We were met at the Rhodes' airfield by von Graff's adjutant, Hauptmann Gustav Luther. I had not met Luther previously, but he emulated the same over confidence and self-importance I remembered of his superior.
Luther looked me up and down, much as he would if I was a horse at an auction, before he finally spoke.
"Hauptmann . . . Hauptmann . . ?"
"Dietrich," I said. He frowned in response.
"You are not the officer we were expecting. Where is Mueller?"
"Mueller became a casualty." Yes, I thought, a casualty in more ways than one. "I was ordered to report in his place."
Luther shook his head in disgust. "Oberst von Graff will not be pleased. He was informed Mueller would lead this critical mission and now . . ." he allowed his words to trail off. I found the way he spoke to me annoying. While Luther was my peer, his voice contained an unmistakable condescending tone.
"I would hate to disappoint Herr Oberst. It would be for the best for a different officer to lead the mission, Luther." I gave him a nod and picked up my bag. I turned to leave, signaling for my men to follow me.
"Oberst von Graff will be the one to decide if you leave," Luther said as he grabbed me by my forearm, preventing me from leaving. His unexpected touch startled me and I couldn't stop myself from pulling back harshly from him.
My eyes blazed with fury at the boldness and audacity of him touching me. I looked at him and then down at his hand, still gripping my arm. My anger was unmistakable and he slowly released his hold.
"Follow me, Dietrich," he said, indicating a path. "It isn't too far to the Oberst's quarters. Your men will be shown to their barracks in the meantime. You will have time to discuss the mission with them after your meeting with the Oberst."
We walked in silence the short distance to von Graff's mansion. Of all the buildings available to von Graff on the island, I wasn't surprised in the least that he had commandeered this particular one. I was used to my family's elegant and tastefully designed estate, not something overly built for the sole purpose of showing wealth.
The mansion was large and overly built with no sense of architecture. The inside was even worse. While the house was luxuriously furnished, it was a true testimony to the fact that money cannot buy taste. If anything, it looked a house established for men's pleasure. Perhaps an upscale house of pleasure, but like a bordello all the same. I briefly pondered if the previous owner had decorated it or if the designer had been von Graff himself, using Nazi money to fund the lifestyle he so desperately craved.
And was it necessary to have a guard stationed every few meters? Von Graff was only an Oberst; even Generals received less security protection than what von Graff had posted here. These men could better serve at one of the numerous German fronts where men were always in short supply.
There was an occasional faded space on the walls indicating where artwork had previously hung. Had the previous owner removed them before fleeing? Or had von Graff already stripped the paintings from the walls and had them shipped to Germany for his private collection? I would never know their fate.
I stopped to look at one of the remaining paintings. It was a poor forgery of a Georgia O'Keefe painting of calla lilies in muted colors. The intensity of the painting still shone through the feeble attempt to reproduce the artist's skill. I reached out and gently touched it with my fingertips.
I speculated who had created the forgery and how it had ended up on Rhodes, so far from the United States. I knew it was fake since I had the original hanging in my suite in Coburg along with other pieces of her art. I had purchased them from the artist personally when I had visited her Santa Fe studios.
Collecting O'Keefe's modern art, along with American jazz, was one of the few indulgent pleasures I allowed myself. I greatly admired her art since it reached a deep, inner part of me. I loved the boldness and freedom it represented, the willingness and audacity to be different and not care in the slightest what others thought. It was a reflection which I kept fiercely private and which I allowed few people to rarely witness.
"Degenerate, isn't it?" Luther commented, noticing my attention to the painting. "It should be burned like the trash that it is. Americans will piss away their money on anything. It's only value is to demonstrate the inferiority of American art when compared to good, solid Germanic art." He continued walking up the stairs without giving it a second thought.
"Yes, it should be burned," I agreed, wanting the forgery destroyed. "It truly has no value at all.
Though, I admitted, it did nicely illustrate that von Graf was as much of an idiot as I had always thought him to be and that Luther was no better. I supposed that in itself was some value. I took a final look at it and gave a small smile before following Luther.
Luther announced me and motioned me into von Graff's office on the second floor.
