Grafenwöhr
NOVEMBER 20, 1944
The entire 150th Panzer Brigade was called into the commons at six-thirty A.M., before the morning meal. Bernie, Von Leinsdorf, and the rest of Captain Stielau’s commando group stood in the first two rows facing the dining hall as a light mist fell from an overcast sky. Five minutes later the brigade snapped to attention as the camp’s brass marched out ahead of Colonel Skorzeny. He wore his dress uniform but no overcoat, unlike the rest of the officers, and a confident smile that seemed oblivious to bad weather and any other adversity. Skorzeny stopped and surveyed his men for nearly a minute, studying faces, before he uttered a word. The Iron Cross hung at his throat, between the lightning SS runes and insignia of rank on his high, stiff collar. His bright eyes and sharp features suggested to Bernie the image of a hyper-intelligent fox.
“We are not here to turn you into soldiers,” he said in English, his voice ringing out over the yard. “That was someone else’s job. If they failed, there’s nothing we can do for you now. Nor is there time to train you properly as commandos; the urgency of our mission is too great. It is the responsibility of every man to do the best he can with what we give you. Your principal weapons will be intelligence, ingenuity, and cunning.
“What I do expect from you is this: the willingness to change your entire pattern of behavior. Nationality, race, and culture are qualities you express unconsciously in your basic instincts, habits, and attitudes. They are much more deeply ingrained in your mind and body than you know. As far as the outside world is concerned, these qualities, these ‘German characteristics,’ have to change if you have any hope of surviving what lies ahead. It is no use dressing you in olive green and teaching you American slang if you click your boot heels and snap to attention like a Prussian grenadier the first time one of their officers barks out an order.”
He gave a comic, self-deprecating demonstration, like one of the boys in the ranks. A big laugh spread through the assembly. Bernie glanced over at Von Leinsdorf, standing down the row. He watched Skorzeny with almost religious rapture. Skorzeny smiled and waited for the laughter to subside with the polished air of a comedian.
He’s got them in his hands. They’re ready to die for him right now.
“No similar operation of this size has ever been attempted in the history of warfare. I won’t minimize the dangers you face. But I assure you the Führer has entrusted us with a responsibility on which the future of our country depends. You have his full support and absolute confidence. I know in my heart that you will not let him, or Germany, down. The rest is up to God and chance. Heil Hitler!”
Skorzeny turned with a click of his heels and marched away, his adjutant and officers falling into step behind him. He radiated command and iron confidence, tempered by empathy for his troops and self-deprecating humor. Von Leinsdorf and the others around him glowed with patriotic zeal; they looked ready to burst into song.
Skorzeny watched the brigade’s military division go through maneuvers that morning on the training ground. Two captured American Sherman tanks and twelve German Panthers, which had been retrofitted to resemble Shermans, rumbled through their paces. In the afternoon, Stielau’s commando company conducted a sabotage demonstration, blowing up a mock bridge ahead of schedule against a running clock. Skorzeny appeared pleased with their performance.
When Skorzeny returned to the officers’ quarters for the evening, his adjutant was waiting for him outside. “Sir, a lieutenant from the commando company has requested a word with you.”
“I don’t have time for that now.”
The adjutant lowered his voice. “He is SS. From a diplomatic corps family.”
Skorzeny looked past him into the next room, where a young, upright man with close-cropped blond hair waited.
“All right, leave us,” said Skorzeny.
Skorzeny walked in to join the man, who snapped to attention and saluted. “Unterstürmführer Erich Von Leinsdorf, sir. It is an honor to meet you.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, as a fellow SS officer, I take the liberty of speaking directly. The wildest rumors are circulating through camp regarding the mission. Once the men learned you were in charge, imaginations ran riot.”
“Give me an example,” said Skorzeny.
“We are going to rush across France to liberate our trapped garrison at Brest. Some have us crossing the Channel to invade London. There’s even one that claims we’re to cross the Atlantic by submarine and attack Roosevelt in the White House.”
Skorzeny shook his head, amused. “And what do you think, Lieutenant?”
“I believe I know the real objective of the 105th Panzer Brigade, sir.”
The man radiated such conviction that for a moment Skorzeny wondered if his seconds had disobeyed orders and taken him into their confidence. Skorzeny poured a drink, stood in front of the fire, and listened as Von Leinsdorf explained his theory. Hiding his astonishment at what the man told him, Skorzeny rolled the brandy in the snifter, a grand master with his hand poised over a suddenly useful pawn. He said nothing when Von Leinsdorf finished, letting him squirm.
“I will share this much with you,” said Skorzeny finally. “The Führer has given us a specific military objective, the details of which I am not at liberty to disclose.”
“I understand, sir,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“He also gave us a second objective,” said Skorzeny, moving closer. “No one else knows about it, not even your superior officers. Never mind how, but you’ve hit on it exactly. Let me tell you my problem, Lieutenant.”
Von Leinsdorf tensed. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-”
Skorzeny held up a hand for silence. “For some time I have been looking for an officer capable of leading this phase of the operation. I’ve found my man.”
“I’m honored, sir.”
“Choose a few others from your company. The best English speakers, three men, each qualified to lead a small squad. Do any come to mind?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take them into your confidence, but without the particulars we’ve discussed. Have each of these men assemble his own four-man team. Then consider this objective carefully and work out the tactical details yourself.”
“What guidance can you give me, sir?”
