the Valhalla Exchange (v5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

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