To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [100]
Richthofen heard small groans, the disappointment flowing out through the crowd. Krefft had him by the arm now, and they moved quickly through a narrow opening, the hulking frame of Krefft clearing the path. Richthofen moved as quickly as Krefft would lead him, saw soldiers pointing the way to the Officer’s Club, guards manning the door. They were inside now, the crowd noises silent, and Krefft began to laugh.
“I do say, Captain, I was looking forward to your speech!”
Richthofen felt only relief, said, “I am in your debt, Lieutenant. Uh, what speech?”
“The speech they were expecting from you. That last fellow was all primed up to introduce you. All those fat men in their suits were politicians, you know. They can’t do anything without either hearing a speech or making one themselves. Today, they expected to do both!”
Richthofen felt a cold shiver, had never been comfortable in front of any crowd, especially civilians. The thought of actually speaking to them . . . he shivered again.
There were staff officers gathering, waiting politely, and one man said, “Sir, if you wish, General von Hoeppner is available to see you now.”
Krefft patted him on the back, said, “See? I did not have to lie. You have your port in the storm, Captain. Forgive me, I’ll find some refreshment.”
Richthofen felt the tiring monotony of the flight blossoming into a headache. He followed the aide, realized he was still wearing his flying suit. He brushed at the oily grime on his coat, pulled a handkerchief, wiped his face. The aide led him down a long hallway, then outside, the official buildings around the aerodrome blessedly quiet. He followed the man down a long straight walkway, a sudden right turn, a door held open, and he was inside again. There were desks now, men on telephones, great maps hanging on each wall. He could feel the energy, tried to see details of the maps, heard a voice, “Captain. If you please, this way.”
He passed through another office, saw an open door, and the tall frail man waiting for him.
“Captain! Do come in! I have a surprise for you.”
Richthofen followed the old man into a wide, brightly lit office, von Hoeppner easing himself down behind a massive wood desk. Richthofen watched as von Hoeppner retrieved a folder of papers from his desk, thought, Another surprise?
“First, Captain, allow me to congratulate you on the achievement of your fiftieth victory. Or should I say, fifty-second? I must admit, I am not altogether pleased.”
“Sir?”
“It had been decided some time ago that your success should be kept at a moderate level. Various tallies were considered, and most believed that forty-one would suffice. That would place you ahead of Captain Boelcke, and certainly maintain your status as the Fatherland’s most celebrated flyer.”
Richthofen was confused, waited for more.
“You might imagine our surprise, and concern, when the number of your victims continued to rise. There is the general feeling here that you have gone far enough, that you have tempted the fates, so to speak. Of course, now that you have reached this new plateau, you have realized a level of success that has elevated you far beyond what the German people should require of you.”
Richthofen was feeling a nervous twist in his gut, the headache starting to pound in his ears.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
“Sir. Forgive me, but I am not certain what you are telling me. Are you saying that my services are no longer required?