“Oh calm down, Carl!” Reuters exclaimed with a mildly amused exasperation, unable to bear Ritter’s extreme formality any longer. He gave a chuckle, glancing back at Schiller as Ritter released a long sigh of relief. “Look at him, Albert: he’s shitting himself! You’d think the fellow would rather face a dozen Mustangs, singlehanded, in the Western Desert!”
“I think that I would rather be facing Mustangs than working in an office, sir.” Ritter smiled slightly, forcing himself to relax a little. “…perhaps not a dozen, though...”
“Half-a-dozen, then…!” Reuters laughed again. “Yes…? Half-a-dozen in one of our new Schwalbe interceptors. There’s not one of them that would come close!”
“If intelligence reports are to be believed, sir, the Americans’ new Thunderjets may give our J-16s more of a fight,” Reuters pointed out, moving around to the opposite side of the desk and taking his usual seat. Rumours had begun to filter in through contacts in the North American region over the last few months that a new and powerful prototype fighter-bomber of revolutionary design was being tested by the US Army Air Force, although it hadn’t been possible to obtain much by way of details or clear photographs as yet.
“Straight wings and engines in pods,” Reuters snorted with disdain in a manner all too common of staff officers too long out of combat themselves. “…Accelerates faster than our J-16s, but nowhere near as fast or manoeuvrable, and in any case still prototypes at best, if those same reports are accurate.” Reuters knew most of the details of the Americans’ and Allies’ new A-5A Thunderjet and also knew exactly where the original designs had come from, although he had no inclination to explain any of that at that moment.
“We have a job you might be interested in…” Reuters continued, getting back to the matter at hand. “An opportunity to be involved in something you might find more interesting than mundane office work.”
“I’m always interested in learning something new, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Ritter smiled thinly, leaning back and considering the irony only he could recognise: that MI6 would no doubt also always be interested. “What do you propose…?”
“Come on a trip with us…” The answer surprised him more than he’d expected. “Herr Schiller and I, at the ‘request’ of the Führer, will be meeting my opposite number in Japan as part of a Good Will tour of our Berlin Pact partners. I have it on good authority that your own command of the language is quite fluent… I have only a very basic understanding of Japanese,” he noted with a grin, “and Albert here has enough trouble with German!”
Ritter shrugged matter-of-factly as Schiller snorted with derision and shook his head over his CO’s joking insult.
“I’ve been taking intensive tuition for almost a year now, yes. My mother was French, Mein Herr, so I was required to learn two languages fluently from birth, and also learned English from an early age. I have a ‘knack’ for languages, it appears…”
“A knack that we could put to good use, I think.” Reuters observed. “We could use a fluent translator where we’re going, and I’d prefer that person to be someone I can trust implicitly…”
Reuters didn’t see the need to explain that the only reason they were seeking an interpreter was because the man previously posted to the position had, only two weeks before, been discovered to have been involved in a plot to undermine the Reichsmarschall and the country at large by supplying illicit nuclear weapons to the Empire of Japan.
“You’re too kind, Herr Reichsmarschall…” Ritter demurred, taking his turn to repeat his wife’s words and forcing back a wry smile regarding a remark that was far more honest than either man could ever have guessed.
“I must also tell you there is another agenda behind this visit…” Reuters continued after a short, thoughtful pause. “At this very moment, a Kriegsmarine vessel is enroute from Germany to Japan – an auxiliary cruiser by the name of Kormoran – that is carrying classified material to Tokyo as part of our ongoing scientific exchange program.”
“Weapons for the Japanese…” Ritter concluded, truly intrigued now for a variety of reasons.
“For the large part, better than weapons and far more dangerous in a long-term sense…” Schiller interjected for the first time as Reuters turned his head and nodded in agreement, deciding he would take a break from dominating the discussion. “Inside her hold are ten examples of prototype jet turbine engines… ones not so advanced as those we’re currently using with the Luftwaffe of course, but still far in advance of anything they could possibly develop on their own. With the blue prints we’ve supplied, those engines help form the backbone of a new generation of Japanese military aircraft. Shall I tell him…?” He asked Reuters suddenly, receiving a sage-like nod of approval in return.
