Schellenberg Learns Kersten Is Gone, Calls for a Substitute

Normally Schellenberg was wary of letting Himmler veer off on a different topic, but this was a good sign. It meant the Reichsfuhrer was solidly thinking about running things after Hitler was gotten rid of.

"Reichsfuhrer,” he began solemnly, “I would say the best thing to do would be bow. Why? Because it shows your gallantry and your readiness to approach Eisenhower as a supplicant. Offering to shake hands right off could create the impression of being too forward. But when you bow, he will feel compelled to put his hand on your shoulder and be gracious.”

Himmler was suddenly a whirl of activity, speaking quickly as he paced back and forth. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll come up to him and I’ll bow.

Schellenberg smiled.

"Now I just need to see about getting the Fuhrer’s permission,” Himmler added almost as an afterthought.

Schellenberg stood dumbfounded.

...Getting the Fuhrer’s permission?

Could he possibly have heard it wrong? The understanding was supposed to be that if Hitler didn’t agree to step down, he should be shot. ... Permission? He stared up at Himmler, who stared back, his watery eyes imperceptible as ever behind the pebble lenses of his glasses.

There is also the matter of my uniform. Should I wear the green one or the black. I think black would be ideal,” he ventured.

Schellenberg tried to keep from exploding. “Reichsfuhrer, you need to tell me, are we still on the same page on this?”

Himmler dabbed at his mouth with his forefinger. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked, absently.

"None of this can happen until you confront the Fuhrer and make him step aside. We’ve already discussed this.”

Himmler twitched.

"Now are you going to do it or not?”

A bigger twitch this time.

"Count Bernadotte is going out on a limb telling Eisenhower you are ready to take over the government. That was the whole point of my flying up to Stockholm. That was what we agreed on, wasn’t it?”

Himmler’s stomach jerked.

"They both expect immediate action from us, Reichsfuhrer. And I’d say they are also definitely starting to lose their patience.”

Another twitch. Himmler’s mouth gaped.

Schellenberg pushed it further. “Reichsfuhrer, the situation is critical. The Russians are going to chew us up and spit us out. They’re going to rape and kill everyone they find. Is this what you want to happen?”

Himmler was all frantic motion now, waving his arms like he was battling an onslaught of flies. “General Schellenberg, you know it’s not as simple as that. You really must understand my situation here. I owe everything to the Fuhrer. Everything! And while yes, I might agree in principle, I just can’t come to him and say ‘Get out of the way, it’s now my turn... It’s just not, it’s just not, it’s unthinkable...I’ve sworn an oath of allegiance, a sacred oath, and I, for one, take that sort of thing very seriously...”

"Reichsfuhrer...,” interjected Schellenberg. But Himmler waved him to silence.

"You must understand the karmic implications of what you are suggesting. It would be much better for everyone if the Fuhrer elected to step down, that would minimize the celestial trauma. I think we should give it a few more days and see if something might alter the forces in our favor. Karmically speaking, it would be the thing to shoot for. And my astrologer assures me there are some major events on the horizon, so who knows?”

Schellenberg cursed himself. The whole trip had been a waste. All of his efforts over the last two years had been a waste.

"We need to be patient, Schellenberg, and not rush anything. It’s the cosmic thing to do.” Beads of sweat were forming on Himmler’s forehead and his left eyebrow was fluttering.

Schellenberg began shouting. “Reichsfuhrer, do you understand the situation we’re in as a nation? We are facing racial extermination. And unless you move immediately, now, today, we will all be destroyed. You must find the strength inside yourself to do what must be done.”

"But you don’t understand,” shot back Himmler in a high- pitched voice. “I owe him everything. I swore an oath to him.” Suddenly Himmler clutched at his stomach and began shrieking in pain. “It’s starting again, Schellenberg! The pain, it’s tearing me up!” he screamed. “Aaahhhh, I can’t take this! It’s killing me, it’s killing me. Call Kersten. Get him in here at once.”

