The Valhalla Exchange

5

From his window, Hesser could see out across the courtyard and outer walls to the road winding steeply down the valley to the river below. Beyond the trees was the tiny village of Arlberg, looking rather like something out of a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm, the pine trees on the lower slopes of the mountain behind it green against the snow. In fact it was snowing again now, only slightly, but for a moment, it seemed to make the world a cleaner, more shining place. Some throwback to childhood probably.

The door opened behind him and Schenck entered. Hesser said, 'Snowing again. It's hanging on this year.'

'True, Herr Oberst,' Schenck said. 'When I passed through the village early this morning I noticed the woodcutters' children from the outlying districts skiing to school.'

Hesser moved to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy. Schenck tried to stay suitably impassive and Hesser said, 'I know, the road to ruin, but it's bad this morning. Worse than usual and this helps a damn sight more than those pills.'

He could feel his left arm in every detail within the empty sleeve, every wire inside his broken body, and the glass eye was sheer torture.

'What does it matter anyway? The same roads all lead to hell in the end. But never mind that now. Did you try Berlin again this morning?'

'Yes, Herr Oberst, but we're just not succeeding in getting through.'

'And the radio?'

'Kaput, Herr Oberst. Stern found a couple of valves gone.'

'Can't he replace them?'

'When he opened the box of spares they had all suffered damage in transit from the look of things.'

'Are you trying to tell me we've no kind of communication at all with anyone?'

'For the moment I am afraid that is true, Herr Oberst, but with luck we should still get through to Berlin if we keep trying and Stern is out in a field car now, touring the district to see if he can find the spares he needs.'

'Very well. Is there anything else?'

'General Canning and Colonel Birr are here.'

'All right, show them in. And Schenck,' he added as the old lieutenant moved to the door.

'Herr Oberst.'

'You stay, too.'

Canning wore a sidecap and olive drab officer's trenchcoat. Birr was in a reversible camouflage and white winter uniform smock with a hood, of a type issued generally in the German Army on the Eastern Front.

Hesser said, 'Ready for exercise, I see, gentlemen.'

'Never mind that,' Canning said brusquely. 'What have you decided?'

Hesser raised a hand defensively. 'You go too fast, General. There is a great deal to consider here.'

'For Christ's sake,' Canning said. 'Here we go again. Are you going to do something positive or aren't you?'

'We've been trying to get through to Prisoner of War Administration Headquarters in Berlin since last night without success.'

'Berlin?' Canning said. 'You must be joking. The Russians are walking all over it.'

'Not quite,' Hesser said evenly. 'The Fuhrer, you may be dismayed to know, still lives and there are considerable German forces in the capital.'

'Four hundred and fifty miles away,' Canning said urgently. 'This is here, Max. What are you going to do here, that's what I want to know.'

'Or to put it another way,' Birr said, 'have you thought any more about sending Lieutenant Schenck to look for a British or American unit, perhaps in company with one of us.'

'No.' Hesser slammed his good hand against the desk. 'That I will not permit. That would be going too far. I am a German officer, gentlemen, you must not forget that. I serve my country the best way I can.'

'So what in hell is that supposed to mean?' Canning demanded.

Hesser frowned, thinking for a moment, then nodded. 'For today I will still keep trying to reach Berlin. I must know what their definite orders are in this matter.' Canning started to protest, but Hesser cut him short. 'No, this is the way I intend to handle things. You must make up your mind to it. First, to use a phrase you are fond of, we try channels.'

'And then?' Birr asked.

'If we are no further forward by this time tomorrow, I shall consider sending Oberleutnant Schenck out into the wide world to see what he can find. Always supposing he is willing to take his chances.' He turned to Schenck. 'I will not make this an order, you understand?'

Schenck smiled bleakly. 'I shall be happy to do as the Herr Oberst sees fit.'

'Why waste another day?' Canning began, but Hesser simply stood up.

'That is all I have to say, gentlemen. Good morning.' He nodded to Schenck. 'You will take the general and Colonel Birr to exercise now.'

It was cold in the water garden, snow flying every which way in the wind. The guards on each gate wore parkas and Schneider trailed along at the rear of Canning and Birr with Magda. Canning turned at one point and snapped his fingers. The Alsatian strained at her lead and whined.

'Oh, let her go, man,' he snapped at Schneider in German.

Schneider slipped her chain reluctantly and the bitch ran to Canning and licked his hand. He knelt and fondled her ears and said, 'Well, what do you think?'

