"He's better off than the last time he was here," Papen observed. "Back before the War he was a dead-broke Socialist agitator, wandering from pillar to post on the streets of Switzerland. Now here he is, a glorious head of government, Premier and Duce -- Führer -- of his country, respected, admired, and feared by all. Small wonder he wants to put on. I see where he did something about that gray hair."
Manfred shivered at an unwanted thought, as he imagined Herr Hitler marching into Vienna, having conquered Austria as he had planned to conquer Germany. Vienna, the place Herr Hitler had slunk away from, an impoverished vagrant; the prodigal returning as Leader of a Greater Germany, a new and more powerful, more united Reich. This extravagant show on a different stage, but with a dreadful undercurrent added to it, a circus performance of demons.
The car stopped, liveried Fascist flunkies ran up and opened the door, and the honored guests got out. For all his braggadocio, all his massive self-bestowed importance, even his mightier thews, there was one item that the Italian Duce could not overcome Manfred at, and it glittered at his throat, above his white tie, the blue star with a spot of shining gold above. For all the medals Mussolini wore, medals on a scale similar to those the petty princes of the lost Reich had given Manfred, the Duce had never won, and could never fairly win, his nation's highest award for valor in combat. But Manfred was a Knight of the Order Pour le Mérite, with the Golden Oakleaves for success on campaign, and he wore it now proudly.
They approached the host. Cameras flashed as the two men met, Manfred with only his dubious Minister as escort, Mussolini with a galaxy of Italian functionaries. Someone had said that more images of Mussolini existed than of any other man on Earth. Manfred had thought that he himself had had that distinction, but then there came Lindbergh, and now . . .
Mussolini thrust out his hand now in the Roman salute that so disgusted Manfred when it came from his fellow Germans. "EVVIVA!" he cried, and then in German, "Long Live Richthofen! Long Live Germany! Long Live Italy!"
"EVVIVA!!!" the Fascist claque behind their Duce cried. "Evviva Richthofen! Evviva il Duce! Evviva Germania! Evviva Italia!"
"Herr Mussolini," Manfred began.
"DUCE, DUCE, DUCE!" the claque shouted, pumping out Fascist salutes in harmony with the rhythm. Before Richthofen could pick up his train of thought, the Duce bellowed, "As one aviator to another, I say 'Welcome' and 'Greeting'!" He slammed his huge hands on Manfred's shoulders as he said this, and for a moment Manfred felt that Mussolini was about to kiss him. "We two alone understand the future! We together shall set an example to the youth of the world! Mussolini and Richthofen, Italy and Germany, tomorrow belongs to us! Evviva Richthofen!"
Manfred wished he could have seen how Papen was reacting to this orgy of the New. Then he imagined Hugenberg seeing it, and smiled at the thought of the discomfiture of his Vizekanzler The Italians promptly began singing, as if his expression of pleasure had been a signal. It was capable singing, if nothing else, even if it was that splendidly tacky song of theirs "Giovinezza".
After the chorus finished their song of youthful exuberance, they launched into "Deutschland über Alles". That was a concession, considering that the song implicitly claimed the (now Italian) South Tyrol as part of the United Greater Grander German Reich. Maybe they should have sung the second verse, the one about how beer is the best in Germany and women the prettiest . . .
His musical musings were abruptly terminated as Mussolini flung an arm around his shoulder, then dragged him forward to meet some of the others. "Chancellor Richthofen," he said, still in that dominating, cheery tone, "allow me to introduce you to the heroes of Modern Fascism, the valiant young aviators and their companions in other deeds who are joining us in flying into the future! Generale Balbo, this is my good friend, our fellow aviator, Chancellor Richthofen! My German friend, this is our Generale Italo Balbo, the great leader of our aviators! He will demonstrate again the greatness of Italy this summer, when he flies to Chicago for the World's Fair . . .."
It was well along towards dawn before the spectacle was over and they were off to their lodgings. Papen was showing his age. "There hasn't been much in the way of politics in Italy recently," he said, as his eyes drooped. "Not since the murder of Matteotti."
