If Papen had been misleading him as ordered, Göring believed that this was an announcement by the most credible possible supporter of a government of national concentration, built around Papen, Hugenberg, and their friends, working with Herr Hitler and his followers. Let him enjoy the illusion. Was he imagining himself being in authority over Manfred, sweet revenge for the humiliation of the last few months of the War? As long as his greed overwhelmed his judgment.
The request had been granted by acclamation. Would the support by the Social Democrats tip him, tip them off? Too late to matter, he hoped.
The ushers opened the door and he began stepping down the aisle. Faces turned to him like flowers to the sun. On the fringes there was some disgust; the Bolsheviks, of course, on the left, and some of the more proletarian Nazis on the right. And that scowling monkey in the front row, Dr. Goebbels. Of course.
For a moment the grim image intruded on his mind of himself at the controls of a Fokker with a jammed gun, and between himself and home uncounted Spads and Nieuports and Sopwiths, American, British, French even, all out for his blood, longing with all their hearts to be The Pilot Who Shot Down the "Red Baron". That would be an easier mission than this. Then, irrelevantly, there came to mind of the time once, when out hunting, he had crossed into someone's property and had been chased off by a big white dog. This was more grating.
While he had been thinking fruitlessly his feet had been carrying him efficiently. Udet followed all the way, Papen went and sat at the Cabinet table. He was at the foot of the rostrum now, which he mounted with all the enthusiasm of an aristo during the French Revolution mounting the steps to the guillotine. Now, there he was on the scaffold -- no, rostrum.
The last time he had seen Göring was as the uninvited guest at Bolko's wedding. Viktoria still spoke with loathing of that. She had her own ways of striking back. The SA men begging for money on the streets would get a huge gift from her. Some were even too dumb not to recognize the notes from the early days of the inflation, when the numbers were remotely plausible. Viktoria had bought Carmen a big box of blocks to replace her old ones, but she liked better the Amelia Earhart doll Uncle Manfred had bought her. Meanwhile Viktoria cut apart the old blocks and picked out the less worn worthless banknotes, and now carried a few to give to the SA.
Formality was all that would save him. "Herr Reichstagspräsident, have I leave to address the Reichstag?" he said.
"You have!" Göring said, enthusiastically. That was probably the last smile he would ever get from Hermann, Manfred realized. That smile would cost too much.
He turned and placed the manuscript on the rostrum. The legislators were waiting to hear his words. This was the end.
"Herren Members . . ." he began, then his voice trailed off as he saw the scattering of women among the delegations of the Left. He began again. "Herren and Damen Members. In view of the urgency of the crisis I will be brief. This weekend the Herr Reichspräsident summoned me to meet with him, to discuss possible solutions to our current national peril.
"I have at his request accepted the position of Reichskanzler and have formed a grand coalition government of national unity to deal with the current perilous state of the Reich and government. Its members will be . . ."
It took them a moment to understand, but then growing cries of "SIEG HEIL! SIEG HEIL! SIEG HEIL!" arose from the Nazi seats, to the accompaniment of a stamping of feet and banging of desks. The Bolsheviks caught the drift and began to swarm the Social Democrat seats, throwing punches and bellowing semi-coherently about Karl and Rosa, the Social Fascists, the Nazi menace, and so on.
Göring had tried to rush the podium, but Udet was there and had stopped him. Manfred read out the names of his cabinet, as if anyone could hear him over the clamor. Then he bellowed in his best Kommandant voice, "CLEAR THE CHAMBER OF ANYONE NOT IN ORDER!"
That was the signal. Duesterberg and Braun, grudgingly, had provided the names of some trustworthy leaders of the Stahlhelm and the Reichsbanner who would accept a request to be at the Reichstag to defend the nation or the constitution, as they believed, and not ask why. They and their men, on this signal, now began to rush into the chamber, with orders to grab anyone who was fighting. Only those who were fighting. He hoped they would remember that and not try to purge the Reichstag of anyone they found unacceptable.
