Night of the Fox

Munro helped himself to the tea and sat in the window seat and gave Eisenhower a brief resume of the night’s events.

‘But surely the naval escorts should have been able to prevent such a thing happening,’ the general said. ‘On the other hand, I hear the weather wasn’t too good. It’s past belief. I visited Slapton myself only three days ago to see how the exercises were going. Went down by special train with Tedder and Omar Bradley.’

‘Most of the crews of your LSTs are new to those waters, and the English Channel at the best of times can be difficult.’ Munro shrugged. ‘We’ve had torpedo boats from the Royal Navy hanging around off Cherbourg regularly during these exercises because Cherbourg, as the General knows, is the most important E-boat base on the French coast. There was a sea mist and the Germans obviously slipped out with their silencers on and probably with their radar sets switched off. They do more than forty knots, those things. Nothing afloat that’s faster and they boxed rather cleverly on their approach. Fired off parachute flares so the people in the convoy assumed they were ours.’

‘Goddammit, you never assume anything in this game. I’m tired of telling people that.’ Eisenhower poured another coffee, stood up and went to the fire. ‘Bodies coming ashore by the hundred, so they tell me.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Needless to say, this whole thing stays under wraps. We’re going to arrange for some kind of mass grave down there in Devon for the time being. At least it’s a defense area under military rule, which should help. If this got out, so close to the invasion, it could have a terrible effect on morale.’

‘I agree.’ Munro hesitated and said carefully, ‘There is the question of the Bigots, General.’

‘Who should never have been there in the first place. No one knows the regulations on Bigots better than you.’

‘It could be worse, sir. There were three in all. Two of the bodies have already been recovered. The third, this man.’ Munro took a file from his briefcase and pushed it across. ‘Is still missing.’

Eisenhower read the file quickly. ‘Colonel Hugh Kelso.’ His face darkened. ‘But I know Kelso personally. He checked out two beaches in Normandy only weeks ago.’

‘Utah and Sword. On those occasions he had commandos nursing him and he also had an L pill with him, just in case he was caught. As the General knows, the cyanide in those things kills instantaneously.’

Eisenhower pushed the file across. ‘He knows, Brigadier, both when we’re going and where. The implications are past belief.’

‘We’ve men on the beaches around Slapton looking for him now, General. I’ve little reason to doubt that his body will turn up with the rest of them.’

‘Don’t try to make me feel good,’ Eisenhower told him sharply. ‘Some of those bodies will never come in on the tide. I know that and so do you, and if Kelso is one of them, we can never be certain that he wasn’t picked up by the enemy.’

‘That’s true, General,’ Munro admitted because there wasn’t really anything else he could say.

Eisenhower walked to the window. Rain dashed against the pane. ‘What a day,’ he said morosely. ‘One thing’s for sure. I can only think of one man who’ll have a smile on his face this morning.’

At that very moment Adolf Hitler was reading a report on the Slapton Sands affair in the map room of his underground headquarters known as Wolf’s Lair, near Rastenburg, deep in the forests of East Prussia.

Most of those important in the Nazi hierarchy were present. Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer of the SS and Chief of both State and Secret Police, Josef Goebbels, Reichsminister for Propaganda, Reichsleiter Martin Bormann, Secretary to the Führer among other things, and Oberführer Rattenhuber, Himmler’s Chief of Security and Commander of the SS guard at Rastenburg.

Hitler almost danced with delight and crumpled the thin paper of the message in one hand. ‘So, our Navy can still strike, and hard, right in the enemy’s own backyard! Three ships sunk, and hundreds of casualties.’ His eyes sparked. ‘A bad morning for General Eisenhower, gentlemen.’

There was general enthusiasm. ‘Good news indeed, my Führer,’ Goebbels said and delivered his usual high laugh.

Bormann, who had been the first to see the message, said quietly, ‘If we can do this to them off the coast of Devon, my Führer, all things are possible off the coast of France.’

‘They won’t even get ashore,’ Himmler put in.

‘Probably not,’ Hitler said, in high good humor. ‘But now, gentlemen, to the purpose of our meeting.’ They grouped around the circular table and he tapped the large-scale map of France. ‘The Westwall proceeds, I think.’ He turned to Bormann. ‘The report on Army Group B which I asked for? Has it arrived?’

