Sniper's Honor(12)
“Not a soldier but a professor, like your father,” said Krulov. “You’d hardly notice him. Hmmm, let’s see, yes, born 1890, Linz, educated University of Linz, taught high school, served in staff position in the first war, never left Germany, renowned early for extraordinary mathematical capacity and organizational talent. Numbers, numbers, numbers with this one. After the war, got his doctorate in economics at University of Heidelberg, married, taught at University of Munich, and there was disgusted with the economic policies of Weimar and thus became an early Nazi, party number 133. Met Hitler and exchanged ideas on several occasions. Now he’s a favorite. It’s all in the file.”
Petrova’s eyes ran quickly over the documents, confirming the high points. There was a photo of this Dr. Groedl with a grim woman, a picture of him with older people, parents possibly, and in each he had the stuffy formality, the lightless eyes, the awkwardness, the dowdy wardrobe. Finally she came across one of him in an actual SS uniform, and he looked ridiculous. He was trying to do that salute they do, the stiff arm at a 45-degree angle, when they shout “Heil”—she had seen it only in the cinema, for it never appeared on the battlefield—and the result was quite comical. What a grotesque fool; the physical realm was baffling for this fellow, and when he tried to express himself with something even so primitive as that salute, he had a clownish quality.
“Why must he be killed, Comrade Commissar? I mean, all of them must be killed or driven out, yes, of course, and when they come before our gunsights it happens, but this is different. I’ve never been assigned a targeted killing before.”
“Probably something in the woman in you rebels,” said Krulov with oil in his voice. “It’s to be expected. What you do is ‘fair,’ on a battlefield, against armed men who would kill you or, more important to someone of your heroic disposition, your comrades. And you can project the ruinous consequences for the nation if these bastards win. But now we take it a step further: we point out one man who, on the face of it, seems an undistinguished little chap, and we kill him. Why? A fair question. Colonel Dinosovich, you’re our Groedl expert. You could explain to the sniper sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” said the junior NKVD officer without making eye contact.
“He was assigned to Reichskommissariat, which administers what the Germans call ‘colonies’ here in the east. His specialty from the start was Ukraine. He helped organize Einsatzgruppen D, which was the SS mobile killing unit in Ukraine. The ridiculous Ukraines thought the Germans were their liberators, and for their troubles, the Einsatzgruppen rounded them up and shot them en masse. Mostly Jews, also intellectuals, politicians, anyone with military experience, anyone bound to be dissident. Evidently Dr. Groedl put the lists of targeting killings together, with the assistance of SS intelligence operatives. He was very good at his job, and under the enthusiastic support of his mentor, Dr. Ohlendorf, head of D, he was quickly promoted. He became director of the Kiev district in Ukraine, once the Nazis had purified it, where his first priority was always total elimination of Jews and dissidents, as well as restoration of economic order for the benefit of the Wehrmacht supply organization. Those bastards might not have lasted so long at Stalingrad and Kursk and killed so many of us if Dr. Groedl’s organizational talents hadn’t been put to such good use.
“Now he’s what’s called a senior group leader–SS, a major general, though he normally avoids the military accouterments of his job, and that ridiculous photo of him in his SS getup from 1942 is the only one we have of him in uniform. Promoted to Reichskommissar after Koch left, he has ruled Ukraine for the past six months. During that spell, he has sent over fifty thousand people to the extermination camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau. He has kept the rails running on schedule despite a heroic bombing and strafing campaign by our aviators. Though he never takes to the field, he has organized anti-partisan campaigns that are among the most effective the Germans have, and via his efforts, over six thousand partisans have been either killed in battle or captured and executed. To frighten the farmers, he has executed over a thousand of them. He’s cut quite a path through the motherland for a little fatty in an expensive suit.
“Any further questions, Petrova?” asked Krulov.
“No, Comrade.”
“Another excellent lie,” said Krulov. “Wonderful job of pretending to be a mindless party automaton, what the Czechs call a robot. Nothing but obedience. Even your eyes hide questions. But of course you have questions. You do not ask them, because among such big shots as us, questions equal doubt, and if you doubt, we doubt, and consequences can be unpleasant.”