“Who the hell are you?”
The Colonel salutes, the General returns the salute perfunctorily. His eyes are distant, dreamy, with a weariness beyond simple fatigue.
“General, I am Colonel Martin Weber, I have come directly from Headquarters; I am instructed to give you this.” He holds the box out in front of him; the brown paper wrapping is scuffed and torn. The blood on it has dried.
“What is it?” the General asks.
“I don’t know Sir, I was told only to bring it to you and hand it over in person.”
The General sighs, stubs out his cigarette and places the box on top of the map on the table. He cuts the string, and tears open the brown paper. The box is made of dark wood, beautifully polished, on the lid a gold eagle with a wreathed swastika gripped in its claws.
“Ha!” An exclamation escapes the General, somewhere between surprise and disdain; “Of course…” But as he reaches for the clasp they hear the sudden snarl of aircraft engines very close. “Get down!” the General shouts and both men sprawl on the floor even as the bombs burst nearby and the room fills with choking dust. They lie there, coughing in the smoke, hearts pounding as the sound of rifle and machine gun fire grows louder under the fading noise of the motors.
They get up and pat down their uniforms in silence. The General brushes dust and masonry debris from the box, the gold eagle is dented. He undoes the clasp and opens the lid, inside is a blue Field Marshal’s baton, its shaft decorated with eagles and Maltese crosses, his name embossed at one end, black lettering on a white band. He holds it up and laughs.
“And they say the Fuhrer has no sense of humour.” He throws it back into the box angrily, as if the baton has soiled his hand.
The Colonel says; “General, I mean Field Marshal, Congratulations sir, but…”
“Congratulations? For what?”
“For your promotion sir.” The General looks at him with contempt and suddenly he is shouting.
“Promotion?” The word hangs in the air between the two men, “Promotion? We have lost this battle Colonel Weber, do you understand that? We have lost it catastrophically; this will go down as one of the worst defeats in history – that fool Goering has ensured it with his meaningless promises and this…” He picked up the baton again, “…this is nothing but a bribe.”
Again the baton falls back into the box, the General turns and walks once more to the window. “They sent you too late, I’ve already given the order to withdraw, my staff are disposing of the papers as we speak.” He pauses, “If you have a way out I suggest you use it, we’re falling back on the beach near here, but we’ve no prepared positions, the Kreigsmarine was almost obliterated the day before yesterday, the Luftwaffe do not control the skies, we’re practically out of ammunition and some of my men haven’t eaten in days. Not many are going to get away…” his voice trails off.
When the Colonel speaks he weighs the words carefully; “You realise no German Field Marshal has ever been captured by an enemy?”
The General pauses for a moment; “Well then, I shall be the first.” He pauses again, his eyes look outward through the French doors and the clearing smoke. “So be it.”
For a moment the two men stand in silence. The Colonel salutes, clicking his heels together in the Prussian way but the General is lost in his own thoughts, looking out through the doors and does not seem to hear. The Colonel turns and walks quickly from the room.
Part 1: The Peace of Amiens
Drake he’s in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
(Captain, art thou sleepin’ there below?)
Slung atween the round shot, listenin’ for the drum,
An’ dreamin all the time o’ Plymouth Hoe.
Call him on the deep sea, call him on the Sound,
Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
Where the old trade’s plyin’ an’ the old flag flyin’
They shall find him ware an’ wakin’, as they found him long ago!
Sir Henry Newbolt (Drake’s Drum 1898)
CHAPTER 1: THE WASHINGTON NAVAL DISARMAMENT CONFERENCE
From ‘The British Empire from 1914 to 1948’ by Ian Shaw, Longacre 2005
In November 1918, when the guns fell silent on the Western Front after more than four years of unprecedented bloodshed, it was as if the British Empire let out a collective sigh of relief. Victory, though victory at a fearsome cost, had been achieved. It seemed a moment to take stock, to re-appraise the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth and to set a new course into a future that all believed would be free of war. Yet the thirty years that followed that victory were to prove no less tumultuous and no less difficult.
The half decade after the armistice saw a cool, unblinkered analysis of the Empire in peace and in conflict, and the results were unsettling. Before 1914 it had been assumed that the strength of Britain was derived from its overseas territories with their multitudinous populations and vast wealth; yet the crucible of war had revealed a starkly different picture. In fact it was only a small fraction of that Empire that provided the manpower and the money required to defend it at the mother country’s hour of need. It had been assumed that British industry and finance could meet the challenges of war, yet as early as 1915 the conflict began to reveal its inadequacies and fissures. It had been assumed that international problems that affected the Empire directly could be resolved quickly and effectively by diplomacy and a show of resolution. Almost a million dead proved that this was not the case.
The British Empire and its Commonwealth was a union based upon trade and a shared system of values. It was the only global power of any real significance between 1918 and 1939. France, Germany and Russia were devastated by the conflict. Japan and Italy were too weak. The United States was isolationist. It was a middle aged polity whose strength grew in peace, and declined in war. What could utterly overthrow it was another war where it would again have no choice but to use up its accumulated capital and become the financial dependent of another power.
