Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [130]
The general was interrupted by the sudden blare of an air-raid siren on a pole just outside the Funkwagen. Even though the vehicle was armored with steel plate, the noise filled the cabin.
Eberhardt muttered, "Goddamn, I get sick of this, every day and every night, never failing, as regular as the postman. Let's go." He reached over to the bulletproof window to signal to the driver to follow them, then opened the Funkwagen's door.
The vehicle was parked near the Stadtmitte U-Bahn station. Dietrich and Eberhardt and the RSD driver and radio operator joined the flow of people heading for the subway entrance. Berliners poured out of office buildings and shops. The office workers and military personnel walked without panic, but steadily, converging on the subway station. The station was near the government quarter, and many who converged on the subway station carried briefcases and notebooks with them, intending to work during the air raid. Turnstiles had been removed at the entrance so as not to impede the foot traffic. In a stream of people Dietrich and Eberhardt descended the stairs and entered the long concrete cavern.
Four yellow subway cars were already parked next to the platform, the drivers having been alerted of the impending raid by signal lights in the tunnel. Earlier in the struggle dozens of benches had been brought belowground, and many iron double cots, manufactured especially for air-raid shelters, were against the gray wall, hiding the advertising billboards. People checked their wristwatches, British raids lasted forty-five minutes. The Americans took much longer, the raids often two or three hours, which many Berliners viewed as a glimpse of the American character, spending all the time necessary to make sure they killed you properly. No sense hurrying such a task.
Dietrich found a place on a bench, then ceded it to an elderly woman wearing a scarf around her head. She smiled at him with gray teeth. He leaned against a wall next to Eberhardt. No deference was paid to Eberhardt's uniform. No salutes, no one offering space on a bench, not when there were probably twenty generals in the station, and not with the war going so poorly.
Lights on the ceiling cast the station in an amber glow. Many of Berlin's children had been taken to the country, but a few were underground, running around, treating the raid as a recess from school. A lady near Dietrich breast-fed her infant, the baby's head hidden by a scarf. Office workers sat in circles, speaking in low tones, anxiously glancing at the ceiling, as if they could detect the approach of the bombers through the concrete and earth. A Kriegsmarine captain in a blue reeferjacket with four gold stripes on each sleeve walked along the platform.
"There aren't any boats left in the navy," Eberhardt said under his breath. "I wonder what that captain does to earn his pay."
Dietrich chuckled, liking the RSD general.
Both men stared for a while at a striking brunette in a Luftwaffe Signals Auxiliary uniform. The navy captain had also let his eyes settle on her.
Eberhardt said, "You know, in a way, I owe you for my son's life."
Dietrich's back was pressed against the station's chilled wall. He stood upright to get away from the cold. "I'd be interested in learning how you figure that."
"My boy—his name is Ritter—used to follow your exploits in the Berlin newspapers. He'd read about some ghastly crime, and your capture of the perpetrator. He followed your career with some relish. And he became a policeman, maybe due to your unwitting influence. He is now a police officer at the Prenzlauer precinct. So he has been spared the front lines."
Dietrich shook his head. "Don't know him. But I'll accept your thanks, however faulty your logic." He hesitated, then added, "And in return I'll ask a favor."
"Sure."
"Can you get Müller off my back? Him and one of his agents, an idiot named Koder?"
Eberhardt took a long breath. "Otto, I've got my own problems with Müller. Severe problems. I'll try, but I don't think there's