The Death's Head Chess Club (9 page)

‘I'd rather not. I need to spend some time reviewing the games of my next opponent.'

‘Indulge a dying man,' the bishop replied softly.

Emil sighed. ‘Very well. But I don't want it to take too long.'

‘Not take too long?' Meissner shook his head. ‘Watchmaker, this is likely to take the rest of your life.'

15.

W
INDMILL

April 1944
Solahütte, SS country club, German-occupied Silesia

The game started. Hustek drew black. Every officer sneered at the Gestapo man for his boorish behaviour, willing Brossman to win, while every NCO winced with embarrassment but could not set aside their conviction that Hustek would triumph.

Meissner felt torn. As the game's arbiter, it was his duty to be evenhanded but, by God, he hoped that the Oberscharführer would get his comeuppance.

For ten or fifteen minutes, the game progressed with little advantage to either player. Then Meissner spoke quietly. ‘I should be obliged if you would stop doing that, Oberscharführer.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Staring so menacingly at Hauptsturmführer Brossman while he decides what move to make.'

‘Don't worry about me, Herr Obersturmführer,' Brossman growled. ‘I don't scare so easily.'

So intent were the spectators on the game – including the Gruppenführer – that the exchange was heard by everyone.

‘I thought this was supposed to be a fair game, sir,' Hustek remarked, in an aggrieved tone. ‘Is this how it's going to be – officers cosying up
with each other to keep the lower ranks from winning?' He spoke quietly, but he knew his words would carry. He raised his face to stare defiantly at Meissner.

Hustek had castled to protect his king, and now Brossman brought up his queen to threaten the rook. If he moved forward one square he would take a pawn and have a direct diagonal route to his target. It took all Hustek's willpower to suppress a smile. The officer had walked into his trap. He moved his own bishop one space diagonally, threatening check, a move Brossman had to defend. However, Hustek's move also exposed his own queen. Brossman smiled, thinking Hustek had made a fatal error. He changed his tactic of attacking the rook to take the queen instead. It was Hustek's turn to smile. In three successive moves, he forced Brossman's king to move to avoid check, taking a pawn, a rook, and finally Brossman's queen.

The exchange greatly impaired the officer's ability to dominate the centre of the board. Minutes later, Hustek followed with a second windmill combination, this time taking a pawn, Brossman's remaining rook and a bishop.

Meissner was aghast. Would peasant cunning win out against an intellectual appreciation of the game? It seemed so. Brossman held on for another fifteen minutes, but his fate had been sealed the moment he had taken Hustek's queen.

April 1944
Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, Berlin

As usual, Schweninger was late back from lunch. In the canteen he had met an attractive young secretary who had been impressed by his stories of foreign travel and international chess championships. She had been
wearing a V-necked woollen dress that exposed her cleavage enticingly whenever she leaned across the table. Standing over her, Wilhelm had not even tried to conceal what he was doing, taking full advantage of his height to peer down at her. That was what tourism was all about, wasn't it – taking in the sights? She had agreed to meet him for drinks and dinner on Friday.

In the office he found Georg in a sour mood. ‘Late again, Willi. It really won't do, you know.' Schweninger rolled his eyes but said nothing. ‘Falthauser's looking for you,' Georg went on. ‘He didn't look happy.'

‘Does that mean it's good news or bad news?'

The older man shrugged. ‘Who can tell? He's such a miserable bastard.'

That was certainly true, Wilhelm thought to himself as he made his way from their cubbyhole to the large office at the end of the corridor.

‘Come in,' was the crisp response to his knock on the door.

Wilhelm entered. It did not occur to him to be nervous. It had to be about his interview, and he was confident he had done well. ‘You wanted to see me, Herr Falthauser?'

The supervisor looked up from a stack of papers piled on his desk. He seemed his usual, joyless self. ‘Yes. It's about your application for the post of Herr Schweitzer's assistant.'

Wilhelm was aware of a change in Falthauser's demeanour. He seemed pleased. That could mean only one thing.

‘I regret to inform you that your application was not successful.'

‘Not successful? But . . .' Wilhelm was shocked. ‘Are you sure there's been no mistake?'