'More than I'd hoped for. Hesser's a Prussian, remember. A professional soldier of the old school, God and the Fatherland branded on his backbone. You're asking him to throw in his hand. Not only to string up the white flag, but to go running around trying to attract somebody's attention with it. That's expecting a hell of a lot. I'd settle for what you've got if I were you.'

'Yes, maybe you're right.' Canning stood up as Paul Gaillard and Madame Chevalier appeared from the lower water garden, walking briskly. She wore a German military greatcoat and a headscarf and Gaillard had on a black beret and overcoat.

'How did you get on?' the Frenchman demanded as they approached.

'Oh, you tell them, Justin,' Canning said. 'I've had enough for one day.'

He moved away, Magda at his knee, went down the steps past the lily pond and entered the conservatory. Schneider followed, but stayed in the porch.

It was warm and humid in there, plants everywhere, palms and vines, heavy with grapes. He followed the black and white mosaic of the path and came to the centre fountain where he found Claire de Beauville tending the scarlet winter roses that were her special pride.

Canning paused for a moment, watching her. She was really beautiful, the dark hair pulled back to the nape of the neck, exposing the oval triangle of the face. The high cheekbones, the wide, quiet eyes, the generous mouth. He was conscious of the old, familiar stirring and the slight feeling of anger that went with it.

Orphaned at an early age and supported by an uncle in the shipping business in Shanghai, whom he never saw, he had spent most of his youth at boarding schools of one kind or another before he finally entered West Point. From that moment, he had given his all to the army; sacrificed everything to the demands of military life with single-minded devotion. He had never felt the need for wife or family. There had been women, of course, but only in the most basic way. Now, everything had changed. For the first time in his life, another human being could touch him and that was not a concept that fitted comfortably into his scheme of things.

Claire turned, gardening fork in one hand, and smiled. 'There you are. What happened?'

'Oh, we have to wait another twenty-four hours. Max wants to make one last attempt to get in touch with Prisoner of War Administration Headquarters in Berlin. The correct Junker officer, right to the bitter end.'

'And you, Hamilton, what do you want?'

'To be free now,' he said, his voice suddenly urgent. 'It's been too long, Claire, don't you see?'

'And you've missed too much, isn't that it?' He frowned and she carried on. 'The war, Hamilton. Your precious war. Bugles faintly on the wind, the smoke of battle. Meat and drink to you; what your soul craves. And who knows, if you were free now, there might still be the chance to get involved. Have one last glorious fling.'

'That's a hell of a thing to say.'

'But true. And what can I offer as a substitute? Only winter roses.'

She smiled slightly. He caught her then, pulling her into his arms, his mouth fastening hungrily on hers.

Ritter, seated at the piano in the canteen, was playing a Chopin etude, a particular favourite of his. It was a piece which comforted him, in spite of the fact that this present instrument was distinctly out of tune. It reminded him of other days. Of his father and mother and the small country estate in Prussia where he had been raised.

The Russians were shelling constantly now, the sound of the explosions audible even at that depth, the concrete walls trembling. There was that all-pervading smell of sulphur, dust everywhere.

A drunken SS lieutenant lurched against the piano, slopping beer over the keys. 'We've had enough of that rubbish. What about something rousing? Something to lift the heart. A chorus of "Horst Wessel", perhaps?'

Ritter stopped playing and looked up at him. 'You're speaking to me, I presume?' His voice was very quiet, yet infinitely dangerous, the white face burning, the eyes dark.

The lieutenant took in the Knight's Cross, the Oak Leaves, the Swords, the rank insignia and tried to draw himself together. 'I'm sorry, Sturmbannfuhrer. My mistake.'

'So it would appear. Go away.'

The lieutenant moved off to join a noisy jostling throng as drunk as himself. A young nurse in service uniform was passing by. One of them pulled her across his knee. Another slipped a hand up her skirt. She laughed and reached up to kiss a third hungrily.

Ritter, totally disgusted, helped himself to a bottle of Steinhager at the bar, filled a glass and sat at an empty table. After a while, Hoffer entered. He looked around the canteen, then came across quickly, his face pale with excitement.

'I saw a hell of a thing a little while ago, Major.'

'And what would that be?'

'General Fegelein being marched along the corridor by two of the escort guard, minus his epaulettes and shoulder flashes. He looked frightened to death.'

'The fortunes of war, Erich. Get yourself a glass.'

