Like all of us, Lieutenant-General Paulus retained a certain basic confidence in his own acumen. Back in December 1940 his war-games had predicted our exact troop dispositions around Moscow in October 1941. He’d been complimented for his accuracy by Field-Marshal von Reichenau personally. Surely this counted for something. Then there was his Iron Cross, both First Class and Second, from the previous world war, his Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross from Kharkov and his position as commanding officer of Sixth Army. In December 1940 he had also predicted that Operation Barbarossa might last longer than a single summer. The Führer had flown into a rage and shouted: There is not going to be a winter campaign!—So that was a sore point between them. Paulus could never mention winter campaigns now.
Werewolf, that long, perfect rectangle oriented southeast, was subdivided by inner fences into three controlled zones. He doubted that they’d had time to lay thousands of mines around it, as they’d done at Wolf’s Lair; anyhow this was not something which one asked. So many of these secret headquarters he’d visited now—the steep high roofs of Wolf’s Gorge in Belgium, the damp bunkers of Tannenberg in the Black Forest, then Wolf’s Lair, Werewolf, and how many more? Everything was concrete and welded steel plate, the curtains of the rare windows always drawn. At his side, General Weichs swallowed nervously. There was a barber shop here at Werewolf and a sauna, he’d heard; he’d hoped to have time to refresh himself there before meeting with the Führer; he tried to learn from the S.D. man in the front seat how much time he might have, but the latter smilingly replied: They tell me nothing, Herr Lieutenant-General! And perhaps it’s better that way; the less I know, the less I can fail!—Paulus laughed a little, but didn’t care for the man’s cynicism. The central zone, the one deepest inward, now swallowed up the car; and General Weichs was led off to obey a surprise summons from the nodding ass, while Paulus left his dagger and pistol with the S.D. man, following his 
-conductors through the barbed wire to the second checkpoint, and then they led him between the trees to the teahouse, where he was coolly greeted by Martin Bormann. Everything possessed an oily gleam, like the leather saddles of our cavalry.—If the General would kindly wait a moment, said Bormann, the stenographers have almost completed their change of shift. You’re welcome to gamble in the casino.
I don’t gamble, returned Lieutenant-General Paulus.
I might have known, said Bormann. By the way, when the Führer’s finished with you I’ll need to ask you a few questions about your wife Elena, Coca I believe you call her…
He requested permission to use the lavatory. There he quickly checked the fineness of his shave and pulled on fresh white gloves. The 1:300,000-scale map of the enemy railroad system, stamped Geheim, with annotations in his own hand (written very largely, for our Führer’s ageing eyes), was still where it should be, in the outermost pocket of his briefcase, which he unlatched so as to get at it more easily when the Führer’s eyes would be on him; thinking better of this, he closed the briefcase again, for the sake of a smarter appearance. As always when he was about to enter our Führer’s presence, he felt so nervous that he nearly vomited. He really wished that General Weichs were here. Bormann’s mention of Coca, which was the sort of ploy that man was infamous for—what could he have against her? she was Romanian; our Romanian allies were received practically as equals!—had further unnerved him; he scarcely knew what was appropriate in such circumstances, not being a political general. Had he not been surprised in that way, he would definitely have replied with something biting. A protective rage began to rise up within him, and he resolved to ignore Bormann’s demand. This made him feel better. (What precisely was the difficulty? Was it that she was Greek Orthodox?) Now that he’d turned Bormann’s words over and over, he’d fully realized that there was nothing to fear from this brute, who would never have dared to be so rude to Field-Marshal von Reichenau—why, he would have gotten throttled! Paulus smiled palely. The-man was waiting in the corridor outside. He must assert himself; he’d do his utmost to make the Führer realize—
Do come in, Paulus, said the Führer, rising to shake his hand. Have you eaten?
Not yet, my Führer.—He bowed and clicked his heels.
Well, don’t worry; they’ll lay a place for you. It’ll be vegetarian, I’m afraid. Is this your first time in Vinnitsa?
Once, before the war, my wife and I—
Well, it’s a filthy city, said the Führer, his voice rising.—The Ukrainians, yes, a thin Germanic layer, and below that, dreadful material. The Jews: the most horrible thing imaginable. The towns choked in dirt—oh, I’ve learned quite a bit in these few weeks! If Slavs had ruled for a decade or two over the Old Reich, everything would be lice-infested and decayed…
Without a doubt, said white-gloved Paulus.
They’re holding Vlasov over there, the Führer went on. You know Vlasov, don’t you?
Yes, in fact I fought against him at—
Right over there, on the other side of town! And they tell me I have to make use of him! Can you believe it?
No, my Führer, I hadn’t heard.
Thank God you’re not one of those political generals! All right, then, Paulus, here’s the map. Does this line accurately lay out your position?
Just a moment… Yes, my Führer; it’s entirely correct.
That’s good. I had to ask, because one can’t trust anyone these days. You wouldn’t believe how my orders get misconstrued! And then they try to hoodwink me. They try to force false information down my throat. But do you know what, Paulus? I’m going to give them all something to choke on!
By your order, my Führer.
Well. We have to hope that Stalin can’t repeat his counterattack of 1920, remarked our Führer, who was a military genius. After all, you’re quite right. Keitel! Where the devil is Keitel?
Here I am, my Führer—
And now he realized that General Weichs hadn’t been allowed in. The nodding ass probably didn’t even realize why he’d been told to call Weichs here and then send Weichs there. Well, it wasn’t as if Weichs were needed, exactly; it was just that when one was alone it seemed more difficult to hang on to oneself in the Führer’s presence…
Lieutenant-General Paulus is concerned about his front, Keitel. Do you see on this map how shallowly he’s echeloned?
Yes, my Führer—
My dear Paulus, if even Keitel can see the danger, nothing more need be said. Keitel, fetch me my eyeglasses over there.
Crimsoning, Paulus bowed and clicked his heels.
Now, that’s all very well, and I’ll send help in good time, but for now you’ll just have to make do. How are your sons, by the way?
As far as I’m aware, they both continue to do their duty to their country and to you, my Führer.
I’ve heard great things about Friedrich. When the time comes, perhaps he’ll take part in the conquest of England. I’m expressing myself openly on this point. And Ernst is under your command?
Yes, he is, my Führer.
An officer?