Now the supervisor smiled. ‘No mistake, Willi. You're here for the duration – better get used to the idea.' He turned back to his work.

Still stunned, Wilhelm turned to leave. Before he reached the doorway, his supervisor called after him: ‘Who do you think you are – the second Max Amann?'

Wilhelm stopped. ‘What? What do you mean?'

Falthauser looked up. ‘Don't worry, you'll work it out – eventually.'

Wilhelm took his time walking back to the cubbyhole. He had been so
certain
.

‘You look like you've just been given the sack, Willi,' Georg said.

The younger man slumped onto his chair. ‘I might as well have been.'

‘What did Falthauser have to say?'

‘He asked me if I thought I was the second Max Amann.'

For moment Georg did not understand, then, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he gave a wry chuckle.

‘It's not funny.'

Georg suppressed the laughter that was building inside him. ‘Fucking Falthauser. What a fucking comedian. He couldn't be funny if his life depended on it, but this time . . .'

‘Well, I'm glad you think it's so fucking hilarious.'

‘Don't you see?' Georg said, grinning. ‘It's his cock-eyed way of telling you why you didn't get the job.'

‘No, I don't see. Tell me.'

‘Because you're a one-armed cripple. Goebbels doesn't like cripples. It reminds him that he's one himself. It's not so bad if you're stuck down here out of sight in this hole, but anything else – forget it. Max Amann is the only exception.'

‘What's so special about him?'

‘Him and the chief go back a long way – and he publishes
Das Reich
.'

Understanding dawned on Schweninger.
Das Reich
was the weekly
paper for which Goebbels wrote the editorial. ‘And he's only got one arm?'

‘He's only got one arm. Lost it in a hunting accident in the thirties. Some say Franz Ritter von Epp shot him deliberately.'

Wilhelm shook his head in disbelief. ‘How the hell do you know all this stuff?'

The older man smiled. ‘Well, when you've been around as long as I have . . .'

Scowling, Willi glanced around the cubbyhole. ‘Christ, I'd rather be fucking dead.'

April 1944
Solahütte, SS country club, German-occupied Silesia

Summoning his reserves of dignity, Gruppenführer Glücks presented the awards – first to Hustek and then Brossman. He decided it was an opportune time to say a few words. He disliked speaking in public, fearing to say the wrong thing or to have his words misrepresented by a rival, but here he was on safe ground. Something big was about to happen to Auschwitz, and it was important to bolster morale in advance. Luckily, Himmler had recently made a speech on the same subject. Glücks had no qualms about plagiarism: the Reichsführer would take it as a compliment.

‘Gentlemen,' he said. ‘It is most gratifying to see such good spirits among our fighting men for – make no mistake – every man here is fighting a war every bit as much as any soldier of the Wehrmacht on the Eastern or the Italian fronts. Only our war is against a foe more wily, more insidious, more vicious than any Russian or American or Englander. Our foe is the Jew who, given the slightest opportunity, would betray our people and take from us our birthright. We must be stern – not only with our enemies, but with ourselves. We cannot permit ourselves to relax our
vigilance for an instant, for to do so would invite disaster.

‘It is a crime against the blood of the German people to be concerned for Jews in labour camps, or to make concessions that would make things still more difficult for our children and grandchildren. If someone says to you, “It is inhumane to use women or children to dig ditches or work in factories; I can't make them do it because the exertion will kill them,” then you must reply, “If that ditch is not built, or if those armaments are not made, then German soldiers will die, and they are sons of German mothers. You are a traitor to your own blood.”

‘As for the difficult work you do here in Auschwitz, this is a page of glory in our history that can never be written, and the heroic part you have played will never be acknowledged. But
we
know how difficult it would be for Germany today – under bombing raids and the hardships and privations of war – were we still to have the Jews in every city as secret saboteurs and agitators.

‘We have the moral right' – he paused – ‘no, more than that, we have a
duty
to our people, to our blood, to destroy this race that wants to destroy us. It is no different to a doctor who exterminates a germ because if he does not eliminate the infection it will kill his patient. The Reichsführer-SS has said that any infection must be eradicated
without mercy
before it is able to gain a hold.

