Buenos Aires
1815 17 December 1942
“And here we are at the Alvear Palace Hotel,” Oberst Karl-Heinz Grüner, military attaché of the Embassy of the German Reich to the Republic of Argentina, said quite unnecessarily to Hauptmann Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein, who was residing there. “Just a few minutes’ walk from the Duarte mansion.”
They were both in civilian clothing, and had just come from Peter’s formal introduction to Ambassador von Lutzenberger at the embassy.
“I estimate a three-minute walk, Herr Oberst,” Peter said straight-faced.
“No more, I am sure.”
The military mind at work. Or an oberst-and-higher’s mind at work. My father can’t park a car without a detailed operational plan. Why should this man be any different?
“It was the original intention of the Argentines to line with cavalry from the Husares de Pueyrredón both sides of Avenida Alvear from the Frade mansion to the Basilica of Saint Pilar, which is approximately a kilometer in that direction,” he pointed. “I talked them out of that.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“The avenue will be lined from a point approximately twenty-five meters from the Duarte mansion with troops of a regular regiment—the Second Regiment of Infantry. There will be a representative honor guard of the Husares de Pueyrredón at the mansion itself. On my side, I thought it would be best, for public relations purposes, to have regular troops in field gear—they wear our helmets, you know, and are armed with Mausers, and look very much like German troops. And on their side, I suspect they were pleased at the suggestion. With that many men in those heavy winter-dress uniforms, in this heat, it was statistically certain that a number of Husares would faint and fall off their mounts.”
He looked at Peter with what could have been the suggestion of a smile.
“It is always embarrassing, Herr Oberst, when men faint while on parade.”
“Precisely,” Grüner said. “I had a tactical officer at the infantry school who used to quite unnecessarily threaten us that anyone who fainted on parade would regret it.”
Peter now felt quite safe in smiling at Grüner, and did so. Grüner smiled back.
“The Husares de Pueyrredón, the mounted troopers,” he went on, “will line the path of the procession from the point where Avenida Alvear ends at the Recoleta Park, at the foot of this small hill.” He pointed again, and resumed walking.
When they reached the foot of the small incline, he stopped and pointed again.
“There is the Basilica of St. Pilar,” he said. “Did you have the opportunity to visit churches when you were in Spain?”
“On one or two occasions, Herr Oberst. I am Evangelisch”—Protestant.
“Yes, I know. So am I,” Grüner said. “And there are not very many of us in Bavaria. The Recoleta Cemetery, where Hauptmann Duarte’s remains will be interred, is immediately behind the Basilica. What I started to say was that if you visited a Catholic church in Spain, you will feel quite at home in this one. It is jammed with larger-than-life-sized statues of various saints—I have often wondered if the admonition against making even graven images is in the Catholic version of the Ten Commandments…”
Peter chuckled, and Grüner smiled.
“…including one of St. Pilar,” Grüner continued, “the source of whose prestige in the Catholic faith remains a mystery to me, plus the to-be-expected Spanish Baroque ornamentation covering every inch of the place.”
Peter chuckled again as Grüner started across the street, and they started walking up a fairly steep hill toward the Basilica.
“How the Husares will keep their mounts’ footing on this incline,” Grüner observed, “is fortunately not my problem.”
They reached the church and stopped in a small exterior courtyard.
Grüner pointed again.
“Following the high requiem mass, the casket will be brought to this point. By that time, the dignitaries—including you and me, of course—will be standing there, against that wall. The Ambassador will step forward, and you and I will also step forward, stopping one pace behind him. The Ambassador will the
n briefly express the condolences of the Führer and the German people to the Duarte family and the government of Argentina. He will then take one step backward, and I will take one step forward.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will be holding a small pillow on which will rest the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross.”
“Yes, Sir.”