Another reason for his inability to enjoy himself that night was the obvious problem that a meeting such as the one they were holding that night also brought with it guests whom the Reichsmarschall had no interest whatsoever spending time in the company of. Both Ziegler and Strauss had arrived, representing their own interests and those of the rest of the New Eagles’ Directors, and the quite obvious camaraderie they’d displayed upon being greeted by Hermann Göring and Martin Bormann had both turned Reuters’ stomach and given him some cause for alarm: such an open display in front of him and the rest of his staff couldn’t be taken lightly, and he’d need to take care there was nothing behind it in the days and weeks to follow.
Right at that moment however, as the loud music played and people danced before him at the centre of the huge ballroom, all the commander-in-chief of the entire Wehrmacht could think about was getting some fresh air and seeking some solace in the company of real soldiers. Choosing a rare moment when there was absolutely no attention upon his presence or whereabouts, he slipped out of the room and made his way through a kitchen teaming with catering staff before finally exiting the rear of the building.
He stood for a moment once outside and took a deep, revitalising breath of well-needed fresh air. The skies above were clear that night and were alight with a mass of stars, while a waxing gibbous moon shone down from high above. Although it was quite cool out for someone wearing just regimental dress uniform, all in all it was otherwise an excellent night to be outside and spending time with the troops in that particular Reichsmarschall’s opinion.
He stood for a moment, turning his head to either side as he looked around to see what was happening in the general vicinity. Close in against the rear of the mansion to his left, a large tanker truck lay dormant, the driver clearly asleep behind the wheel. A frown momentarily flashed across Reuters’ face as he noted the scene. Parking in such proximity to the building was poor judgement on the part of the driver, not to mention being a potentially unsafe situation, and he paused a moment while he decided what to do about it.
He should walk straight up there and give the man a royal dressing down before sending him on his way, or at least report it a junior officer so he could do the same… yet in the end, Reuters simply couldn’t be bothered. The fellow was a simple private making the most of a few moments of spare time, and what career soldier could blame a man for that. At least someone was relaxed enough to get some rest on a night like that, and Reuters was a little jealous if anything. He decided to cut the man a little slack that night and perhaps bring the subject up with the officer on duty the next morning.
He instead spied a cluster of panzer crews a few dozen metres in the other direction, gathered around an oil-drum fire and all talking and smoking in front of a trio of P-3C tanks. A P-11A Wirbelwind self-propelled flak stood a little off to one side, its own crew hanging out of their hatches and joining in the conversation, although they remained in their vehicle as they were still technically on duty. Snugging his hat down upon his head, Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters strode off across the open expanse of grass behind the mansion on a direct line toward the men. He rarely smoked, but he badly felt like a cigarette right at that moment, and he was sure there’d be one to spare among the group if he asked.
Albert Schiller, trapped on the other side of the ballroom, standing beside Armaments Minister, Albert Speer as both were locked conversation with an incredibly boring NSDAP party official, had taken some time to extricate himself from the group, and by the time he’d rather callously broke free and abandoned Speer to his fate, Reuters had already been gone for some time. He’d normally not have been worried, but his friend and commander hadn’t been his usual self since Ritter had been lost, and Schiller didn’t like to see the man left alone with time to think too deeply. As he deposited his half-empty champagne glass with a passing waiter, he questioned several nearby staff officers regarding Reuters’ whereabouts to no avail, before taking it upon himself to leave the ballroom in search of the Reichsmarschall.
His first instinct was to head toward the large briefing room that was their usual haunt for meetings and private, relaxed conversation, and as he approached down a long hallway a few moments later, he at first thought he’d been correct in his initial assumption. From a distance he could clearly see light through the main dors, which stood slightly ajar, and could also pick out the faint murmurings of soft conversation. As he drew closer, however, he realised that it wasn’t Kurt Reuters’ voice he could hear. Instead, it was the unmistakeable tones of ‘Director’ Oswald Zeigler, and Schiller sincerely doubted Kurt would be willingly engaged in any kind of private discussion with the likes of him.
At first, Schiller stopped and intended to turn back, continuing his search for his commanding officer, but as he paused for a moment, it suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t think of any valid reason for Ziegler to be holding a private meeting of any sort on the premises, and it might well be a good idea for him to take a quick peek and see what was going on. He moved quietly up to the entrance, the doors barely ajar but nevertheless open wide enough for him to get a good look inside and see exactly what was happening.
It was Zeigler all right, the slimy little creature arrogant enough to actually be seated in Reuters’ favoured chair on the opposite side of the Reichsmarschall’s desk, and the sight of it almost angered Schiller enough for him to burst right in there and demand to know what they were playing at. Yet common sense and curiosity took control in the end, and he instead waited patiently and listened, noting with interest the other members of the little cabal gathered there. Dieter Strauss was present, of course, and that was no surprise. Zeigler was rarely seen out in public without the rotund little rodent simpering pathetically at his side, and that evening was no exception as Straus sat to the man’s right, listening intently.
It was the sight of the other three in the room that caused Schiller to raise an eyebrow in surprise and brought a nervous lump to his throat. Hermann Göring, Martin Bormann and Rudolf Hess also sat together around that desk, and between them they constituted the three most powerful men in Nazi Germany save for Reuters, Himmler and Adolf Hitler himself. That the trio were all together there at the HQ in Amiens was no secret — the attendance of all would’ve been considered vital at such an event — however their presence in that room, deep in conversation with the likes of Oswald Zeigler was quite unexpected and a very dangerous situation indeed.
“…I’m sure I don’t need to remind the three of you of what’s at stake here,” Zeigler continued as Schiller watched unseen from the corridor beyond. “He’s almost impossible to control now… how much worse do you think it’s going to become once Britain’s fallen and Western Europe is completely secure?”