The White Vixen by David Tindell Page B

Front. You must be proud, Dieter.”
    “Indeed I am.” The elder Baumann pushed himself to his feet. “May I freshen your schnapps, gentlemen?”
    Rudel declined, but the man introduced as Biederbeck accepted. His real name, known to these two men but to nobody else in Argentina, was Johann Becker, and he was a colonel in the ASBw, the Amt für Sicherheit der Bundeswehr , Office for Security of the German Armed Forces, the intelligence arm of the West German military. He was the number two officer in the ASBw’s Munich district headquarters. What his commander back in Bavaria did not know was that he was also the Siegfried Bund’s top agent in the southern part of the Federal Republic. Becker was traveling in Argentina with the Biederbeck passport he used, on rare occasions, to travel behind the Iron Curtain.
    “How much does your boy know, Dieter?” Becker asked after sipping his refreshed drink.
    Dieter settled into his soft chair with an audible grunt. “Not everything,” he said. “CAPRICORN, of course, but nothing about VALKYRIE.”
    “Do you intend to tell him?” Rudel asked.
    “Not for now. The Reichsleiter has ordered that VALKYRIE remain classified Most Secret. Only the Cabinet members know about it.”
    “That is good,” Becker said. “Secrecy is of the utmost importance, for both projects.”
    “CAPRICORN must work for the other to succeed,” Rudel said.
    “True enough,” Dieter said. “CAPRICORN’s success will be VALKYRIE’s trigger.”
    The three men were silent for a moment, engrossed in their own thoughts, considering the possibilities. Rudel was the first to speak again. “Are your pilots properly trained, Dieter? Are you sure they can deliver the weapon?”
    Dieter nodded confidently. “If the engineers can complete the weapon on time at Pilcaniyeu, we have more than enough pilots to ensure success.” He gestured at his desk. “I have their service jackets, Hans. You are welcome to examine them tomorrow.” Rudel nodded.
    “I have no doubts about our pilots,” Becker said. “Most of them attended OSLw.” Offizierschule der Luftwaffe was the West German air force academy in Fürstenfeldbruck. “But about the mission itself: one weapon will be sufficient? Will it have enough yield?”
    “We hope to have two, although only one will go on the mission,” Dieter said. “The expected yield will be close to one hundred kilotons.”
    Becker nodded. “Yes, I would think that will be sufficient,” he said, “depending on how closely packed the English fleet will be.”
    “My experts tell me that an air burst over the center of their formation will be more than adequate,” Dieter said. He sipped his drink, clearly relishing the thought. “Will you be ready to move then, Johann?”
    Becker seemed to be examining his own drink carefully. “Yes,” he finally said. “Things are well underway.”
    “Will you have enough men to control the situation in Bonn?” Rudel asked. “East Berlin, too?”
    “Yes,” Becker said. “The key will be the capture of the American and Soviet tactical nuclear arsenals in the opening hours of the operation. If we seize their weapons, we seize the day.”
    “We seize our country back,” Rudel said.
    “My one concern,” Dieter said, “is that the Bolsheviks will think it will herald the rise of the Party again. They will go insane if it appears that is happening. Your few small weapons won’t stop them. They will sacrifice thousands of troops to prevent another invasion of their country.” Inwardly, he shuddered at the memory of the how savagely the Russians had fought him forty years ago. So many good young German boys had gone east, and so few had returned.
    “I agree with Dieter,” Rudel said. “I did not fly for the Nazis. I flew for Germany.” Dieter raised an eyebrow. Rudel had been a member of the Party during the war, and in the first version of his biography he’d supported Party policies. Before it could be published in Germany