The 34th Degree

1943

O n the island of Corfu, Commandant Georgio Buzzini was in his office on the second floor of the Palace of St. Michael and St. George when his aide Sergeant Racini returned from the airstrip to report that General Ludwig von Berg had arrived and was safe at the Achillion.

“Too bad,” said Buzzini, still smarting from his last run-in with von Berg. “Did he ask why I wasn’t there to greet him personally?”

“No, sir,” Racini replied. “He didn’t seem to care.”

“He didn’t?” Buzzini frowned.

“He simply wanted to know if his friend the German professor had arrived. I told him he had, two days ago. I also gave him all his cables from Berlin on the spot.” The sergeant from Palermo quickly added, “To save him another trip to the office here.”

“You mean save us another visit from that bastard.” Buzzini looked out the window over Corfu Town’s spiniada. “Was his so-called nurse with him?”

“Yes, but she didn’t look well at all. I think she’s suffered some trauma. She said she was going to drown herself, and the Baron said she could be his guest.”

“And why shouldn’t she, Sergeant?” Buzzini turned from the window. “Her parents are dead, hanged by the SS in Athens!”

“Mother of God!” cried Racini.

“Yes,” said Buzzini grimly. “If he could, the Baron would murder the Virgin Mary herself before she could bear the Christ Child.” He held up the communique his radio operator had picked up while Racini was gone. “This is from General Vecchiarelli’s headquarters in Athens,” he said, waving the flimsy piece of paper wildly. “The Baron’s nurse, it turns out, is none other than Aphrodite Vasilis of the tobacco family. It was her parents the Baron murdered.”

“No!” said Racini.

“Yes, Sergeant,” said Buzzini, relishing this rare display of superior knowledge. “Not only that, but it seems none other than the son of General Andros paid the good Baron a visit in Athens.”

“The son of General Andros?” repeated Racini, his face flushed from these revelations.

Buzzini decided to drop his final bombshell. “Furthermore, radio traffic is heavy with news from the Peloponnese,” he went on. “Even as we speak, a German air strike is under way against Greek partisans in the Parnon Mountains of the Peloponnese.”

Racini looked flabbergasted, much to Buzzini’s satisfaction. “But what does this mean, Commandant?”

Buzzini, enjoying himself, said, “Consider what we know so far, Sergeant.” He held up a finger to make his first point. “The German First Panzer Division is on its way from France along with further reinforcements to bring a total of four German divisions alongside our own Italian Eleventh Army in Greece.”

The sergeant from Palermo nodded.

Buzzini held up a second finger. “The Germans have relieved us of control of the minefields we’ve laid all along the west coast of Greece. Indeed, German R-boats now patrol the waters surrounding these islands and the coast.”

Racini received the second volley of information with a simple “This is true.”

Buzzini held up three fingers. “Then there is this air strike against increased partisan activity in the mountains.”

Racini shrugged. “Again I must ask you, Commandant, what does this mean?”

Buzzini smiled triumphantly as he held up four fingers. “And now the Baron himself returns to the island in a fury and cloisters himself behind the gates of the Achillion. The only conclusion we can draw is that the Allies are about to invade Greece.”

“But where in Greece?” pressed Racini.

“The German Naval War Staff said it last week in that cable to General von Berg when they suggested that landing attempts will most likely be here on Corfu.”

“Here?” cried Racini. “But when?”

“That, unfortunately, I cannot tell you,” Buzzini admitted as he turned to the window once again and looked out across Garitsa Bay. “But I’ll wager you one thing, Sergeant: the Baron knows. Oh, yes, he knows.”