“In many ways, Herr General, it is. When I was ordered here, I expected it would be like Spain. It’s not. It’s Argentina.”
“That’s right, you served in Spain, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. Three tours with the Condor Legion.”
“Three?”
“I was given the choice twice, Sir, of returning to Spain, or doing a tour in Germany teaching people how to fly.”
“And you preferred active service to teaching?”
“I decided that if it was my destiny to die for the Fatherland in an airplane, I would prefer to do so in a war, rather than teaching some farmer how to fly.”
Von Deitzberg laughed. “And the women in Spain had nothing to do with it, of course?”
“Oberstleutnant Aschenburg, my commanding officer—”
“Dieter von und zu Aschenburg?” von Deitzberg interrupted.
“Yes, Sir.”
“An old acquaintance. He’s now flying Condors for Lufthansa, you know.”
“Yes, I do,” Peter said. “The Oberstleutnant used to say that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king; and in Spain, the land of the black-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed male, the blue-eyed, blond-haired, fair-skinned Aryan is king.”
“He being a blue-eyed, blond-haired, fair-skinned Pomeranian like you, right, von Wachtstein?”
“I believe he’s Prussian, Herr General.”
“I believe you’re right,” von Deitzberg said.
“We’re almost there, Herr General. The Alvear Palace is two blocks down, once we reach the crest of the hill.”
“Then it’s time we get down to business,” von Deitzberg said. “I’m going to have to talk to you, you understand, about what happened to Oberst Grüner and Standartenführer Goltz, and about what you can expect when you get to Germany.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
“But that can wait until tomorrow. What I have to do today is talk to Oberst Perón. I understand you’re friends?”
“Sir, I am acquainted with Coronel Perón, but I don’t presume to think we’re friends.”
“Do you think you could find him for me, present my compliments, and tell him I would consider it a great personal favor if he would receive me as soon as possible? Today?”
“I will do my best, Herr General. Oberst Perón is now the principal assistant to the Minister of War, General Ramírez. I’ll try his office.”
“Find him, von Wachtstein,” von Deitzberg said, firmly. “While I’m taking a shower.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
Getting el Coronel Juan Domingo Perón on the telephone was less difficult than Peter thought it would be. The number of the Ministry of War was in the telephone book, and when Peter dialed the number, gave his name, and asked to speak to Perón, the Minister was on the line thirty seconds later.
“What can I do for you, my young friend?” Perón asked in his melodious voice.
“Mi Coronel, I am calling to pay the compliments of Generalmajor von Deitzberg.”
There was a pause, and the warmth was gone from Perón’s voice when he asked, “Generalmajor von Deitzberg?”
“Yes, Sir.”