Secret Honor
Page 60
IN VIEW OF THE FOREGOING, LUTZEN AND DIETZ ARE FORCED TO AGREE WITH PERÓN THAT THE MATTER IS MORE THAN THE PRIVATE BUSINESS OF HANS AND ALICIA. THAT IN FACT IT AFFECTS THE GOOD RELATIONS PRESENTLY EXTANT BETWEEN THE GERMAN REICH AND THE REPUBLIC OF ARGENTINA.
PERÓN IS AWARE THAT HANS IS IN GERMANY, AND BELIEVES HANS IS ASSISTING IN THE INVESTIGATION OF THE DEATHS OF OBERST GRÜNER AND STANDARTEN-FÜHRER GOLTZ. IN THIS CONNECTION, PERÓN TOLD US IN CONFIDENCE THAT HE BELIEVES THE MURDERS WERE PERPETRATED BY FORMER SUBORDINATES OF OLDFRADE, ALTHOUGH HE HAS NO PROOF.
PERÓN REQUESTS THAT IF HANS CAN BE SPARED FROM HIS DUTIES IN CONNECTION WITH THE GRÜNER/GOLTZ INVESTIGATION THAT HE IMMEDIATELY BE RETURNED TO HIS DUTIES IN ARGENTINA, HIS OBLIGATIONS AS AN HONORABLE GERMAN OFFICER BE MADE CLEAR TO HIM, POSSIBLY BY OLDWACH, AND THAT HE ENTER INTO A MARRIAGE WITH ALICIA.
ALTERNATIVELY, PERÓN SUGGESTS THE POSSIBILITY OF ALICIA GOING TO GERMANY, THERE TO ENTER INTO MARRIAGE WITH HANS.
DEITZ FEELS THAT INASMUCH AS HIS INVESTIGATION OF HANS HERE HAS SHOWN NO CONNECTION BETWEEN HANS AND THE GRÜNER/GOLTZ MURDERS, THE FIRST REQUEST OF PERÓN SHOULD BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED, FOR THE FOLLOWING REASONS:
(1) PERÓN ALMOST CERTAINLY WILL BE THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF ARGENTINA. GRANTING HIS REQUEST WOULD BE PROOF THAT THE GERMAN OFFICER CORPS DEEPLY REGRETS THE UNFORTUNATE DEATH OF OLDFRADE, AND IS WILLING TO MAKE AMENDS IN ANY WAY IT CAN.
(2) THE MARRIAGE OF HANS TO ALICIA WOULD BE A MAJOR SOCIAL EVENT IN ARGENTINA AND REFLECT WELL ON GERMAN INTERESTS.
(3) THE MARRIAGE OF HANS WOULD VERY LIKELY BE USEFUL IN CONNECTION WITH A CERTAIN PROJECT THAT HAS RECENTLY UNDERGONE CERTAIN REVERSALS. BANKER MIGHT VERY WELL BE USEFUL IN THIS CONNECTION AS BANKER AND BANKER’S WIFE HAVE BECOME INTIMATE FRIENDS OF HANS.
(4) WHATEVER INFLUENCE YOUNGFRADE HAS WITH ALL OTHERS WOULD BE GREATLY DIMINISHED BY A MARRIAGE BETWEEN HANS AND ALICIA.
(5) JESUIT HAS EXPRESSED CONCERN THAT TRAVELING TO GERMANY WOULD SUBJECT ALICIA TO SOME RISK TO HER PERSON AND THE UNBORN CHILD.
LUTZEN CONSIDERS THAT EITHER OF PERÓN’S REQUESTS BE GIVEN CONSIDERATION AT THE HIGHEST LEVELS, AND FURTHER SUGGESTS THAT WHICHEVER SOLUTION IS DECIDED UPON BE ACTED UPON AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED:
THE UNDERSIGNED PARTCIPATED IN THE PREPARATION OF THE FOREGOING MESSAGE AND CONCUR IN EVERY DETAIL.
MANFRED RITTER VON DEITZBERG
GENERALMAJOR, GENERAL STAFF, OKW
MANFRED ALOIS GRAF VON LUTZENBERGER
AMBASSADOR OF THE GERMAN REICH TO THE REPUBLIC OF ARGENTINA
END MESSAGE
* * *
When Bormann raised his eyes from the message, he saw that Fregattenkapitän von und zu Waching and Korvettenkapitän Boltitz had come into the office. He sighed, shrugged, and handed the cable to von und zu Waching.
Von und zu Waching had just finished reading the first page when Reichsprotektor Heinrich Himmler and SS-Obersturmbannführer Karl Cranz marched into the room.
“Heil Hitler!” Himmler barked, and he and Cranz gave a stiff-armed Nazi salute. The others returned it. The look on Himmler’s face suggested that he didn’t think the salutes of von und zu Waching and Boltitz were up to standard.
“Well, Joachim, what’s so important?” Himmler asked.
“There has been a cable from Buenos Aires,” von Ribbentrop said. “Von und zu Waching’s reading it now.”
Himmler looked at von und zu Waching, who handed him the page he had read. The look on Himmler’s face suggested he thought he should have been handed the entire message, whether or not von und zu Waching was finished. Von und zu Waching passed the second two pages to Himmler one at a time. Himmler read them all before passing them to Cranz.
