“Von Zainer’s men recovered them within minutes, Herr General,” von Neibermann said admiringly. “The Storch went down in the Volga.”
If the Russians had found the bodies and had recognized an Argentinean uniform, there might have been complications, von Paulus thought. And then he wondered, Is that what’s bothering von Neibermann?
“Be so good, Herr Brigadeführer, to inform me of the time of the burial service. I would like to attend.”
“Herr General, there are political ramifications of this unfortunate incident.”
“You mean because he was flying the airplane when he should not have been?”
“I mean because he died fighting communism.”
“I don’t quite follow you, Herr Brigadeführer.”
“I think the body should not be buried here,” von Neibermann said. “It should be escorted to Berlin, and turned over to the Argentinean Ambassador. I would not be at all surprised if they wished to repatriate it.”
Von Paulus said nothing. He waited, his face impassive, for von Neibermann to continue.
“There is enormous propaganda potential in this incident, Herr General,” von Neibermann said. “This brave officer’s unfortunate death at the hands of the communists could well serve to maintain—indeed, to
buttress—Argentine sympathy for our cause.”
“What exactly do you think I should do, von Neibermann?”
“I believe Captain Duarte’s remains should be transported to Berlin immediately, by air. I have been informed that your permission, Herr General, is required for space on a transport aircraft.”
“The transport aircraft are being used to evacuate our badly wounded,” von Paulus said, thinking aloud. “And officer couriers.”
“I respectfully submit, Herr General, that this is an extraordinary circumstance.”
“Very well,” von Paulus said, and raised his voice: “Von Stearner!”
Oberstleutnant von Stearner appeared almost immediately.
“Arrange for a priority for Brigadeführer von Neibermann to transport a body to Berlin…”
“For the body and myself,” von Neibermann added. “I think under the circumstances that is appropriate.”
And it will give you a chance to go to Berlin, won’t it? And regale the Austrian Corporal and his henchmen with tales of your bravery at Stalingrad? Perhaps with a little luck, you might not have to come back.
“Do it, please, Willi,” von Paulus said.
“Jawohl, Herr General,” von Stearner said.
[THREE]
Headquarters, Company “A”
76th Parachute Engineer Battalion
82nd Airborne Division
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
1345 5 October 1942
Captain John R. McGuire, commanding Able Company of the Seventy-sixth, had not been told why it had been deemed necessary to demolish and remove from the site the World War I power-generating station. The stocky, muscular, twenty-four-year-old graduate of West Point had been informed only that his company was charged with the mission.
The station was situated in a remote corner of the enormous Fort Bragg reservation on what was now a 105- and 155-mm artillery impact area. It consisted of several sturdy brick buildings, now gutted, and a 150-foot brick chimney. The rusting hulks of half a dozen World War I Ford-built tanks were scattered around it, as if protecting it. Most of these were half buried in the ground, and were also now showing scars where they had been hit by artillery.