German Civil War – Race to Berlin (3)

12:00, September 1, 1939 — SS-Headquarters, Berlin

“Verdammter Mist!”

Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler flung today’s edition of the Frankfurter Zeitung across his desk. The headlines screamed:

“SS ATTACKS GERMANY!”

“GLEIWITZ RAID LED BY SS AGENTS”

“SS PLOT TO PLUNGE REICH INTO NEW GREAT WAR”

Operation Himmler—Hitler’s order to fabricate a Polish attack and ignite war—had been exposed by the coup. Public fury and Wehrmacht outrage now threatened the entire SS.

“How in hell did they discover every detail?” he rasped.

To stage the provocation Himmler had quietly acquired Polish uniforms and weapons through the Abwehr, yet somehow the conspirators had learned everything—including Gleiwitz, “the perfect spot to fake an invasion.”

“Heil Hitler! Herr Reichsführer!” An aide burst in. “Abwehr headquarters is deserted, sir. Only the body of SS-Obersturmbannführer Bamler was found.”

“What?” Himmler grabbed for the edge of the desk. “When did they evacuate?”

“Judging from the corpse, early this morning.”

The speed of the leaks—press, radio, and now the corpse—left little doubt: the Abwehr had sided with the rebels, installing Bamler merely to placate SS surveillance.

“That arrogant Heydrich has ruined everything,” Himmler muttered. Had Heydrich leaked the plan, hoping to seize power for himself?

Another messenger arrived, saluting nervously. “Telegram, sir.”

SS-TRAINING CENTER WEWELSBURG CASTLE UNDER ATTACK.
WEAKLY HELD — REQUEST IMMEDIATE REINFORCEMENTS.
— SS-Gruppenführer Paul Hausser

Himmler’s heart sank. He had dreamed of turning Renaissance-era Wewelsburg into the spiritual citadel of an Aryan knight-order; now rebels were closing in.

The telephone rang. Himmler snatched the receiver.

“Halte durch!” boomed Hermann Göring. Relief flooded Himmler; Göring, not the powerless Deputy Führer Hess, was Hitler’s true heir.

“Reichsmarschall, Berlin is under assault! What are your instructions?”

“The Luftwaffe is mobilising,” Göring barked. “Hold out until the Führer regains consciousness.”

“Can we trust the field-army?”

“I trust only Reichenau,” Göring growled. “Rely on him.”

Himmler grimaced. “If only the Führer had granted the SS greater forces— a morally pure militia could have secured the Reich—”

“Spare me the lamentations!” Göring cut him off. “Concentrate every SS unit on defending Berlin. And one more thing: convince Dr Goebbels to rally public opinion. At the moment he’s praying outside Hitler’s hospital room.”

Himmler stifled a curse. Goebbels loathed Göring and barely tolerated Himmler. Still, he forced a calm reply. “Very well, Herr Reichsmarschall. I shall speak with him.”

“Gut. I’ll speak to the OKW.”

The line went dead. Himmler slammed the receiver and pounded the desktop in frustration. He had planned to close that insolent Zeitung after Ribbentrop’s death; Goebbels had opposed him—and now the paper had destroyed them both.

“Verdammter Führer-Fanatiker,” he muttered, though he dared not say it aloud.

20:00, September 1, 1939 — Frankfurt, Kassel, 9th Military District (provisional capital of the new German government)

After the successful dawn raid on Buchenwald, I finally reached Frankfurt with our liberated prisoners—many too weak to stand, let alone cheer. The government offices, however, blazed with light as though midday.

“Ruhr industrial zone secured!” shouted a dispatch rider.

“Free Corps will hold the Siegfried Line; General von Witzleben advances on northern Bavaria, General von Hammerstein on the south!”

“General von Leeb’s army is fighting Hausser at Wewelsburg!”

Rooms hummed with clattering telegraphs and overlapping telephone calls.

“We can’t afford a costly battle,” one staff officer argued. “Our forces at Wewelsburg are thin.”

“But without that castle we can’t lock down District XI, and Lutz’s panzers could be cut off en-route to Berlin,” another shot back.

In the midst of the uproar, Ludwig Beck gripped a telephone.

“Listen, Rundstedt! At your insistence we reopened the Blomberg-Fritsch case—and I was dismissed for it. You know that!”

[Orders have reached Army Group South,] Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt replied. [I ignored them, but Göring is now at OKH. If they issue commands in Hitler’s name, my hands are tied.]

“We are restoring lawful government! Hasn’t Manstein advised you?” Beck pleaded.

[We’ll speak later.] Rundstedt hung up.

Beck exhaled and noticed me. “Ah, Captain Schacht—good work at Buchenwald. Come, we need frank counsel.”

Since deciding to revolt Beck had shed his indecision, inspiring many sidelined officers—Lutz, Hammerstein, even Adenauer—to follow him. Yet the high command still clung to a “rosy hope” that the entire Wehrmacht would swing to our side if we simply proclaimed the Kaiser’s restoration.

I cleared my throat. “With respect, sir, reviving the Emperor’s government will not win Germany’s heart.”

Most Germans had lived twenty years without a Kaiser. Only Dr Goerdeler and a handful of die-hard monarchists still dreamed of the Kaisertum.

“So,” Beck asked quietly, “what is your proposal?”

“Even if restoration were possible, inviting Wilhelm II back from Dutch exile risks provoking Britain and France. They already eye our civil war nervously; crowning the man they blame for the Great War could give them cause to intervene.”

Anglo-French newspapers, shocked by the Gleiwitz revelations, now applauded our fight against “Nazi war-mongers.” Public opinion in both democracies dreaded another war; intervening in Germany would be deeply unpopular—unless we offered them a perfect excuse.

“In civil war,” I continued, “victory belongs to whoever secures popular support. Why not proclaim Prince Wilhelm as constitutional monarch—à la Britain—and rebuild the Reichstag? Promise an end to dictatorship and restoration of civil liberties. Liberals like Adenauer and the Dachau survivors would rally—and so would public opinion abroad.”

Dr Goerdeler exploded. “Outrageous! Wilhelm II is the only rightful head of House Hohenzollern!”

“But can we risk foreign invasion for dynastic purity?” I countered.

“The Wehrmacht will side with whichever faction appears to command the nation. At present our fielded strength is a fraction of what Hitler amassed for Poland. Without swift mass support we’ll be crushed.”

Murmurs spread; even Beck listened, arms folded.

“With a democratic banner,” I concluded, “London and Paris cannot intervene against us. On the contrary—they may support us.”

A clerk sprinted in waving a telegram. “Urgent news!”

“Well?”

“Count Blumenthal reports success—Hitler has been shot!”

A collective gasp swept the room. For hours Nazi broadcasts had only hinted at an “assassination attempt.” Now we had confirmation.

Elation lit every face; caution evaporated. My carefully built argument vanished beneath a tide of optimism.