The Twisted Patriot Read online

  The week had sped past as he was taken first to meet von Pressner, who was a humorous and neat-looking individual of around 58 and who had been decorated for the campaigns in Poland and then France as had Eric, who aside from his promotion had received the Knight’s Cross for bravery. He had then been introduced to the iron discipline of the Wehrmacht, which resembled nothing he had experienced in the British Army. He was, of course, regarded with deep suspicion by several of his fellow officers, who would never have countenanced switching sides no matter their objections to the regime they served, it just wasn’t in the German character. However, guided by Eric he managed to get through the week’s training and impressed the non-commissioned officers with his knowledge of weaponry; the transition from the dinosaur age pistols and rifles he had been used to in the British army to their much more efficient equivalents in the Wehrmacht shocked him originally but only added to his sense of frustration at what he and his platoon had been made to fight with. Night-time entertainment was spent mostly at home where dinners were ample in size in order to regenerate their batteries after the tough days out on training but the conversation was light by contrast, which Sebastian was grateful for. He didn’t feel impelled to elaborate on why he had made the transition from the British Army to that of the enemy and besides, naming a Colonel Johns, who to all intents and purposes didn’t exist, as his nemesis would sound like he was making the whole story up so that he could feel a little better about himself. The coldest among his hosts was the Baron, as he clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence thinking that he was now dealing with a devotee of the regime who would collaborate with Victoria to hand him over on the pretext of conspiring against the government, but Sebastian was keen to disabuse him of that notion. Victoria by contrast was getting hotter and hotter towards him as she clearly signalled by stroking his leg every time they sat beside each other at ,, and Sebastian, ever the survivor, was not going to reject her advances, as he had gleaned from Eric that she was now consorting with a high up SS general.

  The last night before they departed for the Eastern Front, to which Eric was also to be a novice as he had been stationed in Paris prior to his recall along with von Pressner, the von Preetzs held a grand dinner at which Henrietta’s parents, the von Helldorfs and several other luminaries, including von der Schulenburg and his wife, were among the guests. A lavish spread was laid out which Sebastian waded into and as ever he was seated next to Victoria while von Helldorf, who had, unlike the Baron, not changed since their last meeting two years previously, was opposite him. This time, though, the atmosphere compared to their first encounter at the wedding was convivial, as the Count showed what a raconteur he was, cracking Sebastian up on several occasions while Victoria laughed along but didn’t really appear to get the humour and was often to be seen staring into the distance as if she was sharing the bed of her General and his Führer-laden discourses. Von Helldorf trod a fine line in his disparaging remarks about the leadership “What’s the difference between Goebbels and Goering?” Sebastian shook his head while Victoria sighed. “One belongs to a uniform club while the other is a member of the club foot!” and both laughed uproariously, with Victoria smiling in feigned amusement, though Sebastian felt that von Helldorf was pushing it to the limit as his former lover was not known for her discretion. However, von Helldorf clearly believed his high rank and his aristocratic background made him infallible and as far as Sebastian was concerned he could carry on, as he wished it wasn’t his life after all.

  Sebastian retired around one in the morning and having brushed his teeth and bathed he returned to his bedroom to find Victoria spreadeagled on the bed, naked but for a pink feather boa. She smiled her seductive smile at him and waggled her finger at him, in come and take me now fashion but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “Yes. Who is it?” enquired Sebastian.

  “It’s Baron von Preetz, Sebastian. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Victoria raised her finger to her lips to tell him to be discreet as she moved her curvaceous naked body under the sheets and pulled the covers over her head after turning off the light. Sebastian, who was in his pyjamas but that could not hide the enormous erection, threw on a dressing gown and opened the door wiping his eyes as if he had just been awoken, while covering the light seeping through from the passageway to the bedroom. The Baron was still in his formal dress and looked embarrassed at disturbing his guest and smiled apologetically at him for doing so.

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian, for waking you but I was wondering whether you would care to take a farewell nightcap with me?” he asked plaintively.

  Sebastian knew what he would prefer which was a night of passion and lust with the black bush of Victoria his target for destruction. However, he also acknowledged that it was the Baron who had given him the safe passage out of the country all that time ago and he owed him for that rather than pillaging his wife, who his host thought had already left for her love nest with the General. She had made great play at making her farewells an hour previously while Sebastian soaked in the bath enjoying what he imagined would be the penultimate fresh suds and hot water for a very long time. Sebastian nodded and closed the door behind him before following the Baron down the stairs, somewhat rejoicing in the frustrated feelings that Victoria must be experiencing at her lust being rejected.

