Bergmann recalled well the bloody purge of the so-called “night of the long knives” that had eliminated many officials of a competing element, the Sturmabteilung, or SA, a predecessor organization raised by the Nazi party early in its existence. It had gained power and influence such that it and its leader, Ernst Röhm, had been seen as threats to the authority of the führer himself. Brutal action eliminated the threat.
Bergmann envied those of the SS with low membership numbers signifying that they had joined the organization early. They had participated in its growth to become a paramilitary force to match the size and capability of the Wehrmacht itself, loyal only to Adolf Hitler. But he contented himself with the notion that his opportunities now appeared boundless. At some point, I might want to transfer into the Gestapo.
He realized a difficulty in dealing with Oberstleutnant Meier. As long as the smell of victory with lust for more permeated Berlin, the combat leaders were untouchable. Their triumph resulted in the signing of a Franco-German armistice, planned for the next day at the very site of Germany’s previous humiliation, in a train car near Compiègne. In Meier’s case, the commander operated under an umbrella of protection that started with his rank and battlefield successes and ran through his family name and General Rommel to the führer.
Bergmann’s own background did not lack for achievement. His father had fought in the last war, and his family had suffered the privations resulting from the onerous conditions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles.
The elder Bergmann had also been among the first to recognize the economic benefits accruing to Germany by the firebrand Hitler’s positions. He had not only read Hitler’s biographical manifesto, Mein Kamf, as soon as it was published, but he had also pressed his son to read it. Then, when Hitler rose to power and formed the Hitler Youth, the son had joined early and enthusiastically.
When Hitler began clandestinely building his armed forces, Bergmann’s father landed a contract that eventually led to his founding an armaments factory specializing in munitions. When the younger Bergmann reached military age, he applied for and received acceptance into the Kriegsschule at Potsdam, one of several military academies across Germany for training combat officers. His father had glowed with pride when he graduated and accepted a commission.
From there, Bergmann had gone on to learn armor tactics at the Panzertruppenschule I in Munson. However, on finally emerging into active duty with the Wehrmacht, he had been frustrated to see that the plum assignments went to officers with long family connections to the military. He became consigned to staff roles, only achieving command, as Meier had reminded him, when a company commander had been killed in action. With Germany’s military at war in far-flung places, replacement officers were already scarce, and thus Bergmann got the call.
Shortly after entering active duty, he had observed the differences in opportunity and treatment between the Wehrmacht and the SS. Perceiving greener pastures, he had submitted his application.
He had reveled in the recollection of the shift in perceived authority when Meier had been required to inform him of his new commission. Then, he had burned at Meier’s remonstrance regarding military decorum. To him, it was deliberate humiliation at the hand of a member of the undeserving aristocracy.
A knock on the door interrupted Bergmann’s ruminations. When he called out to allow entry, the door opened, and an SD sergeant appeared. He advanced to halt in front of the desk and presented himself with the obligatory click of his heels.
“Sergeant Fleischer reports for duty.”
“Good, Sergeant. Welcome. Have you read the plan I forwarded to you?”
“Yes, sir, and I understand it completely. My squad is to reinforce the guard on a neighborhood at the eastern edge of Dunkirk just above the shore. No one is to be allowed to enter or leave.”
“Exactly. We will start interrogating the residents tomorrow or the next day at the maison d'arrêt. Someone in that group knows something about where Ferrand Boulier went. He is the head of a family of terrorists who murdered a German soldier. They cannot be allowed to escape. This is my first case to resolve as an SS officer, and I won’t let it go. Have you done your reconnaissance?”
“We have, sir. The mission is straightforward. Thirteen houses. Roughly fifty people, including the children. That should not be difficult. Any special instructions?”
Bergmann thought a moment. “Feel free to shoot if need be but try not to kill anyone. I need the information. I can’t get it from a corpse.”
“What if we have to kill to prevent an escape?”
“If you must, you must.”
The sergeant looked thoughtful. “Sir, may I ask a question, one of curiosity?”
Bergmann assented.
“I’ve read the case, but I’m not clear on why you are so determined to get this particular individual. The feldgendarmerie is already investigating.”
Bergmann pursed his lips and nodded. “A fair question. I’m convinced that this case is more than just a murder. It took place too quickly, too cleanly, with very little evidence left behind. Then, not only did Ferrand Boulier and his daughters vanish, but so did his extended family and close friends, all within hours of Kallsen’s disappearance. I believe this is the beginning of a resistance network, and it cannot be allowed to grow. That’s what I told Herr Himmler, and why I have his personal support for this mission.”
37
Dunkirk, France
Ferrand Boulier looked over the thirty young men assembled in front of him. All