Dr. Goebbels was quicker on his feet than his red foes, he stood up, bellowed, "WE WALK!" and did so. Most of the Nazi delegates followed, to the disappointment of the Reichsbanner men on that side of the chamber and the astonishment of the Stahlhelm ones.
Fifteen tumultuous minutes later, the number of members present was almost halved. Manfred stared at Göring and said sweetly, "Herr Reichstagpräsident, the party leaders of my government and my ministers wish to address the Reichstag."
In a sudden fit of temper, Göring threw the gavel to the floor at Manfred's feet and rushed out after his party comrades. Manfred stooped to pick up the broken pieces, then turned and said, "Herren and Damen Members, in the absence of the Herr Reichstagpräsident it seems I must preside temporarily. With your leave, I would like to introduce the Herr Vizekanzler, Herr Otto Braun of the Social Democratic Party . . ."
An hour later the government had been introduced and seemed reasonably in power, and had passed a continuing resolution in lieu of a budget bill. Then Manfred had asked for an adjournment for thirty days. That was the harder one to get but after some head-knocking it went through.
That evening, his baggage was moved from the Hotel Continental to the Reichskanzlei. He had to call home, of course, like a wayward schoolboy. "Yes, Mama, the police are there to protect you and the grandchildren. Is everything all right?" he said.
Mother's voice, as it came over the line, had a hint of pride. "Didn't I say, 'Oh Manfred, if you had only been well, what you would have done about that Revolution.' And now you have."
"Mama, they aren't Bolsheviks."
She snorted, "As if a little color mattered! Did I tell you that besides the police, there were two dozen men from the Stahlhelm here? Their leader, such a gentleman, he was a sergeant in the War. He came in and introduced himself, they were honored to be guarding your home and family. And those workmen, what do they call them, 'Reichsbanner'? They came, too, and you never saw such glaring. At least they did not stoop to fighting each other.
"The Herr Oberburgermeister just left, he wanted to reassure me that everyone here in town supports you. Not from the number of Nazis I've seen around here! It was kind of him, all the same.
"Is Bolko all right? Viktoria is already packing to go."
Manfred sighed. "He's fine. He is looking after the Herr Reichspräsident. Viktoria . . . I can't stop her, Mama, she's an adult. But don't let her bring the children, it's still dangerous here."
"She won't. Little Manfred is so excited. 'Father will be everybody's hero, he will save us all,' he said. Lothar wants to know when he can go flying again. He and Wolf Manfred have been playing at being air aces all day.
"Be sure to tell Bolko his wife is coming. You will need an official hostess, Manfred."
On that note he said good night.
A short while later, Papen came into the office. Now, Manfred was reading some more of the plans that Brüning and Schleicher had been so careful as to hide away, as if saving themselves was something that needed to be done secretly. "Herr Reichskanzler," he said. "Your ministers . . . .well, there is something you should see."
Manfred got up and followed him. As they approached the front of the window he recognized the sound that had been in the background for the past hour: marching feet. One or two of the braver ministers were glaring out the windows. Noske, for example, and he must have had sinister memories of 1919, if not of Kapp.
The Wilhelmstrasse was full of marching men, masses of brown-uniformed storm troopers, old and young. Herr Hitler had intended to have a victory parade that evening; having achieved his triumph; no doubt he would have reviewed his victorious armies from this ve
ry window. Now someone else sat in the chair he had believed within his grasp, and so his victory parade had become a parade of intimidation.
"Look," someone said. There among the brown shirts was a giant swastika formed by men in black ones. "Two knds of uniform?"
"Hitler's bodyguard," Papen said, "Schutzstaffel, they call them. Also the party secret service. They were banned briefly along with the SA."
And unbanned by Papen, Manfred thought
"Perhaps we'll have luck," Noske said, thoughtfully. "When I said that to Ebert, back in '19, it looked like the Spartacists were going to win. They were massed just like that. But they looked tougher than they were. They had the masses behind them, according to the Doctrine -- or rather each one's own interpretation of it, which he would soon have out with the others as soon as the Revolution had triumphed."