“None. The rest is up to you. I don’t like to limit a talented young officer’s initiative. In the meantime, to help morale, introduce a rumor of our own into camp. Three American commandos were recently captured wearing German uniforms near Aachen. They were given safe passage back across the American line by the SS a few days later.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course not. They were shot immediately.” Skorzeny opened the door for him. “We’ll meet again on the eve of the attack and finalize your plan. Good luck to us all.”
“You may count on me, sir.” Von Leinsdorf saluted, spun on his heel, and exited the room. Skorzeny’s adjutant entered moments later.
“Bring me that man’s dossier,” said Skorzeny. “Ask Captain Stielau to come in.”
Skorzeny watched the fire as he waited, and felt the threads of three different fabrics bind into one satisfying whole. The adjutant and Stielau returned together. Skorzeny quickly scanned Von Leinsdorf’s dossier, while Stielau stood by.
“How did he end up here? His father was one-quarter Jewish.”
“Yes, on the mother’s side. According to Party standards that still made him half-caste, Mischlinge.”
“And he was Ambassador Ribbentrop’s right-hand man in London at the time?” asked Skorzeny. “I remember hearing about this. A minor scandal.”
“Ribbentrop shipped him off to an obscure post in Sweden. The mother took ill, went home, and died shortly after. When the father committed suicide a few months later, the boy, Erich, became a ward of the state.”
“How did he kill himself?”
“The rope. A coward’s death. Fit for a Jew.”
Skorzeny read something in the file. “Erich found the body.”
“Yes. He was sent back to Germany, and enrolled in the Hitlerjugend. He so excelled in every youth program they put him in-the Hitler School, the Political Institute-that he was transferred to the Ordensburgen. It’s for only the most fanatical young National Socialists. Intense physical discipline, military instruction, education in the racial sciences, and the Jewish question-all under SS.”
“In spite of his Jewish blood.”
“The mother’s line was pure Aryan, so he’s only one eighth, slightly more than twelve percent. In special cases one can argue the Aryan blood is more dominant. For all that, he seems determined to eradicate his father’s heritage. The lieutenant’s creativity at Dachau has been nothing less than astonishing.”
Skorzeny knew about the extermination program at Dachau and other death camps, but offered no comment. Senior officers working at a remove from the Final Solution never discussed what they knew in any way that required expressing an opinion. Stielau interpreted his silence as disapproval.
“In any case, since he is of such concern to you,” said Stielau, “we’ll have the man executed tomorrow.”
“No, Stielau, you miss my point entirely. He’s perfect.”
“If I may ask, in what way, sir?”
“It’s all very well to send our little brigade across enemy lines. If the stars align, and we catch them napping, there’s even a slight chance we might succeed.”
“Sir, I think you’re discounting a very good chance we might change the course of the war-”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Captain Stielau, and your devotion to our cause. But realism is the harshest discipline. The longer view suggests that a bleak future awaits us all, regardless of our interim efforts.”
Stielau said nothing, and Skorzeny instantly regretted his frankness.
“We are soldiers, nevertheless,” said Skorzeny, closing Von Leinsdorf’s dossier. “We play the hand we are dealt. And this man could turn out to be a wild card.”
Bernie saw the change in Von Leinsdorf as soon as he returned to the barracks. A hard set in his eyes, jaw taut. He recruited his first two squad leaders that same night: a fellow SS officer, Unterstürmführer Gerhard Bremer, and an Army Intelligence translator named Karl Heinz Schmidt. Bernie watched these conversations take place. When Von Leinsdorf returned to his bunk, Bernie asked what was going on but got no answer. He’s following new orders, thought Bernie. From Skorzeny himself.
Von Leinsdorf recruited his third squad leader the next morning, the former American Army sergeant William Sharper. After four years as a GI in North Africa and France, Sharper had deserted to the Wehrmacht three months earlier after beating his superior officer half to death during a barracks poker game. He’d spent those months in the custody of German Intelligence, before being cleared and released for this mission. Von Leinsdorf sized up Sharper as a working-class hooligan, more suited to life as a Nazi storm trooper than in the conformist U.S. Army. He authorized each of the three men to recruit his own four-man squad. When Karl Schmidt pressed for details about this “second objective,” Von Leinsdorf said it had to remain classified until the night before the mission.
That night Von Leinsdorf asked Bernie Oster to join his squad, along with a middle-aged merchant seaman named Marius Schieff and a former bank clerk from Vienna named Gunther Preuss, both Category Two men. Von Leinsdorf told them nothing about what the new assignment involved, but it was clear to Bernie that his status within the brigade had changed for the worse. He no longer feared discovery for what he’d done in Berlin. The path Von Leinsdorf was leading him down now felt far more dangerous.
A week before the launch, Otto Skorzeny attended a final briefing with the Army General Staff at the Reich Chancellery in Berlin. Skorzeny walked through his brigade’s role in the invasion, and they agreed on procedures to protect his commandos from German attack. His disguised American tanks would bear two yellow triangles within the unit insignia stenciled onto their armor. If any regular Wehrmacht and commando units met on the battlefield during daylight, the men of Operation Greif were to remove their American helmets and hold them over their heads. At night, when encountering regulation German forces, they were to use pistol-fired flares, known as Verey lights, to reveal their identities.
Skorzeny was told that weather forecasts for their target day appeared favorable, calling for heavy cloud cover that neutralized Allied air superiority. All signals were go.
The counteroffensive into Belgium and Luxembourg known as Operation Autumn Mist would begin at dawn on December 16.