Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

“Karlsberg, you may say something appropriate to Major von Wachtstein for having successfully passed the appropriate flight tests qualifying him in ME-262 Series aircraft.”

Karlsberg smiled and gave Peter a thumbs-up. Peter suspected that Galland was serious about his passing a check ride.

And again Galland seemed to be reading his mind. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hansel,” he said. “You’ll get a good deal of further instruction before I let you go on your own. But when I go to Unser Hermann to get you transferred here, I want to tell him that you’re already qualified in these birds.” Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring—Unser Hermann, Our Hermann—was the head of the Luftwaffe.

“Yes, Sir.”

There was something in Galland’s tone of voice when he referred to “Unser Hermann” that gave Peter pause.

In a moment, he knew what it was. In the early days, when Peter had flown with the Condor Legion in Spain, and in Poland, and in the defeat of France, “Unser Hermann” had been spoken of with affection and respect. Unser Hermann was one of them; he was everybody’s fond uncle; he worried about them; by taking care of the Luftwaffe, he took care of them.

But as British and American bombers began to strike at German cities, which Göring had sworn would never happen, and as stories of his drug addiction, his erratic behavior, his homosexual advances to decorated fighter pilots invited to his Karin Hall estate, and more important, his unwillingness to stand up for the Luftwaffe, were whispered about in Luftwaffe ready rooms and officers’ clubs, “Unser Hermann” had become a more derisive appellation.

But by captains and majors, not general officers.

Did I really hear a sarcastic tone in Galland’s voice? Or was it just my imagination?

A Luftwaffe Oberstleutnant marched across the hangar, the heels of his glistening boots ringing on the concrete. He came to attention in front of Galland and rendered a crisp Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!”

Galland and Karlsberg returned the salute, and a moment later, Peter did too.

That’s the first time I’ve seen Galland do that.

“Herr General, there has been an urgent teletype from Berlin about Major Wachtstein.”

“Saying what?”

“Herr General, the message states that Korvettenkapitän Boltitz has been delayed approximately twelve hours. He will arrive at approximately 1000 hours tomorrow morning. We are directed to ensure that Wachtstein is available to him at that time.”

“It’s von Wachtstein, Colonel,” Galland corrected him. “Colonel Deitzer, may I present Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein?”

Peter came to attention and clicked his heels.

Colonel Deitzer offered his hand and a weak smile. “Major,” he said.

“Major von Wachtstein has just taken, and passed, his flight examination for ME-262 aircraft,” Galland said. “Make su

re that Luftwaffe Central Records is promptly made aware of that.”

“Jawohl, Herr General.”

“I don’t want any administrative problems with that,” Galland said. “Make sure you have a record of their acknowledgment.”

“Jawohl, Herr General. Herr General, Berlin requests an acknowledgment of their order regarding the major.”

“Then telex them that I personally guarantee Major von Wachtstein will be available to the Korvettenkapitän when he arrives.”

“Jawohl, Herr General,” he said, and turned to Peter.

“If there’s nothing else, Colonel, I’ll be in my quarters,” Galland said.

“Jawohl, Herr General,” Deitzer said, then raised his arm in the Nazi salute and barked, “Heil Hitler!”

The three pilots returned the Nazi salute, and Oberstleutnant Deitzer turned on his heel and marched away.

Galland waved his hand toward the stairway of the hangar, and the three started walking to it. “Napoleon said, ‘An army marches on its stomach,’” he said. “I have learned he was wrong. An army marches—in our case, flies—on the backs of people like Deitzer. We may not like them, and God knows they’re not warriors, but we need them. I have to keep reminding myself of that.”

Neither Karlsberg nor Peter could think of a reply.