Helmut Ortner - The Lone Assassin: The Incredible True Story of the Man Who Tried to Kill Hitler

Copyright 1993, 2012 by Helmut Ortner

Originally Published in Germany in 1993

English Translation Copyright 2012 by Ross Benjamin

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Ortner, Helmut, 1950

[Einzelgnger. English]

The lone assassin : the epic true story of the man who almost killed Hitler / Helmut Ortner ; translated by Ross Benjamin.

p. cm.

Translation of: Der Einzelgnger.

ISBN: 978-1-5107-0652-1 (paperback : alk. paper) | ISBN:

978-1-5107-0655-2 (ebook)

1. Elser, Johann Georg, 1903-1945. 2. Anti-Nazi movementGermanyBiography. 3. Hitler, Adolf, 1889-1945Assassination attempt, 1939 (November 8) 4. GermanyHistory1933-1945. I. Title.

DD247.E6O8813 2012

943.086092dc23

[B]

2011049214

Cover design by Rain Saukas

Printed in the United States of America

For Ulla and Jennifer. Who know why

Life levels all men. Death reveals the eminent.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

There was a light fog on the border. The customs officer Xaver Reitlinger gazed over the bushes to the mesh fence, which looked peculiar in the glow of the arc lamp. If we put the chairs here, well be able to keep an eye on the area and hear the speech, said Reitlinger, waving over Zapfer, a young assistant customs employee who had been assigned to him two days earlier. Zapfer moved the two chairs under the window, and without a word, they sat down, leaning their carbines against the house. From here they could survey the whole patrol area: the garden of the Wessenbergian childrens home, 250 yards parallel to the border and no wider than 50 yards. Here there was no passage. Green Border was what the customs officers called the border strip.

For four years, Reitlinger had done his duty. In that time, he had experienced no serious incidents. But now, ever since the war had begun, deserters had been escaping to Switzerland. Occasionally, he would imagine arresting one of those illegal border crossers. Then he would wonder whether this desire arose from the persistent boredom of patrolling for hours or from his secret need for something unforeseen, something exciting to happen for once. Perhaps it only concealed the deep longing for recognition. A word of praise at some point for ones workwho didnt need that? But how could he be praised if nothing ever happened at the border? Making his rounds along the border fence, Reitlinger would lose himself in his dreams. As he spent hour after hour looking at the same houses, trees, and hills, it seemed as if time stood still. When the mood seized him, he told his wife about his thoughts and dreams. A few weeks earlier, he had told her over breakfast of a dream hed had that night about the arrest of a man.

It seems to me that you need a change, or else youll keep fantasizing, she had said to him, shaking her head.

After breakfast that dayeven though it was his day offhe had gone to the customs house to tell the head guard, Trabmann, his dream.

You should do night watch sometime, more happens on it than during the day, if anything happens, Trabmann advised him. A stout man who didnt look his fifty years, Trabmann recounted how he himself had caught two illegal border crossers several years ago down at Kreuzlinger Tor with a colleague. They were trying to get over the fence, but we were faster, he said proudly. But what did we get for it? A warm handshake. Trabmann smiled sardonically.

Yesterday, having long forgotten the matter, Reitlinger had been called to the head guards office. Trabmann asked him whether he still wanted to do night duty, as a colleague was out on leave. Reitlinger immediately accepted. That day he had reported for morning duty with Zapfer from eight to twelve. After that routine work, he was off until the start of night duty at eight oclock in the evening. At half past seven, Reitlinger and Zapfer met at the Lwe, next door to the customs house. There was talk of politics and the fact that the Germans needed Lebensrau (living space). The owner of the tavern cried, Certainly, how else should our people sustain itself? Young Zapfer nodded his assent.

After eating, they went to the customs house and took their carbines from the shelf. Reitlinger was given night binoculars by the head guard, and they set off for their patrol area. Tonight we wont be bored, Reitlinger told Zapfer, as they walked slowly along the border fence. Ive spoken to the childrens home director, and she invited us to listen to the Fhrers Brgerbru speech.

They sat on chairs in front of the open window and looked across to the border meadow, which was somewhat obscured by wisps of fog in the air. Inside the childrens home, under a picture of the Fhrer hanging on the wall of the bare room, the staff was attentively following Hitlers speech from the so-called Volksempfnger the peoples radio receiver. Noticing with surprise that the light was on, Zapfer asked, Why is the light actually allowed to be on here? Reitlinger, who was moving his head to the right and left at regular intervals, lowered his binoculars from his eyes. Tonight they have to turn out their lights on the other side; it alternates every evening because of the enemy. After all, we dont want to make it easy for them here in Konstanz. Those are the orders. Tonight them, tomorrow us. Zapfer was embarrassed to have asked the question; as a soon-to-be customs officer, he should have known about that. But Reitlinger wasnt unforgiving, which set Zapfers mind at ease.

From the radio boomed Hitlers forceful voice.

Our will is just as indomitable in the outward struggle as it was in the internal struggle for power. Back then, I always told you that everything is conceivable, with one exception: our capitulation. And today, as a National Socialist, I can only repeat before the world that everything is conceivablea German capitulation, never! To those who tell me, Then the war will last three years, I reply, let it last as long as it will. Germany will never capitulatenot now and not in the future

Never! cried a voice in the room. The listeners pounded on the wooden table with the palms of their hands. The two customs officers were more pensive, neither of them saying a word. The clock on the wall now showed that it was half past eight, and visibility had improved. On the Swiss side, two streetlamps could be seen burning; their beams reached the border fence. When Reitlinger looked to the left for a moment, he thought he vaguely perceived the figure of a man moving toward the Swiss border. Was someone there? He raised his binoculars to his eyes. Indeed, the man had now stopped and was looking around warily.