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“Yes, my Cabinet and I. We’re—” “My troops will be on the move in no time, and will surround the Reichstag. I will be there myself shortly.” “Oh, thank God, Herr Hitler. Thank—” Halstead hung up on the rest and smiled up at Röhm, who stood over him. “Are the troops in place, Ernst?” Röhm smiled with an intense self-satisfaction. “Yes, mein Führer: the troops await your orders.” “Then send in the troops!” Halstead ordered with a maniacal grin and palms thrust upward in the air, after standing up from his cot. Röhm saluted and trotted out of headquarters to bound down the stairs and hop into a car. A sentimental Halstead crossed the floor-wide party office and leaned out a window overlooking Corneliusstrasse to watch his Ordnertruppe commander ride off into the first minutes of a new Sunday to give orders to the squads of storm troopers huddled in the backs of canopied trucks parked in the vicinity of Marienplatz. Then Halstead pulled his head back in and looked at those of his staff still awaiting orders. “Did Göring get the second paper from Ebert?” “Yes, mein Führer.” A captain reached inside his uniform and retrieved a second sheet of paper, this one bearing Ebert’s signature alone, which he unfolded and placed in Halstead’s outstretched hand. Halstead read the brief document and grinned. “Well, what are we waiting for? It’s off to Berlin!” Halstead strode to the center of the office, held out his arms to slide them into an overcoat presented to him by a storm trooper, then bounded down the stairs ahead of a squad of guards. |