Franco's Map

by Walter Ellis

  “He’d have to leave the game, stick to Patience. And wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be something worth seeing?”

  Chapter 8

  Madrid: German Legation, July 8

  Ambassador Von Stohrer was in an expansive mood this Monday morning. “Operation Willi,” Schellenberg’s codename for the kidnapping of the Duke of Windsor, had not so far been dropped, but at least the miserable affair had shifted to Lisbon and become the nightmare primarily of his esteemed colleague, Hoyningen-Huene. In Madrid, the previous Friday’s diplomatic bag had brought Stohrer something much more interesting: a preliminary draft of the plan designed to tempt Franco into the war and deal a fatal blow to Britain’s Mediterranean ambitions.

  The draft of Operation Felix bore three signatures: Ribbentrop for the Foreign Service; Reichenau for the High Command; and Martin Bormann for the Führer. Stohrer never quite understood Bormann’s role in the Party Establishment. He seemed to have a finger in every pie. But mention of the Saxon-born apparatchik always brought to his mind the image of Cerberus, guardian of the infernal regions. In an accompanying letter, from Ribbentrop, the Ambassador was instructed to gather together Franco’s top people – though not the Caudillo himself – and discover from them what practical enthusiasm, if any, now existed for Spanish entry into the war. He was permitted to sketch an outline of the assault on Gibraltar, but not to go into detail. The plan was still fluid, apparently, and subject to change. What was required of him was an exposition of the likely response and any conditions that might be attached.

  Stohrer still marvelled at the irony. Only weeks before, intoxicated by Germany’s defeat of France, Franco had pledged to join the fight. He had told Hoare – an opponent from the top drawer in Stohrer’s opinion – that England should capitulate at once and spare itself further humiliation. He even rebuffed an offer of economic assistance from the United States, arguing that Spain’s neutrality was not for sale. But in Berlin, State Secretary Weizsäcker had rejected a switch to “belligerence,” arguing that, while welcome in tone, it came at too high a price – and his argument was the one that prevailed with the Führer. The present war, however, was nothing if not fluid. Less than two months after rejecting Franco’s offer, the omnipresent Plans and Contingencies department of the Reich (Stohrer was sure it had an office building somewhere, probably next to the Chancellery) came up with its own, quite separate verdict.

  Though no soldier, Stohrer had made a significant contribution to the preparation of Felix. He knew a great deal not only about the mind-set of Spain’s military and political hierarchies, but about the capacity of the Spanish state in the 15 months since the Civil War ended to mount any kind of strategic operation. His view was that while the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak – and the infrastructure weaker still. Even with German help, the task was immense. The Spanish railway system was a joke. It wasn’t even the same gauge as the rest of Europe and hadn’t been properly maintained for years. The Wehrmacht would have to bring in the necessary heavy equipment by road. The thousands of troops involved would then have to cross the entire length of Spain in secret and be supplied along the way. Crucially, an airstrip would have to be constructed in southern Andalucia capable of supporting both bombers and fighters. Just setting up batteries of guns in the hills behind Algeciras without the British suspecting what was happening would in itself be a major achievement.

  The High Command, however, was nothing if not resourceful, and the proposal, while taking all – or most – of the known adverse factors into account, looked to have a genuine prospect of success. Stohrer and his chief military attaché, Colonel Walter Bruns, a former infantry commander and machine gun specialist, had spent the weekend reading through the documentation, comparing notes. Stohrer and Bruns, together with the three main service attachés, Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine, had gutted the plan, summarising its principle features and military requirements. This morning, Interior Minister Serrano Suñer, Foreign Minister Beigbeder and Franco’s Chief of Staff, General Juan Vigón – already privy to the research – would be briefed by himself and Bruns. The hope was that, following a judicious presentation, the Spanish would come to the correct conclusion, and act accordingly.

