To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [99]
Richthofen absorbed the old man’s words, felt a rising heat inside of him. “Father, I cannot allow such talk. Every day I see proof that we are winning this war. Every report says that the French are destroying themselves in the South, that Alsace will soon be liberated completely. Here, I have seen for myself. We . . . my own squadron is sweeping the air of British planes. When we are masters of the sky, then our forces on the ground will have every advantage.”
“And what of the Americans?”
Richthofen laughed. “Surely you cannot suggest this war will continue so long into the future. The Americans are no threat to us now, and will not be for years. By the time they arrive here, it will be over. I have every confidence that the High Command has matters well under their control. You should share that confidence, Father.”
There was a knock, and Richthofen moved quickly to the door, was surprised to see Lothar, a broad smile on the young man’s face, oblivious to the tension in the room.
“Manfred! A magnificent surprise! Father, I am glad you are here to share this!’
He handed Richthofen a piece of paper, a telegram. Richthofen read, his eyes growing wider. He moved to the bed, sat down, read the words again. Lothar was in the room now, slapped Richthofen on the shoulder,
“Incredible! Go on, tell him! Tell Father what it says!”
The anger was gone and Richthofen looked at his father, saw the silent dignity, the man bent slightly from so many years of simply doing his duty.
“Father, it seems I will be delayed in reaching home. I have been ordered to make a stop in Kreuznach. It seems the High Command . . . both Field Marshal von Hindenburg and General Ludendorff are requesting my presence.”
Lothar seemed to sway now, could not hide his pure glee. “There’s more! I saved this one.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a notepad. “The call came in a few minutes ago. Allow me to read the message: ’His Imperial Majesty, Kaiser Wilhelm, requests the honor of a visit with Captain Manfred, Baron von Richthofen, for the purpose of making his acquaintance.’ Making his acquaintance! The kaiser himself!”
Richthofen took the notepad, saw the unmistakable handwriting of Corporal Menzke. He realized his own hand was shaking, looked now at his father, saw a smile in the old man’s eyes.
MAY 1, 1917
Despite his orders to begin his leave promptly by the end of the month, Richthofen was not completely comfortable to remain on the ground while Lothar lead the squadron himself. Against the nagging advice in his own head, he had climbed aboard his red Albatros, caught up to the squadron, and, before noon, had added two more enemy planes to his tally.
Krefft had flown him first to Cologne, to meet with von Hoeppner, and Richthofen was astounded at the reception that awaited him. He had expected a brief visit to the Air Service offices there, paying his respects not only to his commander, but to the officers of supply who kept his men so well provided for. When Krefft brought the plane down onto the wide flat field, Richthofen was amazed by the vast sea of people who had gathered around the aerodrome. As he jumped down from the plane, Richthofen found himself surrounded by men in formal suits, local officials who introduced themselves with their titles, and behind them a cluster of brightly dressed schoolgirls, each breathlessly holding a bouquet of flowers. To one side stood a formation of military school cadets, sharp gray uniforms, each boy staring at him with wide eyes. Beyond the formal gathering was a much larger crowd, the people of the city, straining against ropes and a line of surprised soldiers simply to get a glimpse of the great man.
The speeches began, each important man with something