Death and Honor полностью

“No. The way that works, Untersturmführer Schneider, is that inasmuch as I am a major and the acting military attaché, you will be going with me.”

“Jawohl, Herr Major,” Schneider said, then threw out his arm again and barked, “Heil Hitler!”

Schneider suspected—he had no idea why—that von Wachtstein didn’t like him. But he was not offended by von Wachtstein’s curt—even rude—sarcasm. For one thing, an officer who had received the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross for extraordinary valor in aerial combat was entitled to be a bit arrogant.

And for another, I was wrong; I should have been more precise than “soon arrival.”

And I had no right to question his orders.

After the first call, Lufthansa Six Zero Two had attempted to contact the El Palomar tower once a minute for the next eleven minutes. Finally, the El Palomar tower operators had gotten through: “Lufthansa Six Zero Two, this is El Palomar.”

The response had been immediate.

“El Palomar, Lufthansa Six Zero Two has entered Argentine airspace at the mouth of the River Plate. Altitude three thousand five hundred meters, indicated airspeed three eight zero kilometers. Estimate El Palomar in four zero minutes. Request approach and landing permission.”

“Lufthansa Six Zero Two, El Palomar understands you are approximately one four zero kilometers east of this field at thirty-five hundred meters, estimating El Palomar in forty minutes.”

“That is correct, El Palomar.”

“Permission to approach El Palomar is granted. Begin descent to two thousand meters at this time. Contact again when ten minutes out.”

“Six Zero Two understands descend to two thousand meters and contact when ten minutes out.”

“Lufthansa Six Zero Two, that is correct.”

“El Palomar, Lufthansa Six Zero Two.”

“Go ahead, Six Zero Two.”

“Six Zero Two is at two thousand meters, indicating three zero zero kilometers. Estimate El Palomar in ten minutes.”

“El Palomar clears Lufthansa Six Zero Two as number one to land on runway Two Six. Winds are negligible. Report when you have El Palomar in sight.”

Eleven minutes later, Lufthansa Six Zero Two was on the ground.

When von und zu Aschenburg shut down the Condor’s engines, he noted in his log that he had fuel remaining for another hour and perhaps ten minutes of flight. That was unnerving, but he had landed here before with less than a half hour’s remaining fuel.

When he looked out the window he saw that the reception committee from the German embassy included—in addition to that SS asshole Schneider, who always met Condor flights—an old friend, Major Hans-Peter Baron von Wachtstein.

Almost a decade earlier, an eighteen-year-old Hauptgefreiter (Sergeant) Wachtstein had flown a Messerschmitt Bf 109B on Oberleutnant von und zu Aschenburg’s wing in the Condor Legion in Spain, and later a Hauptfeldwebel (Flight Sergeant) Wachtstein had flown a Messerschmitt Bf 109E on Major von und zu Aschenburg’s wing in the war in France, the Battle of Britain, and over Berlin.

Oberstleutnant von und zu Aschenburg had presented a newly promoted Oberleutnant Baron von Wachtstein to their Führer on the occasion of von Wachtstein’s award of the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross for extraordinary valor in aerial combat over Berlin while flying a Focke-Wulf 190 as one of von und zu Aschenburg’s squadron commanders.

So long as he had been an enlisted man, von Wachtstein had not used the aristocratic “von”’ and his noble rank, so as not to embarrass his father. This was the new Germany, of course, but there was still enough of the old Germany left that Generalleutnant Graf Karl-Friedrich von Wachtstein had been more than a little uncomfortable to have a son serving in the ranks.

It was another of the reasons that Oberst von und zu Aschenburg liked von Wachtstein.

He had several thoughts when he saw von Wachtstein.

Well, Hansel’s out of the insanity in Germany, at least for right now. With a little luck, he can fly that Storch around the pampas until the war is over.

Good for him. He did his duty. Enough is enough.

And thank God he’s here. I can give him his father’s letter right here at the airport without the SS asshole being the wiser.

Otherwise, I’d have had to carry it around until I could get it to him, and that might have been—hell, would have been—dangerous.

Von und zu Aschenburg turned to First Officer Nabler.

“If you will deal with the paperwork, Nabler, I will deal with our distinguished passenger.”