'Good God, Major, a general of the SS. A Knight's Cross holder.'

'And like all of us in the end, clay of the most common variety, my friend — or at least his feet were.'

'We shouldn't have come here to this place.' Hoffer glanced about him, his face working. 'We're never going to get out. We're going to die here like rats and in bad company.'

'I don't think so.'

There was an immediate expression of hope on Hoffer's face. 'You've heard something?'

'No, but all my instincts tell me that I shall. Now get yourself a glass and bring that chessboard over here.'

Bormann and Rattenhuber, watching from a doorway at the rear of the room, had observed the entire scene. Rattenhuber said, 'His mother was a really big aristocrat. One of those families that goes all the way back to Frederick.'

'Look at him,' Bormann said. 'Did you see the way he handled that drunken swine?

And I'll tell you something, Willi. A hundred marks says he hasn't raised his arm and said Heil Hitler for at least two years. I know his kind. They salute like a British Guards officer — a finger to the peak of the cap. And the men, Willi. Shall I tell you what they think, even the men of the SS? Would you imagine they'd still follow old peasants like you and me?'

'They follow.' Rattenhuber hesitated. 'They follow their officers, Reichsleiter. They have discipline, the Waffen-SS. The finest in the world.'

'But Ritter, Willi. A man like him, they'll follow into the jaws of hell, and you know why? Because men like him don't give a damn. They're what they are. Themselves alone.'

'And what would that be, Reichsleiter?'

'In his case, a very gentle perfect knight. You see, Willi? All that reading I do — even English literature. They think me Bormann the boor, Goebbels and company, but I know more than they do — about everything. Don't you agree?'

'But of course, Reichsleiter.'

'And Ritter — fine Aryan stock, like one of those idealized paintings the Fuhrer loves so much. A standard impossible for the rest of us to attain. Forget the nasty things, Willi. The rapes, the burnings, the camps, the executions. Just think of the ideal. The finest soldier you've ever known. Decent, honourable, chivalrous and totally without fear. What every soldier in the Waffen-SS would like to imagine himself to be, that's what Ritter is.'

'And you think these Finnish barbarians we discussed earlier would concur?'

'The Knight's Cross, Willi, with Oak Leaves and Swords? What do you think?'

Rattenhuber nodded. 'I think that perhaps the Reichsleiter would like me to bring him to the office now.'

'Later, Willi. Now I must go to the Fuhrer. The news of Himmler's defection and Fegelein's cowardice have considerably angered him. He needs me. You speak to Ritter, Willi, when he's had a drink or two. Judge if it's changed him. I'll see him later. After midnight.'

The shelling increased in intensity, the thunder overhead continuous now, so that the walls shook constantly and in the canteen behaviour deteriorated considerably. The place was crowded with a noisy, jostling throng, here and there a drunk lying under the table.

When Rattenhuber returned a couple of hours later, Ritter and Hoffer were still at the table at the rear of the room, playing chess.

Rattenhuber said, 'May I join you?'

Ritter glanced up. 'Why not?'

Rattenhuber winced as a particularly thunderous explosion shook the entire room. 'I didn't like the sound of that. Do you think we're safe here, Major?'

Ritter looked at Hoffer. 'Erich?'

Hoffer shrugged. 'Seventeen point five calibre is the heaviest they've got. Nothing that could get down this far.'

'A comforting thought.' Rattenhuber offered them both cigarettes.

Ritter said, 'Hoffer saw a strange sight some hours ago. General Fegelein being led along the corridor under escort, minus epaulettes and insignia.'

'Yes, very sad. A disgrace to all of us,' Rattenhuber said. 'He cleared off yesterday. When the Fuhrer found he was missing, he sent a detachment out looking for him. The fool was actually at his own house in Charlottenburg in civilian clothes and with a woman. They took him outside and shot him half an hour ago.'

Ritter showed no emotion whatsoever. 'If what you say is so, then there could be no other penalty.'

'No, we can't just leave the war by taking off our uniform and putting on a raincoat, not at this stage,' Rattenhuber said. 'Not any of us.' He lit another cigarette. 'By the way, Major, the Reichsleiter would like to see you a little later on. I'd be obliged if you'd hold yourself in readiness.'

'Naturally,' Ritter said. 'I'm at the Reichsleiter's orders.' The slight, sardonic smile that touched his mouth had an edge of contempt to it. 'Was there anything else?'

