Chapter 18

Obersalzvberg, March 1945

 

 

The high-pitched roar of a half-dozen diesel engines climbing in low gear past the Berghof, up past the Turken, awakened Rolph Wahlmuller. It was the 10th of March, just before midnight on a bright moonlit night, and tensions were running high. There were no headlights on the vehicles or spotlights turned on in the compound. The security people were standing by, but hadn’t been ordered to stop and search the trucks. It was as though somebody was trying to sneak them in unnoticed under the cover of darkness, such as it was. What the convoy was carrying was a mystery, but it wouldn’t remain so for long.

Whoever was leading knew the layout well. There was no starting and stopping, no shouting of orders, nothing to indicate the leader in the command car might be confused as to where he was going.

The door to Rolph’s quarters was thrown open. The lights were turned on, and his sleep was interrupted by a duty sturmann shouting rouse, rouse mitten ze!

Rolph rolled over, wondering if members of the Wermacht were in the habit of shouting whenever they wanted something, or was it just the SS. What about the American army? Does every corporal in every army exercise his limited authority by shouting? He concluded they did. But if the convoy was trying to be extra quiet and not awaken the general population, why hadn’t the sturmann been told. He decided, as he pulled on his boots and reached for his clipboard, that nobody knew they were coming. But Rolph knew; he had been expecting them for days.

One of Rolph’s many jobs was inventorying and listing all supplies coming in from the outside. A convoy meant inventory and storage. As he left his cubicle in the basement of the Turken, he could see several blacked-out three-ton trucks parked near the Hintereck. Why? He knew why. Oddlie had told him, but the security people didn’t know. They thought they were loaded with food supplies. But if they were, they were parked in the wrong place. The kitchens and the barracks were several hundred meters further up. However, if it was ammunition, which was their second guess, it was destined for an underground magazine in the shooting range. But if it was ammunition, the security chief thought he should have been told. Something was very much out of the ordinary here; the security officer was seriously considering arresting the officer in charge of the convoy as a suspected intruder.

 

Part of the massive building program of Martin Bormann’s was the building of a sports field west of the Hintereck. Then, two years ago, when attack from the air became a serious consideration, Bormann again took it upon himself to have hundreds of meters of tunneling cut into the mountain. He carved out elaborate rooms and interconnected them with still more tunnels. Machine gun posts guarded the tunnel entrances, which were primarily to be used as bomb shelters in the event the unthinkable happened.

There had been previous excavation through solid granite underneath the sports field to build a small arms shooting range, a huge vault, and a bomb-proof ammunition magazine. But the real purpose for this extravagant underground layout, as envisioned by Bormann, was to ensure the Fuhrer wasn’t disturbed when he was in residence. And then too, it made an excellent bomb shelter; but nobody talked of such things back before the War started.

Rolph, of course, was on hand to watch the construction as it proceeded toward completion. He was also there the day they brought up a huge steel door. He watched them install it in what would later become a secret vault in back of a wall in the shooting range. The target area itself was faced with dirt to a depth of several feet. If the vault was to be opened any shooting ceased and the area was vacated.

 

Kurt Steinmann was prepared for trouble from the security officer who was approaching him. Kurt quickly handed him a set of orders, which stated his cargo was classified and he didn't need to know. With a smirk, he told him it was none of his business, to dismiss his people and to go back to bed.

Rolph, with his cane and clipboard in plain view, was the next to approach the haughty oberststurmbannfuhrer. Steinmann, standing straight with a studied posture, slowly removed his gloves. He paid no attention to Rolph, his mind seemingly lost in thought. As he turned, he glanced at Rolph and then looked away again, prepared to dislike him without further due. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cane. His exaggerated limp stood out in the bright moonlight. My first appraisal may have been hasty. This tall man with the Nordic features and complexion similar to my own has obviously been in the SS. He has probably been invalided-out after being severely wounded, maybe on the Eastern Front. Why else would a civilian be allowed to serve close to an SS commandant and his permanent party?

Kurt saw Rolph’s position as an honor bestowed on somebody having distinguished himself in combat. And there was something else about this blond Wagnerian with the serious limb impairment; Steinmann had seen him someplace before.

Minutes later the Commandant arrived in a staff car. Granted, it would have been easier and faster for him to walk the few hundred meters from his quarters. But that’s not the way things were done. No lapsing into slovenly ways. The convoy officer might regard any procedural deviation on his part as defeatist. And there were no defeatists in the Waffen SS and never had been.

Steinmann turned his attention from Rolph to the officer alighting from the staff car. The two saluted with an exaggerated Heil Hitler, and then took the measure of each other like two dogs meeting on a street corner. Kurt pronounced him fit and capable. However, the Commandant was not so condescending; taking notice of Kurt’s blond hair, he allowed that he might bear watching.

Hitler was known to be enamored of the stereotypical Aryan physiognomy, as represented by the relatively few Germans who resembled Kurt and Rolph. Their blond hair and blue eyes was not the look of your off-the-street German. Someday, maybe, but not now. In fact, neither Hitler, Bormann, Hess, Goering, Himmler, or Speer had blond hair or blue eyes. They were all dark complexioned. They could pass for Slavs if the light was right, or Jews in any light. This was significant; whether any of them liked it or not, the perception of having Aryan blood stood any officer in good stead. It pronounced him prima facia a leader of men, because after all, history’s great leaders came from this preferred blood line.

