Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

Von Wachtstein was barefoot and bare-chested, and he was wearing only his riding breeches, with the broad red stripe of a general down the seams, which were held up by normally out-of-sight—and almost shabby—dark blue braces. His tunic was on the bed, where he had tossed it when he entered his quarters.

A good deal had been done, of course, to make the quarters of the senior officers assigned to the Führer’s Wolfsschanze headquarters as comfortable as possible. But Führerbunker #3 was a reinforced-concrete bunker, designed to withstand direct hits from heavy artillery and even the largest aircraft bombs. Despite the genius of German engineering, its construction gave it two temperatures—too hot and too cold.

Today was a too-hot day, and von Wachtstein had been reluctant, after his shower, to climb into his uniform again. He had instead made a pot of coffee on a small electric burner. He didn’t like coffee, and this was bad coffee, but he was drinking it for the caffeine. He knew that he would have trouble staying awake at dinner—the Führer liked to speak, often at length, after dinner. Since coffee was not served at the Führer’s table, staying awake was sometimes difficult.

“Come!” von Wachtstein called loudly, so his voice could he heard through the door.

Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, head of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, entered the room. More than a little embarrassed, Generalleutnant von Wachtstein jumped to his feet. “I hope the Generalfeldmarschall will excuse my appearance—”

Von Wachtstein was really surprised to see Keitel. When Keitel had something to say to him, one of his aides would be dispatched to summon him either to the Führer’s personal bunker or to the bunker he shared with Admiral Wilhelm Canaris and Generaloberst Alfred Jodl, the chief of the Armed Forces Operations Staff.

Wolfsschanze was about four hundred miles from Berlin and about four miles from Rastenburg. It was a large compound—an oblong approximately 1.5 by .9 miles—which was entirely surrounded by two rings of barbed wire, machine-gun towers, machine-gun positions on the ground, and an extensive minefield.

Just inside the outer wire perimeter—separated as far as possible from each other to reduce interference—were some of the radio shacks and antennas over which instant communication with the most remote outposts of the Thousand-Year Reich was maintained.

Inside the compound itself were two com

pounds, both ringed with barbed wire and machine-gun positions.

One of them was the Führer’s compound, which contained thirteen bunkers, including the largest of all, the Führer’s bunker, which stood apart from the others.

Across a narrow street were two bunkers that housed Hitler’s personal aides and doctors, Wehrmacht aides, the Army personnel office, the signal officer, and Hitler’s secretaries.

To the east, Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring had both an office building and his own personal bunker. Between these and the Führerbunker was a VIP mess called the “Tea House.”

Next closest in distance from the Führer’s bunker were the offices and bunker assigned to Keitel, Jodl, and Canaris. It was a five- or six-minute walk from that bunker to the Führerbunker, and when the Führer wished to speak to someone, he was usually annoyed if it took that long for that individual to make an appearance.

Keitel never wanted to be far away when the Führer summoned him.

The bunker where Generalleutnant von Wachtstein and a dozen other general officers had their quarters was an additional four- or five-minute walk.

Von Wachtstein could not remember Keitel ever coming to his quarters.

Keitel held up his hand to silence von Wachtstein’s apology, and what could have been a small smile crossed his aristocratic face. He closed the door behind him, then turned back to von Wachtstein. “Karl,” he said. “How would you like a few days off?”

“I don’t think I understand, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”

“A day, perhaps two, in Berlin, and then perhaps another few days in Pomerania?”

“I have not requested leave, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”

“That wasn’t the question, Karl,” Keitel said, smiling. “The question was if you would like a few days’—say a week’s—leave?”

“It’s been quite a while since I had some time off, Herr Generalfeldmarschall,” von Wachtstein said.

“Yes, I know,” Keitel said. “And what is it the English say, ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’?”

“I’ve heard that, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”

“When you’re in Berlin, you might want to stop at the Hotel am Zoo.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Herr Generalfeldmarschall.”

“Just a suggestion, Karl. I thought that since you were on leave, perhaps you might want to spend a little time with your son. He’s staying at the am Zoo. Canaris just telephoned. Apparently, the admiral brought him back from Argentina for some sort of conference.”

“That was very kind of the Admiral,” von Wachtstein said. “And the leave is very kind of you, Sir.”

“You and Canaris are close friends, are you not?” Keitel asked.