Von Graf was seated at a massive desk underneath a portrait of Hitler. Von Graff made no attempt to hide his surprise at my appearance.
"Dietrich! What the devil are you doing here?"
"Herr Oberst, I was ordered to report here for a special mission under your command."
Von Graff continued to look me over, obviously still surprised at my presence. After what seemed like several minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, he searched through the papers strewn across the desk before he found the one he was seeking.
I was left purposely standing by von Graff to demonstrate his authority over me.
"I was informed it was Hauptmann Rolf Mueller who would be leading my mission. Where is he?"
"Hauptmann Mueller became an unexpected casualty." I decided it would be best if I kept Mueller's status vague. "I was ordered to report here as his replacement," I repeated.
"Were you aware of this development, Luther?"
The adjutant shook his head, signifying his innocence. "I only became aware of it when Dietrich informed me at the airfield."
"Why wasn't I informed? Mueller was perfect for the mission and now . . . To say the least, I'm not pleased at his replacement."
No less pleased than I was to be his replacement, I thought, as I shrugged my shoulders.
"I have no answer as to why you were not informed, Herr Oberst."
Von Graff gave me a once over and appeared to be calming down. He finally motioned for me to sit. "You speak Greek, don't you?"
"No." My answer was curt, even omitting the courtesy of his rank.
Von Graff's anger rose to the surface again although he never raised his voice. "I clearly stated that the man I needed must speak Greek." He shook his head. "The situation is quickly going from bad to worse. First Mueller becomes a casualty, then you are sent as his replacement. To compound the issue further, you don't even speak the required language needed to ensure success.
"You are clearly lacking, in more ways than one. This mission is critical for Germany's success and it calls for someone more substantial than a barely qualified officer who was almost an Academy dropout."
Uncharacteristically, I felt the need to defend my record. "I'm hardly a 'dropout'. I graduated fourth in my class. And as for being barely qualified, my combat record and commendations speak for themselves."
I was proud of my records. There were few other hauptmanns who had accomplished as much as I had. Von Graff had not even attended a military institution, let alone graduated at the top of his class.
"True, but, of course, everyone knows how all of your accomplishments came to be."
My eyes narrowed at the implied reference to my father and his supposed influence in my career. My father had not been with me on the battlefield, and had certainly not been with me at Jufra when I had earned my Iron Cross with Oak Leaves. I had earned my honor there due to the actions of my men, and not due to my father's.
"Things still haven't changed for you, Dietrich. You are still being protected and given choice assignments. You should be elsewhere rather than here."
"And where is 'elsewhere', Herr Oberst?" I asked coolly. Von Graff was not worth the effort and yet I was unable to stop being baited by him.
"The Eastern Front."
I restrained myself from snorting in response. Being posted to the Eastern Front was the standard response everyone gave for someone avoiding hard duty. I had done anything but avoid difficult duty. And why wasn't von Graff in the east instead of enjoying Rhodes as an easy duty station?
Von Graff continued with the substitution issue. "Surely, there must have been a different officer available?"
I felt my anger beginning to rise. I now refused to justify my background and accomplishments further to anyone, let alone this pompous ass. "If you believe a different officer, would be better suited for your mission, feel free to request him. I will now take my leave and return to France with my men. If you will excuse me . . ." I rose to leave.
"Sit down, Dietrich! You haven't matured at all over the years. You are still the same egotistical boy I had the misfortune to know from before the war."
We glared at each other for several minutes, before he continued. "Trust me, if there was sufficient time available, I would request a different officer. But time is of the essence and I will just need to make do with you."
"Then pray brief me on the mission, Herr Oberst, so I may begin it," I responded professionally. I took my cigarettes from my breast pocket, almost forgetting to offer von Graff one before I lit mine. He looked disgustedly at them before curtly shaking his head in refusal. I had barely taken my first drag when he began briefing me.
"No doubt you are have heard that General Joerg Schilling was captured and is being held prisoner by the Allies."
I nodded slightly, unsure of where he was heading. "Yes, I have heard the rumors."
"Unfortunately, they are true. Germany cannot suffer the loss of such a superb leader at an essential moment of the war."