But of more significance to the Commandant, who didn’t put much stock in racial propaganda, was the probability that Kurt was sent here to report on the readiness of things. He had been waiting for weeks now to hear confirmation of the Fuhrer’s rumored change in plans. Here, at last, is the word; he is ready to join his troops here instead of in Bavaria. This cargo is probably ammunition, which could have been brought by anybody. But Steinmann brought it because he is known to be one of the Fuhrer’s favorites; he is one of the few Hitler trusts to tell him the truth of how things are.

And then there is Goering, sitting over in his house doing who knows what, defying Berlin’s orders to come back, fearing he might be shot as a traitor–maybe Steinmann is here to report to Bormann on just what Goering is up to. That is it. Berlin wants to know about Goering; maybe they even want this emissary of Hitler’s to shoot him; maybe they don’t trust me to do it. As if I didn’t have enough to think about.

But there were other problems potentially more hazardous to the Commandant’s health than the nearby presence of the malingering Reichminister–four large mountains of gold bars glistened back at him from four truck beds. As the full extent of his new problem became apparent, he didn’t know whether to rejoice or to sink into deep despair. He was stunned. On the one hand, it was the answer to their survival problems; on the other, he was destined to be shot if so much as one of the bars came up missing. Now, as he halfway gained his composure, the Commandant began mumbling quietly; just above a whisper, he asked if Kurt might have some instructions for him. Kurt told him he did, as he handed him an envelope with orders from Bormann.

The Commandant opened the vault as directed, while a dozen ammunition carts were rolled out and loaded. Rolph took up position inside the vault, and counted each ingot as it was placed in two stacks eight courses high and seven rows square. When the trucks were emptied, both Kurt and Rolph re-counted the stacks. Sure of the tally, Rolph handed the inventory sheet to Kurt. Kurt glanced at it, and then looked around to make sure no one was standing nearby in the semi-darkness. Then he spoke, telling Rolph his tally of the last stack was in error. He told Rolph, looking at him through dull, unemotional and unwavering eyes that he, Rolph, had somehow miscounted. He said Rolph should adjust his tally to show an even total of seven hundred and not seven hundred and eighty four. Then he said something very curious. He told him to sign off on the sheet, and things would be explained later. Rolph was aware the senior officer, who obviously was highly placed in the hierarchy, could shoot him on the spot for any number of reasons and no one would have blinked an eye.

Rolph signed the false invoice. He presented it to the Commandant for his signature. Now he was in trouble; whichever way it turned out, he knew he was going to be shot.

 

The following day, Rolph was planting flowers behind the Berghof. This was not busy work, nor under the circumstances was it seen to be out of the ordinary. Quite the contrary, they were still expecting the Fuhrer at any moment. And Steinmann had told the Commandant that fresh flowers lent an air of stability and permanency to the scene.

Steinmann chose this particular time to take a stroll and admire the scenery. To anybody who might be watching, it appeared to be a casual conversation between a long-time resident gardener and a new arrival who might be asking dozens of questions. In this case, Kurt asked him if he liked goldenrods. He told Rolph it was the Fuhrer’s favorite flower; he said he should consider planting some. He said the Fuhrer would be pleased if he did. Then he told him the correct way to plant them was to dig a trench some two feet deep and about five feet long. If Rolph would leave the trench uncovered, Kurt said he would make certain special seeds of the flower would be forthcoming.

Later in the day, in the presence of two junior officers, Kurt struck up a conversation with Rolph. The officers were sitting on the veranda, chatting, gazing up at the eagle’s nest on the Kelstien. Rolph was serving them some of his Danish beer, when Kurt remarked that he understood Rolph had been in residence almost since the inception of Bormann’s huge construction undertakings. Kurt told him that’s where he thought he had seen him. He said he would like to talk to him about the changes made, since he, Kurt, had been here several times many years before. He said Rolph might be the only one who had the answers to some of his questions. It was put in such a way as to convey an order. Rolph understood and was prepared to hold himself available at the officer’s request the following day. It didn’t seem inappropriate when Kurt, in full view, but out of earshot of other members of the mess, told Rolph to come to his office in two hours’ time.

Following lunch, Rolph presented himself at attention just as though he was in the military service of the Fuhrer. Steinmann did not mince words, but handed him Murielle’s address in Germany and her father’s residence in Paris. He said the missing eighty-four gold bars were behind the Berghof. He said he was to take two-thirds of them to Switzerland. He was to get gold certificates of deposit and to give them to her. He was free to keep the remaining twenty-eight bars. He said to tell her the certificates were to be used for the education of his son, whom he had never seen. And to always maintain sufficient cash on hand, in the event he called for her to join him. He told Rolph if he cheated him in any way, he would be hunted down and shot. Rolph was startled to hear him say he intended to do away with Rolph’s parents in the United States if his instructions were not carried out to the letter. He made Rolph promise to do his bidding, although Rolph was at a loss to understand why the promise was necessary. As for the place she was to join him, Rolph suspected Steinmann was talking about bringing Murielle to Argentina.