  He was not surprised that the company he joined with the Baron on entering the drawing room was the same as that of two years previously, von Helldorf and von der Schulenburg having sent their wives home, though there was an extra character added to the list this time. This one was a small, salt and pepper haired wiry individual, who was dressed in SS General uniform and whom Sebastian had noticed at the dinner, though he was far enough away that they had not had the chance to talk.

  “Sebastian, you know everybody here except, I believe, General Arthur Nebe, our finest pre-war detective,” said the Baron.

  “General, delighted,” said Sebastian shaking hands with Nebe.

  ‘Nice to make your acquaintance, Stuart. I have heard a lot about you from these gentlemen,” replied Nebe.

  Von Helldorf poured Sebastian a drink, a fine cognac, and the quintet took their seats before Nebe this time took the floor.

  “So, Stuart, I believe you are off to the front tomorrow. May I ask you firstly why you have chosen to switch sides and join this band of brigands?”

  “I was given an offer I couldn’t refuse. My life or my honour and I chose the former, hence my imminent departure to the Eastern Front and the great clash of the ideologies,” he replied evenly.

  Nebe brushed his hands over his finely ironed black trousers, coughed, and stared at Sebastian with an icy look.

  “Ideologies, clash of? Hah, that’s a joke if ever I heard one. They’re both as bad and as destructive as each other. God help us should either one come out on top in this awful period we are living in. Jesus, you might have preferred to have kept your honour young man, I certainly have forfeited mine. Twenty years of great and honourable service to the police force and keeping order flushed down the toilet by three months of hell serving this regime in the field,” cried Nebe which left Sebastian staring uneasily down at his tatty slippers.

  “What do you mean, General? Surely if there is one right in this war it is Germany’s fight against Bolshevism and its demonic leader?” asked Sebastian.

  Nebe shrugged aside his question and chuckled sarcastically.

  “Jesus, boy, if you had seen what I have had to do in this battle of ideologies and in upholding the honour of Germany then I think you might believe differently. This regime is as rotten and as immoral as the one you are about to fight.”

  “So, what do you want me to do about it? I made my effort to help these gentlemen and it came to nothing but now I have experienced what war is like and to me it is similar on every side, the only thing I will be doing differently is wearing a field grey uniform instead of a khaki one and fighting against something I object more to than I do against F
ascism. To my mind, Bolshevism if not stopped can permeate into every one of our societies whereas Fascism’s shelf life is finite,” responded Sebastian defiantly.

  His companions rewarded his political speech with laughter, laced with condescension.

  “Ah Sebastian, so you are part of the club foot brigade!” bellowed von Helldorf before slapping him on the shoulder and guffawing.

  Once the laughter had died down, Nebe shook his head sadly and dragged his finely polished pair of boots along the carpet, back and forth repeatedly before crossing his legs and staring earnestly at Stuart.

  “Listen, and Baron, I hope you will excuse me for my crudeness, but I know that you, like von Helldorf and now me, have shared Victoria’s bed but while we latter two can distinguish between bullshit philosophy and sexual pleasure, you my dear boy have clearly been unable to and swallowed more of the Baroness than you should have done!” and again the other quartet, the Baron included, burst into laughter.

  “Now listen, Stuart. At heart I know you are an intelligent and sensitive person, that is as much as I have gathered from these men here and they are people I respect, so, I am going to be blunt with you in as much as I can be,” said Nebe firmly.

  Sebastian nodded and let him proceed.

  “You, my boy, are going to see things on the front that will make the experiences against us in France appear to be like a game. This theatre of war is not a dress rehearsal; this is war and humanity in its lowest, basest form, where life counts for even less than an animal’s. Indeed, humans aren’t even considered that, they are held in as much esteem as a pawn in a game of chess by their own side as much as the enemy. Yes, this is a battle of ideology but it is essentially about eradicating the other side and that includes civilians . . .”

  “But . . .” interrupted Sebastian, however Nebe waved his objection aside and continued now that he was in full flow.

  “Listen, I have been to the front, though I use the term loosely. You know what I was ordered to do? Having seen my criminal police absorbed into Himmler and Heydrich’s organization I was commanded to experience what it was like out there,” and he gestured dramatically behind him.

  “Of course, we all know how great a set of warriors Himmler and Heydrich are! So there I am, in charge of this group not of soldiers but of essentially criminals, if not murderers and rapists only one step away from that and my instructions . . . refrain from combat, leave that to the Wehrmacht and the proper SS but mop up all the detritus left in their wake.

