Death and Honor полностью

Most of these SS bastards never have heard a shot fired in anger; for them a Luger’s like those stupid daggers they wear on their dress uniform—a symbol, rather than a tool.

The first thing that Dieter von und zu Aschenburg did when I showed up with a Luger in Spain was take it away from me and give me a .380 Walther PPK.

“A Luger’s for looks, Hansel, my boy. If you’re going to shoot somebody, you’ll need something that doesn’t jam after the first shot. Or before the first shot.”

As he and Cranz walked across the sidewalk to get into the embassy Mercedes, he had three more thoughts:

I still have the PPK; it’s in the bedside table in my apartment.

Cranz didn’t say anything about me taking a gun.

My God! Was there some sort of threat in him making sure I saw he had the P- 08 ready to fire?

[TWO]

El Palomar Airfield Campo de Mayo Military Base Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 1035 23 July 1943

“Tell me something about the radio in the Storch, von Wachtstein,” Cranz said as they walked up to the aircraft.

“What would you like to know, Herr Standartenführer?”

“How do they work? What do they do?”

“Well, this one has the latest equipment. There’s a transmitter-receiver—”

“Which does what?”

“Permits me to communicate with the control tower here, to get permission to taxi, to take off and land, to check the weather, things like that.”

“Can you communicate with anyone else?”

“If there were other German aircraft here, and within range, I could talk to them.”

“Not to an Argentine aircraft?”

“We use different frequencies, Herr Standartenführer. Theoretically, yes; actually, no.”

“Anything else?”

“It has an RDF receiver, Herr Standartenführer. That round antenna on top?” He pointed to it and, when Cranz nodded, went on: “It rotates. There’s a control in the cockpit, and a dial. First you tune in the frequency of the airfield. You hear a Morse code signal. Here, that’s PAL: Dit dah dah dit. Dit dah. Dit dah dit—”

“I know Morse code, von Wachtstein.”

“Yes, sir. I should have known that. No offense intended, sir.”

“None taken. And?”

“When I hear that repeated, I rotate the antenna. Signal strength is shown on a dial. When the dial shows the strongest signal strength, it does so on a compass. That shows me the direction of the field.”

“Very interesting.”

“It’s effective, sir.”

“Just as soon as we get into the air, von Wachtstein, I want you to turn off the transmitter-receiver.”

“Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer.”

Jesus Christ! He thinks I’m going to get on the radio and tell somebody where we’re going!

“Does that answer your question, Herr Standartenführer?”

“Yes, it does, thank you. I have one more.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Will our route take us over your wife’s farm? Let me rephrase: Is it necessary that we fly over your wife’s farm, or that of your friend Frade?”

“I had planned to fly down National Route Three, Herr Standartenführer. It goes all the way to Necochea. My mother-in-law’s estancia touches Route Three.”

I don’t think he’s angling for an invitation to call on Doña Claudia.

“Can you avoid doing so?”

“Certainly, Herr Standartenführer.”

“Do so,” Cranz ordered curtly.

“Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer!”

Does he really think I’ll try something to tell somebody what’s going on?

He’s too smart for that.

Then is he trying to scare me?

If so, why?

What the hell is going on here?

Jesus Christ!

My vivid imagination has just gone into high gear:

When we get to the beach at Necochea, he’s going to use that Luger on me.