The Fall of the Father Land Read online

  Because of its relatively small size, only the few, the privileged and well connected could be treated here. This meant officers only and the more senior you were the more likely the chances of admission. Schellenberg had to pull a few strings to get his newly promoted Sturmbannführer admitted at very short notice. The hospital at Bremerhaven, where his patient was initially treated, was a fine institution in its own right. Unfortunately it had little experience of this type of injury, and was only too keen to get him out of its overcrowded wards. The clinic director at the Hohenstein had been quick to cooperate, particularly after he realized that the ‘request’ had come from the very top at RSHA. A judicious, if not slightly early, discharge was arranged to free up the necessary bed.

  The purpose of his visit today was to inquire after the patient’s health, and see if he was able to tolerate a few questions. Schellenberg recalled his previous telephone conversation with the clinic director. Professor Mobius had been encouraging, but also quite specific in his stipulations about care - on no account was his patient to be overtaxed with prolonged questioning. He had only just regained consciousness. The ultimate prognosis was still somewhat in doubt, and Mobius emphasized the need to keep stress to a minimum. Schellenberg had insisted on the best medical and nursing care, and Mobius naturally guaranteed that his patient would have it. Time and costs would be irrelevant in this case.

  Hansen turned the engine off and leapt out of the car to open the rear door. As Schellenberg stepped out he was pleased to see that the director was waiting for him, assembled along with several members of his senior medical staff.

  ‘Good morning, Brigadeführer. I hope you had a pleasant journey.’ Clinic director and Professor Wolfgang Mobius smiled obsequiously and performed a slight bow in due deference to Schellenberg’s rank. ‘May I present the rest of my senior staff?’

  Schellenberg seized the proffered handshake and Mobius introduced the senior medical and nursing team. It was rare to have such an eminent high-ranking officer to come to visit their clinic, especially at this stage of the war, and it was only appropriate to show the necessary enthusiasm and respect. When the obligatory introductions and courtesies had finished Schellenberg thanked the assembly briefly, telling them that the Reichsführer was very pleased with the clinic’s work, and that they should be proud of their achievements. He turned to the director.

  ‘Thank you, Herr Professor. Perhaps we can now discuss my patient. I need a full update since I last spoke to you on his admission, and in particular your impression on how long his recovery will take.’

  Mobius led him inside the clinic and down a heavily carpeted corridor into the administration wing where his office was situated. The room was quite luxurious, with a glorious view out over the River Weser towards the nearby woods and hills. Schellenberg was offered a comfortable leather chair, while Mobius organised refreshments.

  After coffee arrived Mobius sat down and began to summarise the salient medical points.

  ‘As I understand it, from the records supplied by the St Joseph Krankenhaus in Bremerhaven, the patient suffered a blow to the side of his skull and cervical spine on the night of the fifth of June. The blow was sufficient to cause a prolonged state of unconsciousness. The coma was complicated by three other injuries. First, there was a closed fracture of the right radius and ulna-‘

  ‘I apologise for butting in, Herr Director, but as I’m not medically trained I’d be most grateful if you would translate the more complicated medical terms into everyday language.’ Schellenberg softened his interruption with a smile.

  ‘Of course, Brigadeführer,’ Mobius beamed in return. Everything must be sweetness and light for such a distinguished guest. ‘Thank you for reminding me. It’s much too easy for doctors to rattle off a multitude of medical terms without realizing that they’re not always that easily understandable. As I was saying, the right forearm was broken, but this was easily taken care of by manipulation and a plaster cast. What was far more worrying was his neurological state- his brain and spinal cord. X-rays taken at the time showed that he had a fractured- I beg your pardon- broken skull, presumably due to a heavy object striking him there. Examination over the next twenty-four hours suggested that a blood clot was building up around and under the damaged area, a significant complication. In view of the danger of further irreversible brain damage that could occur because of pressure from the expanding clot, he was operated on. The clot was removed- quite successfully according to the neurosurgeon’s report. However, he still remained unconscious afterwards.