‘This work is not easy, but it is our duty. We did not ask to be given this duty, nonetheless we take up the burden willingly. Despite all the difficulties we face and the enemies that would destroy us, we can be proud that we have carried out this most arduous of tasks in the spirit of love of our people, and that the work we do will cause no harm to our soul, our virtue or our honour.'

He raised his right hand. ‘
Sieg Heil!'

The roar that followed was deafening. The men gathered round him must have shouted ‘
Heil!'
three, five, ten times.

With the clamour resounding in his ears, the Gruppenführer left the room, followed by the Kommandant.

Meissner waited until the noise abated before offering a hand to Brossman, saying, ‘My commiserations.' He turned to Hustek. ‘Oberscharführer,' he said, his voice curt, ‘come to my office on Monday and I will make the arrangements for your leave.'

‘Thank you, Herr Obersturmführer,' Hustek replied in a sneering tone. ‘I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it.'

Meissner exchanged a glance with Brossman. ‘Indeed, Oberscharführer,' he said, not bothering to disguise the irony in his voice, ‘it must be almost as much as we are.'

Hustek froze. With studied insolence he placed his cap on his head and, without saluting, walked away.

The two officers watched as he made his way through the crowded room. Among all the NCOs present, only one congratulated the Oberscharführer, and left with him.

‘The insolence of that man,' Meissner seethed.

‘Gestapo,' Brossman replied, as if no other explanation were necessary. ‘Don't let the bastard get to you. And if you want my advice, I would start watching my back if I were you. I think you've just made yourself an enemy.'

Meissner reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. He offered one to Brossman. ‘I can take care of myself,' he said. ‘Besides, after the Kommandant has finished with him, I think Hustek will want to keep a low profile for quite some time.'

*

The Kommandant enjoyed the use of a large house close to the main entrance of the
Stammlager
. That night, he hosted a dinner party for his senior officers, with Gruppenführer Glücks as guest of honour. Liebehenschel apologized for the poor quality of the food but, in reality, the fare was sumptuous compared with what most Germans enjoyed.

Glücks, who prided himself on being an instant judge of character, found the Kommandant a difficult man to assess: Liebehenschel was too familiar with his senior officers and Glücks sensed he was not a man to inspire much in the way of loyalty among his subordinates. But he could not fault his hospitality: wine flowed freely, followed by cognac and cigars, leaving the company in a relaxed mood.

When it was time for the officers to take their leave, the Gruppenführer asked the Kommandant's deputy, Sturmbannführer Richard Bär, to stay behind. While two orderlies cleared the dinner table, the three SS men retired to the sitting room.

Bär was the first to speak. ‘I trust you feel your visit has been worthwhile, sir?'

The Gruppenführer rested his cigar in an ashtray and held out his snifter for a refill. ‘It's always worthwhile to meet front-line officers and get from them the true picture of what we're up against. But I must confess that I had another motive in coming here. Your chess tournament merely gave me a convenient reason.'

‘Oh?' The Kommandant poured a generous measure of spirits into his own glass.

‘Yes. I've been putting it off, but I can delay no longer. Something quite extraordinary is about to happen, and I must make sure that all the pieces are in place to ensure its success.'

The two Auschwitz officers exchanged a glance. ‘I'm sorry, sir,'
Liebehenschel said, ‘I'm afraid I don't understand.'

‘I want your honest opinion, Liebehenschel. Tell me – what's your position on the Jewish question?'

The Kommandant frowned. ‘The Jews? I'm surprised you should ask me that, sir. Like any good German I think they're a menace and a blight on humanity.'

‘Yes – but what do you think we should do with them?'

‘I think we should make the swine work for the good of the Reich, like we are already doing here and in other camps.'

‘But you don't think they should be exterminated?'

‘I didn't say that, sir. Once they've outlived their usefulness, what else can one do with them? But I think it's inefficient simply to kill them out of hand. Surely it's better to get as much as we can out of them first?'

The Gruppenführer cleared his throat. ‘It's being said in Berlin that you're not the right person to be the Kommandant of Auschwitz, that you're too soft on the Jews.'