“You considered this important enough to have me come all the way over here, Joachim?”
“I based its importance, Joachim, on the importance your man von Deitzberg apparently places on it,” von Ribbentrop replied.
Cranz finished reading the cable, started to hand it back to von Ribbentrop, then looked at Boltitz. “Have you read this, Karl?”
Boltitz shook his head.
“Give it to him,” Himmler ordered.
“The question seems to be simple,” Bormann said. “Would sending the fertile Major von Wachtstein back to South America be a major contribution to Germany’s good relations with Argentina, or would we be sending the fox back into the chicken coop?”
“I would substitute the phrase ‘major contribution to the success of Operation Phoenix’ for ‘good relations,’” Von Ribbentrop said.
“The question as I see it is whether we can trust young von Wachtstein,” Himmler said, “Cranz?”
“Where is he now?” Bormann asked.
“In Augsburg,” von und zu Waching said. “And in that connection, I think I should mention that General Galland telephoned to the Führer asking that he be assigned to the ME-262 project. And the Führer approved.”
“Damn!” Bormann said.
“Well, Cranz?” Himmler asked impatiently.
“Herr Reichsprotektor,” Cranz said, “nothing that Korvettenkapitän 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 Führer, Joachim,” Bormann asked, “since he approved of Galland getting von Wachtstein?”
“I think I would agree with the Foreign Minister that the Führer 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, Fregattenkapitän, 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 Fregattenkapitän 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 th
at 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 controls 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 provide 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 seriously, 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.” Henderver 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 Führer.”
“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 Reichsprotektor.”
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 Führer’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
Río Negro Province, Argentina
1320 29 May 1943
Don Cletus Frade turned the Lodestar on final, which put him over the incredibly clear and blue waters of Lake Nahuel Huapí, with the village of Bariloche to his right and the Andes Mountains in the background. “Flaps, twenty percent,” he ordered.
Lieutenant Colonel Richard J. Almond, U.S. Army Air Corps, reached for the flap control, moved it, and when the indicator showed twenty percent, called back: “Flaps at twenty.”
Almond was in the right seat of the Lodestar, in civilian clothing except for his Air Corps A-2 leather flight jacket. Frade was wearing his Marine-issued leather flight jacket, which differed from the Air Corps model in several details, including its fur collar. Almond’s jacket had a leather collar. Frade’s jacket insignia still included a leather patch with—now faded—gold wings and the legend, “Frade, C. 1/LT USMCR” stamped on it.
“Gear down,” Frade ordered.
Colonel Almond reached for the wheel-shaped control and pushed it forward. When the green bulb indicating the gear was down appeared on the instrument panel, Almond reported: “Gear down and locked.”
Cletus Frade reached for the throttle quadrant with his right hand.
“One twenty-five,” Colonel Almond reported the airspeed, then turned and looked up at First Lieutenant Anthony C. Pelosi, Corps of Engineers, Army of the United States, who was standing between them, supporting himself with one hand on the back of the pilot’s chair and the other on the back of the copilot’s seat.
“You want to go strap yourself in, Lieutenant?” Almond said, expressing what was actually an order in the form of a suggestion.
“Go fuck yourself,” Lieutenant Pelosi responded and didn’t move.
It took a moment for Colonel Almond to really comprehend what had just been said to him. But as they were about to land on a gravel strip in remote Argentina with a pilot at the controls who had no more than thirty hours’ total time in this type of aircraft, this was not the time to do anything about even such an outrageously obscene refusal of an order from a superior.
“One ten,” Almond called to Frade, then, “One hundred.”
At ninety miles per hour indicated, Frade gently retarded the throttles and eased back a hair on the Lodestar’s wheel, whereupon the airplane stopped flying and the wheels made a gentle contact with the ground. “Dump the flaps,” he ordered as the Lodestar rolled down the gravel strip.
Colonel Almond adjusted t
he flaps. “Zero flaps,” he reported. It was a gentle chastisement. The proper command Frade should have given his copilot was “Zero Flaps” not “Dump the flaps.”
Frade slowed the aircraft to taxi speed long before they had reached the end of the gravel runway.
“Nice landing, Clete,” Almond said, giving credit where credit was due.
Frade nodded. He stopped the Lodestar, turned it around on the runway, taxied back to the end of the runway, and then turned the airplane around again.
They were now ready to take off.
But instead of reaching for the throttle quadrant, Frade shut the left engine down, put the right on LOW IDLE, and applied the parking break.
“Get out of the aisle, Tony,” Clete said as he unfastened his shoulder and lap harness.
“Yes, sir,” Pelosi said.
Pelosi politely and respectfully says “Yes, sir” to Frade, and “Go fuck yourself” to me? That will cost you, Lieutenant, just as soon as we get back to Buenos Aires. Who the hell do you think you are?
Almond had a second thought: Well, that just may give me the reason to get rid of him. He’s entirely too close to Frade. Remove a small problem before it causes large trouble.
All I have to do is report that obscene insubordination and say that he is obviously unsuitable for service here. And Frade can’t protect him; it would be his word against mine.