  ‘The other problem was his spine - the cervical spine, that is, the neck.’ Mobius got up and walked over to where an anatomical skeleton and spine were suspended from a display stand. He pointed to the areas under discussion. ‘These are the areas of the skull and spine in question. As for his neck, initial examination revealed heavy bruising around the base. In addition, testing of his nervous system revealed a complete absence of reflexes one would normally expect to be present, even when unconscious. The physicians assessing him suspected serious damage to the spinal cord- a possible paralysis. Fortunately, X-rays taken of his neck did not show any evidence of fracture -- broken or dislocated bones.’

  ‘Why ‘fortunately’, Herr Direktor?’

  ‘Irreversible spinal paralysis is associated almost invariably with broken or displaced bones in the neck. As there was no evidence of this we could probably rule out a complete and permanent paralysis of all four limbs.’

  ‘So what’s his condition now?’ Schellenberg was itching to know the latest situation, but managed to remain patient while the clinic director continued his discourse. .

  ‘Well, there’s good news.’ Mobius smiled. ‘As you know, he regained consciousness two days ago - but only for brief periods of time, an hour or two at most, but enough to suggest that the effects of his head injury are wearing off. I expect these periods of prolonged unconsciousness will become shorter.’

  Schellenberg nodded. He would have visited earlier but urgent business in Berlin had kept him away. ‘Is he able to stand up to some questioning?’

  ‘Yes, as long as it’s not too intense and overlong. We don’t want to overtire him at this stage.’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Mobius continued. ‘As I’ve already hinted at, the other piece of good news is that we don’t think he has any permanent damage from his neck injury. We suspect he suffered a hyper-extension injury to his neck.’ He simulated the injury by moving his hands. ‘The paralysis is temporary, caused by internal bruising. It’s like a prolonged state of shock to the area. We think that the actual mechanism of the shock is a large blood clot that is pressing on his spinal cord. Eventually this will resolve and he should return to complete normality, given the correct care and rehabilitation’.

  Schellenberg shifted in his seat. ‘How long will this take?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell, Brigadeführer. Nine months, perhaps more, perhaps less. A lot depends on his mental state. If he’s strong, and is not distracted by worry and stress, then it will be quicker. Also, you’ve got to remember that he will have to relearn to use all his muscles again. Most of these will have wasted away due to his enforced inactivity, so he’ll have to work hard in physical therapy to rebuild them.’

  ‘I presume you have experience of these sorts of injuries?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve had several cases like this over the years. The outlook is good, but as I said, it will take time. Your patient is an exceedingly lucky man to have survived almost intact what appear to be very serious neurological injuries.’

  Schellenberg stood up. ‘Thank you, Herr Direktor. I would like to see him now.’

  Mobius bowed again. ‘Of course Brigadeführer. However, if I may be so bold as to reiterate, please do not overtire him. He is still in the early stages of recovery, and we do not want to add to his physical injuries.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dr Mobius.’ Schellenberg nodded in his direction. ‘I will be guided by
your advice, as always. And I have his best interests at heart, just as you do.’

  Simon struggled to regain consciousness. It felt as if he was slowly ascending from a very great depth, a constant battle to float higher and higher through the veils of his mind. He could see sunlight ahead, a fierce yellow ball that rippled and shimmered in front of him. Gradually it grew closer, until at last he broke the surface, blinded by the sudden burst of light.

  He opened his eyes. Blearily, he began to focus on his surroundings. He was in a room, lying on a bed with his head propped up. Everything was white- the walls, ceiling, sheets on the bed- a sterile, clinical environment. The only splash of colour came from the view outside the window- leafy green trees and the gentle curve of a river far off to the right.

