Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [54]
The signal came from the buzzer above his desk. Two rings, then one, then another. Kahr was puzzled. Few people visited the generator room, because of the noise. He threw the bolt and opened the heavy door.
"Sergeant Kahr," the visitor said.
The voice, the golden voice. Kahr stepped away from the door so quickly that his chair spilled backward against the gas-mask crate, and the startled canaries chirruped and frantically flitted around their cage.
Kahr straightened his backbone, slapped his arms against his sides, thrust his chin up and sucked his belly in.
"Sergeant Kahr, we are a family here belowground," Adolf Hitler said, entering the room slowly, more a shuffle than a walk.
"Yes, my leader." Kahr fought for breath. Most Germans, even high-ranking officers, suffered an inability to breathe while being addressed by their leader, so powerful was his effect.
"I have tried to take some of the burdens off my family, especially now that we must live down in this terrible place."
"Yes, my leader."
Even though Kahr worked within two dozen meters of the Führer almost every day, he seldom more than glimpsed the man, usually through a door or between several generals, sometimes partly hidden behind his dog as Hitler kneeled to pet it. So Kahr's image of Hitler had remained fixed, the glowing giant on the posters. Now Kahr was startled at Hitler's rapid decline. The Führer's pale blue eyes — his one distinctive feature — were bloodshot, the pupils filmy. Hitler's face was bloated and the skin was chalky and yellow. The bags under his eyes, which Hitler blamed on mustard gas in the trenches, were purple and puffy. Deep lines ran from his newly pulpy nose to the corners of his mouth. His hair had turned gray within just the past two months, not a dignified silver but a drab mouse gray. Hitler's left arm was palsied and useless, and he gripped it with his right hand to prevent it from shaking. The contrast between Hitler and his SS guards, chosen for their health and beauty, had become appalling.
But, still and ever, the voice. "I cannot let my intimates suffer alone."
On his nose were the nickel-rimmed spectacles that most Germans knew nothing about. He brought up a sheet of paper to his eyes, and then Ulrich Kahr knew the reason for the visit.
The sergeant groaned lowly and swayed. Only by replanting a foot could he stay upright.
Hitler said in a tender voice, "Your son, Max, has been lost near Stettin, on the Oder."
"Lost?" Kahr said in a fogged voice. His face was suddenly flushed, and he was dizzy.
"His commanding officer writes that Max did not come back from patrol. He is presumed dead. The Bolsheviks are not taking prisoners. I thought it better that I inform you, rather than you hearing this news from someone else."
Kahr blindly reached for his desk. His legs were suddenly unable to support him. Hitler stepped into the small room to help the sergeant into the chair, not much help, with only one hand.
Then Hitler put his good hand on Kahr's shoulder. "I am very sorry," he said, bending forward so as to gaze into the sergeant's watering eyes. "But at least you know that his loss was for the Fatherland."
Kahr gulped air.
Hitler squeezed the sergeant's shoulder "I will be thinking of Max, too So you will not be alone in your loss." He stood upright and left the room.
Kahr turned back to his control panel. The dials and gauges were scrambled by his tears. His boy Max. This dreadful news. His last son. Kahr's thoughts were broken and dulled. He could not see beyond that minute, that hour, that day. His business with this world was done. Ulrich Kahr's last hope was gone forever.
4
THE BAVARIAN MOTOR WORKS plant near Munich had been reduced to wreckage, but their motorcycles still worked well enough. Jack Cray straddled the machine, his hands out in front of him on the handlebars. The 900-cc engine rumbled under him. Wind blew in his face. The dirt road was pocked with puddles from the rain. He drove slowly, never more than