Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

he had had Kasper and Sabine, as well as a driver, Hans Liidecke.

There, he had had no worries, no concerns, no duties. The war had gone on without him. The dismantlement of the Abwehr had happened without him as a witness.

Lieutenant Colonel Albrecht Focke had been a formal but not unkind jailer, allowing his honored guest the full run of the castle and its grounds—inside the walls, unless an escort accompanied him. __

There were a few official letters and communiques during the first weeks, the most brutal coming on March 10th—from Donitz himself. The Commander-in-Chief of the Navy informed Canaris that as of June 30th, he would be removed from the active list of Naval personnel. On March 21st, the Navy Personnel Office sent him a brief notice that he would be placed at the Navy’s disposal as of that date, but that no reemployment was contemplated.

He had gone into a funk then. It was over. He would not be participating in Germany’s downfall or her rescue. He’d spend the remainder of the war as a prisoner in a gilded cage. It was bitter, after all that had gone on since the days of Valparaiso so many years ago.

Burg Lauenstein, in its secluded spot, housed the experts who forged passports and other documents, as well as the scientists and technicians who developed secret inks, microdot techniques, and other equipment. Canaris was the only prisoner.

For weeks on end he saw no one, spoke with no one, and did little more than roam the extensive grounds with the dogs, or sleep.

During those times he was not at peace. Instead, his mind ranged over his career, forwards and backwards, and most painfully, over the future of Germany.

He wondered then, too, about Dieter Schey, if he had been caught, or if he had been killed, and what the outcome of the contact with Dulles had produced.

Erika came down to visit him, but he went through the visit in a daze. For a week afterwards he had fallen deeper into his depression.

Canaris showed his papers to the guards at the door before he entered, then went down the long corridor where he stopped at a tall door with a frosted glass window that bore the officious title: Handelskrieg und Wirtshaftliche Kampfmassnahmen (Mercantile Warfare and Economic Combat Measures). The Hwk, it was called.

He smiled wanly. From the Abwehr to this. He shrugged. It was better than Burg Lauenstein. Anything was better than isolation.

He reached for the doorknob, but the door suddenly opened, and he found himself staring into the eyes of a much taller, but very old man, wearing an out-of-date threadbare uniform, his eyes bloodshot, broken veins crisscrossing his cheeks. He was a second lieutenant. For several long seconds he stood rooted to his spot, staring into Canaris’ eyes, but then he blinked several times, swallowed hard, and snapped to attention, raising his right hand in salute.

“Heil Hitler!” he screamed, spittle flying everywhere.

Canaris started to raise his hand in salute, when the lieutenant bellowed: “Admiral on the deck! The Admiral is here!” He shuffled aside.

With a sinking heart, Canaris stepped into the large office. A dozen old desks had been stuffed into the room. Behind each was an old man in about the same condition as the one who stood more or less at attention now. All of them had gotten up and were holding out a salute.

Canaris returned it.

The office was in shambles. Nothing was new. Nothing was even in good repair. The windows were cracked and dirty, several of them boarded over. And it looked as if the floor had not been swept since before the war.

Canaris stood there for a long time, taking in the scene. The cracked plaster walls. The section of ceiling that had fallen, laying bare the plaster lath. The faded maps on the walls. The incredible litter everywhere.

He could have the senior man present sweep the floor.

Immediately. In front of the others. It would put them all in their places and would instantly establish his authority.

But there was no use, actually. By tomorrow the floor would be dirty again. And these men no longer cared about such things as authority. Had they cared in the first place, none of them would be here now, like this. These were the dregs. Worse than the dregs; these men, he realized, were not even fit to be used as cannon fodder. Young boys and very old men were on the battlefields these days. But not these men. And he was their leader.

“If you would be so good as to show me my office, Lieutenant …” Canaris peered at the lieutenant’s nametag. “… Bender.”

“Jawhol, Herr Admiral,’” the lieutenant shouted.

“And please, Bender, I am not deaf. Do not shout.”

Several doors led off the main office. One of them opened now, and an officer, his tunic open, charged out. He was fuming.

“What in God’s name is all the commotion out here …” he began, but then he stopped.

Canaris was thunderstruck. It was Meitner. Hans Meitner.

“Gott in Himmel,” Meitner breathed. “Meiner Admiral.”

“What are you doing here?” Canaris asked. He had not moved from his spot.

“They sent me to this office to shape it up for the next man. I never dreamed …” Tears had formed in Meitner’s eyes.

Canaris smiled. “Well, from what I can see, you’ve done a wonderful job, Hans.”

Meitner was startled. But then he understood the joke, and he smiled. “You should have seen it last week, sir.”

Canaris came the rest of the way into the office, and Meitner met him halfway across. They shook hands.

“Between us this will not be so bad,” Canaris said. He felt that an impossibly heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Meitner’s next words dashed that.

“I’m sorry, Herr Admiral. My orders were to stand by until my replacement showed up, and then I will be reassigned back to Zossen. Either that or to a field command.”

“I see,” Canaris said. He fought the urge to slump. “At least if you get to Zossen, we will not be