"McCammon, Robert R. - The Wolf's Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

The walls of the inner office were covered with maps, marked with red arrows and circles. Some of the arrows had been scratched out, drawn and redrawn, and many of the circles had been crossed out with angry lines. More maps lay on the officeТs large desk, along with piles of papers that needed signatures. A small metal box had been opened, and in it were carefully organized vials of watercolors and horsehair brushes of various sizes. The man behind the desk had pulled his stiff-backed chair to an easel in the corner of the windowless room, and on that easel was a painting in progress: a watercolor of a white farmhouse and behind it the purple rise of jagged mountain peaks. On the floor around the artistТs feet were other paintings of houses and the countryside, all of them put aside before they were finished.
УHere. Right here. Do you see it?Ф The artist wore glasses, and he tapped his paintbrush against a smeared shadow at the farmhouseТs edge.
УI seeЕ a shadow,Ф Martin answered.
УIn the shadow. Right there!Ф He tapped it again, harder. УLook close!Ф He picked up the painting, getting water-colors on his fingers, and thrust it in MartinТs face.
Martin swallowed thickly. He saw a shadow, and only that. This seemed to be important, and should be handled carefully. УYes,Ф he answered. УI thinkЕ I do see it.Ф
УAh!Ф the other man said, smiling. УAh! So there it is!Ф He spoke German with a heavyЧsome might think clumsyЧAustrian accent. УThe wolf, right there in the shadow!Ф He pointed the brushТs wooden end at a dark scrawl that Martin couldnТt make heads or tails of. УThe wolf on the prowl. And look here!Ф He picked up another painting, badly done, of a winding mountain stream. УSee it? Behind that rock?Ф
УYes, mein F№hrer,Ф Martin Bormann said, staring at a rock and a misshapen line or two.
УAnd here, in this one!Ф Hitler offered a third painting, of a field of white eidelweiss. He pointed his crimson-smeared finger at two dark dots amid the sunny flowers. УThe eyes of the wolf! You see, heТs creeping closer! You know what that means, donТt you?Ф
Martin hesitated, then slowly shook his head.
УThe wolf is my lucky symbol!Ф Hitler said, with a hint of agitation. УEveryone knows that! And hereТs the wolf, appearing in my paintings with a will of its own! Do you need a clearer portent than that?Ф
Here we go, HitlerТs secretary thought. Now we descend into the maelstrom of signs and symbols.
УIТm the wolf, donТt you understand?Ф Hitler took off his glasses, which few but the inner circle ever saw him wearing, snapped them shut, and slid them into their leather case. УThis is a portent of the future. My future.Ф His intense blue eyes blinked. УThe future of the Reich, I should say of course. This only tells me again what I already know to be true.Ф
Martin waited without speaking, staring at the farmhouse picture with its unintelligible scribble in the shadows.
УWeТre going to smash the Slavs and drive them back into their rat holes,Ф Hitler went on. УLeningrad, Moscow, Stalingrad, KurskЕ names on a map.Ф He grasped a map, leaving red fingerprints on it, and pushed it disdainfully off the desk. УFrederick the Great never considered defeat. Never considered it! He had loyal generals, yes. He had a staff who obeyed orders. Never in my life have I seen such willful disobedience! If they want to hurt me, why donТt they just put a gun to my head?Ф
Martin said nothing. HitlerТs cheeks were growing red and his eyes looked yellow and moist, a bad sign. УI said we need larger tanks,Ф the F№hrer continued, Уand you know what I heard in return? Larger tanks use more fuel. ThatТs their excuse. They think of every possible way to hobble me. Larger tanks use more fuel. Well, what is the whole of Russia but a vast pit of petroleum? And my officers tumble back from the Slavs in terror and refuse to fight for the lifeblood of Germany! How can we hope to hold the Slavs back without fuel? Not to speak of the air raids destroying the ball-bearing plants! You know what they say to that? Mein F№hrerЧthey always say mein F№hrer in those voices that make you sick as if youТd eaten too much sugarЧour anti-aircraft guns need more shells. Our trucks that haul the anti-aircraft guns need more fuel. You see how their minds work?Ф He blinked again, and the other man saw the understanding settle back in like cold light. УOh, yes. You were with us at the meeting this afternoon, werenТt you?Ф
УYes, meinЕ Yes,Ф he answered. УYesterday afternoon.Ф He glanced at his pocket watch. УItТs almost one-thirty.Ф
Hitler nodded absently. He wore his brocaded cashmere robe, a gift from Mussolini, and leather slippers, and he and Bormann were alone in the administrative wing of his Berlin headquarters. He stared at his handiwork, at the houses built of unsteady lines and the landscapes with false perspectives, and he dipped his brush into a cupful of water and let the colors bleed out. УItТs a portent,Ф he said, Уthat IТm drawing a wolf without even knowing it. That means victory, Martin. The utter and total destruction of the ReichТs enemies. From without and within,Ф he said, with a meaningful glance at his secretary.
