Rattenhuber said hastily, 'The Fuhrer comes now, Reichsleiter.'
Ritter, standing there at the end of a line of half a dozen young boys in the uniform of the Hitler Youth, felt curiously detached. It was rather like one of those dreams in which everything has an appearance of reality, yet events are past belief. The children on his right hand, for instance. Twelve or thirteen, here to be decorated for bravery. The boy next to him had a bandage round his forehead, under the heavy man's helmet. Blood seeped through steadily, and occasionally the child shifted his feet as if to prevent himself falling.
'Shoulders back,' Ritter said softly. 'Not long now.' And then the door opened. Hitler moved out flanked by Fegelein, Jodl, Keitel and Krebs, the new Chief of the Army General Staff.
Ritter had seen the Fuhrer on several occasions in his life. Speaking at Nuremberg rallies, Paris in 1940, on a visit to the Eastern Front in 1942. His recollection of Hitler had been of an inspired leader of men, a man of magical rhetoric whose spell could not fail to touch anyone within hearing distance.
But the man who shuffled into the anteroom now might have been a totally different person. This was a sick old man, shoulders hunched under the uniform jacket that seemed a size too large, pale, hollow-cheeked, no sparkle in the lack-lustre eyes, and when he turned to take from the box Jodl held the first Iron Cross Second Class, his hand trembled.
He worked his way along the line, muttering a word or two of some sort of encouragement here and there, patting an occasional cheek, and then reached Ritter and Hoffer.
Fegelein said, 'Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Ritter and Sturmscharfuhrer Erich Hoffer of the 502nd SS Heavy Tank Battalion.' He started to read the citation. 'Shortly after dawn on the morning of Wednesday, April 25th…' but the Fuhrer cut him off with a chopping motion of one hand.
There was fire in the dark eyes now, a sudden energy as he snapped his fingers impatiently for Jodl to pass the decoration. Ritter stared impassively ahead, aware of the hands touching him lightly, and then, for the briefest of moments, they tightened on his arm.
He looked directly into the eyes, aware of the power, the burning intensity, there again if only for a moment, the hoarse voice saying, 'Your Fuhrer thanks you, on behalf of the German people.'
Hitler turned. 'Are you aware of this officer's achievement, gentlemen? Assisted by only two other tanks, he wiped out an entire British column of the 7th Armoured Division. Thirty armoured vehicles left blazing. Can you hear that and still tell me that we cannot win this war? If one man can do so much what could fifty like him accomplish?'
They all shifted uncomfortably. Krebs said, 'But of course, my Fuhrer. Under your inspired leadership anything is possible.'
'Goebbels must have written that line for him,' Bormann whispered to Rattenhuber. 'You know, Willi, I'm enjoying this, and look at our proud young Sturmbannfuhrer. He looks like Death himself with that pale face and black uniform, come to remind us all of what waits outside these walls. Have you ever read "Masque of the Red Death" by the American writer Poe?'
'No, I can't say that I have, Reichsleiter.'
'You should, Willi. An interesting parallel on the impossibility of locking out reality for long.'
An orderly clattered down the steps, brushed past Bormann and Rattenhuber and hesitated on seeing what was taking place. Krebs, who obviously recognized the man, moved to one side and snapped his fingers. The orderly passed him a signal flimsy which Krebs quickly scanned.
Hitler moved forward eagerly. 'Is it news of Wenck?' he demanded.
He was still convinced that the 12th Army under General Wenck was going to break through to the relief of Berlin at any moment.
Krebs hesitated and the Fuhrer said, 'Read it, man! Read it!'
Krebs swallowed hard, then said, 'No possibility of Wenck and the 9th Army joining. Await further instruction.'
The Fuhrer exploded with rage. 'The same story as Sunday. I gave the 11th Panzer Army to SS-General Steiner and all available personnel in his area with orders to attack. And what happened?'
The fact that the army in question had existed on paper only, a figment of someone's imagination, was not the point, for no one would have had the courage to tell him.
'So, even my SS let me down — betray me in my hour of need. Well, it won't do, gentlemen.' He was almost hysterical now. 'I have a way of dealing with traitors. Remember the July plot? Remember the films of the executions I ordered you to watch?'
He turned, stumbled back into the map room followed by Jodl, Keitel and Krebs. The door closed. Fegelein, moving as a man in a dream, signalled to one of the SS orderlies, who took the children away.
There was silence, then Ritter said, 'What now, General?'
Fegelein started. 'What did you say?'
'What do we do now?'
'Oh, go to the canteen. Food will be provided. Have a drink. Relax.' He forced a smile and clapped Ritter on the shoulder. 'Take it easy for a while, Major, I'll send for you soon. Fresh fields to conquer, I promise.'
He nodded to an orderly, who led the way. Ritter and Hoffer followed him, up the steps. Bormann and Rattenhuber were no longer there.
At the top, Ritter said softly, 'What do you think of that, then, Erich? Little children and old men led by a raving madman. So, now we start paying the bill, I think — all of us.'
When he reached his office, Fegelein closed the door, went behind his desk and sat down. He opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of brandy, removed the cork and swallowed deeply. He had been a frightened man for some time, but this latest display had finished him off.
He was exactly the same as dozens of other men who had risen to power in the Nazi party. A man of no background and little education. A one-time groom and jockey who had risen through the ranks of the SS and after being appointed Himmler's aide at Fuhrer headquarters, had consolidated his position by marrying Eva Braun's sister, Gretl.
But now even Himmler had cleared off, had refused every attempt aimed at returning him to the death-trap which Berlin had become. It occurred to Fegelein that perhaps the time had come for some definite action on his own part. He took another quick pull on the brandy bottle, got up, took down his cap from behind the door and went out.
It was seven o'clock that evening and Ritter and Hoffer were sitting together in the canteen, talking softly, a bottle of Moselle between them, when a sudden hubbub broke out. There were cries outside in the corridor, laughter and then the door burst open and two young officers ran in.
Ritter grabbed at one of them as he went by. 'Hey, what's all the excitement?'
'Luftwaffe General Ritter von Greim has just arrived from Munich with the air-ace, Hannah Reitsch. They landed at Gatow and came on in a Fieseler Storch.'
'The general flew himself,' the other young officer said. 'When he was hit, she took over the controls and landed the aircraft in the street near the Brandenburger Tor. What a woman.'
They moved away. Another voice said, 'A day for heroes, it would seem.'
Ritter looked up and found Bormann standing there. 'Reichsleiter.' He started to rise.
Bormann pushed him down. 'Yes, a remarkable business. What they omitted to tell you was that they were escorted by fifty fighter planes from Munich. Apparently over forty were shot down. On the other hand, it was essential General von Greim got here. You see, the Fuhrer intends to promote him to Commander-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe with the rank of Feldmarschall, Goring having finally proved a broken reed. Naturally he wished to tell General Greim of this himself. Signal flimsies are so impersonal, don't you think?'