Yet Britain was not an Empire in terminal decline. In relative decline perhaps; poorer, yes; weaker, certainly. But still a vital entity, one that had to begin a process of re-invention, one ready to change and adapt its methods and its structures, one ready to grow and to thrive. But how was this to be accomplished?
How was the Empire to proceed? How was it to navigate the troubled waters of the unfolding future? How would it live? How would it defend itself and its peoples? How would it grow? The British Empire had to re-invent itself, to reconcile and consolidate what it had inherited from its past and become something new. That much was evident. The problem was; how was this to be done?
From ‘The Rule of the Waves’ by Michael Fanshaw, Twelvemonth 1963
The decisive British victory at The Battle of Jutland had a number of unforeseen consequences. Firstly it greatly enhanced the status of the capital ship in the eyes of public and political opinion. Until May 31st 1916, a conviction had been growing in British political circles that the vast resources poured out upon the Grand Fleet had been spent in vain because until that time, it had failed to accomplish its stated aim; the destruction of the German High Seas Fleet. There was a widespread belief before the war began that a large naval battle would take place shortly after the outbreak of hostilities. However, the enemy was reluctant to come to battle, victory proved elusive and several inconclusive engagements in the North Sea caused disquiet in a nation that looked eagerly to underscore its claim to ‘Rule the Waves’. The sinking of seven German capital ships and the rout of the High Seas Fleet quite put these arguments to rest.
Secondly it elevated Admirals John Jellicoe and David Beatty to the status of the semi-divine. They joined the ranks of Drake, Nelson and Rodney as first rate British naval heroes. Consequently, when Jellicoe, in 1920, gave his judgement that a large fleet was a necessity in the Far East after his tour there; or Beatty made his opinion clear on British re
quirements from The Washington Treaty, they spoke with the voices of gods. This was partly due to the emphasis placed on The Battle of Jutland by the press and political commentators in the immediate aftermath of The Great War. The battle gripped the public imagination. It was far easier and more rewarding for the ordinary people of Britain and the Dominions, having passed through the trauma of the Great War, to contemplate the swift, decisive and comparatively cheap triumph of the Royal Navy. Jutland stood in stark contrast to the long, grinding engagement of attrition on the Western Front.
Writing fifty years after the beginning of the Great War, we can say with some certainty that spectacular though Jellicoe and Beatty’s success may have seemed, it altered very little about the conflict. Essentially all Jutland accomplished was the maintenance of the status quo. Its chief significance was that the blockade remained unbroken; but the war was still deadlocked on the Western Front and certainly ended no sooner because of it.
We can also say that Field Marshall Haig accomplished more for Britain by eventually securing the defeat of the German armies on the continent of Europe than either of the two lionized Admirals, despite the almost hysterical adulation that they received. Both men were elevated to the peerage. Beatty took the title of Lord Beatty of Jutland. Jellicoe became Lord Jellicoe of Scapa. Their statues were placed in Trafalgar square, side by side on the fourth plinth.
In 1917, Jellicoe was dismissed from the post of First Sea Lord at the behest of the Prime Minister David Lloyd-George. His sacking was disguised as a promotion (he was made an Admiral of the Fleet) [1] and was almost certainly because of his popularity.
Finally, it is pertinent to note the importance of the thorough review of the effectiveness of British heavy shell after their inadequate performance in the battles of Flamborough Head and Dogger Bank. This was initiated by Sir John Fisher, the First Sea Lord, in 1915. He had the able support of Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty. Without it, the Grand Fleet might have faced the High Seas Fleet at Jutland with flawed weapons; in which case, Jellicoe and Beatty’s triumph might have been no triumph at all.
The victory did not have the same moral effects as had been hoped. Successful though the outcome was, the complete annihilation of the German fleet had not been achieved. Despite the adulation of the press, Jutland was in many ways not the ‘New Trafalgar’ that Great Britain had looked for. The High Seas Fleet had nothing like the prestige of the Army in Germany and even if it had been completely eliminated, it seems highly unlikely that the Germans would have given up the fight because of it.
Despite the fact of victory, for the RN, the consequences and lessons of the battle caused a great deal of reappraisal. The Grand Fleet became a vastly more efficient and significantly more dangerous force by facing the challenges raised by Jutland. The battle exposed shortcomings in tactical doctrine, signalling and method of command. It also revealed the inadequacy of many aspects of the design process. Jellicoe wrote to the First Sea Lord on 5th June 1916 that: ‘There are a great many lessons to be learned.’ He did not lose a moment in taking stock of them. Solutions were rapidly and efficiently applied and increased the effectiveness of the Grand Fleet to a level that would not have been considered attainable before Jutland and would not have been possible but for Jutland.
Significantly, the victory of Jutland deprived the U–boats of one of their main supports, since the High Seas Fleet was in many ways the power behind their campaign. Even more significantly, it released a significant part of the Grand Fleet’s light forces for mercantile convoy protection.
