The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [48]
Speidel hesitated. “I had never really thought about it. I joined the army, and they gave me a uniform. It fit.”
“In Berlin or Berchtesgaden, all those gray birds that flutter around Hitler…you know very well that before they ever dare to preen and pose for the Führer, they check themselves very carefully in the mirror.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Rommel put his hands on his hips, focused on the rose garden below the window where a one-armed man knelt, pulling a small strand of muddy weeds.
“I have in the past. Too many photographers following me around. I would send them away, and they would scatter like pigeons, only to light around me minutes later. That damned Berndt.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Who?”
“Captain Alfred Berndt, a Gestapo officer assigned to me in Libya. He was supposed to be in charge of the publicity that surrounded my camp.” He shook his head. “It was all propaganda, of course. He would send a steady stream of photographs and news releases home to Goebbels, all for public consumption. All the while, I wasn’t supposed to notice that Berndt wore a Gestapo uniform. It was Berlin’s clumsy way of keeping an eye on me.” He paused, looked at Speidel. “You are aware that there is no Berndt pecking his way around here? I wouldn’t allow it. Berlin was very…gracious about it, actually. I suppose, with von Rundstedt watching over me, I am not as likely to disturb their version of events. It isn’t necessary to observe my every indiscretion. Or did they tell you otherwise?”
“To be honest, sir, General Jodl told me that you are often capable of a defeatist attitude. I have seen nothing of the sort.”
Rommel studied Speidel, the small hawkish face, the face of a professor.
“I am a defeatist in Berlin because I see this war for what it has become.” He stopped but saw no change in Speidel’s expression. He expected a protest from Speidel, was surprised the man did not object to his indiscreet comment.
Speidel pretended to busy himself with some bit of paperwork, nervous now, and did not look at him, but said, “There are many who agree with your sentiments, sir. Many of…us. I am greatly disturbed by events as they are now.”
Rommel was surprised, felt an odd tug inside of him, that same caution he had felt with Dr. Strölin. Speidel looked at him.
“I believe you are acquainted with Dr. Karl Strölin?” Speidel said.
“Why do you ask?”
“He is a good friend. To all of us. Especially to Germany. He is a man with an optimistic view of the future.”
Rommel hesitated, the familiar caution spreading through him. He stepped slowly to the chair, sat, and began drumming his fingers on the desk, tension rising up inside of him, his heart beginning to pound.
“Tell me, Hans, are you as optimistic as Dr. Strölin?”
The hint of a smile appeared on Speidel’s face. “We are all fighting for what is best for our country, sir. I prefer to believe that Germany has a prosperous future. No matter the outcome of this war, the German people must not suffer as they did after the last one. The German people have enemies within our borders who must be removed. To put it bluntly, this war has made Germany an enemy to the civilized world. We are hated, in fact. No decent German should be willing to accept that. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”
Rommel understood now, with perfect clarity. His chief of staff was not only acquainted with Dr. Strölin, he was part of the movement to remove the Führer from power.
“I do not wish to continue this conversation, Hans.”
“My apologies, sir. I would never attempt to involve you in matters that are objectionable to you.”
“I didn’t say it was objectionable.” He didn’t know what else to say, no clever euphemisms came to mind; he was not as talented as Speidel at disguising his words. They sat quietly for a moment, Speidel busying himself with the papers again. Rommel still tapped his fingers on the desk, saw Speidel glancing at the sound, at Rommel’s hands. It had been a long time since Rommel felt intimidated by anyone, certainly anyone he outranked. But he was intimidated now. The questions