  The door to his room opened, and a nurse walked in, again dressed in white- a severely starched uniform and cap. The austere effect was offset by a shapely figure and pretty face. As soon as she noticed him awake she smiled, displaying a perfectly even set of white teeth.

  ‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’

  Simon groaned. It was always the same- surrounded by attractive nurses and completely unable to do anything about it.

  ‘I’ve got a splitting headache and a dry throat,’ he croaked. ‘Otherwise, I can’t feel a thing.’ Suddenly he remembered the last time he awoke. An elderly, white-haired man had been poking and prodding him, not that he could feel any of it. The man had introduced himself as the director of the clinic, a cheerful, efficient doctor with a decidedly optimistic view of life, and Simon’s progress in particular.

  ‘Don’t worry about it’, the doctor had smiled when the subject of his paralysis had come up. ‘I have no doubt that you will make a full recovery. It may take a bit of time, but we’ll have you up and back on your feet. But you are going to have to be very patient and be cooperative. I’m sure you know this from the last time you were in hospital.’ He had smiled and left him to the tender attentions of the nursing staff…

  ‘I’ll get you a drink and some tablets for the pain in just a moment.’ The nurse was busy adjusting various things at the bottom of the bed that he could not quite see or feel. She lifted up the sheets, sniffed and looked concerned. ‘We’re going to need to turn you again. I’ll be back in a moment.’ A minute or two later she returned with two other nurses. Quickly, with almost military precision, they adjusted his body in the bed to lie in a slightly different position.

  ‘That’s better.’ The other staff disappeared. ‘We need to make sure you don’t get any pressure sores from lying in one position for too long. Did you feel anything now as we moved you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe some tingling in where I think my legs are…’

  ‘Well, that’s encouraging. I’ll get those tablets now. By the way, you have a visitor, a general.’ She smiled, arching her eyebrows and looked impressed. ‘You must be quite important…’

  A few moments later Schellenberg entered the room. He turned towards the director who had followed him in, and said ‘thank you, Herr Professor. I really must insist that I talk to him alone.’ Mobius bowed and closed the door behind him.

  He walked over to where Simon lay on the bed, pulled up a chair, and made himself comfortable.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you again, Sturmbannführer.’ He smiled easily, not in the least embarrassed that his actions had indirectly led Simon to being wounded again. ‘Well done in carrying out the mission. Sorry about your injuries. However, the good news is that the Direktor tells me you’ll make a full recovery, although it may take some time before you’re up and around again. By the way, congratulations on your promotion- it went through while you were in England. Are you well enough to answer a few questions?’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Simon croaked. ‘After all, I’m not exactly in a hurry to go anywhere.’

  ‘Good.’ Schellenberg grinned. ‘I see you haven’t lost your sense of humour. Now we will get down to business. I need you to fill in some gaps in our knowledge about what happened in England. We were getting quite worried, particularly about the lack of radio transmission. Tell me what happened.’

  Simon cast his mind back to the events in May. After a few moments pause, he gave a brief résumé of his insertion into England, and his stay at the safe house in Hanwell. ‘The house was damaged in a bombing raid. Part of the roof fell in and hit the transmitter, damaging some valves and diodes. It took ages to source replacement parts, but Simms eventually found some on the black market and managed to repair it. There was no possibility of taking it anywhere else - too many questions would

  be asked.’ Schellenberg nodded, but kept silent. He was eager for answers, but all in good time. ‘Simms did not have a license for a radio transmitter, and we couldn’t take the risk.’

  He took out a gold pen and pad from inside his jacket pockets, and began carefully making notes. The questions came thick and fast. ‘Can you remember the date of the bombing raid?’

  ‘It was about four or five nights after I parachuted in, the twelfth or thirteenth of May, I think.’ He cleared his throat. “Could you pass me some more water? My throat’s still very dry.’

  ‘Of course I can.’ Schellenberg obliged. Simon sipped the water through a feeding tube. After a few gulps to ease his dry throat, he continued.