  One obvious weakness in relation to presentation was the fact that Felix would probably never happen. Reich Marshal Göring was building the pressure on England and would shortly begin what promised to be the greatest aerial assault in history. According to Berlin, the so-called Battle of Britain would be over within six weeks, preparing the way for an invasion and the final triumph of Hitler’s western strategy. Could the British withstand such an onslaught? Stohrer had no idea. Fortunately, such matters were not his concern. What mattered was that Felix had all the mandatory stamps and signatures. It was essential for his own survival that its endorsement by Franco should be safely filed away. Stohrer was too experienced a diplomat to expect any immediate commitment. Approval in principle would be enough to satisfy his masters.

  He pushed down one of the switches on his intercom. The voice of his ever-obliging private secretary, Franz Klausener, came on the line.

  “Herr Botschafter!”

  “Bring me a coffee, please, Franz. But also, put a bottle of good champagne on ice – one of those sent down to us from Biarritz – and five glasses. But do not, under any circumstances, serve the champagne until I call for it.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Botschafter. Your coffee is on its way.”

  Jawhol! It didn’t seem right for a coffee. Was this what Germany had come to? Beverages as part of the order of battle? Stohrer shuddered.

  In his office, two doors up, Hasselfeldt congratulated himself on his foresight. Stohrer might have supposed himself the victor after their seemingly tense weekend exchange. But that was because he could only see the surface of things. Klausener was a long-time Party member, whose application to join the SS was turned down primarily because of his bad teeth. He didn’t work for the ambassador, he worked for him. He had already given him the names of those who would be attending this morning’s encounter, as well as some indication of the topic for discussion. Now, entirely due to his own merits, he had learned that if the meeting went well it would be a cause for celebration. More importantly, he had uncovered the culpable negativity of the Ambassador, which if allowed to go unchecked could ruin an alliance potentially vital to the Reich. Vigilance had once again been rewarded. Promotion would surely follow. Schellenberg – destined, surely, to be a general – would see to it.

  He reached up to the shelf behind him and took down a shallow box containing a brand-new magnetic tape. He lifted the tape carefully from the box and spooled it through the mechanism of the Magnetophon, running it past the electronically charged recording heads. The machine was working precisely as specified. Whatever was said in the Ambassador’s office might be confidential, but it would not be a secret from the SD.

  The Spanish delegation arrived precisely on time. Bruns was in his dress uniform, complete with Iron Cross and bar from the first war. Stohrer, as Ambassador, wore his formal jacket and sash of office. Nothing would go wrong this time. General Vigón would be persuaded of the practicality of taking Gibraltar. Serrano would be persuaded of the glory that would accrue to Spain. Beigbeder would be happy to go along with both of them. After months of ill feeling, today would mark a new beginning.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Stohrer said, as Klausener ushered his guests into his office. Extra chairs were set out for the occasion. Bruns stood by a blackboard, draped with maps of Gibraltar and its region.

  Serrano Suñer was the first to speak, his manner that of the principle of an exclusive boys’ school greeting alumni whom he hoped would donate funds to their alma mater. “It’s good to see you again, Ambassador,” he said. “You’re looking well. I bring you greetings from the Caudillo. He and I look forward with confidence to the outcome of Operation Sealion and trust tha
t the battle will be both short and decisive.”

  “Have no fear, Minister,” said Stohrer, noting to himself the fact that a successful invasion of England would render all that he was about to say entirely academic. “Germany leaves nothing to chance.”

  Beigbeder looked like he could do with a coffee. If Serrano was a headmaster, the foreign minister was a jazz pianist surfacing after a night on the town. He shook hands with the Ambassador, mumbling “good day,” and glanced across at Bruns, standing with a pointer in his hand as if it were a billiard cue. The two men nodded. Bruns’s military rank was the same as Beigbeder’s, which always made things easier between them. He presumed – wrongly – that the colonel found it more awkward to deal with Vigón.

