A Man Without Breath

‘Leave this matter to the field police, Captain Gunther. That’s my advice. I’m sure they will apprehend the true culprit before very long. Do you want to know why I’m so confident about that? Because I have forty-two years’ experience in the military to draw upon. During that time I’ve learned that such incidents as these have a habit of repeating themselves. A man who has cut the throats of two men will before long cut the throats of some others. Almost certainly.’

‘That’s exactly what I was hoping to prevent. I’m a little sentimental that way.’

‘Yes, you must be. Not to mention symbiotic and coadjuvant. Military law is not collaborative, captain. We do not make deals with those who are beneath us. Our existence is based on unquestioning obedience and power, and we must always be merciless, so that we triumph even when it seems that we might be crushed. The command of power is justified only by itself. I’d rather two more men were sacrificed on the altar of expediency than our military authority should ever be compromised in the distasteful way you proposed. A deal you called it. Ghastly idea. We shall win this war if our men recognize that there is only one way to win it and that is to fight according to their duty, ruthlessly and without expectation of favour or mercy.’

It was a nice little speech, and while it might have been original, I thought it much more likely that Hitler had said something like that when he and the field marshal had been alone together in Von Kluge’s office at Krasny Bor. The bit about fighting ruthlessly and without expectation of favour or mercy had the leader’s rhetorical fingerprints all over it.

‘Oh, by the way, captain,’ said Von Kluge, changing the subject, ‘when I took the dog for a walk this morning, he could smell a change in the air. I know that because almost immediately we were outside he started to paw at a piece of ground. As if he was digging for rabbits. He hasn’t done that since the autumn of last year. I can’t say I noticed anything different myself, but then I’m not a dog. You can’t fool a dog about such things.’

He paused for a moment and sucked on the cigar.

‘What I’m saying is that the ground in Smolensk is melting, Gunther. Spring is here and so is the thaw. If the dog can dig, then so can you.’

‘I’ll get right on it.’

‘Please do. I don’t mind telling you I dislike this whole affair. And I especially dislike the ministry of propaganda. It is my sincerest wish that we begin and conclude this investigation as quickly as possible – that we remove our morbid gaze from the unfortunate past of this benighted region and concentrate only upon the future and on how we are going to fight a war against a resurgent Red Army now, in 1943. I tell you frankly, captain, I am going to need all of my resources to win this war, and I cannot afford to spare any of my men and especially not my officers in an effort that can kill none of the enemy. Consequently, when your excavations start I should prefer it if the War Crimes Bureau uses only Russian POW labour. That seems only fitting. I think it would be demeaning for German soldiers to occupy themselves with digging up dead bodies left behind by the Bolsheviks. Von Schlabrendorff will help you there. And my man Dyakov, of course. He’s an expert on handling Hiwi Russian labour. We used a contingent of Ivan workers to rebuild a bridge across the Dnieper last spring, and Dyakov knows who the good workers are. Hopefully some of them are still alive. Perhaps you might mention this to Judge Conrad when next you see him.’

‘I’ll do that, sir.’

‘I doubt that the world really gives a damn about any of this. It’s my personal opinion that the minister is deluded if he thinks the Allies are going to fall out of love with each other just because the Russians might have murdered a few Poles.’

‘It’s probably more than a few, sir. My sources indicate to me that it could be as many as four thousand.’

‘And what about all of the ethnic Germans who were killed by Poles in 1939? In Posen, my own part of the world, the Poles – especially Polish soldiers – behaved like barbarians. Entire families of Germans were murdered. The women were raped and the men were frequently tortured before they were murdered. As many as two thousand Germans were murdered by the Poles in Posen alone. Two thousand. Some of my own family were obliged to flee for their lives. My house was ransacked. Read the white book that your own department prepared for the Foreign Office if you don’t believe me. No one in East Prussia is going to care what happened to some fucking Poles. I certainly don’t. I tell you they could find the whole Polish army buried in Katyn Wood and I wouldn’t give a damn.’

‘I didn’t know you were from Posen.’

‘Well, now you do.’ Von Kluge puffed at his cigar and waved at me. ‘Was there another matter you wanted to see me about?’

‘Yes sir, there was.’