The Graf picked up the bottle of cognac and found a glass.
“Now that I think about it,” Generalmajor von Wachtstein said, “one of these might be in order.” He raised the glass. “To your new assignment.”
“Thank you. Did you hear what I said about the Horche?”
“I might as well use it, I suppose,” the Graf said. “Otherwise it will be taken for the greater good of the German Reich. Ferrying some Nazi peasant’s mistress to the opera, for example.”
Peter grunted. “You must have had a bad week.”
“The Luftwaffe has not been able to—will not be able to—provide von Paulus’s troops at Stalingrad with a tenth of the supplies he needs. But when this is brought to the attention of the Austrian Corporal, he replies, in effect, ‘Nonsense, Goering has given me his word, the supplies will be delivered.’”
“And you were the bearer of those bad tidings?”
“No. Fortunately not. Unser Führer is made uncomfortable by people like me. I have been reliably informed that he has said that the Prussian officer class are defeatists to the last aristocrat.”
Peter laughed. “Aren’t you? Aren’t we? There’s no way we can win this war, Poppa.”
“I really hope you are careful to whom you make such observations.”
“I’m talking to you, Poppa. The war was lost when we were unable to invade England,” Peter said. “Perhaps before that, when we were unable to destroy the Royal Air Force.”
“I think we should change the subject,” Graf von Wachtstein said. “Have they told you when you’re going?”
“They are having trouble with the corpse,” Peter said. “Or the casket for the corpse. They have to line it with lead, which apparently comes in sheets. But the Foreign Ministry can’t seem to find any lead in sheets. They are working on the problem; I have been told to hold myself in readiness.”
“And are you ready?”
“There is of course a rather detailed list of the uniforms a military attaché is required to have. I have been given the necessary priorities for such uniforms. Unfortunately, priority or no priority, there does not seem to be the material available in Berlin. The Foreign Ministry is working on the problem.”
“Perhaps you could have them made in Buenos Aires. It is a major city; there are military tailors, I’m sure. And God knows, they have woolen material. We buy it from them by the shipload. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone were making woolens dyed to Luftwaffe specifications there.”
“Dress-uniform specifications?” Peter asked. It struck him as unlikely.
“If I were a Luftwaffe procurement officer,” Generalmajor von Wachtstein said, “I think I would make sure that when unser grosse Hermann wanted yet another dress uniform, the material would be available.” Unser grosse Hermann—Our Big Hermann—was Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering, Commander of the Luftwaffe, and a man who was more than generously large.
Peter chuckled.
“Buttons and insignia might be a problem,” Generalmajor von Wachtstein went on, in his usual thorough manner. “Make sure you take that sort of thing with you. Including major’s insignia.”
“Jawohl, Poppa.”
“Don’t mock me, Peter, please. These details are important. The last thing we want is to have you sent back here because the military attaché decides you are unsuitable for the assignment.”
“Sorry,” Peter said, genuinely contrite. “I’m sure there will be tailors. Oberst Perón painted a fascinating picture of Buenos Aires for me.”
“Who?”
“Argentine Oberst Juan Domingo Perón. He’s attached to their embassy over here studying our welfare programs. He’s a friend of the family of the Duarte fellow. I met him at the Foreign Ministry, and I’ve had dinner with him. He called me up.”
Generalmajor von Wachtstein nodded, then dismissed the Argentine officer as unimportant.
“Peter, we have to talk about money,” he said.
“A delicate subject, Poppa. One the son is glad the father brought up first. From what I’m told, Buenos Aires is a very expensive place to live. It was put to me that I would have difficulty making ends meet, and that it was hoped I could somehow augment my pay.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” his father said. “But tell me about it. Would that be permitted?”
“I think encouraged,” Peter said.