"Reichsfuhrer,” said Schellenberg calmly. “Kersten is still in Stockholm.”

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!” Himmler shrieked as he thrashed about on the couch. “Do something, Schellenberg! Do something! I can’t take it.”

Schellenberg went to the door. In the outer office, Himmler’s adjutants, aides and secretaries all waited in hushed terror. “Shouldn’t we send for Kersten?” suggested one of the women.

"Kersten isn’t coming back,” said Schellenberg. “Is there anyone else we can call?”

Everyone looked at each other helplessly. There wasn’t a doctor Himmler would let touch him. There was only Kersten. Nobody could take the pain away like Kersten. Nobody could listen to him and give him advice like Kersten. In the next room Himmler screamed like he was being gutted.

"There has to be somebody,” repeated Schellenberg.

One of the adjutants shifted nervously. “Ummm, there’s Sub-lieutenant Loerber from the Astrology Branch. He’s supposed to be pretty good.”

Himmler shrieked louder.

Then get this Loerber up here on the double!” ordered Schellenberg.
(Excerpt from Germania, Simon & Schuster, 2008, now also available on Kindle here).

Bernadotte in Berlin III: The Coup That Never Happened

This is the last part of a rescued chapter from Germania, exploring the efforts to get Himmler to act against the Fuhrer. The quote at the end about "having to act in one way or another" is a statement actually attributed to Reichsfhrurer Himmler during this desperate period. Shows the complete unreality that was going on.


“So good of you to come, Herr Count,” Himmler said. “It’s always a great pleasure to have you here.”

“So good to be here, Reichsfuhrer,” replied Bernadotte, “especially on this occasion.”

“Yes,” agreed Himmler.

“On this momentous, historical occasion, I should add.”

“Yes,” repeated Himmler, still smiling.

“So tell us, please, how did everything go?” asked Bernadotte.

“Everything went exceedingly well, Herr Count.”

“It did?”

“Yes!”

Bernadotte said nothing, waiting for Himmler to elaborate. Himmler pursed his lips and squinted behind his thick glasses, as though he was carefully considering a proper choice of words for the declaration he was about to make. But none came.

Himmler smiled. Bernadotte smiled. “And?” he asked.

“And?” Himmler asked back quite pleasantly.

“Can you give us some detail?”

“Detail?” Himmler seemed almost troubled by the word.

“What can we tell Eisenhower?”

“Eisenhower?” asked Himmler. “Ah, well yes,” he said. “Ah yes, well, you can say to His Excellency Mister Eisenhower that everything has gone quite well and we are ready to move forward.”

“Can you be more specific, Reichsfuhrer?”

“Yes, you can tell him most assuredly, the German people are ready to stand squarely with him, shoulder to shoulder, in the grand, historic struggle against Jewish Bolshevism!”

Himmler held up his hand and smiled with gracious embarrassment. “Perhaps you should just say ‘the struggle against Bolshevism.’ Don’t mention the Jewish part. Yes.”

“Do you have any documents for me?"

Himmler stared back blankly. “Sorry?” he asked.

“It would be helpful if I could bring back documents to Eisenhower certifying you as the new leader.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any such documents,” said Himmler, apologetically.

“You don’t?”

“No, the situation as it was, did not allow for it.”

“So you’re saying you merely got a verbal acknowledgement of the transfer of power.”

“Well actually, there wasn’t the moment. The time for that did not present itself.”

“It didn’t?”

“No, sadly,” confessed Himmler.

“Things moved too quickly, you’re saying?” asked Bernadotte, envisioning the exchange of harsh words followed by a shootout. “Things got out of hand? Is everything under control now?”

“Why yes, of course,” Himmler assured him. “Everything is perfectly under control.”

“That’s good,” said Bernadotte, relieved. Schellenberg nodded in agreement.

“Well then, could you just write down now a formal statement describing the incidents leading up to the transfer of power, including Hitler’s fate? That should be sufficient under the circumstances.”

