real name was even more of a secret. Dieter knew it, of course, and so did Willy, but beyond the two of them, how many knew the true identity of their leader? Twenty? Thirty? Certainly not many more. It was the Bund’s most coveted secret. If the man’s existence were revealed, the Jews would go mad for revenge. Everyone remembered what had happened to Eichmann.
Even mentioning the man’s title was risky, but Dieter felt secure enough here, on his own estate, with only his son within earshot. Dieter had taught his son early to be very careful in trusting anyone. The Bund’s success, indeed its very survival, depended on its true nature being kept secret from the outside world. Even their Argentine hosts had no real idea, although some of the higher-placed and smarter ones undoubtedly suspected. If any did, though, they wisely kept quiet. The Bund had been active on this continent for nearly four decades, and its reach was long.
“Assuming the g eneral is as agreeable as Heinz believes he will be,” Dieter said, “when will we move on South Georgia?”
“March,” Willy answered at once. Anticipating his father’s next question, he said, “The Malvinas in April.”
“And the Englandern ?”
“They have one ship still in these waters, HMS Endurance, a destroyer. Their Admiralty is in the process of reducing their fleet and our contact in London predicts the ship will be recalled early in the New Year.”
“The fools,” Dieter said. “The South Georgia occupation will come after that?”
“We will set our date and move then, whether or not the ship is still on station,” Willy said confidently. “The very same ship was on station when we took South Thule in 1976, and the English did nothing.”
“They will do something when the Malvinas fall,” Dieter said, once again using the Argentine name for the islands the English knew as the Falklands.
“Let us hope so,” Willy said. “Sometime around late May, we think.” It was ironic, really. If they waited to seize the islands in late May, just before the onset of the brutal South Atlantic winter, the operation would be a tactical success but a strategic failure. The Argentines were almost fanatically focused on regaining control of the islands they’d lost to the English over a century before, but they weren’t stupid. Capturing the islands just before winter would keep the Royal Navy out of the fight for months, and by then the doves in the British government would have taken over. They would push for a negotiated settlement of the issue. Somehow, the junta had to be persuaded to move early enough to make sure the English would have enough time to send their fleet. That would take some delicate maneuvering on the part of the Bund, but Heinz was confident it could be done. Willy trusted his friend’s instincts, but there was a contingency plan in case the junta decided to wait.
The old man grunted. “Six months from now,” he said. “I hope I will live to see it.”
Surprising himself, Willy reached out and touched his father’s arm. “You will,” he said, emotion making his voice a bit husky.
Dieter nodded, his lips a thin smile. “You are a good son, Willy. So good that I don’t have to ask you if everything is going well at Pilcaniyeu.”
“We are ahead of schedule there, Father,” Willy said with a touch of pride. The Bund had entrusted the Baumanns with this most vital part of the project, thanks to the family’s experience in the energy industry, not to mention Dieter’s influence within the upper hierarchy and his political contacts back in what was left of the Fatherland. It was said the Reichsleiter himself had anointed the elder Baumann with this responsibility some fifteen years ago.
Dieter nodded again. “When the Union Jack is lowered over the Malvinas, their hag of a prime minister will assemble her fleet and send it south,” he said.
“She will have to,” Willy said, “or her government will fall. Then her
Even mentioning the man’s title was risky, but Dieter felt secure enough here, on his own estate, with only his son within earshot. Dieter had taught his son early to be very careful in trusting anyone. The Bund’s success, indeed its very survival, depended on its true nature being kept secret from the outside world. Even their Argentine hosts had no real idea, although some of the higher-placed and smarter ones undoubtedly suspected. If any did, though, they wisely kept quiet. The Bund had been active on this continent for nearly four decades, and its reach was long.
“Assuming the g eneral is as agreeable as Heinz believes he will be,” Dieter said, “when will we move on South Georgia?”
“March,” Willy answered at once. Anticipating his father’s next question, he said, “The Malvinas in April.”
“And the Englandern ?”
“They have one ship still in these waters, HMS Endurance, a destroyer. Their Admiralty is in the process of reducing their fleet and our contact in London predicts the ship will be recalled early in the New Year.”
“The fools,” Dieter said. “The South Georgia occupation will come after that?”
“We will set our date and move then, whether or not the ship is still on station,” Willy said confidently. “The very same ship was on station when we took South Thule in 1976, and the English did nothing.”
“They will do something when the Malvinas fall,” Dieter said, once again using the Argentine name for the islands the English knew as the Falklands.
“Let us hope so,” Willy said. “Sometime around late May, we think.” It was ironic, really. If they waited to seize the islands in late May, just before the onset of the brutal South Atlantic winter, the operation would be a tactical success but a strategic failure. The Argentines were almost fanatically focused on regaining control of the islands they’d lost to the English over a century before, but they weren’t stupid. Capturing the islands just before winter would keep the Royal Navy out of the fight for months, and by then the doves in the British government would have taken over. They would push for a negotiated settlement of the issue. Somehow, the junta had to be persuaded to move early enough to make sure the English would have enough time to send their fleet. That would take some delicate maneuvering on the part of the Bund, but Heinz was confident it could be done. Willy trusted his friend’s instincts, but there was a contingency plan in case the junta decided to wait.
The old man grunted. “Six months from now,” he said. “I hope I will live to see it.”
Surprising himself, Willy reached out and touched his father’s arm. “You will,” he said, emotion making his voice a bit husky.
Dieter nodded, his lips a thin smile. “You are a good son, Willy. So good that I don’t have to ask you if everything is going well at Pilcaniyeu.”
“We are ahead of schedule there, Father,” Willy said with a touch of pride. The Bund had entrusted the Baumanns with this most vital part of the project, thanks to the family’s experience in the energy industry, not to mention Dieter’s influence within the upper hierarchy and his political contacts back in what was left of the Fatherland. It was said the Reichsleiter himself had anointed the elder Baumann with this responsibility some fifteen years ago.
Dieter nodded again. “When the Union Jack is lowered over the Malvinas, their hag of a prime minister will assemble her fleet and send it south,” he said.
“She will have to,” Willy said, “or her government will fall. Then her
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