His Majesty's Hope(98)

“They booed me,” he muttered. “My people—my volk—they booed me. Me! Do you understand? That has never happened. Ever! How could they do that to me?” His metallic eyes darkened and flashed with hatred and hurt. “I am their Führer!”

“If we arrest von Preysing, von Galen, Delp, and the other high-ranking clergy,” Goebbels said, “they become martyrs. Bavaria, especially, has a strong Catholic base. By taking the Bishops into custody, you risk alienating a huge source of your support. And we risk alienating the Pope. So far he’s held his tongue, but …”

Hitler sat up. “The Pope will stay quiet, he always does. What do you suggest, then?”

“Publicly dismantle the Operation Compassionate Death program. But continue it in secret, of course. The clergy don’t know a thing about eugenics. Or racial hygiene. Or economics, for that matter. But—for now—we need to appease them.”

Hitler smiled. “We will give them some lessons …”

“Yes, mein Führer, when we’ve won the war, there will be time for lessons.”

“In a generation or two, the clergy will all be dead and Jesus will be forgotten.” Hitler’s body, so taut before, started to relax. He looked to Goebbels. “That priest at St. Hedwig’s—the one working with von Preysing—what’s his name?”

“Father Johann Licht, mein Führer.”

Hitler made a steeple of his fingers. “Someone must pay, and if it’s not a Bishop—yet—it shall be a priest. Arrest him.”


Reinhard Heydrich held many titles: SS-Obergruppenführer and General der Polizei, chief of the Reich Main Security Office and Stellvertretender Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. He was also a consummate athlete—fencer, boxer, cross-country skier. Whenever possible, he preferred to be moving. This need, plus the demand for utter secrecy, was why he often conducted meetings on horseback.

It was early, well before the start of the workday, but the air was already shimmering with heat. Dew-covered spiderwebs glittered on the grass. Heydrich rode through the lime and chestnut trees in the Tiergarten with Adolf Eichmann, the “Czar of the Jews.”

Both men were dressed in traditional riding garb: black velvet—covered helmets, jackets, breeches, leather gloves, tall black boots, and riding crops. Their horses were proud and noble stallions.

“I spoke with Göring yesterday,” Heydrich said. His seat was impeccable. “He wants to know where we are with the Jewish question.” He pursed his lips. “As you know, it’s complicated. No country wants them, even Britain. Even the mighty United States of America won’t take any more than her usual quota. Don’t forget about the MS St. Louis.”

Eichmann put his heels into the horse’s flanks to keep up. “I was able to get three thousand smuggled into Britain, but, as you know, that’s a drop in the proverbial bucket.”

“Where are we with the Madagaskar Projekt?” Heydrich asked.

“The Madagascar Project was an option when we thought we could take Britain easily. No one expected her to hold out this long. But as long as the British navy is still fighting, we can’t afford the risk to our own ships.” The horse whinnied and twitched his ears but increased his pace.

“What of the cleansings in Poland?”

“They’re proving to be inefficient—shooting is too time-consuming, too hard on the morale of the soldiers involved. There are just too many Jews. If we can’t get the Jews out, we’ll have to deal with them. Somehow.”

Heydrich pulled on his horse’s reins, to slow down. The horse, unhappy, flicked his tail, but obeyed. “Tell me about Operation Compassionate Death.”

Eichmann shrugged. “It’s officially been closed down. Of course, unofficially, it still exists. ‘Life unfit for life’ is now being poisoned or starved in secret—instead of gassed.”

Heydrich considered. “What if we look to Operation Compassionate Death as an inspiration? We might be able to improve upon its efficiency.”

“Go on.”

“If we used a faster-acting and more powerful poison, for example, we could speed up the process of extermination.”

“We could get Mennecke on that,” Eichmann said. “I hear they’ve done experiments with something called Zyklon B gas on Gypsies at Buchenwald. But what about disposal? Disposal of the units was the real issue with Operation Compassionate Death.”

Heydrich whipped the flank of his horse. “Well, isn’t that why we have Lebensraum?”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of the concentration camps are in Poland, under our control and well away from the German population, unlike Hadamar and the rest. We will have enough room and privacy to dispose of as many units as we need to. No moralistic Germans to interfere out there. It’s like America’s Wild West.”