When they talked, their voices were low and subdued and the main sound seemed to be the monotonous hum of the dynamos and the whirring of the electric fans in the ventilation system. Occasionally, there was the faintest of tremors as the earth shook high above them and the air was musty and unpleasant, tainted with sulphur.
Major-General Mohnke's office was as uninviting as everything else Ritter had seen on his way down through the labyrinth of passageways. Small and spartan with the usual concrete walls, too small even for the desk and chair and the half a dozen officers it contained when they arrived. Mohnke was an SS Brigadefuhrer who was now commander of the Adolf Hitler Volunteer Corps, a force of 2,000 supposedly hand-picked men who were to form the final ring of defence around the Chancellery.
He paused in full flight as the immaculate Ritter entered the room. Everyone turned, the sergeant saluted and placed Ritter's orders on the desk. Mohnke looked at them briefly, his eyes lit up and he leaned across the table, hand outstretched.
'My dear Ritter, what a pleasure to meet you.' He reached for the telephone and said to the others, 'Sturmbannfuhrer Ritter, gentlemen, hero of that incredible exploit near Innsbruck that I was telling you about.'
Most of them made appropriate noises, one or two shook hands, others reached out to touch him as if for good luck. It was a slightly unnerving experience and he was glad when Mohnke replaced the receiver and said, 'General Fegelein tells me the Fuhrer wishes to see you without delay.' His arm swung up dramatically in a full party salute. 'Your comrades of the SS are proud of you, Sturmbannfuhrer. Your victory is ours.'
'Am I mad or they, Erich?' Ritter whispered as they followed the sergeant ever deeper into the bunker.
'For God's sake, Major.' Hoffer put a hand briefly on his arm. 'If someone overhears that kind of remark…'
'All right, I'll be good,' Ritter said soothingly. 'Lead on, Erich. I can't wait to see what happens in the next act.'
They descended now to the lower levels of the Fuhrerbunker itself. A section which, although Ritter did not know it then, housed most of the Fuhrer's personal staff as well as Goebbels and his family, Bormann and Dr Ludwig Stumpfegger, the Fuhrer's personal physician. General Fegelein had a room adjacent to Bormann's.
It was similar to Mohnke's — small with damp, concrete walls and furnished with a desk, a couple of chairs and a filing cabinet. The desk was covered with military maps which he was studying closely when the sergeant opened the door and stood to one side.
Fegelein looked up, his face serious, but when he saw Ritter, laughed excitedly and rushed round the desk to greet him. 'My dear Ritter, what an honour — for all of us. The Fuhrer can't wait, I assure you.'
Such enthusiasm was a little too much, considering that Ritter had never clapped eyes on the man before. Fegelein was a one-time commander of SS cavalry, he knew that, awarded the Knight's Cross, so he was no coward — but the handshake lacked firmness and there was sweat on the brow, particularly along the thinning hairline. This was a badly frightened man, a breed with which Ritter had become only too familiar over the past few months.
'An exaggeration, I'm sure, General.'
'And you, too, Sturmscharfuhrer.' Fegelein did not take Hoffer's hand but nodded briefly. 'A magnificent performance.'
'Indeed,' Ritter said dryly. 'He was, after all, the finger on the trigger.'
'Of course, my dear Ritter, we all acknowledge that fact. On the other hand…'
Before he could take the conversation any further the door opened and a broad, rather squat man entered the room. He wore a nondescript uniform. His only decoration was the Order of Blood, a much-coveted Nazi medal specially struck for those who had served prison sentences for political crimes in the old Weimar Republic. He carried a sheaf of papers in one hand.
'Ah, Martin,' Fegelein said. 'Was it important? I have the Fuhrer's orders to escort this gentleman to him the instant he arrived. Sturmbannfuhrer Ritter, hero of Wednesday's incredible exploit on the Innsbruck road. Reichsleiter Bormann you of course know, Major.'
But Ritter did not, for Martin Bormann was only a name to him, as he was to most Germans — a face occasionally to be found in a group photo of party dignitaries, but nothing memorable about it. Not a Goebbels or a Himmler — once seen, never forgotten.
And yet here he was, the most powerful man in Germany, particularly now that Himmler had absconded. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann, head of the Nazi Party Chancellery and Secretary to the Fuhrer.
'A great pleasure, Major.' His handshake was firm with a hint of even greater strength there if necessary.
He had a harsh, yet strangely soft voice, a broad, brutal face with Slavic cheekbones, a prominent nose. The impression was of a big man, although Ritter found he had to look down on him.
'Reichsleiter.'
'And this is your gunner, Hoffer.' Bormann turned to the sergeant-major. 'Quite a marksman, but then I sometimes think you Harz mountain men cut your teeth on a shotgun barrel.'
It was the first sign from anyone that Hoffer was more than a cypher, an acknowledgement of his existence as a human being, and it could not fail to impress Ritter, however reluctantly.
Bormann opened the door and turned to Fegelein. 'My business can wait. I'll see you downstairs anyway. I, too, have business with the Fuhrer.'
He went out and Fegelein turned to the two men. Ritter magnificent in the black uniform, Hoffer somehow complementing the show with his one-piece camouflage suit, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. It couldn't be better. Just the sort of fillip the Fuhrer needed.
Bormann's sleeping quarters were in the Party Chancellery Bunker, but his office, close to Fegelein's, was strategically situated so that he was able to keep the closest of contacts with Hitler. One door opened into the telephone exchange and general communication centre, the other to Goebbels's personal office. Nothing, therefore, could go in to the Fuhrer or out again without the Reichsleiter's knowledge, which was exactly as he had arranged the situation.
When he entered his office directly after leaving Fegelein, he found SS-Colonel Willi Rattenhuber, whose services he had utilized as an additional aide to Zander since 30 March, leaning over a map on the desk.
'Any further word on Himmler?' Bormann asked.
'Not as yet, Reichsleiter.'
'The bastard is up to something, you may depend on it, and so is Fegelein. Watch him, Willi — watch him closely.'
'Yes, Reichsleiter.'
'And there's something else I want you to do, Willi. There's a Sturmbannfuhrer named Ritter of the 502nd SS Heavy Tank Battalion on his way down now to receive the Swords from the Fuhrer. When you get a moment, I want his records — everything you can find on him.'
'Reichsleiter.'
'That's what I like about you, Willi, you never ask questions.' Bormann clapped him on the arm. 'And now, we'll go down to the garden bunker and I'll show him to you. I think you'll approve. In fact I have a happy feeling that he may serve my purpose very well indeed.'
In the garden bunker was the Fuhrer's study, a bedroom, two living rooms and a bathroom. Close by was the map room used for all high-level conferences. The hall outside served as an anteroom, and it was there that Ritter and Hoffer waited.
Bormann paused at the bottom of the steps and held Rattenhuber back in the shadows. 'He looks well, Willi, don't you agree? Quite magnificent in that pretty uniform with the medals gleaming, the pale face, the blond hair. Uncle Heini would have been proud of him: all that's fairest in the Aryan race. Not like us at all, Willi. He will undoubtedly prove a shot in the arm for the Fuhrer. And notice the slight, sardonic smile on his mouth. I tell you there's hope for this boy, Willi. A young man of parts.'