  General Juan Vigón, the Spanish armed forces chief, was a remote, austere figure, who had fought with Franco throughout the civil war. Tall and lanky, with long ears and a prominent nose, he resembled an underweight bloodhound. He said nothing, merely exchanging glances with his hosts, not wishing to give anything away. He had been to Berlin just weeks before and spoken with Hitler. The Führer, he recalled, was unimpressed by the prospect of Spanish entry into the war. He was even less enthused with Franco’s plans – dependent, of course, on German approval – to annex French Morocco, add Oran and set up an entirely new Spanish sphere in West Africa. If Berlin had changed its mind since, he would be interested to know. But he could not help thinking that this morning’s presentation would prove little more than window-dressing.

  Stohrer quickly confirmed the General’s suspicions. “Before I yield the floor to Colonel Bruns,” he began, “I must impress upon you the provisional nature of what we are about to disclose. You will be aware that the Führer wishes to bring England to the negotiating table as quickly as possible …”

  “ – After you have destroyed their air force and reduced their cities to ashes,” Serrano quipped. Beigbeder laughed nervously. Vigón, again, said nothing.

  A look of mild exasperation crossed Stohrer’s larger-than-life features. “All I am authorised to tell you at this moment is that Reich Marshal Göring has been charged with preparing the ground for an invasion and will carry out his orders at the appropriate time. We are in no doubt that in the months ahead the Churchill clique will fall and Britain, under a more compliant leadership, will thereafter accept its role in the New Order.” He looked around at the anxious faces of his guests, hoping to find some compliance there at least.

  “One expected consequence of the revised geo-political situation,” he continued, “will naturally be the immediate restoration to Spain of Gibraltar – bringing to an end an injustice that has persisted for far too long.”

  Serrano’s eyebrows shot up. He had heard this before.

  “However,” Stohrer continued, “war, like politics, is influenced by many factors. Nothing is certain until it is achieved. The Führer’s mind is filled with options that could take us, literally, in any direction, and it is possible that a second means, more specific in its application, but no less efficacious than an invasion, may be employed to knock England out of the war.”

  Now, he had their full attention.

  “It will not surprise you to learn, gentlemen, that this second means would centre on a joint assault on Gibraltar by Spanish and German forces. With Gibraltar seized, and returned to the lawful sovereignty of Spain, England would at once lose command of the seas. It would be separated from its empire and obliged to fight off German commercial raiders and U-Boats without a secure base off Africa. In short, it would be isolated and demoralised and forced to abandon its misplaced and foolhardy defiance of National Socialism.”

  Beigbeder applauded. After an exhausting, yet exhilarating evening with Dominique Fourneau, he was exhausted but otherwise in excellent spirits. She always helped him clear his mind. Serrano pulled at his cuffs. Vigón, already appraised of the thinking behind the plan, chose the moment to polish his spectacles.

  “That, then, is our goal,” Stohrer continued. “The question is, how do we achieve it?” He looked steadily into each of the faces of his guests. “Well, that is why we are here today. The German High Command, under General von Reichenau, has put together some ideas and opinions. There have also, as General Vigón will know, been contacts with the relevant military personnel in Spain. Colonel Bruns will now give a brief outline of the plan as it currently exists. Afterwards, we will be happy to take questions.”

  Bruns’s presentation, complete with maps and charts, was brief and to the point. He spoke in robust, but simple Spanish, in sharp contrast to the Ambassador, whose orotund command of the language was a matter of some pride to him. He also stressed the importance of Spanish military participation. Protected by squadrons of Stuka dive-bombers and Bf109 fighters, Spanish commandos would lead the assault, carrying the Spanish flag. Spanish artillery (provided by Germany) would pound the Rock from Algeciras, while Spanish infantry divisions, with German mechanised support, would guard the frontier with Portugal and patrol the coastline to avert any retaliatory strikes by the British. The German colonel did his best to make it sound not only that the plan was irresistibly elegant, but that Spain, in supporting it, would be the architect of its own destiny. Yet, as he spoke, the impression that grew in the minds of his audience was of a German army of occupation taking up station not only in Gibraltar, but in large parts of Andalucia, Extremadura and, most alarmingly, Spanish Morocco.