Manfred had been sleepy himself but at that he sat up with a jerk. "Oh my God!" he cried. "What will the Social Democrats think!" They hadn't been at all happy about the murder of the Italian Socialist leader when it had happened back in '24, and the nine years since then had not been enough to abate their rage. If it looked like he was granting approval to the Duce's tactics . . .
"Ach, the usual," Papen said, confirming his concerns.
Manfred changed the subject. "So now you've seen the sort of government Hitler wanted to establish."
"That's a little much to say. It's not like we were Italians. There is so much diversity in the Reich, such a policy of centralization would go against all our history, all our experiences . . ."
CHAPTER 10
Reichskanzlei, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Thursday, April 27, 1933
"The indictments go down today," Joël said. "It's taken so long because we have to make sure that everything is in order. So many of the judges are less than adequate."
He glared at the intruder who had somehow heard that a significant operation was in play and had declared it absolutely necessary to advise the Herr Reichskanzler of the political ramifications of this significant move. Papen had just walked in behind the others when Bodenschatz let the assembled ministers in; now he smiled blandly at his fellow Ministers from his place at one side of the Chancellor's office.
Braun, Joël, Moldenhauer, and Schäffer occupied the chairs before the desk. This effort would require coordinating the Reich and state police and courts, and they were the responsible Ministers. If things worked out, by noon tomorrow the principal leaders of the SA would be in jail, indicted for -- no, not treason, for that had given Herr Hitler the opportunity to proclaim himself a martyr, when it had been his time, back in '24 -- vandalism and rioting.
The Nopos would not be told until the last minute. There was some overlap between the Stahlhelm and the SA, and even though those people were supposed to be screened out, they still had friends. The collective burden of these problems sometimes overwhelmed Manfred. The entire country was infected with Nazism and Bolshevism.
Some of those to be arrested already were in jail. Karl Ernst, the SA Chief for Berlin-Brandenburg, for example, who had been so imprudent as to wave a pistol about and rant in public about finally taking down the Red Jew-Flyer. Within moments he had been seized by the mob he had been haranguing and dragged towards a lamppost, to which a noose was being speedily attached. SA-Gruppenführer Ernst had been quite happy to go to jail after the Nopos had rescued him from the lynch mob intent on avenging Manfred's personal honor.
"Can you make clear why you aren't arresting Röhm?" Manfred said. "It seems to me that if you are going to make a case for a combined effort, that he should be indicted, he was the prime instigator."
The Minister of Justice had expected this. "Herr Reichskanzler," Joël began, almost deferentially, "the plan calls for severing Röhm from his commanders. Without subordinates to issue orders through, he will be hampered. He can appoint new men, but they will take time to learn the situation, and in the meantime we can put into effect other measures. Perhaps even, again, a ban on political uniforms." And with that he glared at Papen again.
"There is also the consideration that Herr Röhm may claim parliamentary immunity," Papen said, untroubled. "If the indictment against him were to fail on such grounds, it might risk the entire case. Better to have our enemies openly identifiable."
Manfred didn't want to go into this old quarrel when there were enough new quarrels available to make for trouble. "Will the regular police be able to handle the arrests without the assistance of the auxiliaries?" he asked.
Moldenhauer was ready with an answer. "We will use the regular criminal p
olice to carry out the arrests. While the Kripos move in, the Nopos will keep order in the streets. It should be over in an hour ro two. There will be some extra Nopos at the prisons, here and in Munich and Hamburg where we will send the arrestees."
"It would help if you would come down harder on National Socialism in your announcement of the arrests, Herr Reichskanzler," Braun said. "We need to confront them ideologically, as well as organizationally. We need to emphatically declare that this government is opposed to fascist murder."
Yes, Matteotti did still rankle. Even Noske had been less than enthusiastic about the visit, and explaining it as a matter of state-to-state relations still hadn't been satisfactory. So he tried to mend the relationship. "I will have to be cautious there. You have made a good point, and I will have to word it carefully so as to make the distinction between Röhm and others of similar doctrine. We do not want to offend them all at once," he said.
