I WONDER WHAT HE IS THINKING NOW?

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 286, 15 December 1944, Page 12

I WONDER WHAT HE IS THINKING NOW?

(Written for "The Listener" by CAPTAIN

M. J.

MASON

6s ERSONALLY, I don’t think there’ll be an invasion-all this talk by the British is just a lot of propaganda to divert our forces from the Russian front. And anyway, if your people did attempt to land in Europe, you would be repulsed so decisively that you’d never try again to cross swords with us." The speaker was a German Intelligence Officer, the time was only eight months ago, and the person he was addressing was the writer of this article, who had been captured by the Germans near Alfedena, in Italy, some five hours previously. Alec and I had been unlucky to be taken that morning. Somewhere round about 4 o’clock in bright-too brightmoonlight, we had finished our descent of Monte Greco, had slipped past the gun positions and sentries of the Austrian Alpine Division holding that sector, and had got right into No Man’s Land jn a fairly quiet spot. There was no shelling to speak of, and only periodical bursts of machine-gun fire showing that war had come to this lovely part of the Central Apennines. Picking our careful way along one of the innumerable paths, we came to a fork: which were we to take-the less used or the more travelled route? .Obviously the former-probably the Nazis used the latter regularly. And therein we erred, because not five minutes later, we ran into two Germans who were returning to their lines after a tour in a forward listening post. Rifles at the ready, they quickly searched us for arms and then, in halting Italian, demanded who we were, "Two inoffensive Italians, going down to Bari to see our fiancées," was the reply. "Yes, but our orders are to pull in every civilian we find."

Clearly they weren’t very concerned about us, so we tried a bribe. A 1000 lire note was produced, and this had them wavering more than ever. And then, unfortunately, the question arose in their minds as to how they could ‘divide it between them, particularly since one was a lance-corporal. "Probably. it would be better to take these two Italienischen back to H.Q." And so because we had taken the wrong path and because our money was of large denomination, we were "in the bag" again, and our 10 days’ slog over some of the hardest country in Italy had all gone for naught. Back at H.Q.a sleepy n.c.o. locked us in a disused stable until we could be interrogated. We were able, thanks to a fairly useful knowledge of Italian, to outwit the Feldwebel who conducted the first examination, but the second questioning, this time by a Fascist, soon showed that we were not really Italiani, so that we finally had to admit that we were escaped British prisoners-of-war. ' Following the custom in all armies when dealing with prisoners, the Nazis then separated us, because Alec was a sergeant and I was an officer. And, since I had the rank of Hauptmann, which is fairly high in German eyes, I had the privilege of an "interview" with a Nazi I.0., who was very anxious to learn what manner of thoughts passed through the minds of these Englanders. "The English Are Not Fools" My interrogator, a pleasant, freshfaced blond-haired young man of about 24, spoke English very well, although in a somewhat stilted manner. He had studied the language at Heidelburg University, where he had taken it for his Bachelor’s degree, and although he was quite interested in the English had never travelled outside the Continent, and had spoken very little to British

people. Hence, the sector being quiet, and time hanging heavily on his hands, he gladly took the chance of a "chat" with such an important "herr" as I must undoubtedly be. "Yes," he continued, "the English are not fools, and they won't risk losing all in such a heavy gamble. But tell me, what do you think?" "Weil," I replied, "I’m not at all up-to-date in English news. I. was captured in November, *41, and since then I have had news from Anis sources only, and have heard no British propaganda what, ever." (This was quite untrue, because I had been listening in to the BBC broadcasts in Italian on an average of twice a week for the past three months, However, I couldn’t tell my Nazi friend that: it would have meant grievous complications for friendly Italians who accepted the news from Radio Londra as absolute Gospel.) "In actual fact, therefore," I added, "I know far less than you do about what is going on." He persisted: "But you are British and will naturally draw a different conclusion than us from the same facts. What do you really think?" "Frankly, I think the Allies will try to invade,’ I replied, remembering how every broadcast showed how deeply committed we were to this fateful step. And though I had no wish to go over to the offensive, I felt impelled by some quirk of patriotism to add "And what’s more, they’ll get ashore too." These "Fiendish Terror Raids" "So," he mused. "Well, I hope they do try. We Germans will welcome it, because we know that they will be thoroughly defeated, and then we will be free to devote all our attention to the Russian front . ... And now about this bombing, these fiendish terror raids? I had always heard, and had understood, that the English believed in ‘fair play.’ But the wilful killing of women and children and the destruction of civilian property, particularly in the Ruhr: is that British fair play? Or is it the Americans who are doing this dirty work? It’s a filthy, bloody business," and here he relapsed into what seemed to be 60me very expressive German.