Rattenhuber felt in some curious way as if he was being dismissed. 'No,' he said hurriedly. 'I'll look for you here.'

An SS orderly entered the room, gazed around quickly, then bore down on them. He clicked his heels and offered a signal to Rattenhuber. Rattenhuber read it, his face broke into a delighted smile and he waved the orderly away.

'Excellent news. The Fieseler Storch in which Feldmarschall von Greim and Hannah Reitsch flew into Berlin on the 26th was destroyed this morning by artillery fire.'

'So, the Feldmarschall is also a permanent guest here?' Ritter said. 'Bad luck.'

'No, he got away this evening in a replacement plane, an Arado trainer piloted by Hannah Reitsch after she'd made two unsuccessful attempts. They took off near the Brandenburger Tor.' He stood up. 'You must excuse me. The Reichsleiter has been waiting for such news and the Fuhrer also.' He went out.

Hoffer said, 'But what does he want you for?'

'I expect I'll find that out when he sees me,' Ritter said. He nodded at the chessboard. 'And now, if you don't mind, it's your move.'

Just before midnight, Walter Wagner, a city councillor and minor official of the Propaganda Ministry, was hustled into the bunker under armed guard. Totally bewildered and still not quite believing what was happening to him, at approximately one o'clock in the morning he married Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun. The only other two people present were the witnesses, Martin Bormann and Josef Goebbels, Reich Minister for Propaganda.

A wedding breakfast was served immediately afterwards at which champagne was available in copious quantities. At approximately two o'clock, the Fuhrer went into an adjoining room to dictate his will and final political testament to one of his two secretaries, Frau Junge. Bormann, who had been waiting for an appropriate moment, seized his chance and left also.

Rattenhuber was waiting for him in the corridor. 'And now we've got that out of the way, I'll see Ritter,' the Reichsleiter said. 'Bring him to me, Willi.'

When Rattenhuber ushered Ritter into the office, there was a particularly intensive bombardment taking place. The Reichsleiter looked up as smoke and dust drifted from the ventilator. 'If that hadn't been happening for some days now, I'd be alarmed.'

'Not pleasant,' Ritter said.

'No place to be at the moment — Berlin — if it can be avoided.'

Rattenhuber took up his position beside the door. There was a long silence during which Bormann gazed up at the young SS officer calmly. Finally he said, 'You would like to leave Berlin, Sturmbannfuhrer?'

Ritter actually smiled. 'I think you may say that I would dearly love to, Reichsleiter, but I would not have thought it a possibility now.'

'Oh, all things are possible to men who are willing to dare anything. I had formed the opinion that you were of that breed. Am I right?'

'If you say so.'

'Good, we must see if we can accommodate you then. This man of yours — Hoffer. He is to be trusted?'

'With my life — yes,' Ritter said. 'I would not depend too much on his loyalty to any political idea, however — not at this stage.'

'In other words, a man of sound sense and judgement. I like that.' Bormann turned the map which lay before him. 'You know this area here, north-west of Innsbruck on the Inn River?'

'I know where it is,' Ritter said. 'Let's put it that way. My unit was in that general area when I left. Perhaps fifty miles away.'

'Not now,' Bormann said. 'What was left of them was wiped out by tanks of the American 6th Army Group a hundred miles or more from there yesterday morning.'

For a moment his voice seemed to fade for Ritter as he thought of the regiment, old comrades, Colonel Jager. He come back to reality to hear Bormann saying, 'I'm sorry — a bad shock for you.'

'No matter,' Ritter said. 'An old and tired story, repeated many times. Please continue.'

'Very well. This entire area, the triangle between Innsbruck, Salzburg and Klagenfurt, is still in our hands, but the situation is very fluid. The enemy are probing in with great care because they believe the stories they've heard of an Alpine fortress where we can hold out for years. Once they appreciate the truth of the situation, they'll be through to Berchtesgaden like a hot knife into butter.'

'And this could happen at any time?'

'Undoubtedly. So, to accomplish what I seek we must move fast.'

'And what would that be, Reichsleiter?'

Bormann picked up a pencil and drew a circle around Arlberg. 'Here at Schloss Arlberg on the Inn, you will find five important prisoners. What we call prominenti. One of them is the American general, Canning. Who the others are needn't concern you at the moment. It's enough to know that they are all people held in special regard by the individual nations. You can read the files later.'

'A moment,' Ritter said. 'You speak as if you expect me to go there in person. As if it is an accomplished fact. But this would first mean leaving Berlin.'