"Like Stalin and Trotsky," Manfred said.
A hoot of laughter interrupted them, "Or Trotsky and Trotsky!" Papen said, derisively. "Haven't you seen them at work? If you have two Trotskyists you have three factions, three Trotskyists have seven factions, and above that I lose count!"
"In any case, at the first check they fell apart," Noske continued. Then he nodded towards the marching masses outside. "Perhaps we'll have luck."
"I thought if I should come out of the War alive, I would have more luck than brains," Manfred said. "When I think about having taken this job . . . perhaps we'll have luck."
The march went on for hours, it seemed. Around midnight Bolko arrived, and with a worried glance to the marchers outside said, "I got the Old Gentleman to bed. He was drifting off some, I was afraid -- he was looking out the window and he said, 'Herr von Richthofen, why are there so many Russian prisoners of war in the streets?' Then he looked straight at me and laughed, and said, 'Can't you take an old man's joke?' I hope so."
Manfred said, "But who will the joke be on?"
INTERLUDE
Abroad, Monday, January 30, 1933
It was almost morning in New York, and the President of Eastern Airlines would get up soon, shave, bathe, and dress, and leave his apartment for work. But the phone rang and rang and rang, and he reluctantly dragged himself from bed, into the next room, to answer it. He fumbled for the receiver in the dark, dropped it, then picked it up and half-sleepily mumbled, "Oh damn, hello?"
"Cap'n Eddie, this is the Associated Press -- "
"Cancel my subscription!" Rickenbacker bellowed.
"Ha ha ha. Cap'n Eddie, have you heard the news from Germany?"
"News? What news? What the hell? Has there been a revolution?"
The man from the AP told him what kind of a revolution there had been, and then said, "We'd like a statement from you on this."
Rickenbacker was still half asleep, and he couldn't take it all in at once. He said so, too. "Give me a moment. Uh, let me say -- "
A new voice cut in on the line. "We have another call for Mr. Rickenbacker," the operator said.
"Listen, sis, this is the Associated Press! This is a breaking story, a hot one!"
"This is the White House calling."
There was a click on the line. The operator went on, "Thank you. Mr. Rickenbacker, please hold for the President."
Captain Rickenbacker, or perhaps as he was now Colonel Rickenbacker, felt an old reflex kick in, and stood to attention. "Mr. President, sir!" he said, respectfully. (When he had had time to think about it he realized how silly it would have looked if anyone had seen him, unshaven and in pajamas, standing to attention while holding a telephone.)
A few minutes later he was back in the bedroom. "Adelaide, how would you like to go to Germany again?" he said.
Another flyer, far from being absorbed in missions, was trying to change his absorption. Charles Augustus Lindbergh had other things on his mind at the moment besides a change of government in Germany. He was trying to distract himself from that consuming horror that had filled his life for almost a year by, among other things, a luncheon with his publisher and his publisher's wife, with whom he had a great deal in common. And they were trying to distract him, so much so that the publisher's wife had gone so far as to put off a lecture date. She did want to hear about the news from Germany.
So of course the change in government did come up. "You met him that one time in St. Louis, I heard. What sort of man is Richthofen?" Amelia Earhart Putnam said that evening. Better that than the other matter.
"He is a good flier," Lindbergh said. "Little, but strong. Keeps himself informed on the technical end, I understand. I only met him the one time, you know."
"Doesn't he own shares in some American aircraft companies?" George Palmer Putnam, the gracious host and the lucky man who had won the heart of Lady Lindy (though his ex-wife might have had a different view of the situation), said, then answered his own question. "Now that I think about it, I believe he does. Gave Donald Douglas a big leg-up, for example. He owns big chunks of the German aircraft industry, naturally."
His wife interjected, "The way I hear it, he's practically a test-pilot himself; he keeps up to date on the new planes, anyhow. With all that ownership he has an 'in', and they use him to publicize their machines."