I shrugged my shoulders and did not answer, although every instinct urged me to point out what Goering’s Luftwaffe had done to the people of London, to Rotterdam, to Warsaw, and to Belgrade. But I managed to restrain myself: after all, I was his prisoner and the setting was not propitious for a debate on "Who started it first?" "Never mind," he continued, "it won't be for much longer. The Fuehrer tells us we now have a secret weapon which is amazingly effective against aeroplanes. Very soon now we will just be clawing all your bombers right out of the sky," and to add emphasis he stretched up his right arm and tore down a couple of handfuls of Lancasters. "And then, we will strike back, and it will be the Allies who will be on the defensive." What Was Behind It All At this stage I suddenly realised what was at the back of his mind, and why he was so anxious to hear what I thought about things — he desperately wanted reassurance. He was an intelligent man, and, I imagine, a good Nazi. He had faithfully absorbed all the propaganda poured into him, but some part of his brain was beginning to demur a little, and, without knowing it, he was starting to doubt if Germany really could win the war. Goebbels had found in him fertile soil for the sowing

of his lies, but he somehow could not accept everything. Perhaps the information in the "Italian Weekly News" (a paper printed in German for the soldiers of the Wehrmacht in Italy and delivered regularly over the front-line every Monday morning by our planes) had shaken him a bit, but whatever it was he was being nagged by a little devil of doubt, and devoutly hoped that he would find in my attitude or in my opinions something which would put it to rout, The next question was if I had ever been to University, and on learning that I had, he initiated a discussion on University topics. We passed a.not unpleasant 30 minutes talking of Kant, Goethe, Frederick the Great, Bismarck, etc., but sure enough, the subject soon reverted to the present war. He confessed that the Italian front was quite a rest-cure, and that fighting the British was as muchas could be asked for in a war. Neither side indulged in any unfair practices, prisoners were treated reasonably by both parties, and, all told, it was a reasonably clean war. "Not like the Russian front," he resumed. "There it is terrible. The cold, and the emptiness and hugeness of the country, and the vicious Russian soldiers-they’re brutal." He must have felt strongly on this last point, for he repeated "Yes, very, very brutal. War is hateful there, fierce and savage. I was at Orel in the winter of 42, and only just managed to get out when it fell in July, 43. The Bolsheviks are merciless and cruel; no, it is a dirty war in the East, and candidly, I’m not at all sorry | to be here in Italy. Have you ever been in Russia?" "No," I replied, thinking of how the Russians must have put the fear of death into the whole German Army. "But I fought in the desert, and that wasn’t so pleasant either." The telephone rang. He answered, and rose, saying, "I must go, Herr Hauptmann. You will be taken to Rieti tonight: don’t try to get away because we won’t let you slip through our fingers a second time. Good luck and goodbye." With a smile he extended his hand, I shook it, and was then ushered back to my cell, reflecting that here at least was a German who seemed a decent fellow and could easily have been British or American,

Looking Back Here I may mention that I did not follow his advice about not attempting to escape, and that thanks to a very lucky break I was free of the Germans for the last time not more than two days later. The gods unfortunately did not smile on Alec, who was not taken north in the same convoy with me, and after I returned to the Allies it was with great regret that I learned of his recapture, In the days ‘that followed I often thought of this almost unique conversation. Certainly I had spoken to Germans whom we had taken prisoner ourselves in Africa, and they expressed similar sentiments, but I had then put it down to defiance and a natural desire to keep their ends up before their captors. And yet, here were exactly the same feelings displayed by an intelligent man in circumstances diametrically opposite. All of us had heard that German soldiers spoke in this strain, but I was amazed to find a Nazi officer, one of the haughty ones of the earth, unbend in such a fashion to one so completely in his power, Tae

My interrogator felt his first few’ doubts somewhere round April last. Since then in Italy alone the Germans have retired 300 miles. The invasion was a complete success, the Fatherland is itself a battleground, and the Allies, with grim intent, are pressing from West, South and East. I wonder how many doubts he has now!