During the tournament, though, Obergruppenführer Heydrich seems to have behaved quite well. One day, when he cursed a judge’s decision, the tournament director put him curtly in his place by telling him, in front of everyone: “In fencing, the only laws are those of sport, and nothing else!” Stunned by the man’s courage, Heydrich didn’t even protest.
He kept his fits of hubris for other circumstances. For it was at the time of this tournament in Bad Kreuznach that he would tell two friends (since when did Heydrich have friends?), in vivid terms, that he would not hesitate to neutralize Hitler himself “if the old man gives me any shit.”
What exactly did he mean by that? I would like to know.
111
This summer, at the zoo in Kiev, a man entered the lion’s enclosure. When another visitor tried to stop him, he said, stepping over the barrier, “God will save me.” And he was eaten alive. If I’d been there, I’d have said to him: “Don’t believe everything you’re told.”
God was no help at all to the people who died at Babi Yar.
In Russian, yar means “gully.” Babi Yar, or “Grandmother’s Gully,” was a huge natural ravine just outside Kiev. Today, all that’s left is a grassed-over depression, not very deep, at the center of which is an impressive, Socialist-style sculpture commemorating those who died there. But when I went, the taxi driver showed me the place where Babi Yar had been. He took me to a kind of wooded gorge where, he explained through a young Ukrainian woman who acted as my translator, the bodies had been thrown. Then we went back to the taxi and he dropped me off at the memorial, nearly a mile away.
Between 1941 and 1943, the Nazis made of Grandmother’s Gully what is probably the largest mass grave in the history of humanity. As the commemorative plaque makes clear—in three languages (Ukrainian, Russian, and Hebrew)—more than 100,000 people perished here, victims of fascism.
More than a third of them were executed in less than forty-eight hours.
That morning in September 1941, the Jews of Kiev turned up in the thousands to the meeting point where they’d been summoned, carrying their personal effects. They were resigned to being deported. Little did they suspect the kind of exit the Germans had in mind for them.
They realized too late—some on their arrival, others not until they reached the ditch’s edge. The process was quick: the Jews gave up their suitcases, their valuable objects, and their identity papers, which were torn up in front of them. Then they had to walk between two lines of SS guards who beat them with truncheons and clubs. If a Jew fell, they let the dogs loose on him. Either that or he was trampled underfoot by the panic-stricken crowd. At the end of this infernal corridor, emerging into a hazy landscape, the stunned Jews were ordered to undress completely, then conducted naked to the lip of a gigantic ditch. There, even the most obtuse or the most optimistic must have abandoned all hope. They screamed with terror: at the bottom of the ditch was a pile of corpses.
But the story of these men, women, and children does not end above this chasm. Because, with a very German concern for efficiency, the SS—before shooting them—first made them descend to the bottom of the ditch, where a “crammer” was waiting for them. The job of this “crammer” was similar to that of an usher at a theater. He led each Jew to a pile of bodies and, having found a suitable place, made him or her lie facedown, naked and alive, on top of naked corpses. Then another guard, walking on the dead bodies, put a bullet in the back of the neck. A remarkable customization of mass killing. On October 2, 1941, the officer in charge of the Einsatzgruppe at Babi Yar wrote in his report: “Sonderkommando 4a, in collaboration with group staff and two commandos of Police Regiment South, executed 33,771 Jews in Kiev on September 29 and 30, 1941.”
112
I’ve just learned of an extraordinary story that took place in Kiev during the war. It happened in 1942 and none of the main characters of Operation Anthropoid is involved, so theoretically it has no place in my novel. But one of the great advantages of the genre is the almost unlimited freedom it gives the author.
In the summer of 1942, Ukraine is governed by the Nazis with characteristic brutality. However, they wish to organize soccer matches between the various occupied and satellite countries of the East. Now, it happens that one team soon distinguishes itself with a series of victories over Romanian and Hungarian opponents: FC Start, a team hastily assembled from the bones of the defunct Dynamo Kiev, which has been banned since the beginning of the occupation but whose ex-players are reassembled for these matches.
Rumors of the team’s success reach the Germans, who decide to organize a match in Kiev between the local side and the Luftwaffe’s team. The Ukrainian players are told they must make a Nazi salute when the teams line up.
The day of the match, the stadium is full to bursting. The two teams come out on the pitch, and the German players lift their arms and shout “Heil Hitler!” The Ukrainian players also lift their arms, no doubt a disappointment to the crowd, who see the match as an opportunity to show some symbolic resistance. But instead of shouting “Heil Hitler!,” they close their fists, bang them against their chests, and yelclass="underline" “Long live physical culture!” This slogan, with its Soviet connotations, sends the crowd wild.
The match has hardly begun when one of the Ukrainian strikers has his leg broken by a German player. At the time there were no substitutes, so FC Start have to play on with only ten men. Thanks to their numerical superiority, the Germans open the score. Things are going badly. But the Kiev players refuse to give up, and they equalize to loud cheers. When they score a second goal, the supporters explode with joy.
At halftime, General Eberhardt, the superintendent of Kiev, goes to see the Ukrainian players in their changing room and tells them: “Bravo, you’ve played an excellent game and we’ve enjoyed it. But now, in the second half, you must lose. You really must! The Luftwaffe team has never lost before, certainly not in any of the occupied territories. This is an order! If you do not lose, you will be executed.”
The players listen in silence. Back on the pitch, after a brief moment of uncertainty, and without discussing it, they make their decision: they will play to win. They score a goal, then another, and end up winning 5–1. The Ukrainian fans go crazy. The German supporters mutter angrily. Shots are fired in the air. But none of the players is worried yet, because the Germans believe they can avenge the insult on the pitch.
Three days later, a return match is organized, and promoted by a poster campaign. The Germans send urgently for reinforcements: some professional footballers come from Berlin to strengthen their team.
The second match kicks off. The stadium is full to bursting again, but this time it’s patrolled by SS troops. Officially, they are there to maintain order. As before, the Germans score first. But the Ukrainians never lose faith, and they win the match 5–3. At the final whistle, the Ukrainian supporters are ecstatic but the players look pale. The pitch is invaded, and in the confusion three Ukrainian players disappear: they will survive the war. The rest of the team is arrested and four of them are sent immediately to Babi Yar, where they are executed. On his knees at the edge of the ditch, Nikolai Trusevich—the captain and goalkeeper—manages to yell, before getting a bullet in the back of the neck: “Communist sport will never die!” The other players are murdered one by one. Today, there is a monument to them in front of Dynamo’s stadium.
There are an unbelievable number of different versions of this legendary “death match.” Some say there was actually a third game, won by the Ukrainians—with a score of 8–0—and that it was only after this that the players were arrested and killed. But the version I’ve recounted seems the most credible to me, and in any case all the versions share the same broad outline. I’m worried that there are some errors in what I’ve written: since this subject has no direct link with Heydrich, I haven’t had time to investigate more deeply. But I didn’t want to write about Kiev without mentioning this incredible story.