Luciano's Luck Read Online Free PDF

legend RFSS picked out in silver thread. Reichsführer der SS, the symbol of Himmler's personal staff.
    ‘Major Franz Meyer, Major Koenig.’ Walther made the introductions while Kesselring stood looking out of the window, smoking a cigarette.
    Meyer took in everything about Koenig with the policeman's practised eye: the highly irregular SS uniform, the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords.
    ‘A pleasure, Major,’ he said.
    Koenig turned to Kesselring. ‘There is a difficulty here, I think, Herr Field Marshal. Who is to be in charge? Meyer and I would appear to carry the same rank.’
    ‘No difficulty there, I hope?’ Kesselring said, smoothly. ‘I see you as performing separate functions; you being responsible for the purely military side of the operation and Major Meyer for the, how shall I put it? The more political aspects.’
    ‘There will be no problem from my point of view, I can assure the Herr Field Marshal of that,’ Meyer said.
    ‘Excellent.’ Kesselring managed a wintry smile. ‘And now, if you would leave us, Meyer. There are still matters I wish to discuss with Major Koenig.’
    Meyer clicked his heels, delivered an impressive Heil Hitler and departed. When he'd gone, Kesselring said, ‘I know what you're going to say, Koenig, and you're quite right. It places you in a most difficult situation.’
    ‘Almost impossible, Herr Field Marshal. I will have no authority of rank, which means the wretched man can interfere as much as he likes.’
    He was angry and it showed. Kesselring said, ‘Rank has little to do with the matter. As a member of the Reichsführer's personal staff, he will always have considerable influence in certain situations, even were I myself concerned. However, I have done the best I can for you in the circumstances.’
    He nodded to Walther who handed Koenig a buff envelope. Koenig started to open it and Kesselring said, ‘No, keep it for later.’ He held out his hand in another of those unexpected gestures. ‘I wish you luck. You're going to need it.’
    ‘Herr Field Marshal General.’ Koenig saluted, turned and went out.
    Franz Meyer stood in the hall, pretending to read the noticeboard as he waited for Koenig.
    His dislike for the Major had been immediate and it went beyond any personal jealousy of Koenig's military distinction. The truth was far deeper. Koenig was a gentleman, son of a Major General of the Luftwaffe. Meyer, on the other hand, was the third son of a Hamburg shoemaker who had served the last two years of the First World War in the trenches, who had starved like thousands of others in Germany during the twenties, thanks to the British and the French and the Jews until the Führer had come along, a man of the people, giving hope to the people. And Meyer had served him since those first days, one of the earliest party members in Hamburg. The Führer himself had pinned the Blood Order on him. The Koenigs of the world, who thought themselves so far above him, had a lesson to learn.
    He turned as Koenig approached. ‘Ah, there you are, Major. I would very much appreciate an opportunity to discuss my duties at the earliest possible moment. This Carter affair, for example.’
    ‘Gestapo business, not mine,’ Koenig said, pulling on his gloves. ‘I merely provided ground support.’
    Meyer said, ‘A valuable field officer murdered, Carter allowed to get clean away, yet you took no hostages in Bellona. Exacted no reprisals.’
    ‘I'm a soldier, not a butcher,’ Koenig said. ‘If the distinction doesn't appeal to you, take it up with the Field Marshal.’
    ‘There are perhaps others I could take it up with,’ Meyer replied calmly. ‘Reichsführer Himmler might well be interested in an officer of SS who expresses such sentiments.’
    ‘Then you must discuss it with him,’ Koenig said, ‘as I'm sure you will,’ and he went out of the entrance, down the steps and crossed to where Brandt waited for him behind the wheel of a kubelwagen.
    Koenig smoked a