the Valhalla Exchange (v5) (4 page)

He worked his way along the line, muttering a word or two of some sort of encouragement here and there, patting an occasional cheek, and then reached Ritter and Hoffer.

Fegelein said, 'Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Ritter and Sturmscharfuhrer Erich Hoffer of the 502nd SS Heavy Tank Battalion.' He started to read the citation. 'Shortly after dawn on the morning of Wednesday, April 25th...' but the Fuhrer cut him off with a chopping motion of one hand.

There was fire in the dark eyes now, a sudden energy as he snapped his fingers impatiently for Jodl to pass the decoration. Ritter stared impassively ahead, aware of the hands touching him lightly, and then, for the briefest of moments, they tightened on his arm.

He looked directly into the eyes, aware of the power, the burning intensity, there again if only for a moment, the hoarse voice saying, 'Your Fuhrer thanks you, on behalf of the German people.'

Hitler turned. 'Are you aware of this officer's achievement, gentlemen? Assisted by only two other tanks, he wiped out an entire British column of the 7th Armoured Division. Thirty armoured vehicles left blazing. Can you hear that and still tell me that we cannot win this war? If one man can do so much what could fifty like him accomplish?'

They all shifted uncomfortably. Krebs said, 'But of course, my Fuhrer. Under your inspired leadership anything is possible.'

'Goebbels must have written that line for him,' Bormann whispered to Rattenhuber. 'You know, Willi, I'm enjoying this, and look at our proud young Sturmbannfuhrer. He looks like Death himself with that pale face and black uniform, come to remind us all of what waits outside these walls. Have you ever read "Masque of the Red Death" by the American writer Poe?'

'No, I can't say that I have, Reichsleiter.'

'You should, Willi. An interesting parallel on the impossibility of locking out reality for long.'

An orderly clattered down the steps, brushed past Bormann and Rattenhuber and hesitated on seeing what was taking place. Krebs, who obviously recognized the man, moved to one side and snapped his fingers. The orderly passed him a signal flimsy which Krebs quickly scanned.

Hitler moved forward eagerly. 'Is it news of Wenck?' he demanded.

He was still convinced that the 12th Army under General Wenck was going to break through to the relief of Berlin at any moment.

Krebs hesitated and the Fuhrer said, 'Read it, man! Read it!'

Krebs swallowed hard, then said, 'No possibility of Wenck and the 9th Army joining. Await further instruction.'

The Fuhrer exploded with rage. 'The same story as Sunday. I gave the 11th Panzer Army to SS-General Steiner and all available personnel in his area with orders to attack. And what happened?'

The fact that the army in question had existed on paper only, a figment of someone's imagination, was not the point, for no one would have had the courage to tell him.

'So, even my SS let me down - betray me in my hour of need. Well, it won't do, gentlemen.' He was almost hysterical now. 'I have a way of dealing with traitors. Remember the July plot? Remember the films of the executions I ordered you to watch?'

He turned, stumbled back into the map room followed by Jodl, Keitel and Krebs. The door closed. Fegelein, moving as a man in a dream, signalled to one of the SS orderlies, who took the children away.

There was silence, then Ritter said, 'What now, General?'

Fegelein started. 'What did you say?'

'What do we do now?'

'Oh, go to the canteen. Food will be provided. Have a drink. Relax.' He forced a smile and clapped Ritter on the shoulder. 'Take it easy for a while, Major, I'll send for you soon. Fresh fields to conquer, I promise.'

He nodded to an orderly, who led the way. Ritter and Hoffer followed him, up the steps. Bormann and Rattenhuber were no longer there.

At the top, Ritter said softly, 'What do you think of that, then, Erich? Little children and old men led by a raving madman. So, now we start paying the bill, I think - all of us.'

When he reached his office, Fegelein closed the door, went behind his desk and sat down. He opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of brandy, removed the cork and swallowed deeply. He had been a frightened man for some time, but this latest display had finished him off.