“Hitler’s fate?” Himmler seemed genuinely puzzled. “Whatever do you mean by that, Herr Count?”

Bernadotte stared hard at him. “There has been a coup. Hitler is dead. If Eisenhower is to enter into negotiations with you and your new government, he needs to be provided with the details in a signed, notarized document from you.”

“But our Fuhrer isn’t dead, Herr Count. I just spent three hours talking with him. I can assure you he is very much alive and well.”

“But I thought you just said that you had not had a chance to get either a signed document from him or a verbal acknowledgment. So logically speaking, unless you’ve killed him, how on earth are you the new head of government?”

“You must have misunderstood me, Herr Count. I simply said that during my meeting with the Fuhrer, the moment didn’t arise for discussing such issues. But believe me, Herr Count, I tried. I really intended to bring it up. But the moment wasn’t there. It’s unfortunate, but there you are.”

Himmler turned away to indicate the subject was now closed.

Bernadotte stood in stunned disbelief. All the elaborately envisioned structures of possibilities and outcomes were crumbling and crashing around him.

There was no coup, there was no six-man executive, there were no allies or loyalists for that matter. There hadn’t even been a confrontation. There were no senators with their daggers drawn. There was only Goebbles in the Propaganda Ministry, Doenitz at the Navy, Speer with his war industries. Things were exactly as they had been before. Himmler hadn’t been under any pressure to act because the others didn’t even know about any of it. They were still in the exact same hopeless position as the last time he came down. Exactly the same, only infinitely worse.

He hadn’t even brought it up!

He looked over at Schellenberg and seeing the hopeless exasperation on his face, he almost felt sorry for him. Schellenberg had hitched his fortunes to Himmler’s star, thinking he was Germany’s last best hope, thinking he was a man worthy of his allegiance, his talents. But he’d wasted it all on the man. Himmler was incapable of actually taking initiative. He hadn’t even brought it up!

“You made me fly down for this?” Bernadotte asked, his voice becoming shrill.

Himmler turned back to face him. He clearly wasn’t used to being addressed this way.

“Herr Count,” he said in a calm, measured voice. “I told you I tried. I did my best.”

But Bernadotte was livid. “Reichsfuhrer, you didn’t do anything!”

Himmler looked very hard at Bernadotte. If it had been normal circumstances he’d probably had him immediately taken out and shot. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew that eventually he would have to enter into negotiations. He needed Bernadotte. He tried another tack. “You don’t understand the situation, Herr Count, I went there fully intending to present the ultimatum to the Fuhrer, but when I talked to him I could tell he wouldn’t be receptive. The moment wasn’t there. Neither was the Karma.” He looked away again.

Bernadotte could not believe what he was hearing. “Karma?” he repeated incredulously. “Karma? Reichsfuhrer, I wonder if you are even aware of the enormity of the catastrophe Germany is facing?”

“Oh I assure you, I am, I am. But you have to appreciate my loyalty to the Fuhrer. I owe him everything. Without him, I would be nothing, nothing at all. I have been through an awful lot these last months. And they have had a profound effect on me, a profound effect! I don’t mind telling you, Herr Count, that since the assassination attempt last summer I have for the first time in years, rediscovered my belief in Providence. In God, Herr Count, I am not ashamed to tell you now that I believe in God and I can safely say, sir, that Almighty God has a plan for Germany and the Fuhrer is part of that great plan, and I for one, do not believe it is my place to interfere with it.”

“Your Fuhrer is hell-bent on Germany’s destruction,” exclaimed Bernadotte. “The future of your country now rests entirely in your hands. Unless you or somebody does something immediately, in two or three weeks this country will be nothing but a pile of rubble and anyone who survives will probably greatly envy the dead. If you want to prevent this from happening you should make your move right away.”

“Oh believe me I understand what you are saying. And let me tell you this, and you can tell this to Eisenhower: even if I do not possess full authority at this moment, I recognize that eventually I must act in one way or another. Tell him that!”