“There’s something else on that ship… something that should never have been taken aboard…” He continued after a short breath. “Are you familiar with the concept of atomic fission… knowledge perhaps, of the theoretical work of Heisenberg, Harteck or Diebner…?”
“Not at all, sir...” Ritter answered, being honest at least regarding the names mentioned, although he presumed they were scientists of some sort. He’d first learned of the idea of atomic fission two years before at Scapa Flow, but thought it prudent to play dumb on that particular subject.
“These men are nuclear physicists…” Reuters explained, taking over once more, “…men who form the core of German research in this area. For some years now they have been developing something called an atomic bomb: a weapon with the potential to unleash devastation a thousand times greater than the heaviest bombs our strategischekampfgeschwadern can carry. We already have an enrichment facility near Oranienburg that has so far produced sufficient U-235 for three such devices…” That until just weeks before they had known of the existence of just one such weapon was a fact that rankled deeply within Reuters’ mind.
“I do not know what these things are...” Ritter admitted, trying to appear completely ignorant of the subject being discussed, which wasn’t particularly difficult at that point.
“That’s no matter,” Reuters dismissed the remark with a shrug. “The point is that we just completed our first successful test of a nuclear weapon last month – a relatively small one with an approximate yield of fifteen thousand tonnes of high explosive.”
Very little surprised Ritter after the revelations he’d been shown as a prisoner of the British at Scapa Flow two years earlier, although at the time he’d been understandably sceptical. He knew that the Allies had attempted to disable the Wehrmacht by trying to use one of these nuclear weapons to kill most of the General Staff in September of that year, a few days before the invasion of Britain. He also remembered that the attempt had failed; that the so-called ‘super bomb’ had not worked and the invasion had gone ahead as planned.
“This is possible… just one bomb?” He questioned, playing the role of sceptic as there was no legitimate way he could possibly know what an atomic bomb was.
“Not just ‘possible’…” Reuters smiled, thinking he understood the man’s scepticism. “…A reality, in fact…! This class of weapon will give Deutschland an incredible superiority over the rest of the world.” He shrugged as if to appear nonchalant as he spoke, but the hint of a hardened expression creased the edges of Reuters’ mouth. “This is relevant to our conversation here however, only in that five weeks ago, two of these devices were secretly loaded aboard the Kormoran for transport to Tokyo.”
“We are giving such devastating weapons to the Japanese?” Ritter was honestly aghast, finding no need for pretence in that moment. “We would trust those animals with such a thing?”
“Neither I nor Albert would do any such thing…” Reuters almost snarled, throwing a cocked thumb over his shoulder in Schiller’s direction “…however sometimes, unfortunately, even a Reichsmarschall isn’t aware of everything that has been going on.”
“There’s been an ‘incident’ involving Direktor Wilhelm Hegel,” Schiller began again with a signal fro
m Reuters, and with the mention of Hegel, Ritter’s moderate interest suddenly became quite intense; everyone knew about the self-styled ‘Direktors’, and Ritter was also aware of where – and when – that powerful clique of millionaire industrialist had really come from.
“Herr Hegel was the driving force behind the development of our nuclear weapons program ever since we arrived in ‘Thirty-Three,” Schiller continued unabated, neither he nor Reuters picking up on that momentary slip of the tongue that had suddenly revealed an unexpected and vital piece of information. “Three weeks ago, we discovered that he and a few selected associates had secretly constructed two nuclear devices we were previously unaware of… weapons similar to the one that was successfully tested, although we have reason to believe they may be significantly more powerful…” That Hegel had since been tortured and executed for his part in the plot was pointedly left out of the recounting.
“The two bombs now aboard the Kormoran…” Ritter deduced correctly, receiving nods in return from both men as he struggled to contain his sudden excitement.