  “And you know what that entailed, Stuart. No, of course you don’t. Let me tell you; it was women of any age, children, old men, crippled or not et cetera, et cetera. Round them up, line them up and mow them down. Cover up the evidence, of course, and march on singing the praises of Fascism and the divine Führer. Yes, this is war at its purest, basest hate and don’t worry, once the tide turns against us, the German people will reap a similar harvest and where then will be Herr Hitler and his cronies? Why, safe in Berlin, of course, or fled to some redoubt for some last great Wagnerian apocalypse. The only shame is that this is not an opera of finite acts but a real life drama which will leave a stain on this proud country’s reputation for eternity unless something is done about it.”

  Sebastian sat in stunned silence at the claims made by Nebe and wondered whether this was true or what sort of nightmare he had got himself into, but the distressed state of the previously calm and icy cool general left him in little doubt that it was all too true and now he was hours away from experiencing it himself – welcome to totalitarianism and congratulations, you naïve bastard, Sebastian intoned.

  “So what can I do about it? I am a marked man for the moment and I can’t see what I can do to change the course of events. Of course, this is not what I imagined, but perhaps it was just a blip, an order given in haste which will be rescinded if you go to the proper authorities and you being a general surely have influence,” pleaded Sebastian.

  Nebe groaned in dismay and shook his head while the others stared in wonderment at Sebastian’s rejection of the evidence, that what was being orchestrated was government-ordered ethnic cleansing.

  “Very well, Stuart. Go to the front believing what you want to. I have warned you, so don’t be surprised if you are called upon to perform similar tasks, should the Einsatzgruppen, as my charming regiment were named, are too far behind or too busy to deal with it themselves. Because horror of horrors, the priority is not to take Moscow but to wipe out enough of the allegedly inferior Slavic peoples so we can move our superior Aryan race into their empty homes and land! Here, let us toast the joys and pleasures of war, for they bring out the best in the nature of man!” Nebe commented sarcastically and raised his glass.

  Sebastian had had enough, and with some irritation he noticed that it was now three o’clock in the morning which reduced his time with Victoria, if she was still there but then she would have got the same amount of change out of Nebe, given his presence here, and even less sleep.

  He raised his glass wearily, rose from his chair and clinked it against Nebe’s before downing it and bidding them goodnight.

  *

  Bullets pinged past Sebastian’s head as he continued his offensive against the Soviet unit lodged in the farmhouse, forcing him to dip below the wheat crop which would never be harvested by the farmer and his family, who had become the latest innocent victims of this accursed war between failed political ideals and their leaders. Sebastian looked around him and saw most of his men had gone to ground apart from Sergeant Brunner, who was trying to force his way round to the back of their target along with the flamethrower and one other private. The latter took a bullet almost immediately, knocking him back on top of the flamethrower, who instinctively let fly with his weapon which enveloped the sergeant in a blazing inferno. His screams of agony were enough to summon the banshees from hell and while Sebastian could hear the howls of laughter emanating from the Bolsheviks inside their hideout, he decided he would risk it and put an end to the pain of his sergeant. He wended his way forward and rose up on one knee and as Brunner staggered towards him arms spread in an effort to embrace him he sprayed him with machine-gun fire. Brunner collapsed in a heap while the unfortunate flamethrower, aghast at what he had done, tried to make his way back but was cut off by the flames that had spread rapidly through the wheat field. Sebastian ordered the rest of his men back as they were not going to make any progress now that the farmhouse was protected by the fire and were more in danger of ending up like Brunner. The 20-odd men scrambled their way out of the ruined burning crop, stumbling and coughing, crashing to the ground once they had reached safety, wiping away the tears provoked by the thick black smoke and putting their hands across their nostrils to try and stop the stench of the burning corpses penetrating them. Sebastian waited to see whether the private had made it through before coming out last but his selflessness was not enough to avert a harsh dressing down from his immediate superior Captain Honigmann.

  “You bloody idiot! You should know to never use a flamethrower when you’re in the middle of a crop like that. He is only to be used when you are up close to the building in question; leave him to last otherwise you end up with catastrophic situations like this! Great start, Murat, I’m sure they will only be delighted to go back in there with you when the fire has burnt out,” he said sarcastically.

  “But it wasn’t my idea, Captain,” protested Sebastian, though it was to no avail as Honigmann stalked off, mumbling about the wisdom of bringing in foreigners to depurify the Wehrmacht.

  Sebastian wandered back miserably to the camp to get some rest before taking his men back on the offensive and was met by Eric, which cheered him up. Eric put his arm round his shoulders and said sympathetically: “Don’t worry, Honigmann is known as a real tight ass, just prove him wrong when you go back in. However, it is vital you succeed the second time because another failure and they will transfer you to the Free Corps and that just entails peeling potatoes, if you’re lucky, for the rema
inder of the war. I hate to think that you would end up being hanged as a traitor for that offence . . . not exactly a very glamorous epitaph, here lies the traitorous potato peeler!” he laughed.