Free Artillery of Lies by Derek Robinson Page A

Linden
by bevies of big-breasted blond beauties.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know about that, sir.”
    â€œIf the chance comes, take it. You get a perfect view down the fronts of their dresses.”
    Christian wasn’t sure how to react to that. Oster was handsome, almost too handsome for a soldier and certainly more elegant than any general Christian had met. What was even more unmilitary, he seemed ready to find a joke in everything. This was disconcerting at times. Christian played safe. “Anything to serve the interests of the Reich,” he said.
    They were drinking beer on the terrace of a café in the Tiergarten. It was a chill afternoon, with a sky as cold and hard as an upturned steel bowl. Somewhere out of sight, dead leaves were being burned and their scent tinged the air with a merciless nostalgia. Christian reveled in it. At last his beard had thickened enough for him to be allowed to go out in the streets. He was disguised in German naval officer’s uniform—the
Abwehr
had given him a new identity as Commodore Albert Meyer—and there was even a pfennig coin in his left shoe to remind him to limp. Nobody in the SD (or even in the
Abwehr)
was likely to recognize him now. So he enjoyed the comfort of concealment while he rediscovered the pleasures of Berlin, always his favorite city.
    Oster said, “The best way you can serve the Reich is by making sure the Eldorado channel is always open for traffic.”
    â€œNo difficulty so far, sir. He uses the Spanish diplomatic bag, both ways.”
    â€œYes.” Oster made rings on the table with his beer mug. “Which means the Spanish foreign ministry reads his reports before we do.”
    The same thought had occurred to Christian many times. “We can’t stop them looking, I suppose, although I must say the seals are always intact.”
    â€œProves nothing.”
    â€œAgreed. But everything Eldorado sends is in code.”
    â€œSo what? We knew the British Admiralty code for years.” Oster dipped his finger in his beer and made a Mickey Mouse face out of the rings on the table.
    â€œEven so, there’s nothing to worry about, is there, sir? Spain’s on our side. Last year Franco damn near let us take Gibraltar. The Admiral himself came down to plan the raid. I was all set to lead a sabotage unit.”
    â€œOh, I know.” Oster gave Mickey a foolish smile and immediately rubbed it out. “Canaris had the time of his life. He’s always wanted to be a masterspy. I helped him pick out that ludicrous black hat he wore everywhere in Spain. Remember? For concealment, he said.”
    â€œIt was somewhat on the generous side.”
    â€œNo bigger than an elephant’s ear. British Intelligence loved him for it. They must have been quite disappointed when we didn’t have a go at Gib.”
    Christian was beginning to be irritated by Oster’s flippancy. “I still think the operation stood a damn good chance, sir,” he said.
    â€œFranco didn’t. Franco looked at the odds and like a good gambler he said to himself, ‘Sod it, I don’t have to bet yet, I’ll wait and see.’ Cunning bugger, Franco.”
    â€œHe sent his Blue Division to fight with us in the east.”
    â€œVolunteers,” Oster said. “Part of the great and holy crusade against Bolshevism.”
    â€œIt’s all one war,” Christian said.
    â€œAh, now that’s where you’re wrong. It’s actually several wars.” Oster abandoned his finger-painting; at last he had found something serious. “Take North Africa. The Americans don’t really care about that. The British do. Suez matters to them. Take Greece. Does Greece matter to us Germans? Of course not. So why did we go there?”
    â€œTo get Mussolini out of trouble.”
    â€œRight! Greece is Mussolini’s war. He wanted a bit of cheap glory, he fucked it up and we had to do the job for him.