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Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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aviator’sson. Ernst knew the horror of losing a child. The accidental explosion on a ship’s magazine that had taken Mark was tragic, wrenching, yes; but at least Ernst’s son had been at the helm of a combat ship and had lived to see his own boy, Rudy, born. To lose an infant to the hands of a criminal—that was appalling.
Ernst scanned the document and was able to make out the cordial words, which expressed an interest in seeing Germany’s recent developments in aviation.
The Leader continued. “This is why I have asked for you, Colonel. Some people think that it would be of strategic value to show the world our increasing strength in the air. I am inclined to feel this way myself. What do you think about a small air show in honor of Mr. Lindbergh, in which we demonstrate our new monoplane?”
Ernst was greatly relieved that the summons had not been about the Waltham Study. But the relief lasted only a moment. His concerns rose once again as he considered what he was being asked . . . and the answer he had to give. The “some people” Hitler was referring to was, of course, Hermann Göring.
“The monoplane, sir, ah . . .” The Me 109 by Messerschmitt was a superb killing machine, a fighter with a speed of three hundred miles per hour. There were other monowing fighters in the world but this was the fastest. More important, though, the Me 109 was of all-metal construction, which Ernst had long advocated because it allowed easy mass production and field repair and maintenance. Large numbers of the planes were necessary to support the devastating bombing missions that Ernst planned as precursors for any land invasion by the Third Empire’s army.
He cocked his head, as if considering the question,though he’d made his decision the instant he’d heard it. “I would be against that idea, my Leader.”
“Why?” Hitler’s eyes flared, a sign that a tantrum might follow, possibly accompanied by what was nearly as bad: an endless, ranting monologue about military history or politics. “Are we not allowed to protect ourselves? Are we ashamed to let the world know that we reject the third-class role the Allies keep trying to push us into?”
Careful, now, Ernst thought. Careful as a surgeon removing a tumor. “I’m not thinking of the backstabbers’ treaty of 1918,” Ernst answered, filling his voice with contempt for the Versailles accord. “I am thinking of how wise it might be to let others know about this aircraft. It’s constructed in a way that those familiar with aviation would spot as unique. They could deduce that it is being mass produced. Lindbergh could easily recognize this. He himself designed his Spirit of St. Louis, I believe.”
Avoiding eye contact with Ernst, Göring predictably said, “We must begin to let our enemies know our strength.”
“Perhaps,” Ernst said slowly, “a possibility would be to display one of the prototypes of the one-oh-nine at the Olympics. They were constructed more by hand than our production models and have no armament mounted. And they’re equipped with British Rolls-Royce engines. The world could then see our technological achievement yet be disarmed by the fact that we are using our former enemy’s motors. Which would suggest that any offensive use is far from our thoughts.”
Hitler said, “There is something to your point, Reinhard. . . . Yes, we will not put on an air show. And we will display the prototype. Good. That is decided. Thank you for coming, Colonel.”
“My Leader.” Bathed in relief, Ernst rose.
He was nearly to the door when Göring said casually, “Oh, Reinhard, a matter occurs to me. I believe a file of yours was misdirected to my office.”
Ernst turned back to examine the smiling, moonish face. The eyes, however, seethed from Ernst’s victory in the fighter debate. He wanted revenge. Göring squinted. “I believe it had to do with . . . what was it? The Waltham Study. Yes.”
God in
Ernst scanned the document and was able to make out the cordial words, which expressed an interest in seeing Germany’s recent developments in aviation.
The Leader continued. “This is why I have asked for you, Colonel. Some people think that it would be of strategic value to show the world our increasing strength in the air. I am inclined to feel this way myself. What do you think about a small air show in honor of Mr. Lindbergh, in which we demonstrate our new monoplane?”
Ernst was greatly relieved that the summons had not been about the Waltham Study. But the relief lasted only a moment. His concerns rose once again as he considered what he was being asked . . . and the answer he had to give. The “some people” Hitler was referring to was, of course, Hermann Göring.
“The monoplane, sir, ah . . .” The Me 109 by Messerschmitt was a superb killing machine, a fighter with a speed of three hundred miles per hour. There were other monowing fighters in the world but this was the fastest. More important, though, the Me 109 was of all-metal construction, which Ernst had long advocated because it allowed easy mass production and field repair and maintenance. Large numbers of the planes were necessary to support the devastating bombing missions that Ernst planned as precursors for any land invasion by the Third Empire’s army.
He cocked his head, as if considering the question,though he’d made his decision the instant he’d heard it. “I would be against that idea, my Leader.”
“Why?” Hitler’s eyes flared, a sign that a tantrum might follow, possibly accompanied by what was nearly as bad: an endless, ranting monologue about military history or politics. “Are we not allowed to protect ourselves? Are we ashamed to let the world know that we reject the third-class role the Allies keep trying to push us into?”
Careful, now, Ernst thought. Careful as a surgeon removing a tumor. “I’m not thinking of the backstabbers’ treaty of 1918,” Ernst answered, filling his voice with contempt for the Versailles accord. “I am thinking of how wise it might be to let others know about this aircraft. It’s constructed in a way that those familiar with aviation would spot as unique. They could deduce that it is being mass produced. Lindbergh could easily recognize this. He himself designed his Spirit of St. Louis, I believe.”
Avoiding eye contact with Ernst, Göring predictably said, “We must begin to let our enemies know our strength.”
“Perhaps,” Ernst said slowly, “a possibility would be to display one of the prototypes of the one-oh-nine at the Olympics. They were constructed more by hand than our production models and have no armament mounted. And they’re equipped with British Rolls-Royce engines. The world could then see our technological achievement yet be disarmed by the fact that we are using our former enemy’s motors. Which would suggest that any offensive use is far from our thoughts.”
Hitler said, “There is something to your point, Reinhard. . . . Yes, we will not put on an air show. And we will display the prototype. Good. That is decided. Thank you for coming, Colonel.”
“My Leader.” Bathed in relief, Ernst rose.
He was nearly to the door when Göring said casually, “Oh, Reinhard, a matter occurs to me. I believe a file of yours was misdirected to my office.”
Ernst turned back to examine the smiling, moonish face. The eyes, however, seethed from Ernst’s victory in the fighter debate. He wanted revenge. Göring squinted. “I believe it had to do with . . . what was it? The Waltham Study. Yes.”
God in
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