"Herr Reichskanzler, I would like to put on record that the Reich government is verging on infringement of the judicial prerogatives of the states in this case," Schäffer said, defending his own turf. "The state governments are perfectly capable of taking account of this matter."
"But they haven't," Braun quickly replied, before Manfred could even open his mouth. "They let the local party militias run riot . . ."
"I think he's made his point, hasn't he, Herr von Papen?" Mandred said, preempting both of them, all the better to prevent an argument about who had been responsible for the rioting in Prussia that had led Papen to suspend their government. In the welcome silence he went on to say, "It was my observation that the failing was a general one. We none of us were quite willing to realize how far out of the ordinary our enemies were, how much they were disconnected from what we would consider normal. Herren, I expect you will act with diligence and speed in this matter. Thank you all for your efforts, and now we need to put them into action."
As the other ministers filed out Papen paused by his desk. "I have been setting some other matters straight," he said. "Some of our fellow industrialists have had differing views about how to rein in the unions. After some discussion on the matter they are refraining from investing their efforts in untried resources, but it would be expedient to make more obvious efforts."
Manfred waved a hand. "All right, all right, I'll talk to the union leaders. Provided the Social Democratic leadership lets them talk to me. Like Lipski, of the Labor Federation, before the central committee said 'Nein!' and shut him off from Schleicher. Everybody else is making a deal, why should they be left out?"
Obviously, Papen (not to mention Thyssen, Flick, and Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach) would have preferred that the unions be broken, and with the trouble that had hit some of the aviation plants in Dessau and Hamburg Manfred could see the point. Richthofen the industrialist and Richthofen the Reichskanzler had to look at the world in different ways, however. So he would talk to the unions, try to get them to rein in their self-destructive ways. What could he offer?
And why was it that Papen would not talk straight?
In the one rooming house in Munich the steps shook to the tread of heavy booted feet. Criminal Policemen in their ornamental shakos and pressed uniforms tramped up and down the stairs, escorting SA leaders in various degrees of their brown uniforms out to waiting police vans. Some had not been alone, and a list was made of those who would be indicted for crimes against nature on top of their other malfeasances. Outside, a line of Nopos kept back the growing mob -- which included some lesser-ranked SA men -- so that the Kripos could do their work.
Inside, from time to time some looked in through a particular door, behind which a certain gross figure lay sprawled in drunken stupor on an unmade bed -- alone, surprisingly. Or perhaps not, considering how the great open mouth in his scarred face was emitting raucous, rasping snores. "Why don't we take in the big Schwuler while we're netting the small fry?" one inspector said.
"Orders!" his senior barked, "You have the list, now get along!"
Röhm would awaken to the most unpleasant hangover he had had in a long time.
"You should have seen Ernst's face!" Bolko said, exuberantly. He had been in court with the prosecutors, representing the government, and now was telling his wife and brother what had gone on when Herr Ernst had been indicted. "The magistrate read out the charges and he was completely out of it! 'Murder, assault, arson, theft' -- there he was, all wound up to be a martyr, like Hitler in '24, and the magistrate cut him down to being just a thug. I don't know who dreamed that idea up but you ought to give him a medal!"
"We don't have any," Manfred said. "Our constitution says so. Well, there's the Pour le Mérite for Arts and Sciences, but that's a different matter. I'm afraid Herr Joël will just have to get along knowing you think the world of him. Should I give him a chocolate bar?"
Bolko started laughing. The Richthofen family dinner table, there in the Reichskanzlerpalais, was far too large for just the three of them, and for a moment Manfred imagined how it would look with Mother, Doris, Ilse, and some seven well-disciplined quiet von Richthofen (and von Reibnitz) representatives of the younger generation arouind it. Then he thought of who should have been sitting beside him and . . .
"I don't understand some of those comments they make about you," Viktoria said, and that dark train of thought was interrupted. "I mean, what's the point of this cartoon they had in Simplicissimus? I can understand the flying helmet but why all the other hats?"