“I have spent the last two years doing everything in my power to prevent the United States from declaring war,” Reuters spat vehemently, no longer able to conceal his anger and disgust. “…Something that was particularly difficult in the aftermath of September Eleven. Those efforts have included the equally difficult task of convincing those rabid, yellow monkeys we laughingly call ‘Allies’ to not declare war on the United States, an act that would almost certainly drag us into any conflict with them. The absolute last thing Germany needs right now is a pair of nuclear weapons in the hands of the bloody Japanese!”
“It would be preferable, I think, that these devices do not reach Tokyo...” Ritter observed, making a late play for understatement of the year.
“That, my friend, is exactly what I intend to make certain of while we are on our little South-East Asian ‘holiday’…” Reuters growled emphatically. “That we locate those bombs and have them either brought back to Germany or sent to the bottom of the bloody ocean! Thanks to Herr Hegel, we’ve been unable to raise Kormoran as yet, but we have every ship, aircraft and U-boat in the Indian Ocean and South East Asia out searching for her with orders accomplish either directive, with no preference as to which. Part of our tour will take us through several of the major Japanese naval bases in that area, and we’ll be in a perfect position to act if and when our missing bloody boat shows up.” The expression the Reichsmarschall gave at that moment was more of a skeletal grimace than anything resembling a genuine smile. “There is no way in hell that I will allow the Japanese to get their hands on nuclear weapons!”
Ritter could barely contain his excitement. Nineteen thirty-three! Schiller had actually given away the year that Reuters and his New Eagles had arrived from the future! The acquiring of precisely that information was the very core of his mission working with Max Thorne and the British Secret Service, and part of that had just been handed to him on a silver platter. It wasn’t enough to complete his objective – he needed the exact date and time of arrival for that – yet it was a fine start nevertheless and was also the first piece of real progress he’d made in that direction since his faked escape from British captivity during the 1940 invasion. It suddenly occurred to him that there might well be the opportunity to discover far more if he accompanied the pair on this Japanese ‘adventure’.
“When do we leave?” He asked after the pretence of a thoughtful pause, allowing himself an enthusiastic grin.
“That’s the spirit!” Reuters clapped a hand against his thigh, obviously pleased. “We leave at the end of the month.” He shrugged. “I was confident we would convince you, and I’ve already taken the liberty of forwarding the paperwork for your temporary transfer to the OKL for processing. Unsurprisingly, Konteradmiral Bäcker raised no complaints when I discussed it with him personally.”
“I can hardly wait...” Ritter admitted with honesty that was quite real for reasons the others in that could never have guessed. In the back of his mind, Carl Ritter was already starting to think through how he might obtain more information that might help his cause.
“…Anyway, Carl, we’ll keep you no longer on a Sunday afternoon,” Reuters declared, rising from his chair as Schiller took his cue to retrieve their hats and coats. “No doubt you’ll have some organising to do… not to mention breaking the news to your wife. We’ll be in contact shortly regarding details of departure times, your travel papers and the like.” There was a pause before Reuters added: “I’m looking forward to having you along, Carl – I think this should be very good for your career… not to mention, hopefully, an enjoyable experience into the bargain.”
“I thought he’d take more convincing,” Schiller observed as the pair walked out together through the front door of the apartment block, their personal driver/bodyguards appearing at their sides as if by magic as the made their way down the steps.
“He’s been stuck behind a desk for eighteen months,” Reuters replied with a shrug as they paused for a moment, talking together on the footpath between their respective personal vehicles. “I’d be screaming for something exciting to do also, were I in his place.”
“Are you sure about your intentions in this? Are we asking him because we need an interpreter, or because he’s your father…?”
“I don’t deny it has something to do with it,” Reuters conceded with another shrug, “but we do need an interpreter also. It’s true there might be more experienced Japanese speakers to choose from, but I also need someone we can trust, and that is something that’s a good deal harder to come by, as we’ve recently discovered.”