  He told him about the initial abortive rendezvous in Hyde Park, followed by the events of the Thursday two weeks later when ‘Rothermere’ turned up. All mention of MI6 interference was carefully omitted, as was the second safe house.

  ‘So Rothermere was unable to give you any documents, any written information on the invasion site?’

  ‘No. After he informed me that it was the Pas de Calais, he quickly became ill and slipped into a coma. He never regained consciousness. All he gave me was the area. I searched him, but I was unable to find anything.’ Simon looked him straight in the eye, hoping that his barefaced lies and omissions would pass muster. Schellenberg sat thoughtfully, making no comment for a few minutes.

  ‘Sir, I presume the signal got through?’

  ‘Yes… Our experts recognised your transmission characteristics, just in case our friends in MI6 were trying to fool us.’ He smiled, humourlessly. ‘So they weren’t involved in the mission at all, were they?’

  ‘No sir. I was not aware of any enemy surveillance.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Schellenberg looked thoughtful. ‘So why did you not report in that same night?’

  ‘Sir, the radio was still damaged. We couldn’t get it to work for another four or five nights. Then I sent in the transmission and arranged for the U-boat rendezvous.’

  ‘I see.’ Schellenberg paused, and then carried on in the same mild manner. ‘And now we cannot contact Simms at all. Do you have any explanation for that?’

  ‘No sir. Unless he’s been arrested or killed in a bombing raid.’

  The latter was more of a possibility, now that Hitler had launched the V weapon rocket offensive, directed mainly at London. Simon’s explanation was plausible, but perhaps just a little bit too convenient for comfort. However, there was little Schellenberg could do to check his agent’s story at present, and there was no point in upsetting him and questioning his version of events - not yet, anyway.

  ‘What about getting out? Did you have any difficulties with the U-boat rendezvous?’

  ‘No sir. It was straightforward enough. I managed to get a train to North Wales. After that it was a bus journey and walking to the right beach, then the pre-arranged signal by torchlight. The U-boat sent in a shore party to pick me up in a dinghy, and then off we went back to Germany. There were a few hairy moments when we were attacked by enemy aerial patrols, but that was it until we reached Bremerhaven - just in time to get caught in a bombing raid.’

  ‘Yes, that was most unfortunate,’ Schellenberg agreed, ‘but at least you’re still alive, more than can be said for some of the U-boat crew.’ He was aware that Simon was beginning to tire. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Mobius was hoveri
ng outside, ready to interfere should his patient become exhausted.

  ‘That’s enough for now, I think. You’re starting to look weary. I’ll let you rest, and come back later this afternoon when you’ve had a sleep. Then we’ll have another chat.’

  ‘Yes sir. But before you go, please can you tell me what’s happened in the meantime?’ Simon pleaded. ‘Nobody’s told me anything.’

  ‘All right - but I’ll be brief. In the East the Russians have launched a series of very heavy attacks, their summer offensive. Our troops are holding, although we’ve been pushed back in a few areas’. It was much worse than that, but he did not want to depress Simon unnecessarily. ‘In the South the Allies have taken Rome, but they’re not making as much progress as they’d like. We should be able to stop them along the Appenines. In the West they landed in Normandy in reasonable strength. For the moment, Rommel is managing to contain them – just about. OKH feel that this is but a feint. They’re convinced that the real landing will still occur in the Pas de Calais area. Why? Because all the intelligence reports, yours included, all indicate that this area is where the main invasion will occur. And again, according to the bulk of our intelligence, the Allies still have thirty or forty enemy divisions on their order of battle in England. There’s another thing- we have yet to hear where the American general Patton is. OKH regard him as the foremost Allied general, far more aggressive and dangerous than Montgomery. They suspect he will lead the second invasion, in the Calais area, sometime soon. Maybe in the next week or two. So the Fifteenth Army and all its reserves are standing by, waiting for this new landing. None of its divisions have moved to Normandy.’