Chapter 33
According to Feldhandler’s history books, on June 4, 1942, Reinhardt Heydrich died. Instead, on this day Heydrich awoke early, drove to his office in Prague—with an armed escort—to personally smooth the transfer of the prized Der Fuehrer Regiment to Poland. By midday, the first units of the regiment had been alerted at their training ground in Lueneburg Heath in Germany. The same day, well ahead of his troops, Der Fuehrers regimental commander, Obersturmbannfuhrer Otto Kumm, flew into Lubin.
Globocnik had mixed feelings about meeting the SS officer, although Globo well outranked him. On the one hand Kumm, a ruthless and aggressive commander, might finally rid Globocnik of his partisan problems. On the other, it would have been better had Globo been able to resolve the problems himself. That seemed unlikely now. Patrols by aircraft and motorized units showed no sign that the enemy commandos had headed north to the British drop zones or a submarine rendezvous. To make matters worse, a Polish police patrol found Samsonov’s lifeless body, those of his men, and his considerable storehouses emptied. The enemy commandos had disappeared, even as groups of amateurish but combative partisans raided targets throughout the eastern Polish marches.
Wirth was at Belzac working feverishly to expand the death camp, assisted by an extra detachment of ordinary SS guards and 1000 Jewish slave laborers. Globocnik hoped Belzec would survive until the SS arrived. All in all, it had been a bad few weeks. Globocnik was drinking beyond his already considerable excess, and suffering arousal problems to boot. It was in this state of distracted agitation that his aide ushered in Colonel Kumm.
Kumm was a tall, slim, pleasant looking man in his early thirties. Like many SS officers he wore his peaked cap, adorned with the SS death’s head insignia, at a deliberately jaunty angle. Around his neck hung the Ritterkreuz, Germany’s highest military honor, won that February for action in Russia. Kumm smartly clicked his heels and saluted Globocnik upon entering the office. Simultaneously, Majors Kessel and Reder, who were seated with Globo, jumped to their feet and saluted Kumm. Globocnik returned Kumm’s salute and when everybody had finished the formalities, bid Kumm to sit. Kumm took his seat, removed his cap and smoothed his hair.
“Colonel, to your left is Major Kessel of the ordnance corps” said Globocnik “and next to him, Captain Reder, from intelligence.” Kumm sat ramrod straight in the chair and moved his head just slightly toward the two junior officers, but said nothing. The pair were unimpressive looking staff officers thought Klum, even if Reder wore an SS uniform—mere policemen and functionaries, not combat soldiers.
“Do you know why you are here colonel?” asked Globocnik condescendingly.
“To hunt partisans,” said Kumm curtly, ignoring Globocnik’s tone.
“Do you know why your regiment was selected for this mission?” continued Globo in the same tenor.
“Not precisely Herr Genera,l” replied Kumm betraying a hint of annoyance. “I assume because we did it in Russia.”
“That’s part of it Kumm. It is also because we need the best troops available. This mission is of the utmost importance.”
“Killing partisans is not so difficult General. It is like destroying ants. You find them, cut them off, and burn them.”
“Certainly,” smiled Globocnik. Kumm was a typical SS officer thought Globo—he really seemed to believe he was an Ubermensch. “However, these partisans might be tougher to kill than ants. They are accompanied by a unit of British commandos, possibly made up of Palestinian Jews. They not only have proven difficult to track down, but they are quite destructive.”
Kumm had fought some remarkably tough Russian troops over the past year and remained unimpressed. “In what way General?”
“They seized and razed two important installations,” recounted Globocnik, “in addition to overrunning several other positions and killing hundreds of German and allied troops. In their wake, Jewish and Polish partisans are coming out of the woodwork, raiding the countryside.”
“What kind of installations?” asked Kumm.
Were Kumm not an SS man Globocnik might have used a euphemism, but he assumed Kumm had killed a few Jews in his day. “Extermination camps. The survival of these camps and their successful operation are national and SS priorities.”
Kumm didn’t blink an eye. “What do you want my regiment to do?”
Globocnik motioned to Reder. The intelligence officer stood and moved to a small map table, followed by Globocnik and Kumm. “There are other troops moving into eastern Poland now,” said the intelligence officer, pointing at the map. “Security troops and Cossacks mostly…”
“Cossacks are good,” interrupted Kumm, showing some actual interest. “They are hard to control but excellent against partisans.”
“Yes Colonel—the point being that we intend to use these troops, and the other garrison troops already deployed, to find the commando group, at which point one of your battlegroups will destroy them.”
“Fine,” said Kumm, “except that my regiment has no transport. It was entirely destroyed in Russia. We have been waiting months for trucks and armored half-track carriers?”
“That has been taken care of. You will have sufficient motor transport for two of your three battalions, plus a company of half-tracked carriers, and vehicles for your reconnaissance company. Also, two platoons of Stug III assault guns—eight guns total.”
Kumm nodded. He was impressed. Obviously somebody had attached high importance to this mission. Still, a battalion remained immobile. “What about my third battalion—is it to remain behind?”
“No,” said Globocnik, pointing to the map. “One mobile battalion will deploy in the north near Siedice, the second near our present location, just outside of Lubin. The third—the the non—motorized unit, will deploy further to the south in a fixed position guarding the Belzec extermination camp.”
“My men are to guard the camp?” asked Kumm dubiously.
“Yes Colonel—just the one battalion. Is that a problem?”
“My men are combat soldiers. They are trained to attack or to defend critical breaches in the line. They are not camp guards.”
“Nonetheless Colonel, you will designate and deploy one battalion as such. This order comes from Reichsfuhrer Himmler,” said Globocnik, happy to put the Waffen SS colonel in his place. Kumm squinted and ground his teeth, his instinct to obey wrestling with his distaste for the assignment. Well, at least most of his regiment was getting wheels and tracks.
“Colonel,” pressed Globocnik, luxuriating in Kumm’s discomfort, “Major Kessel here can help explain why this assignment and your deployments are so unusual. Major.” said Globo, waiving his hand as if he were introducing a nightclub act. Kessel reached into a small kit bag and pulled out the Uzi, then joined the other officers at the map table. “Have you ever seen one of these in Russia, Colonel?” asked Kessel.
Kumm looked at the weapon with professional interest. “No Major. Is it a new British weapon?”
“Apparently. It is a 9mm submachinegun—a very good weapon. In tests, it is as good as an MP-40, maybe a little better.”
“And these commandos are armed with these weapons I take it. Good to know” said Kumm sourly.
“We don’t believe that this is the enemy commandos’ primary weapon” said Kessel. “Look at this.” Kessel tossed an empty cartridge casing at Kumm. The SS officer snatched it out of the air and quickly examined it, turning it over to look at the caliber. “5.56 mm—that is interesting. It’s a large cartridge for a varmint sized round” said Kumm knowledgably. Kessel handed Kumm a tiny bullet. Kumm attached it to the cartridge and nodded approvingly.