She handed Manfred the magazine and he looked at the drawing of Germania in her tattered shift and bright new flying helmet, saying, "Isn't it lovely? My new boyfriend gave it to me. Maybe he'll get me a dress sometime."
"See all the other hats behind her?" Manfred said. "The helmet is the Stahlhelm, the top hat is the Nationalists -- Herr Hugenberg -- the derby is the People's Party, you remember Herr Stresemann, the funny hat that looks like a popover is the Social Democrats, like Noske, and I think you can tell that the pointy cap is the Bolsheviks and the flat one the Nazis. Over in the corner, there they are. And you see the crown. Last year Arnold had a cartoon showing her trying the hats on and saying 'Nothing to wear but always having to worry about new fashions in hats.'"
"It's nicer than the ones in the Nazi rags, anyway," she said. "Why would you give Herr Joël the Pour le Mérite anyhow? I thought it was for bravery in battle, you and Lothar and Udet and your friends. Or like the Herr Reichspräsident."
"Different Pour le Mérite. The Peace Order, they call it. The medal is different, too. Richard Strauss the composer, Herr Doktor Einstein the scientist -- arts and sciences, like I said. Herr Doktor Planck the scientist is the chancellor of that order now."
Then Manfred smiled almost shyly before saying, "Don't go thinking I'm an oracle. Frau Kollwitz, the painter, wanted to do a portrait of me, and she said 'We have something in common, Herr von Richthofen.' She has the Peace Order, too. I was curious and did some investigating.
"Anyhow, that's the only medal this country has now, officially. Perhaps I can do something about it."
"Let's hope these arrests break the SA," Bolko said, returning to the original topic. "Then we can stand down these police and perhaps have a normal country again."
That week's march down the Wilhelmstrasse was black, and at its head marched the insignificant figure of Herr Hitler's security chief and the somewhat more prepossessing one of the security chief's security chief. Herr Himmler and Herr Heydrich flanked the Blood Flag that had been soaked in the blood of the Martyrs of 1923, or perhaps one or two of Himmler's chickens. The crash of SS boots resonated off the walls of the Government Block. Herr Hitler was sending his reliable men to keep the government aware that they were living on borrowed time.
Noske looked down on them, disapproving. "That man," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I checked the personnel files. Once upon a time, it seems, Herr Heydrich was a Navy officer. Then he got a little too friendly with the wrong woman."
He had come early for the Cabinet meeting
. Manfred sat at his desk, trying to sort out the economic reports. He barely understood how his companies, his farms, ran -- Bolko did that for him. Now, Schacht was doing that for him in this wider scale, and so far seemed cautiously optimistic. Enough of figures.
Noske's disapproval of the blackshirt leader's peccadillos sparked a memory. He said, "But weren't you talking the other way round when Kapitan Patzig came in and said he really needed the restored status for his assistant? Herr Oster had been having an affair, too."
"I don't believe Oster is marching in the streets trying to overthrow the government. Perhaps I should send him to you.
"Speaking of people who want to see you. I have a lot of theorists coming in with ideas. The Inspector-General of Motorized Troops, for example, he has some ideas.
"Meanwhile, your wild friend Udet and that man from Lufthansa, Erhard Milch, are working on one of those other matters the Treaty used to not let us do. Perhaps we'll have luck and get away with it. How are you going to handle the airplane matter?"
Manfred sighed. "I suppose it's time to split things off. That's for the Cabinet meeting."
It was a mild spring day in the middle of May, and Manfred was pleased to be far away from Papen and Braun, from the crucial difference between the State Party and the People's Party, from marching hordes in red and brown. This was his place, his proper setting, an expanse of pavement with hangars, the smell of dope and aviation spirit, the roar of engines starting up.
His excursion into the real world would end soon, and he would have to drag himself back into the evil dream in Berlin. But for now, the Red Battle-Flyer was in his milieu, among pilots and planes, where he was the unquestioned master.
"For the moment, we are organizing it as a branch of Lufthansa," Milch said. They were flanking him as he inspected the pilots. "This organization was originally an air sports group, you see, and this just takes it a little further."
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 18