Griffin W.E.B.: Honor Bound 02 - Blood and Honor

In his sole discretion, SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Goltz will make the nature of his missions known only to such persons as he feels may assist him in the execution of his missions. Such persons are—

1. Directed to provide SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Goltz with whatever support, of whatever nature, he may request.

2. Absolutely forbidden to divulge any information whatsoever concerning SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Goltz' missions to any other person without the express permission of SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Josef Goltz, including communication by any means whatsoever any reference to SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Goltz' missions to any agency of the German Reich, or any person, without the express permission in each instance of SS-SD Standartenf?hrer Josef Goltz.

Reichsleither Mart?n Bormann Wilhelm Keitel

NSDAP Feldmarschal

Heinrich Himmler Karl Doenitz

Reichsproteckto Grand Admiral

Joachim von Ribbentrop Wilhelm Canaris

Foreign Minister Rearadmiral, Abwehr

Goltz raised his eyes to Bormann.

"A very impressive document, Herr Reichsleiter," he said. He refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope. "Do I understand that I am to keep this?"

Bormann nodded.

"While you were on your way here," Bormann said, "Reichsprotektor Himmler called again, to inform me that he had obtained a seat for you on the Lufthansa flight leaving Templehof for Buenos Aires tomorrow."

Goltz put the envelope in an inside pocket of his uniform.

"You don't seem too happy to hear that," Bormann said. "Is duty about to interfere with your love life, Josef?"

"I never allow duty to interfere with my love life," Goltz replied. "What you see is a mixture of anticipation, curiosity, and unease, Herr Reichsleiter."

"Unease about what?"

"I hope you're not placing too much confidence in me."

"Modesty doesn't become you, Josef. And you know how important this endeavor is."

"I will, of course, do my best."

Bormann nodded.

"1 had a thought," he said, moving to another subject, "when they told me you were at the outer wire, and again while you were waiting. Vis-a-vis von Wachtstein."

"Oh?"

"I have a feeling his son might be very useful to us. Particularly if the Generalleutnant himself were participating in the endeavor." (A Generalleutnant is literally a lieutenant general, but is equivalent to a U.S. Army—two-star— major general.) "I won't say anything to him, of course, until you have a chance to look at the situation in Buenos Aires and let me know what you think. But why don't you pay a courtesy call on him now, Josef, ask if there is something you could carry for him to his son—a letter, perhaps?"

"A very good idea," Goltz said. "I was, what shall I say, a little surprised at how close the von Wachtsteins are to poverty. If we are to believe the Generalleutnant's estate-tax return."

"Perhaps he dug a hole with his paws and buried a bone or two in it for a rainy day. After all, he is a Pomeranian."

Goltz smiled.

"While he is preparing whatever he wishes to send—give him an hour, say—you come back here and we'll talk."

"Yes, Sir."

"He's across the road, but I'll send you in my car so you won't have to walk."

"That's very good of you."

"In lieu of a drink, Josef. I'm taking dinner with the F?hrer, and I don't want to smell of alcohol."

Goltz chuckled. The F?hrer was an ascetic man who neither smoked nor drank. There was an unwritten law that those privileged to be in his presence also abstained.

Generalleutnant Graf (Count) Karl-Friedrich von Wachtstein was a short, slight, nearly bald fifty-four-year-old, the seventh of his Pomeranian line to earn the right to be called "General." Originally a cavalryman, he had joined the General Staff as an Oberstleutnant (Lieutenant Colonel) eight years before.

When war broke out, he went into Poland at that rank but assumed command of a Panzer regiment when its colonel was killed in his tank turret during an unexpectedly difficult encirclement maneuver. His Polish opponent, they later learned, had instructed his troops to save their rifle fire for officers who gallantly exposed themselves in tank turrets. Afterward, he was promoted to colonel.

He went into Russia commanding a tank regiment, and was fairly seriously wounded. When Generaloberst Jodl heard this—von Wachstein had worked under Jodl as a major—he decided that the Army could not afford to have an unusually bright general staff officer killed doing something as unimportant as commanding troops in combat, and ordered him back to Berlin. With the transfer came a promotion to Generalmajor (literally, Major General, but equivalent to a U.S. Army—one-star—Brigadier General).

Earlier this year, in February, following a shakeup in the General Staff after the Sixth Army's surrender at Stalingrad, he was promoted Generalleutnant, with the additional honor of having the F?hrer personally pin on his new badges of rank.

"What the General Staff needs, Jodl," the F?hrer had said at the small promotion ceremony in his bunker, "is more general officers like Graf von Wachtstein and myself—men who have been exposed to fire."

Hitler had won the Iron Cross First Class—an unusual decoration for a lowly corporal—in the First World War, and was fond of reminding his generals that, unlike many of them, he had been tested under fire.

"Hello, Goltz," von Wachtstein said, returning Goltz's salute with an equally casual raising of his arm from the elbow, palm extended. "What can I do for you, beyond offering you coffee?"

"Coffee would be fine, Herr Generalleutnant," Goltz replied. "It was a long ride from Berlin."

Von Wachtstein mimed raising a coffee cup to his lips to his chief clerk, Feldwebel (Technical Sergeant) Alois Hennig, a tall, blond twenty-two-year-old.

"Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant," Hennig said, and left them alone.

"Reichsleiter Bormann is in conference," Goltz said. "I thought I would pass the time paying my respects to you."

"Bormann is a busy man," von Wachtstein said.

"I'm about to go to Buenos Aires."

"I'd heard something about that."

"I thought of your son, of course, when I received my orders."

"I'm sure he would be delighted to show you around Buenos Aires," von Wachtstein said. "By now I'm sure he is familiar with everything of interest. Most of that, unless he has suddenly reformed, will be wearing skirts."

"He does have that reputation, doesn't he? Have you heard from him lately?"

"Not often. The odd letter. He was apparently asleep in church when they went through that 'Honor Thy Father' business."

Goltz chuckled.

"And then the mail is erratic, isn't it? I thought perhaps I could carry a letter for you."

"That would be very kind, but irregular," von Wachtstein said.

"Even if it came to anyone's attention—and I can't see how it would—I don't think there would be any serious questions about someone in my position doing a small service to an old friend."

"I would be very grateful, Goltz, but I don't want to impose on our friendship."

"It would be no imposition at all."

"When are you leaving Wolfsschanze?"

"Whenever the Heinkel leaves. The Herr Reichsleiter got me a seat on it."

"There is something," von Wachtstein said. "In one letter he complained that he has only one set of major's badges . . ."

"That's right, he was promoted, wasn't he?"

". . . and spends a good deal of time carefully moving them from one uniform to another. I could probably get a set or two here. . . ."

"I'd be delighted to carry them to him."

"Thank you."

Feldwebel Hennig appeared with two cups of coffee on a wooden tray.

"The African coffee, Herr Generalleutnant," he said. "Unfortunately, about the last of it."

"You're a bright youngster, Hennig," von Wachtstein said. "I have every confidence that you will be able to steal some more somewhere."