Free Valkyrie: The Story of the Plot to Kill Hitler, by Its Last Member by Philip Freiherr von Boeselager Page B

A few moments later, an aide-de-camp stuck his head out to say “Reichsleiter Bormann is asking for you.”
    Coffee and liqueurs were being served. Bormann asked me to explain what I had done. I told him how I felt: “As a lieutenant and aide-de-camp to Marshal Kluge, I had imagined the Führer’s headquarters differently. I accompanied the marshal to discuss the tragic fate of the Ninth Army, which is surrounded at Rzhev, and here people are talking about strawberries!” My frankness, though clothed in politeness, did not please Bormann. Without answering, he turned around and called hoarsely to an SS man: “Take this guy away.” I was locked up nearby in a small room, almost a cell. I thought of the episode in the garage in Bonn, ten years earlier. What was going to happen now? I lit another cigarette.
    Having finished his lunch, Kluge was already preparing to leave, in a state of irritation not unlike my own. He came out of the mess hall and looked around for me. Iheard him calling me. The guard posted outside the room finally whispered something to the marshal, thereby betraying his boss. Pushing the SS man aside, Kluge tore open the door and demanded, “What are you doing there?” I stammered a few words. The marshal interrupted me: “You’ll tell me all about it in the plane. Come on, out of there, we’re leaving!” We quickly got into the car, which took us to the aerodrome. During the flight, I told him about my marvelous half day. Kluge concluded, “That’s enough, that’s enough. This time I was able to save you. The next time, you’ll keep your mouth shut. But basically, you’re absolutely right!”

11
A Poisoned Gift

OCTOBER 1942
    My misadventure in Vinnytsya had proven instructive. However, I was constantly asking myself, what could I do, as a young subordinate officer without operational duties? What could I do alone, without support? The answer was to come by itself two months later.
    It was October 29, 1942. Hitler had called the marshal, as he often did. I was at my post in the aide-de-camp’s office, which was next to the marshal’s. I picked up my receiver in order to listen in on the conversation. This was not an indiscretion on my part: I was supposed to listen in on telephone conversations in order to offer my impressions to the marshal and to ensure that there was no misunderstanding. This systematic monitoring shows the degree of mistrust that existed between Hitler and his generals.
    As commander in chief, Hitler liked to give his instructions directly to the marshals. Eager for revenge, the little ex-corporal from 1918 wanted to pit his tactical genius against what he regarded as the excessively academic minds of the military professionals. He wanted to tear them away from the comfortable certainties that he viewed as mediocre and pedestrian. He despised these pros, but he needed their expertise and their obedience. Thus, the conversations were always animated by an almost electrical anxiousness. Kluge’s operational considerations, which followed a rather classical schema, collided with the Führer’s implausible strategic designs—the technician versus the amateur; the pragmatist versus the ruthless aesthete. Kluge never minced words; Hitler sometimes gave his anger free rein. I often believed that when the conversation was over Kluge would be relieved of his command. However, at the last moment, Hitler, with Machiavellian cleverness, managed to avoid a definitive rupture and reduced the tension by an adroit pirouette—a sudden change of subject, a personal compliment. The monster turned the situation around with acrobatic agility. “Oh, by the way,” he would say, for example, “I’ve had your wife sent a bouquet of her favorite flowers, with my best wishes for her birthday. As for the rest, I’ll call you back later.” Finishing the conversation on an almost friendly note, the dictator then made his decision in private, without consulting anyone else, because he was