He was exactly the same as dozens of other men who had risen to power in the Nazi party. A man of no background and little education. A one-time groom and jockey who had risen through the ranks of the SS and after being appointed Himmler's aide at Fuhrer headquarters, had consolidated his position by marrying Eva Braun's sister, Gretl.

But now even Himmler had cleared off, had refused every attempt aimed at returning him to the death-trap which Berlin had become. It occurred to Fegelein that perhaps the time had come for some definite action on his own part. He took another quick pull on the brandy bottle, got up, took down his cap from behind the door and went out.

It was seven o'clock that evening and Ritter and Hoffer were sitting together in the canteen, talking softly, a bottle of Moselle between them, when a sudden hubbub broke out. There were cries outside in the corridor, laughter and then the door burst open and two young officers ran in.

Ritter grabbed at one of them as he went by. 'Hey, what's all the excitement?'

'Luftwaffe General Ritter von Greim has just arrived from Munich with the air-ace, Hannah Reitsch. They landed at Gatow and came on in a Fieseler Storch.'

'The general flew himself,' the other young officer said. 'When he was hit, she took over the controls and landed the aircraft in the street near the Brandenburger Tor. What a woman.'

They moved away. Another voice said, 'A day for heroes, it would seem.'

Ritter looked up and found Bormann standing there. 'Reichsleiter.' He started to rise.

Bormann pushed him down. 'Yes, a remarkable business. What they omitted to tell you was that they were escorted by fifty fighter planes from Munich. Apparently over forty were shot down. On the other hand, it was essential General von Greim got here. You see, the Fuhrer intends to promote him to Commander-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe with the rank of Feldmarschall, Goring having finally proved a broken reed. Naturally he wished to tell General Greim of this himself. Signal flimsies are so impersonal, don't you think?'

He moved away. Hoffer said in a kind of awe, 'Over forty planes - forty, and for what?'

'To tell him in person what he could have told him over the telephone,' Ritter said. 'A remarkable man, our Fuhrer, Erich.'

'For God's sake, Major.' Hoffer put out a hand, for the first time real anger showing through. 'Keep talking like that and they might take you out and hang you. Me, too. Is that what you want?'

When Bormann went into his office, Rattenhuber was waiting for him.

'Did you find General Fegelein?' the Reichsleiter inquired.

'He left the bunker five hours ago.' Rattenhuber checked his notes. 'According to my information, he is at present at his home in Charlottenburg - wearing civilian clothes, I might add.'

Bormann nodded calmly. 'How very interesting.'

'Do we inform the Fuhrer?'

'I don't think so, Willi. Give a man enough rope, you know the old saying. I'll ask where Fegelein is in the Fuhrer's hearing later on tonight. Allow him to make this very unpleasant discovery for himself. Now, Willi, we have something far more important to discuss. The question of the prominent prisoners in our hands. You have the files I asked for?'

'Certainly, Reichsleiter.' Rattenhuber placed several manilla folders on the desk. 'There is a problem here. The Fuhrer has very pronounced ideas on what should happen to the prominenti. It seems that he was visited by Obergruppenfuhrer Berger, Head of Prisoner of War Administration. Berger tried to discuss the fate of several important British, French and American prisoners as well as the Austrian Chancellor, Schuschnigg, and Haider and Schacht. It seems the Fuhrer told him to shoot them all.'

'Conspicuous consumption, I would have thought, Willi. In other words, a great waste.' Bormann tapped the files. 'But it's these ladies and gentlemen who interest me. The prisoners of Arlberg.'

'I'm afraid several have already been moved since my visit, on your instructions, two months ago. Orders of the Reichsfuhrer,' Rattenhuber told him.

'Yes, for once Uncle Heini moved a little faster than I had expected,' Bormann said dryly. 'What are we left with?'

'Just five. Three men, two women.'

'Good,' Bormann said. 'A nice round number. We'll start with the ladies first, shall we? Refresh my memory.'

