'Yes, sir, I remember it well.'

Himmler nodded again and smiled in a dreamy manner.

'Toward the end of 1941,' he continued, 'after the villagers had all been evicted, Soviet prisoners-of-war were sent there and killed off almost to a man by hard labour and starvation, in order to get the proving ground completed. When they had all died off, we replaced them with political prisoners and eventually built a concentration camp for them. Since then we've razed the original village to the ground, camouflaged the whole area, and built a new, mock village over the proving ground, to fool Allied aircraft and their photographers. Cardboard cottages and outbuildings were sent there from Germany; dummies of men, women, and children stand around; and even flowers and other shrubbery have been planted. From the air, the illusion of an inhabited village is complete and I like to think of it, Captain,' he continued, looking up at Ernst and smiling frostily, 'as the prototype for all the camouflaged, underground factories built since then... My personal creation.'

'And an excellent one, Reichfhrer.'

'Thank you, Captain.'

Ernst, feeling weary and slightly unreal, did not think it wise to mention the fact that according to recent intelligence reports, Polish partisans were already moving in on Blizna, with a view to capturing it and holding it until the Soviet army arrived, as it surely would any day now.

'And a similar situation exists at the Schriever complex near Prague, in Bohemia?'

'Yes, Reichsfhrer. Exactly the same. And Flugkapitn Schriever is hoping to test his flying saucer later this year.'

'Good. We need all the secret weapons we can get, if we're to defeat the Allied advance. What is the American, Wilson, doing in this respect?'

'Not much, I'm afraid,' Ernst lied, knowing that in fact Wilson was already planning to test his small Feuerball in the guise of an antiradar weapon and, if successful, then implement the same ideas in the larger flying saucer he was intending to construct in Neuschwabenland. 'He's making various small contributions to the V-2 program but has otherwise turned out to be disappointing.'

'If the Soviets or Americans even get close, I want that man shot.'

'He will be, Reichsfhrer. In the meantime, I agree that it's wise to pin most of our hopes on the V-2 rocket program and, possibly, Flugkapitn Schriever's flying saucer.'

Himmler nodded, accepting Ernst's compliment, then unclasped his hands. 'So, Captain,' he said, 'when are you returning to Nordhausen?'

'As soon as I see my wife and children, Reichsfhrer.'

'Ah, yes,' Himmler said, 'Now living with your mother-in-law, I believe.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I do not approve of the separation, but am pleased to note that you did, at least, do something about her lover. I a.s.sume he's now one of the hundred thousand German soldiers captured at Minsk. It's all he deserves.'

'Yes, sir. I agree.'

Himmler stood up behind his desk and stared sombrely at Ernst. 'These are terrible times,' he said, 'and we must all remain courageous. I wish to thank you, Captain, for all you've done so far. Believe me, I'm proud of you.' Then, to Ernst's amazement, he offered his hand. Ernst shook it, found it oddly clammy, then saluted and walked out.

Berlin was barely recognizable, with once-familiar areas now razed to the ground, blackened ruins and piles of rubble as far as the eye could see, and a constant smell of fire in the air, instead of the summer flowers. There were few soldiers about, only old men, women, and children, a good many of them crippled, and Ernst became even more depressed and longed for escape.

He went straight to Brigette's apartment, wanting to have her one last time. Relieved to find the building still standing, though the one beside it had been bombed, he hurried eagerly up the stairs to ring her door bell. However, before he could do so, the door opened, a Luftwaffe flight lieutenant stared at him in surprise, then grinned sheepishly, finished b.u.t.toning up his jacket, called 'Auf Wiedersehen.!' back over his shoulder and left by the stairs. Brigette appeared in the doorway, her red hair dishevelled, a cigarette between her lips, still wearing her dressing gown. She was just about to close the door when she saw Ernst.

Startled, she froze for a moment, then grinned, stepped back, and waved him inside, saying 'Ah! My pretty Kapitn! Come inside and be warmed!' A little shaken, Ernst stepped in, pushed the door closed behind him, and just stood there, feeling foolish, until Brigette pressed her lips to his and ran her hand down his spine. 'Did you bring me a present, my beauty, from wherever you've been?'

'Not this time,' Ernst said. She stepped away from him and pouted, blowing smoke in his face. 'Nothing? Not one little thing? Is this how you treat the girls who suffer at home?'

Ernst was not amused by her flippancy, a.s.suming she was trying to make light of the man who had just left.

'You don't seem to be suffering too much,' he said. 'You still have your boyfriends, I see.'

She grinned, adjusted the dressing gown to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then waved her hand in an airy manner, indicating the once-elegant apartment. 'Not suffering?' she asked in a theatrical, manner. 'But darling, just look at this place. It's not what it once was.' Which certainly seemed true enough; the furniture faded and dusty, the drinks cabinet bare. 'No Russian vodka,' she continued. 'No cognac from France. No more pasta and salami from Italy. No more dairy products from Denmark. No more jewellery and furs from handsome officers flushed with victory and pride. Only angst, my darling, and the air raids and the long queues for food. So why not the odd boyfriend?'

Her mockery angered him, but he tried not to show it, as he still hoped to get into her bed before visiting Ingrid.

'I suppose I've no reason to complain,' he said. 'It was just a shock, that's all.'

'Why, darling? You've always known about my other men. You've always known that I like my little presents and can't bear to be lonesome.'

He wanted to slap her face, but managed to restrain himself, because what she had said was perfectly true. Indeed, she had often teased him with talk about her other men, and in those days, when Berlin was rich and he a golden young conqueror, he had taken the teasing in good part. That he couldn't do so now was a sign that things had changed radically. He was no longer a conqueror, she had visibly aged, and both the city and this faded, bare apartment reminded him of the forthcoming defeat. He felt that darkness descending...

'So what are you doing here, Ernst?' Brigette said, inhaling and exhaling cigarette smoke and turning away to take a seat on the worn sofa, where she crossed her long, still-elegant legs and swung one invitingly.

'You know what I came for,' he said, feeling a choke in his throat.

She smiled, then stubbed her cigarette out, and stretched both arms along the back of the sofa, thus forcing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s out. 'But you didn't bring me my little present, dear Ernst, and you know I expect that.'

'I know you like your little presents, but I didn't realize they were mandatory. I mean, I never thought of them as absolutely vital. It was my pleasure to give them.'

'You gave them in return for pleasure.'

'That's beside the point.'