The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [25]
'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.'