'Madame Claire de Beauville, Reichsleiter. Age thirty. Nationality, French. Her father made a great deal of money in canned foods. She married Etienne de Beauville. A fine old family. They were thought to be typical socialites flirting with their new masters. In fact her husband was working with French Resistance units in Paris. He was picked up in June last year on information received and taken to Sicherheitdienst headquarters at Avenue Foch in Paris. He was shot trying to escape.'

'The French,' Bormann said. 'So romantic'

'The wife was thought to be involved. There was a radio at the house. She insisted she knew nothing about it, but Security was convinced she could well have been working as a - pianist?'

He looked up, bewildered, and Bormann smiled. 'Typical English schoolboy humour. This is apparently the British Special Operations Executive term for a radio operator.'

'Oh, I see.' Rattenhuber returned to the file. 'Through marriage, she is related to most of the great French families.'

'Which is why she is at Arlberg. So - who's next?'

'Madame Claudine Chevalier.'

'The concert pianist?'

'That's right, Reichsleiter.'

'She must be seventy at least.'

'Seventy-five.'

'A national institution. In 1940 she made a trip to Berlin to give a concert at the Fuhrer's special request. It made her very unpopular in Paris at the time.'

'A very clever front to mask her real activities, Reichsleiter. She was one of a group of influential people who organized an escape line which succeeded in spiriting several well-known Jews from Paris to Vichy.'

'So - an astute old lady with nerve and courage. Does that dispose of the French?'

'No, Reichsleiter. There is Paul Gaillard to consider.'

'Ah, the one-time cabinet minister.'

'That is so, Reichsleiter. Aged sixty. At one time a physician and surgeon. He has, of course, an international reputation as an author. Dabbled in politics a little before the war. Minister for Internal Affairs in the Vichy government who turned out to be signing releases of known political offenders. He was also suspected of being in touch with de Gaulle. Member of the French Academy.'

'Anything else?'

'Something of a romantic, according to the security report. Joined the French Army as a private soldier in 1915 as some sort of public gesture against the government of the day. It seems he thought they were making a botch of the war. Flirted with Communism in the twenties, but a visit to Russia in 1927 cured him of that disease.'

'What about his weaknesses?'

'Weaknesses, Reichsleiter?'

'Come now, Willi, we all have them. Some men like women, others play cards all night or drink, perhaps. What about Gaillard?'

'None, Reichsleiter, and the State Security report is really most thorough. There is one extraordinary thing about him, however.'

'What's that?'

'He's had a great love of skiing all his life. In 1924 when they held the first Winter Olympics at Chamonix, he took a gold medal. A remarkable achievement. You see, he was thirty-nine years of age, Reichsleiter.'

'Interesting,' Bormann said softly. 'Now that really does say something about his character. What about the Englishman?'

'I'm not too certain that's an accurate description, Reichsleiter. Justin Fitzgerald Birr, 15th Earl of Dundrum, an Irish title, and Ireland is the place of his birth. He is also 10th Baron Felversham. The title is, of course, English and an estate goes with it in Yorkshire.'

'The English and the Irish really can't make up their minds about each other, can they, Willi? As soon as there's a war, thousands of Irishmen seem to join the British Army with alacrity. Very confusing.'

'Exactly, Reichsleiter. Lord Dundrum, which is how people address him, had an uncle who was a major of infantry in the first war. An excellent record, decorated and so on, then in 1919 he went home, joined the IRA and became commander of a flying column during their fight for independence. It apparently caused a considerable scandal.'

'And the earl? What of his war record?'

'Age thirty. DSO and Military Cross. At the beginning of the war he was a lieutenant in the Irish Guards. Two years later a lieutenant-colonel in the Special Air Service. In its brief existence his unit destroyed 113 aircraft on the ground behind Rommel's lines. He was captured in Sicily. Made five attempts to escape, including two from Colditz. It was then they decided that his special circumstances merited his transfer to Arlberg as a prominento.'

'Which explains the last and most important point concerning the good Earl of Dundrum.'