'Naturally.'

'But how can this be?'

'You may have heard that the Fieseler Storch in which Feldmarschall von Greim and Hannah Reitsch flew into Berlin was destroyed yesterday.'

'Yes, I know that. They flew out last night in a replacement, an Arado training plane.' And then, with a sudden flash of insight, Ritter saw it all. 'Ah, I see now. The Fieseler Storch — '

' — Is in a garage at the back of an automobile showroom just off the main avenue near Brandenburger Tor. I'll give you the address before you leave. You will fly out tonight, or probably just after midnight tomorrow, the best time to evade the Russian anti-aircraft. About ten miles from Arlberg, here at Arnheim, there's an airstrip. Used for mountain rescue operations before the war. No one there now. You should arrive by breakfast time.'

'Then what?'

'You'll find transport. It's all arranged. Even my enemies admit I'm an organizer.' Bormann smiled. 'You will proceed from there to Arlberg where you will take charge of the five prisoners I have mentioned and bring them back to Arnheim with you. They'll be picked up from there by transport plane later in the day. Any questions?'

'Several. The purpose of this operation?'

'The prisoners, you mean?' Bormann waved a hand. 'Put out of your mind any wild rumours you may have heard about the execution of prominent persons. I abhor waste. Major, believe me. These people will be useful bargaining counters when we reach the situation of having to sit down and discuss peace terms with our enemies.'

'Hostages might be a better word.'

'If you like.'

'All right,' Ritter said. 'But what about the situation at the castle? Who's in charge?'

'Soldiers of the Wehrmacht, but only just. A Colonel Hesser — a good man, but crippled — and nineteen or twenty old men. Reservists. Nothing to worry about.'

'And I'll have a piece of paper, I suppose, ordering him to hand them over?'

'Signed by the Fuhrer himself.'

'What if he refuses — not that I'm trying to be difficult, you understand. It's just that after six years of service I've got accustomed to the fact that in war anything can happen, especially when one expects the opposite. I like to take care of all eventualities.'

'And so you shall.' Bormann indicated the map again, tapping with his pencil. 'At this very moment no more than ten miles west of Arnheim you'll find an SS unit or what's left of it. Thirty or forty men according to my information.'

'These days, as the Reichsleiter knows, the term SS can cover a multitude of sins. Are they Germans?'

'No, but first-rate troops. Finns, who were with Wiking Division in Russia operating mainly as ski troops.'

'Mercenaries?' Ritter said.

'Soldiers of the Waffen-SS whose contract does not expire until 9 a.m. on the 1st May. You will hold them to their contract and bend them to your purpose until you have secured your prisoners. Do you understand me?'

'I believe so.'

'Good.' Bormann handed him a small folder. 'Everything you need is in there, including the address of the garage where you'll find the Storch. The pilot's name is Berger. He's SS too, so you see, it's all being kept in the family. Oh, and there's just one other rather important thing.'

'What's that, Reichsleiter?'

'Someone will be going along with you, as my personal representative, just to see that everything goes all right. A Herr Strasser. I hope I can rely on you to offer him every courtesy.'

Ritter stood looking down at the folder which he gripped tightly in both hands. 'Is there something worrying you, Major?' Martin Bormann asked gently.

'The prisoners,' Ritter said and looked up. 'I want your assurance, your personal word on your honour, that no harm will come to them. That the situation will be exactly as you have stated.'

'My dear Ritter.' Bormann came round the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Anything else would simply be stupid and I'm not that, believe me.'

Ritter nodded slowly. 'As you say, Reichsleiter.'

'Good,' Bormann said. 'Excellent. I'd get some sleep now if I were you. Rattenhuber here will see that you and Hoffer get a pass that will get you out of here some time tomorrow afternoon. I may not see you again before you go, although I'll try. If not, good luck.'

He held out his hand. Ritter hesitated, then took it briefly. Rattenhuber held open the door for him. As he closed it, Bormann went round the desk. When he turned there was a strange expression on his face.

'My honour, Willi. He asked me to swear on my honour. Did you ever hear of such a thing with almost everyone else I know doubting its very existence for the past twenty years or more?'

Hoffer was waiting in the canteen and leaned over excitedly as Ritter sat down. 'What was it all about?'

'I'm not sure, Erich,' Ritter said. 'You see, there was what he told me and what he missed out. Still, for what it's worth…'

He leaned forward, his hands on the folder, and started to talk.