*
At the Washington Naval Disarmament Conference convened on 12th November 1921 and eventually signed in February of the following year, the British and American delegations disagreed sharply on the issue of new construction of capital ships. A proposition by Charles Evans Hughes, the head of the US mission, to set a ratio of 5:5:3 for the capital ships of the world’s three largest navies was embraced very early by the British. However, a further proposal for a ten year moratorium on new construction was rejected by them. This was on the advice of Admiral Lord Beatty of Jutland, Britain’s First Sea Lord and the Commonwealth delegation’s chief professional advisor. Beatty pointed out that Britain had already undergone a self-imposed building holiday for the past five years. Furthermore, the specialised skills required to construct capital ships in the UK would decay significantly if it went on for another ten years. He also pointed out that upon the termination of the treaty there would, in all probability, be a scramble to build new ships meaning the beginning of a new arms race. Consequently he advocated a steady program of replacement for old ships rather than a complete cessation of battleship construction.
Beatty had consistently opposed cuts in naval strength. Convinced that the Royal Navy was the first line of Imperial defence, he emphasised the need for a strong battle fleet and used his high profile and reputation to press the navy’s case to the government. The other Commonwealth delegates were certainly in awe of him and his recommendation was taken very seriously indeed. The victory at Jutland had confirmed the capital ship as the final arbiter of naval power [2] and the Royal Navy’s battleships as the defenders of the Empire. Such was his stature, that when a telegram arrived from the British government urging him to proceed more cautiously and not jeopardise the conferences chances of success, he responded that the Cabinet should trust his judgement on the matter. Surprisingly, he was not rebuked.
Thus, from the outset of the conference, the British sought to advocate a final treaty that permitted them to construct or complete new capital ships within an agreed framework. Initially, the American delegation was unwilling to agree and raised the spectre of the talks breaking down entirely. They contended privately that the British were trying to continue the naval race under the guise of disarmament and publicly that this display of recalcitrance indicated an unwillingness to go along with the post-war spirit of peace and reconciliation.
The British delegation reiterated that they had not laid down any capital ships since 1916 and emphasised that this in itself was a de-facto building holiday. Another point they made to support their argument related to the relative ages and the effects of war service on the battle fleets of the United States and the British Empire. Taking war service as double wear (i.e. that one year of wartime service equals two of peacetime service), then the average age of the British battle fleet on January 1st 1922 was almost twelve and a half years. By contrast, the average age of the American fleet was only eight. A third argument was that the British were quite willing to permit the Americans to procure new construction as well.
Both the British and the Americans knew and understood that the United States was capable of winning any building race in the long term. The British were gambling that the Americans were also aware that it would require a ruinous capital outlay to establish this fact. The British shipbuilding industry was highly proficient. It had turned out six or seven capital ships in each year of the decade before the First World War and had built the battle cruiser Repulse in nine months [3]. It was also known that the consistently parsimonious American Congress had failed to release funds for the completion of the ships of the ambitious 1916 and 1919 building programs and was unlikely to do so in the near future.
There was also a detrimental side-effect to agreeing to a building holiday. Most of the dreadnoughts to be retained would be due for replacement at the same time and this would result in a feast–famine cycle of construction that would be both uneconomical and potentially destabilising from the point of view of industrial capacity. However, the substitution of the age-replacement rule with a steady building programme would be beneficial to all.
Gradually the American negotiators began to warm to the idea of an agreed building schedule with each power permitted to complete a number of ships at intervals within the treaty framework. A compromise was reached whereby the Americans were allowed to complete all four battleships of the Colorado cla
ss, while the British constructed four 35,000 ton battleships of their own to balance them. Furthermore, the United States Navy retained the right to construct or complete four ships not exceeding 45,000 tons at a later date; while the British were permitted to complete a second Hood class ship (HMAS Endeavour) plus two more ships of a new design not exceeding 45,000 tons.
This was in part due to Beatty’s private emphasis to members of the American delegation that the British Empire and the United States had nothing to argue over. It had become increasingly obvious to the Americans that Westminster’s policy was to do business with the US by diplomatic means for the simple reason that there was little or no prospect of strategic competition between the two. The British were comfortable with the Monroe Doctrine, Canada was a Dominion and had reached its own accommodation with America and the policies of the respective governments on most aspects of international relations were mutually supportive. This was understood by the American delegation but Beatty undeniably helped stress it.
Ultimately the American negotiating position was defined by their government’s desire for economy. It was argued by some members of Congress that scrapping incomplete ships was wasteful and profligate. Many of the ships of the large American 1919 Program were partially complete. The US government would have preferred not to spend any more money at all on new ships and written off the not inconsiderable amount already spent as a sunk cost. But by agreeing to complete some of these vessels they seemed to have arrived at a less expensive option than permitting the conference to fail. This certainly seemed a sensible alternative to scrapping ships that were half–built, only to lay down new ships a year or two later.
The Peace of Amiens Page 2