I had to restrain myself from waving my hand to encourage von Graff to finally get to the point and move beyond the party rhetoric.
"It is critical to The Third Reich for General Schilling to be returned to ensure success in the war. Of course, the Allies won't willingly return him. It will be necessary to force their hand for him to be returned to the Wehrmacht," von Graff continued.
I couldn't stop myself from leaning forward. I now understood where Von Graff's ramblings were leading. Von Graff would propose to recapture Schilling, a prestigious mission for me, or anyone, to lead. I thrived upon this type of tightly focused mission although my background leant more to large scale tactical battles.
I now eagerly wanted to learn the mission's specifics. Instead, von Graff went off on a tangent.
"There are two British nationals, a man and his, living in Rathe, a coastal town in Libya."
My pulse quickened at his mention of Africa, just as it had with von Kleist. I actually would be returning to an area I thought I would never see again.
"Yes, I am familiar with the area," I said impatiently. "I was in the area both before and during the North African campaign." I was becoming irritated with von Graff adding this additional piece of information. How was the father lending itself to recapturing Schilling?
"Dietrich, your mission is to seize him and bring him to Rhodes. Germany will then use him as an exchange for Schilling." Von Graff leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his briefing to me.
I sat back, taking in the information von Graff had provided to me. I preferred to have missions delivered to me at a high level, allowing me the flexibility of attacking the engagement in a method which best suited my skills. I was already beginning to analyze the few facts I possessed, pulling together the mission.
I settled on the one glaring question: If Germany was making the effort to abduct this unknown man, couldn't the same effort be used to simply recapture Schilling? There was the strong possibility the Allies would not agree to an exchange. Why would the Allies even remotely want to exchange him for Schilling? It would be more to their advantage to refuse negotiations rather than have Schilling return to the battlefield.
While it was not my concern, not part of my assigned mission, I still believed it was my obligation to bring this likelihood to von Graff's attention.
"Herr Oberst, has the possibility been considered that the Allies might refuse to exchange General Schilling for the British national? Who is this man to be the equal of General Schilling?"
He blinked, looking at me incredulously. "Man? I never said anything about exchanging the man for General Schilling."
"You mentioned it in the briefing you just gave me. Have I misunderstood you?" Now it was my turn to look incredulously at von Graff. There was something very odd about this mission I was beginning to suspect.
"Why am I not surprised that you misunderstood me?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You are not to abduct the man, but his son. The Allies would never agree to exchange General Schilling for the boy's father. But they will desperately agree to the exchange for the boy's return."
I couldn't help myself from gasping slightly. To kidnap the boy, a non-combatant, to exchange was preposterous and bordered on being a war crime.
"Who is the boy to warrant the trade of General Schilling?"
"It is of no concern of yours, Dietrich. Your orders are merely to provide the boy. You will be informed later, once you have delivered him."
It was the most obvious question, but von Graff was denying me the answer. I was becoming frustrated by his farcical mission.
"And if the Allies choose not to negotiate for the boy's release?"
"Then the boy will be shot. It will be a warning to the Allies that the Third Reich is serious in its negotiations."
Rarely was I at a loss for words. Stunned at his callousness, it took me a few seconds to carefully piece together a response.
"Sir? Has Berlin been notified?"
"Dietrich, I can assure you I have the blessings of Berlin for this mission."
"Including the boy's execution?"
My blunt question was greatly pushing the situation with von Graff. If it had been a different officer I reported to, such as Obersts von Kleist or Jabs, or even Rommel, I would have felt completely at ease to ask such a dangerous question, not to mention, to continue pushing back against the answer I already knew.
I considered it essential for junior officers to have the confidence and ease to speak candidly with their superiors regarding their concerns. It was how I was superbly trained by Schnass and it was a trait I encouraged in the junior officers who reported to me.
However, I also believed just as strongly that it was critical, if not more so, for subordinates to understand that their commanders possessed the final authority. It was not always feasible to have different opinions aired during the heat of combat. If fact, it could be dangerous. The Wehrmacht was not a democracy and never could be one if it was to succeed on the battlefield. Authority rested solely to whom it was granted. There was a time and place for discussion and snap decisions frequently had to be made without allowing for any discussion.