  Vigón could live with this. He was a realist and he believed that, once the war was over, the Germans would pull out – at least from mainland Spain. After all, why would they remain? Serrano, on the other hand, was disturbed. “You ask a lot of us, Colonel,” he said. “And you ask that we should take everything on trust.”

  “My dear Minister,” Stohrer interrupted. “I assure you …”

  “ – I know, I know. It will be a joint operation, jointly fought, and the most enduring beneficiary will be Spain. But” – and here he paused for effect – “if we are to repose our faith in a German-led operation, what guarantees do you offer (a) that we will win and (b) that it will all have been worth it?”

  Stohrer groaned, then made it appear that he was merely clearing his throat.

  Serrano Suñer was not finished. “I heard no mention of Morocco, save for the fact that two divisions of the Wehrmacht would proceed there as a garrison. Oran was not alluded to. Nor was Guinea. Tell me, Ambassador, aside from Gibraltar, a spit of largely uninhabitable land some three kilometres in length, what incentives are you offering? What, specifically, do you propose that would compensate Spain for joining the war?”

  “And if I might,” Vigón interjected, “This operation is one thing. But how exactly would we protect the Canaries from a British counter-invasion? If the result of your campaign was a Spanish flag over Gibraltar and the Union Jack over Las Palmas, how would you assess the gain?”

  The chief of staff looked inquiringly at Serrano, who nodded his approval.

  Stohrer twisted the top off his fountain pen, then screwed it back on. It was early in the day to be dealing with such intractable matters. But Vigón should not have known the codeword, Felix. That was not yet official. What did his knowing about it imply about access and security? He feared the worst.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, putting on his most emollient face. “In the first place, we would not embark on such an enterprise if the result was not assured. Germany is winning the war and it will go on winning. We are the masters of Europe. If you join us, Gibraltar will be taken. The British occupation, that has lasted centuries, will end in a matter of days. Second, I repeat that this is no more than a provisional plan. Admiral Canaris, our chief of military intelligence, has requested that he and General Vigón, at the head of a team of experts, should discuss the best way forward at a meeting later this month. The Admiral and his team would, with your permission, visit Algeciras and assess the situation for themselves. Then
, with both sides working together, flesh would be put on the bare bones of our plan.”

  Stohrer took out a large linen handkerchief and mopped his brow. He knew that what he was about to say next would make or break his presentation. “As to the geopolitical context of all this,” he said, “Berlin is aware – almost painfully so – of your territorial claims in Africa. The Führer, though unwilling to commit himself in advance of any Spanish participation in the war effort, is sympathetic to these claims and would undoubtedly view in a positive light any ‘adjustments’ that would benefit a proven ally of the Reich.”

  Serrano clasped his hands in front of him. “Does that mean he would back our title to a united Morocco and Oran?”

  The Ambassador could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet and chose his words carefully. “The Führer does not forget his friends. He appreciates the wealth of sentiment and history that underpins your claim. Accordingly, he would consider it an honour if the Caudillo were to meet him in the autumn to resolve these matters face to face.”

  “Who else would attend such talks?” Beigbeder piped up, running a bony finger round his collar. “Would it be purely for the two leaders or would there be a delegation as well, led by the ministers for foreign affairs?”

  “That,” said Stohrer, “would be a matter for negotiation. But I would think a team from each side would be the best way forward.”

  “Very good,” said Beigbeder.

  Serrano simply nodded. He had heard enough. “I will speak this evening with the Caudillo. I anticipate no objection to the visit of the head of the Abwehr. From what I know of Admiral Canaris, he has no wish to drag Spain needlessly into the war, so a fact-finding mission led by him seems eminently sensible. Beyond that, I should be surprised if the Generalísimo did not despatch me to Berlin in advance of any meeting between himself and the Führer.” On hearing this, Beigbeder looked as if he might explode with indignation, but a glance from the cuñadísimo silenced him.