As he drew closer to that end of the strip, he watched the aircraft’s rear loading ramp begin to open. Awaiting exit at its top, four grenadiers waited patiently armed with assault rifles, and as more light began to spill into the Gigant’s interior he could also see Reuters standing behind the quartet of men, Generalleutnant Schiller beside him. Ritter was just a hundred metres away as the whining of the hydraulic ramp ceased, the lower end touching the concrete of the runway hardstand. The pair of radial engines — more powerful versions of the same type fitted to the S-2D — were silent now, their propellers feathered and motionless as the troop of six men walked briskly down the ramp and out into the morning sunshine.
It took a moment or so for the converging groups to cover the distance, Ritter’s mind spinning wildly as the moment of truth drew ever closer. His point-of-no-return was truly past, and as the four guards separated and fanned out to assume points of surveillance covering 360º, Ritter found himself confronted by an extremely dour Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht. The Commander-in-Chief wasn’t in a particularly pleasant mood, the loss of two Flankers and the Mainstay and tanker aircraft over the previous few days having contributed primarily to Reichsmarschall Reuters’ foul temperament.
These were the foremost subjects dominating Reuters’ thoughts as he and Schiller halted before Carl Ritter in the middle of that concrete taxiway, although their meeting that morning was nevertheless causing some emotional discomfort. Reuters remained mildly aloof, something clearly noted by Ritter, and stood a pace or two behind Schiller. Carl came to attention as they met, presenting a stiff, regimental salute that the generalleutnant returned.
“Oberstleutnant Ritter,” Schiller acknowledged in greeting, extending his hand in a forthright manner that belied the nervousness and tension behind the action. As Ritter accepted the hand immediately, he failed to notice the apprehension on Reuters’ face as he watched intently for some sign of a similar reaction to that which he’d experienced shaking the pilot’s hand two days earlier. None was forthcoming, the contact being completely normal, and both of the New Eagles commanders were quite relieved. Schiller almost sighed visibly as a release of tension.
“I must apologise for this unorthodox request; I realise the pressure this places the Reichsmarschall under. I don’t doubt there must be many things of national importance which require his attention this morning.”
“More than you could imagine, I think,” Schiller added wryly, the irony of the statement lost on Ritter, although it caused Reuters to smirk slightly despite himself. There were many times he’d told Schiller that the man’s sense of humour was far too irreverent, and there were equally as many times that sense of humour had been invaluable during moments of great stress or tension. “The Reichsmarschall is required at Berchtesgarden this evening for an important meeting with The Führer — it’s taken some serious replanning for us to come here to speak with you. As a result, it’d be appreciated if we could take care of whatever it is you require immediately.”
“Of — of course,” Ritter began, stammering slightly. Dealing through Schiller rather than directly with Reuters was unexpected and somewhat difficult. “If the Reichsmarschall will remember, I spoke to him yesterday of the incident at the farmhouse near the St. Omer airstrip. I informed him that a boy living at the house was still missing at that time.”
“I’ve been acquainted with the situation,” Schiller nodded slowly, feigning neutral disinterest.
“Well, sir — the boy’s been found. I have both he and his infant brother in nursing care at present, and I must ask a favour of the Reichsmarschall in providing identification papers and citizenship for them both. It’s my intention to send the boy to Köln to live in the custody of my wife until such time that a suitable family can be found for him.”
“You’ve called me here to help you adopt the children of a French Resistance agent?” Reuters demanded angrily, suddenly involving himself directly and completely in the discussion. He came forward to draw level with Schiller, spitting the words out with such speed and vehemence that Ritter was almost forced to take a step backward in surprise. “You demand the attention of the Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht in order to help two orphaned boys?”
“The — the boys have no other family, close or otherwise,” Ritter shot back, becoming instantly defensive and a little angry. “His father — now his mother, too — have been killed by ‘the Nazis’, as he called them: killed because of the Führer’s war…because of your war…” he paused for a moment, fury rising in his eyes as he stared down the highest-ranking officer in the Wehrmacht “…killed because of our war…!” Reuters was forced to glance away at that remark, the fire in his own eyes diminishing as the pilot’s words hit home. “You told me there was a place for honour in Germany! If there’s honour anywhere, then help me do this! How should you feel if this boy were your son? What would your feelings be then? Were it my own son, I’d ask for no less!”
Upon hearing these words, Reuters turned sharply away with a gasp, as if struck. He sagged back, taking a few steadying paces while regaining his composure.
“A moment of privacy if you’ll indulge us, Herr Ritter,” Schiller said softly, placing a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
“Of course,” Ritter nodded curtly, turning and stepping back a few paces. Schiller also turned, moving to his commanding officer’s side.
“You’re all right, Kurt?” He placed an arm about the man’s shoulders as he spoke. “That was an unfortunate remark, to say the least.”
Reuters shook his head slowly. “How could he know?” He reasoned softly, his voice thick with emotion. “That pain is many years away in a future that’ll never exist. Many things may not happen now in the future we’re creating for our country. Neither of us may be born in this new world.”
“Perhaps a good thing,” Schiller chuckled under his breath. “Do you think even the Wehrmacht could cope with two of me?” As he gained a strained laugh from his commander, he added: “I think it’s better if you do this thing for him. It’s unorthodox to say the least, but he’s right in the end. We’re not Nazis, Kurt, despite what those shits from the UN Security Council labelled us with. I saw how much releasing that SS bastard, Stahl upset you! At least let Ritter do this for the children. Where would you have been if old Heini hadn’t taken you out of that boys’ home after your mother died?”
“All right — all right…!” Reuters growled, straightening. “You’ve made your point. Müller warned me how fucking crazy this place was going to become once we started screwing about that saying the Americans used to have? I think they called it ‘SNAFU’…” Schiller mused rhetorically, thinking for a moment and switching to English f to gain full effect. “‘Situation Normal — All Fucked Up!’!”