Von Graff did not possess my command philosophy.
"Are you questioning your orders, Hauptmann Dietrich?"
Von Graff's use of my formal rank indicated the issue was now decidedly closed. I could push the issue no further without greatly endangering myself.
I attempted one final time using a different approach.
"Sir, the ultimate goal for the mission is for General Schilling's return. The mission could be altered to rescue him with a small raiding party instead of taking the boy. It would be more direct and efficient and not leave open the possibility of the Allies refusal to negotiate."
Von Graff's eyes narrowed at the obvious plan of action. "Your option has already been researched and discarded. The decision has been finalized to kidnap the boy. Do you have any further suggestions?"
Although I had always believed that Germany would lose the war even for its opening days, Berlin must aware be aware of its impending defeat. It was the only reason to justify such a desperate form of warfare.
I gave a brief shake of my head.
Von Graff gave a small smile of triumph at me. "It is as I thought. We are expecting more detail from Intelligence by early tomorrow morning. I will have it sent to you as soon as it arrives. You will have 48 hours to prepare before you execute the mission. It is critical for it to be completed before Schilling's capture becomes known.
"Until you are ready to launch the mission, I have had special quarters prepared for your men. Given your rank, you may reside here in my residence during the meantime." He looked generous, as if I had never had the opportunity to be in such a manor.
"I prefer to be quartered with my men, Herr Oberst," I responded, almost too quickly.
Von Graff looked at me with narrow eyes as if I had insulted him. I felt compelled to provide him with an explanation. "Given the compressed time schedule, we will need to act very quickly. It would be to our advantage for me to be readily accessible and able to issue orders without delay."
Von Graff shrugged his shoulders, partially mollified. "As you wish, Dietrich. I can tell you are one of those front line officers, always wanting and needing to be with your men."
Now it was my turn to shrug my shoulders. Shouldn't all officers be on the front line? How else were we to quickly grasp and act upon constantly fluid battle conditions?
"Perhaps you will accept my hospitality to stay in my residence after you successfully complete the mission?" Von Graff had poised his offer as a question, but it was in actuality an order.
"Of course," I responded flatly. "You are most generous to extend your invitation to me for a second time."
It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire where the true owner of the mansion was residing, but I wisely kept my question to myself. The owner had probably been neatly disposed of by the Nazis, allowing von Graff to live in the fantasy residence he had always believed he deserved.
"I will have you shown to your temporary quarters. Your men will have restricted movement to prevent any leak of the mission. Their only contact, besides yourself, will be with me or my adjutant before the mission is executed.
I gave him a nod in recognition. I rose and saluted him before turning to leave.
"Herr Oberst?" I had one more question I had to ask.
"Yes?" responded von Graff, looking up, obviously annoyed.
"Is your wife doing well?" Now the roles had been reversed. "Is she here?"
Von Graff looked at me, his small eyes slightly narrowing. "No, she is not. My wife is now almost an invalid, bedridden the majority of the time. She remains in Berlin."
"I am sorry to hear of her difficulty," I responded honestly. Von Graff shuffled a few papers on his desk pretending to work, wanting to avoid the conversation.
"And her niece?" Now von Graff completely avoided looking at me.
"I have lost contact with her due to the chaotic situation of the war." I would not let him off so easy.
"Very unfortunate," I said in mock sympathy, shaking my head for emphasis. "I don't believe you were aware, but when I was still a cadet at the Academy, I enjoyed 'dessert' with her on a few occasions myself. She was as talented as she was beautiful." I smiled in memory. Indeed, she had been a talented women. "An interesting and delightful conversationalist, and of such diverse talents and skills. I very much understand why you enjoyed her company, as did I."
Von Graff looked up at me suddenly. I stood there, my face expression impassive as his eyes searched my face. It dawned on him that I had always known the identity of the young women and of his infidelity since our encounter at the Academy so many years ago.
"It's time for you to leave, Dietrich," he said coldly. "You are not here so that we can reminiscence about our shared participation in the pre-war social scene."
I gave him a slight smile and a nod before I left.