"Great! That’s absolutely wonderful!” Bernadotte muttered dryly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch!” And with that Bernadotte stormed out of the office heading straight for the stairs leading down to the courtyard.

Schellenberg ran after him. “Wait,” he shouted. “Let me take you to the airport!”

(This is an excerpt from a chapter that got cut during the final edits of Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here).

Himmler Asks Speer to Sound Hitler Out on Stepping Aside So He Can Negotiate a Peace Deal with the West

Back in his office at the ministry, Speer tried to write down what he wanted to tell Hitler. He thought about all the things he’d seen in the Ruhr that he wanted to describe to him. If he could have seen the elderly volkssturmers or the disorganized, fragmentary divisions. If he could have seen people like Jakob who still had faith in him, who still believed in victory, maybe then Hitler would see the utter travesty in what he was asking. But the words wouldn’t come to him and he knew Hitler wouldn’t listen anyway. It was impossible to write it down just as it was impossible to tell him to his face. What was he going to do? Speer didn’t know. All he knew was that he was dead tired. He went back to his quarters and went to bed.

He woke up a few hours later with a dry mouth and a cold sweat and rather than try to go back to sleep, he put on his robe and went back to his office to work on his response. Faith? Hope? Do I say yes or no? If I say no, I’ll at least get to maintain my integrity. Of course at this point his integrity had to be about the most useless thing there was. But on the other hand, his reward for discarding it was hardly worth having.

Speer wrote a few sentences, then crumpled the paper and stared out into the darkness. The electricity was out again. The empty window frames either hadn’t been re-papered or what they’d put in had already been blown out. Perhaps the papering crews had all been mobilized and sent off to the front. Faith? Hope? Come on! There was nothing left.

After two weeks in the Ruhr, he was back here like the whole thing had never happened. He’d staged his own revolt against Hitler and now Hitler was going to take even that away from him by forgiving him. But Speer had changed. He was a different person now and Hitler’s power over him wasn’t what it had been. He’d learned to see things differently. He now saw things from the perspective of a juggler.

Juggling, perhaps that was what Speer should do. He hadn’t juggled in two days. He didn’t want to lose his edge. He wished he had some balls lying around. Of course they don’t have to be balls, they don’t even have to be round or the same size or weight. Just remember the feel and the weight. What did he have? He lit another candle and went looking for objects. There was a small bakelite ashtray, a pocket flask, a leather eyeglass case. What else? He rummaged through his desk drawer and found a small steel box. Why not?

He stood up and started juggling the ashtray and the eyeglass case. Then, once he had them going well, he snatched the steel box off the desk and threw it up to join the other objects in the air. Then the flask.

Keep it up, keep it going, one thing at a time. He kept it going and going and going and for the first time his head felt clear, his heart lighter.What will I tell Hitler? Flask, ashtray. Tell him all I have left is my integrity and ability to juggle, not that there is any difference between the two. Leather case, steel box, flask.

Tell him he’s dropped too many balls. The single ball he keeps throwing up into the air does not constitute juggling. That he should get off the stage. Ashtray, case, flask. Here comes the steel box, and now the ashtray and now the case.

And maybe if he’d bother to read Mein Kampf again he might remember what he himself had said about leaders who can no longer lead. Steel box, ashtray. And he’s asking me to reaffirm my faith in a man who’s dropped all the balls and is just pretending they are all in the air when they’re actually rolling around on the ground. I don’t think so, Mein Fuhrer.

And what would Hitler tell me? All I’ve got left is you, Speer. The others don’t matter. Lapdogs are a dime a dozen. I need a man who will tell me the truth. All I require is this one lie. Ashtray, flask. One lie is all I require, one lie, Speer. After all I’ve done for you, I’m not asking much, one little lie. Tell me you have faith.

Here comes the steel box – and up it goes again! Ashtray, flask, case.