Bormann turned inquiringly to Rattenhuber who said, ‘I’ve just had a report from the airfield. The courier, a Captain Koenig, landed five minutes ago. He’s on his way.’

‘Good.’ Hitler seemed abstracted now, as if somehow alone as he stared down at the map. ‘So, gentlemen, where do we start?’

On December 26, 1943, a remarkable and gifted young German officer, Colonel Klaus von Stauffenberg, reported for a meeting at Rastenburg with a time bomb in his briefcase. Unfortunately, the meeting did not take place, as the Führer had already departed for Bavaria for the Christmas holiday. In spite of having lost his left eye and right hand in action, von Stauffenberg was Chief of Staff to General Olbricht of the General Army Office and the center of a conspiracy of army generals whose aim was to assassinate the Führer and save Germany from disaster.

His own abortive attempt at Christmas 1943 was only one of many that had failed. Yet there was no shortage of volunteers to the cause, as witness Captain Karl Koenig traveling in the rear of the military car from the airfield to Wolf’s Lair on that gray April morning with the papers from Berlin that Hitler had requested. He was in a highly nervous state, which was hardly surprising when one considered the time bomb carefully placed in the false bottom of the briefcase. He had told the pilot at Rastenburg airfield to be ready for a quick turnaround and his fingers trembled as he lit a cigarette.

The SS driver and guard in front stared woodenly ahead, and as time passed, Koenig’s nervousness increased. There were minefields on either side in the gloomy woods, electric fences, guards patrolling everywhere with savage dogs and three gates to pass through to reach the inner compound. Still, time to arm the bomb. Once done, it would give him exactly thirty minutes, they had told him.

He reached for the lock on the left-hand strap of the briefcase and depressed it. There was an immediate and very powerful explosion which killed Koenig and the two guards instantly and blew the car apart.

Hitler was beside himself with rage, pacing up and down in the map room. ‘Again and yet again they try.’ He turned on Rattenhuber. ‘And you, Oberführer? What about you? Sworn to protect my personal safety.’

‘My Führer,’ Rattenhuber stammered. ‘What can I say?’

‘Nothing!’ Hitler stormed and turned on the rest of them. ‘You say nothing of use to me – not any of you.’

In the shocked silence, it was Himmler who spoke, his voice dry and precise. ‘That there has been negligence here is true, my Führer, but surely we see further proof, in the failure of this dastardly attempt, of the certainty of your own destiny. Further proof of Germany’s inevitable victory under your inspired guidance.’

Hitler’s eyes blazed, his head went back. ‘As always, Reichsführer, you see. The only one who does.’ He turned on the others. ‘Get out, all of you. I wish to talk to the Reichsführer alone.’

They went without a murmur, Goebbels the last one to leave. Hitler stood staring down at the map desk, hands clasped behind him. ‘In what way may I serve my Führer?’ Himmler asked.

‘There is a plot, am I not right?’ Hitler said. ‘A general conspiracy to destroy me, and this Captain Koenig was simply an agent?’

‘Not so much a general conspiracy as a conspiracy of generals, my Führer.’

Hitler turned sharply. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Oh, yes, but proof – that is something else.’

Hitler nodded. ‘Koenig was an aide of General Olbricht. Is Olbricht one of those you suspect?’ Himmler nodded. ‘And the others?’

‘Generals Stieff, Wagner, von Hase, Lindemann. Several more, all being closely watched.’

Hitler stayed remarkably cool. ‘Traitors each and every one. No firing squad. A noose each when the time comes. No one higher, though? It would seem our field marshals are loyal at least.’

‘I wish I could confirm that, my Führer, but there is one who is heavily suspect. I would be failing in my duty not to tell you.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘Rommel.’

Hitler smiled a ghastly smile that was almost one of triumph, turned and walked away and turned again, still smiling. ‘I think I expected it. Yes, I’m sure I did. So, the Desert Fox wishes to play games.’

‘I’m almost certain of it.’

‘The people’s hero,’ Hitler said. ‘We must handle him carefully, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Or outfox him, my Führer,’ Himmler said softly.

‘Outfox him. Outfox the Desert Fox.’ Hitler smiled delightedly. ‘Yes, I like that, Reichsführer. I like that very much indeed.’