УYou should know by now, mein F№hrer, that no one can defy your will.Ф
Hitler didnТt seem to hear. He was busy returning all his paints and brushes to the metal box, which he kept locked in his safe. УWhatТs my schedule for today, Martin?Ф
УAt eight oТclock, a breakfast meeting with Colonel Blok and Dr. Hildebrand. Then a staff meeting from nine oТclock to ten-thirty. Field Marshal Rommel is due in at one oТclock for a briefing on the Atlantic Wall fortifications.Ф
УAh.Ф HitlerТs eyes lit up again. УRommel. Now thereТs a man with a good mind. I forgave him for North Africa. EverythingТs fine now.Ф
УYes, sir. At seven-forty this evening, weТll be accompanying the field marshal by plane to the coast of Normandy,Ф Bormann continued. УThen on to Rotterdam.Ф
УRotterdam.Ф Hitler nodded, putting his box of paints into the safe. УI trust that work is going on schedule? ThatТs vital.Ф
УYes sir. After a day in Rotterdam, weТll be flying back to the Berghof for a week.Ф
УThe Berghof! Yes, IТd forgotten!Ф Hitler smiled, dark circles under his eyes. The Berghof, HitlerТs mansion in the Bavarian Alps above the village of Berchtesgaden, had been his only true home since the summer of 1928. It was a place of bracing wind, vistas that would have stunned the sight of Odin, and memories that lay easy on the mind. Except for Geli, of course. HeТd met Geli Raubal there, his one true love. Geli, dear Geli with blond hair and laughing eyes. Why did dear Geli burst her heart with a single shot? I loved you, Geli, he thought. WasnТt that enough? Eva would be waiting for him at the Berghof, and sometimes when the light was just so and EvaТs hair was brushed back, Hitler could squint his eyes and see the face of Geli, his lost love and niece, twenty-three years old when she committed suicide in 1931.
His head hurt. He looked at the calendar, the days of March, on his desk amid the clutter.
УItТs springtime,Ф Hitler realized.
From beyond the walls, out over the blacked-out city of Berlin, came a howling. The wolf! Hitler thought, his mouth opening in a gasp. No, noЕ an air-raid siren.
The noise built and moaned, felt more than heard behind the walls of the Reich Chancellery. In the distance there was the sound of a bomb exploding, a crunching noise like the smashing of a heavy ax against a tree trunk. Then another bomb, two more, a fifth and sixth in rapid succession. УCall someone!Ф Hitler commanded, cold sweat sparkling on his cheeks.
Martin picked up the desk telephone and dialed a number.
More bombs fell, the noise of destruction swelling and waning. HitlerТs fingers gripped the deskТs edge. The bombs were falling to the south, he believed. Down near Tempelhof airport. Not close enough to fear, but stillЕ
The crack and boom of distant explosions ceased. Now there was only the wolf howl of the air-raid siren and more answering around the city.
УA nuisance raid,Ф Martin said after heТd spoken with the chief of Berlin security. УA few craters on the airfield and some row houses on fire. The bombers have gone.Ф
УDamn the swine!Ф Hitler stood up, trembling. УDamn them to hell! Where are the Luftwaffe night fighters when we need them? IsnТt anyone awake?Ф He strode to one of the maps that showed the defensive fortifications, the mine fields and concrete bunkers, on the Normandy coast. УThank the fates that Rommel is. Churchill and that Jew Roosevelt are going to come to France, sooner or later. TheyТll find a warm reception, wonТt they?Ф
Martin agreed that they would.
УAnd when they send their cannon fodder, theyТll be sitting in London at their polished desks drinking English tea and eating thoseЕ what do they call those biscuit things?Ф
УCrumpets,Ф Martin said.
УDrinking tea and eating crumpets!Ф Hitler steamrolled on. УBut weТll give them something special to chew on, wonТt we, Martin?Ф
УYes, mein F№hrer,Ф Martin said.
Hitler grunted and moved to another map. This one was of more immediate concern; it showed the route of the Slavic wave threatening to burst the banks of Russia and flood their filth into German-occupied Poland and Romania. Small red circles showed pockets of trapped German divisions, each fifteen thousand men, slowly dwindling away.
УI want two more armored divisions right here.Ф Hitler touched one of the pressure points, where at this moment, hundreds of miles away, German soldiers fought for their lives against the Russian onslaught. УI want them ready to fight within twenty-four hours.Ф
УYes, mein F№hrer.Ф Thirty thousand men and almost three hundred tanks, Martin thought. Where would they come from? The generals in the west would bellow if they lost any more of their troops, and those in the east were too busy for additional paperwork. Well, the men and tanks would be found. It was the F№hrerТs will. Period.
УIТm tired,Ф Hitler said. УI think I can sleep now. Lock up, will you?Ф He trudged out of the office and down the long hallway outside, a small man in a bathrobe.
Martin was tired, too; it had been a long day. All of them were. Before he turned out the desk lamp, he went around and picked up the farmhouse painting with its dark smear of shadow. He looked long and hard into that darkness. MaybeЕ just maybeЕ that was a wolf, creeping around the farmhouseТs corner. Yes, Martin could see it now. It was right there, where the F№hrer had said it was. A portent. Martin put the painting back on its easel. Hitler would probably never touch it again, and who knew where all these pictures would end up?
The wolf was there. The more Martin looked, the clearer it became.
The F№hrer always saw these portents first, and that of course was part of his magic.
Martin Bormann switched off the lamp, locked the office door, and walked down the long corridor to his apartment. In the bedroom, his wife Gerda slept soundly, a picture of Hitler on the wall above her head.


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