“Understandable,” Schiller nodded, taking his turn for concession, “however I’d suggest taking more care when dealing with Maria… you know she’s your mother, but he doesn’t, and it was very clear Ritter was picking up on the intensity of how you were relating to her. Without the knowledge of your parentage, he may well have suspected you were trying to hit on her…”
“Oh, Mein Gott, man; don’t be so vile!” Reuters snapped in return, horrified by the idea. “You make a valid point, however,” he relented, having thought about it further. “Seeing her again after so many years was… difficult…” he admitted, showing a little more vulnerability that usual. “I shall need to keep myself better in check from now on.”
“If it’s all right, Kurt,” Schiller broke in, sensing it was a good time to change the subject, “I’d like to take a day or two off before we depart… I have some personal matters I need to attend to…”
“Of course, Albert… of course…” Reuters agreed immediately, thinking nothing of the request. “Take whatever time you need.
“Thank you, sir,” Schiller nodded respectfully. “Back to the office, now…?”
“As always,” his superior sighed with a shrug. “The Führer’s been demanding daily reports on this American situation, and there’s only so many ways one can reword the same thing to say that nothing’s changed. This will be the death of us, Albert, if we don’t regain control of it all…” He sighed again, suddenly quite tired. “But enough of this… it’s cold and getting late. How about you… back to your apartment?”
“I thought I might go and get a drink somewhere,” Schiller mused vaguely, convincingly concealing the darker thoughts bubbling within his mind. “Might be nice to get out and meet some new people…”
“Have one for me, old friend,” Reuters smiled, resting a fatherly hand on his aide’s shoulder for a moment or two. “In fact… have half a dozen!”
“Mein Herr, I think that is the best idea you’ve had all day…” Schiller replied with a grin of his own, the response mostly genuine.
“When are you leaving…?” Maria asked softly from the doorway, trying to hide the obvious sadness in her expression. Ritter was still sitting in the chair behind his desk, and as his eyes flicked upward at the sound of her voice, he realised he must’ve been staring blankly at the far wall for some time, lost in deep thought.
“I swear that I’ve married a gypsy fortune teller!” He gave her a weak smile as she entered the study, a glass of red wine in each hand, and placed one in front of him before taking the seat Reuters had held earlier. “Is it that obvious?”
“I’ve seen that look before…” she admitted with the long-suffering, knowing expression of military wives the world over. “And in any case, one doesn’t receive a visit from the head of the entire Wehrmacht purely for social reasons: they want you for something… something dangerous no doubt.”
“I’m a fighter pilot,” Ritter pointed out gently as he lifted the glass to his lips. “I’ve been posted to ‘dangerous’ places before, and I’ve always come back to you…” He’d not missed the soft bitterness in his wife’s tone, something that had caught him by surprise and sent a pang of sudden guilt and sorrow through his heart.
“You were a fighter pilot!” She shot back angrily as a tear trickled down her cheek. “You work in an office now… you have a family…” And with that last sentence, Carl Ritter finally saw the true reason behind his wife’s sudden and unexpected reaction.
“My love, this is a promotional tour to Japan… a few weeks spent shaking hands, smiling and nodding in forced wonder at lots of out-of-date Japanese tanks and aircraft, while I translate everything and try to make it all sound pleasant for each party.” Even he was surprised with the level of cynicism his description of the whole thing had contained, but he dismissed the thought in an instant, deciding it to be irrelevant.
“And what of your other work…?”
“What – what ‘other’ work…” he stammered hesitantly, the sorrow in his heart suddenly replaced completely by what was quickly becoming an all-to-familiar stab of fear. “I have no other ‘work’…”
“You did not marry a fool, Carl!” Maria snapped caustically. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing when you go out for your ‘exercise walks’ all alone… usually just after receiving random phone calls at any hour of the day or night? You think I don’t know what’s happening when I call your office and you’ve left for the afternoon, but I don’t see you back here until evening?” More tears were rolling down her cheeks now as months of unspoken terror and fear for the life of her own husband came pouring out in that moment. “Most wives would accuse their husband of having an affair, but no… I know you far too well to think that. What do you think they’ll do to us, if you’re found out?”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 30