Faith? Hope? Obey? No, said the disobedient angel, I will not obey. My integrity is reduced to this act of rebellion and if you take it away from me all I have left is this...Steel box, flask, leather case, ashtray.

Only then Speer became aware of the presence of somebody else in the room. There was somebody standing in the shadows by the doorway. He must have slipped in. Somebody from his staff, perhaps; one of the secretaries, a deputy, a section chief. But he wasn’t going to let his eyes off the flying objects. He didn’t want to stop yet. He still had a few things to think through.

“Could you come back in ten minutes, please,” Speer called out. “I’m busy with something right now.”

But the visitor did not stir, though Speer noticed he had reached up with his hand to touch his forehead. Speer kept on juggling and hoped the intruder would take the hint and leave. Finally the figure stepped out of the shadow and into the dim candlelight. It was Himmler.

In an instant Speer’s focus evaporated and the objects crashed onto the floor.

“Reichsfuhrer,” he said embarrassedly. “What a surprise.”

With the candlelight dancing upon the thick lenses of his glasses, Himmler’s eyes were all but invisible to Speer. But then it was easy to guess what they looked like, because his eyes were always the same; cold, expressionless cobra’s eyes.

“So, Speer,” he began matter-of-factly. “I hear you have become quite the folk hero in the Ruhr. Going around, charming the populace, getting them to disobey the Fuhrer’s directives, talking about tomorrow instead of today.”

But to Speer’s surprise, Himmler’s manner wasn’t threatening. If anything he seemed nervous, like he was looking for someone to confide in. It made Speer wonder what might have happened while he was gone.

“Is there something I can help you with, Reichsfuhrer?” he asked politely.

Himmler stared at Speer for a long time before finally saying, “These are exceptional times, are they not, Herr Reichsminister?”

“Yes, Reichsfuhrer, very exceptional,” answered Speer. Catch it, toss it back.

“These are dark times also, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, Reichsfuhrer, very dark times.”

“But then, isn’t it true that it is always darkest right before the dawn?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that said,” allowed Speer.

“They also say that when you get to the bottom of a valley, there is nowhere to go but up.”

“Yes, they also say that.” Speer tossing it back. He wished Himmler would come to the point. Absentmindedly Speer picked up some pencils from the desk and began flipping them into the air, then catching them and flipping them back again. “Is there something you wanted to ask about, Reichsfuhrer?” he asked. “Something about darkness?”

He caught them and then tossed them up from his shoulder, then sticking his other hand behind his back and catching them as the came down.

“Yes! Would you stop doing that!” snapped Himmler.

Speer put the pencil down. “Pardon me,Reichsfuhrer, but I’m really nervous right now. What you were saying?”

“I was, ah, saying how, some people are saying,” Himmler paused.

“Yes?”

“That it may be time for a change.”

“People, Reichsfuhrer? What people?”

Himmler hesitated again before continuing. “People who are, ahh, concerned with the way things are going right now with the war. People who believe we might be missing out on unprecedented opportunities with the West.”

Speer suddenly realized what Himmler was trying to say. He was talking about peace negotiations with the West. Was it even possible?

“Reichsfuhrer, are you talking about a peace deal with the West?”

Himmler stared open mouthed at Speer.

“I’m talking about opportunities for Germany’s future.”

“Opportunities, Reichsfuhrer?”

Himmler looked at Speer. “When you talk to the Fuhrer again would you do something for me?”

Speer nodded for him to go ahead. “Try to sound him out on him stepping aside for a brief period to allow for a realignment.”

“I promise I’ll get back to you with it,” said Speer.

“Good Luck, Speer.” At that, Himmler left quickly.

Speer went to his desk and tried writing out his thoughts again, but his concentration was gone. He ended up pushing the paper and pencil aside and then went back to reading the industry reports he’d been looking at before going to the Ruhr. Then the meeting started up again. Hours later, when the call came for him to report back to the Fuhrerbunker, Speer still had no idea what he was going to tell Hitler.

(Excerpt from Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here)