Neumann said, “Here we go,” and boosted power.

The Storch roared down the center of the road, here and there people fleeing before it, and suddenly they were airborne and turning to starboard to avoid the Victory Column. Bormann was not even aware of any ground fire.

“You must live right, Herr Reichsleiter,” the young pilot said.

Bormann turned to him sharply. “What did you call me?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing,” Neumann said. “But I met you at an award ceremony once in Berlin.”

Bormann decided to leave it for the moment. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at the flames and smoke below as Berlin burned, the Russian artillery keeping up a constant bombardment. “Truly a scene from hell.”

“Twilight of the Gods, Reichsleiter,” Neumann said. “All we need is Wagner to provide suitable music,” and he took the Storch up into the safety of the dark clouds.

It was the second part of the journey which was particularly arduous, cutting across the east coast of Denmark and then up across the Skagerrak, refueling at a small Luftwaffe base at Kristiansand for the final run. It was pitch-dark when they reached Bergen and cold, very cold, a little sleet mixed with the rain as they landed. Neumann had contacted the base half an hour earlier to notify their arrival. There were lights in the control tower and the buildings, a poor blackout. The German occupying forces in Norway knew that the end was near, that there was no possibility of an Allied invasion. It simply wasn’t necessary. An aircraftsman with a torch in each hand guided them to a parking place, then walked away. Bormann could see a Kubelwagen driving toward them. It stopped on the other side of the parked aircraft of which there were several.

Neumann switched off. “So, we made it, Herr Reichsleiter. Rather different from Berlin.”