"And more in my line, he also writes about the prospects of aviation," Putnam said. "For the pulp magazines, but when he does they sell like hotcakes: 'The Red Baron Describes the Passenger Liner of the Future!!!' means fifty thousand sales. We ought to pitch a book to him."
He looked at his wife then, fondness mixed with gain.
She smiled back at him. "Yes, I would like to meet Baron von Richthofen, very much."
The Lindberghs also looked at each other. "He's pretty persuasive, isn't he? Didn't he talk you into letting him fly the Spirit, that one time in St. Louis?" Anne Lindbergh said.
"Sure did."
"You had better look out, George."
Amelia smiled again, even more warmly. "I understand he is rather a cute guy . . ."
Meanwhile, speaking of the pulps, Wonder Stories was getting a remake. The essay-writer's name would be moved up above even the title, and Gernsback was sitting in his office (not that far, not on the scales he was used to thinking in, from where a more prestigious publisher was entertaining one of his own writers) writing a new editorial for the next issue of his magazine. He typed:
With the coming to power in Germany of a modern leader, a man oriented towards the advancement and employment of science and technology, we can expect a new era to begin there. The political fanatics who have heretofore grabbed the headlines are already obsolete, they just do not know it yet.
And Hugo thanked his good fortune that there were two more articles by Richthofen waiting to be published, which with sufficient padding out with pictures, notes, and long introductions could be spread across four issues. Perhaps a note after a while and he could get an invitation to this new land of science and technology.
Across the sea, it was of course later that evening, and the house in Kent was full of speculation, if not people. Family, in fact, and the former Minister was laying down the law. "Now that the Naazi scum have been balked, their fury will be all the greater. Randolph, you are risking your life to go there."
The son, a less rounded, more hairy version of his rubicund father, was hardly nonplused. "Just like you risked your life in Cuba."
The deep rumbling voice sounded through the room. "Quite so. I expect that you will inform me before you speak with the people from the Service. I fancy it will be quite the feather in your cap. Not twenty-two years old, and interviewing the new Chancellor of Germany."
The highest-ranking man in the room, a smaller, flimsier man whose nickname of "Sunny" belied his traditionally gloomy manner, said, dolefully, "At least the Germans have had the sense to put into power people with a stake in the country. Do you really think that MacDonald will ever bring you into the government?" For the Duke of Marlborough to visit Chartwell was a substantial condescension; yet Sunny knew full well that Winston was the more promising of the two.
/> "I doubt he has the sense. Perhaps if Curzon had come to power . . ." He let the words trail off.
"Winston, have you met Baron von Richthofen?" the Duke said.
WSC looked at the glowing end of his cigar. "At an air show. It was a brief encounter, I fear. He impressed me as personable but reserved. There are great secrets and mighty powers lurking behind that handsome face. A man like that would go far wherever he applied himself.
"I believe I had seen his aeroplane fly overhead during the War, but one fancies these things. Randolph, best get to bed if you are going to leave in the morning."
"Father . . ." But like a schoolboy, Randolph went slowly to bed, while his father and his father's cousin would talk politics into the night.
Next night a different sort of acquaintance of the new Reich Chancellor's weighed in. The announcer in the radio studio in New York City rang a handbell three times, and said, "Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! The Town Crier is now on the air!"
The owlish man sitting in front of the huge microphone said, "This is Woollcott speaking. My more avid listeners will remember two years ago, when Germany's Red Baron, Manfred von Richthofen, was my guest on this show. Tonight, he faces a foe more desperate than any fighter of the air. In its ultimate effort, Germany has turned to its aerial hero to save it from the brown menace of Naziism. Across the world, many are asking, 'Is the Red Baron up to this task?'
"I say so." Woollcott began to speak about the natural strengths of the true Germany. Among his tossed-off comments was one that he would be taking a few days off soon so he could go see them in person.
The First Marshal of the World Communist Revolution had risen early yesterday, ready to issue the denunciation of the final stage of capitalism and how its temporary triumph in Germany would not impede the inevitable victory of Communism. The official statement on the appointment of Hitler had crossed wires with the news of the astounding turn of events in Berlin.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 14