Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 03 - Secret Honor

"Damn!" Bormann said.

"Well, Cranz?" Himmler asked impatiently.

"Herr Reichsprotektor," Cranz said, "nothing that Korvet tenkapitan Boltitz and I found in our investigation suggests that von Wachtstein is anything but what he appears on the surface. A simple, courageous officer, who, when he can be pried from the arms of some female, executes his orders to the best of his ability. Would you agree, Boltitz?"

"Yes, Sir," Karl Boltitz said.

"What are you going to tell the Fuhrer, Joachim," Bor mann asked, "since he approved of Galland getting von Wachtstein?"

"I think I would agree with the Foreign Minister that the Fiihrer has too much on his mind as it is to trouble him with what we all,

I'm sure, consider an administrative matter," Himmler said.

"With all respect, Herr Reichsprotektor, I don't believe I have the authority to make a decision in this matter without the personal concurrence of Admiral Canaris."

"Well, then, damn it, the decision will be made without him," Bormann said.

"You go back there, Fregattenkapitan, and report to him the contents of this cable, and what we decided to do about it.

If he has any objections, he can tell von Ribbentrop or Himmler."

"Jawohl, Herr Partieleiter."

"When do you and the others go to Buenos Aires, Boltitz?" Himmler asked.

"Tomorrow night at half past seven from Templehof, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"Is that enough time to bring von Wachtstein here?"

"I'll have to start making the arrangements immediately, Herr Reichsprotektor."

"Well, then, may I suggest that you and the Fregattenkapitan get about your business?" Himmler said.

Von und zu Waching and Boltitz gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute.

"Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor," von und zu Waching said.

The two came to attention, clicked their heels, and marched out of the office.

[SIX]

Guest Room No. 1

Quarters of the General Officer Commanding

Luftwaffe Flughafen No. 103B

Augsburg, Germany

1820 25 May 1943

Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein jerked the sheet of paper from the

Olympia portable typewriter, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it angrily into a wastepaper basket.

What the hell! If I ever finish writing this-and it is goddamned difficult to write it in the first place, not mentioning having to write it knowing some goddamn Gestapo clerk is going to read it-it will probably be on the first Condor some Ami P-51 pilot will luck up on and shoot down over the Atlantic.

Well, shit, I have to write it. I'll give it another shot when I come back.

Or will I?

Will I write Alicia, or will I have a couple of drinks with Trudi, and then, principleless sex maniac that I am, bring her up here and fuck her ears off and put off the letter I have to write Alicia for one more day?

Goddamn it, I know what I'll do. I'll go to the hangar office and write it on one of their typewriters before I come here.

I will at least try to do that, as I will try not to fuck Trudi, and I will probably fail at both.

He looked at his US Army Air Corps-issue Hamilton chronograph, exhaled audibly, and stood up.

He was in his underwear. He put on a shirt and a sweater, then sheepskin high-altitude trousers and boots. He took the sheepskin jacket from a hanger, picked up the flight helmet, and left the room.

Oberstleutnant Friedrich Henderver was waiting for him in the living room.

"You look unhappy, Hansel," he said.

"No, Sir."

"I was about to go looking for you," Henderver said. "But I thought you might be entertaining Trudi."

"No, Sir."

"There are two schools of thought about that, you know,"

Henderver said as he picked up his sheepskin jacket and waved at the door. "One is that a little activity of that sort calms a man down and makes him a better pilot. The other is that one should neither drink nor fuck for at least twelve hours before flying, because it slows down the reflexes."

Peter laughed dutifully.

"Well, smile," Henderver said. "Trudi will be here, I'm sure, when we get back."

"Yes, Sir."

"Tonight we are going to combine more stick time for you with an experiment with droppable fuel tanks. Phrased simply, that means, presuming we can get the bitch off the ground with all that weight, we will go to seven thousand meters. If we haven't exhausted the auxiliary fuel getting up there, we will exhaust what's left and then jettison the tanks. If we run out of fuel on the way to seven thousand, we will jettison the tanks at that time. In either case, the tanks will crash through the roof of either an old people's home or a children's hospital."

"What I really like about you, Friedrich, is your cheerful way of looking at things."

Henderver laughed.

Thirty minutes later-just as he thought he was going to run out of runway-Peter finally felt life come into the con trols of the two-seater ME-262 and managed to lift it off.

The tanks were jettisoned as they reached 6,500 meters.

"Well, that seemed to work," Henderver said. "And here we are at altitude with nearly full main tanks."

"Which will now crash through the roof of an old people's home, right?"

"And give Herr Goebbels one more opportunity to pro vide photographic proof of the Amis murdering innocent

Germans," Henderver said.

General Galland was in the hangar when the doors closed and the lights went on.

Henderver and Peter climbed down from the cockpit of the ME-262. Both gave the General the military, rather than the Nazi, salute when they walked over to him.

"How did it go?" Galland asked.

"I don't want to know how much over maximum gross weight we were," Peter said. "I had a hell of a time getting it off the ground."

"We need better engines, General," Henderver said seri ously, and then added, in a lighter tone, "On the other hand, we got to a little over sixty-five hundred on the auxiliary fuel."

"Tell me, Hansel," Galland said. "If the Reichsprotektor,

Herr Himmler, asked you personally to trust him about something, would you?"

"Sir?"

"Watch yourself, Hansel, that's a trick question," Hen derver said.

"The bad news, Hansel, is that you're out of the ME-262 program…"

"Sir?"

"And-depending how you feel about Argentina-the good news is that you're going back over there."

"I don't understand, Sir."

"General, we need him," Henderver said.

"According to Herr Himmler, the Reich needs him more in Argentina," Galland said. "He wouldn't tell me why. He asked me to trust him, which translates to mean he would be happier if I didn't register outrage with the Fuhrer."

"I vote for registering outrage, General," Henderver said.

"So do I, Sir."

"Well, you're a nice guy, Hansel, and a good pilot, and this is going to break Trudi's heart, but this is one time I don't think I should get in a fight with our beloved Reich sprotektor."

Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry, Hansel," Galland said. "You know what it is.

They call it conservation of ammunition. I don't have that much left."

"I understand, Sir."

"There will be a Heinkel here in about an hour to fly you to Berlin. From the Fuhrer's personal fleet, I'm told. I had your stuff packed. That will give you time for a quickie with

Trudi."

"With the General's permission, and aware of the damage I might be causing to the reputation of Luftwaffe fighter pilots, I think I would rather have a drink with you and

Friedrich."

"OK, Hansel," Galland said. "We can do that here. I'll send my driver for your stuff and some Champagne."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I'm really sorry about this, Hansel," Galland said.

XIX

[ONE]

San Carlos de Bariloche

Rio Negro Province, Argentina

1320 29 May 1943