as to our dispositions. Look!” Hitler pointed to the small map that Stumpff had provided. “Every single one of these divisions has been struck exactly four times. There is spying and perfidy behind this.” Goebbels looked skeptical, but Hitler ignored him.
Hitler paced towards where Scholl was sitting. “Cristoph. I have found something for you to do. Put me in touch with Admiral Canaris immediately.”