On his far left, the far right of the chamber, the dethroned monarch of the last session swelled over his seat, next to his shrunken partner; Göring and Goebbels (NSDAP) led a much-reduced delegation of those loyal to the Immortal Memory of the late Herr Hitler. Harder yet to endure was the glaring gaze of Schleicher, among the Strasserites, and no doubt he would regard with disgust the cheerful figure at the ministers' table.
On the other side, the unkempt, almost-bohemian figure of Fischer and the urbane, well-tailored form of Münzenberg (KPD) imitated the artist and his publisher, instead of the hardened Bolsheviks they were. The few of their party comrades who had not been unmasked as agents of the Reich, confessed their errors, and been liquidated, or in a more bourgeois mood merely voted out of office, sat to the rear of this most bourgeois pair. Their Trotskyist colleagues were boycotting the session; they were outside in the hall, trying to boo the new arch-pig's speech, wanting to use their parliamentary immunity. If they walked out all the way they couldn't boo; if they came in they would be admitting the validity of the stolid bourgeois regime. So they booed from the halls.
Outside the building there was more booing, this time from storm troopers. Röhm had noisly announced he would convene an anti-Reichstag in Munich, with his loyal men and boys, and there they would pass mock resolutions and otherwise deride the government. He had been boycotting the election, but posters parodying all the other parties' appeared, with crude overpaintings saying "ELECTIONS ARE S--T!" (Manfred did admit to a liking for the decidedly unflattering picture of Herr Hitler that was their take on the Hitlerite poster of his burning-eyed visage on a black background, with the great red letters saying "HE LIVES ON IN OUR BLOOD".) Mussolini may have backed the wrong horse there.
Below, the cabinet, including Minister without Portfolio von Papen and Reichswehr Minister Noske, waited to hear their names called out. Papen had had one question: "Do we really need the Liberals? It's not as if the Government doesn't have an overwhelming majority."
Manfred said, "I want to have a broadly-based government, a government of all the talents, as it were."
Said talents including this fellow Erhard (DNLP) who had been put on to Bolko by one of his professor friends. "He has some wonderful ideas about economic reform," Bolko said, passing the torch on to his brother, and Manfred had talked to Herr Erhard. As a result, the Herr Minister of Economic Affairs Schacht (No Party) had a state secretary from the National Liberals, and they were already talking about a Paperwork Reduction Bill. "If I could push a button and lift all controls on the economy, I wouldn't even wait a second!" Erhard had said.
"Unfortunately, Ludwig, someone cut the wires to your button," Manfred had said.
Nevertheless, the economy was improving, and the Labor Service could be disbanded in a couple of years. Now the important matter would be improving trade relations with the Balkans and other such points south -- Beneš would just have to understand that selling BASF dyes in Bratislava was what was needed to sell Skoda cars in Hamburg.
Abroad, it was less so. Mussolini was cock-a-hoop over his valiant "Blackshirt Volunteer Corps" having taken Guadalajara in Spain, and had announced newer and more dramatic measures for strengthening the New Roman Empire.
The Abyssinian Emperor had made his pathetic plea to the League of Nations, and had afterwards gone to beg support from the European Nations. While he had not been outright rejected by their government, after a savage inter-cabinet debate the compromise had been that the Kaiser would receive the expelled monarch privately.
Closer to home matters were not at all well. In France, M. Blum and his Popular Front government were tottering, but as Papen had cynically commented, "The stable democratic French government had three Premiers last year, unstable autocratic Germany has had but one Chancellor."
This wasn't fair -- Baldwin had stayed in power in England under three kings last year -- but Manfred did worry about the French, and hoped to get the ban on troops in the Rhineland lifted next year or so. That riot in 1919 that had got Noske in trouble, for sending troops there to put it down, showed what could happen; and the French premier who could stand before the National Assembly with the scalp of le petit rouge hanging from his belt would perhaps have a few more months in power. So Manfred would still step carefully around France.
To the east, the Soviets continued to fester. A week after the Olympics had ended, sixteen of Lenin's closest comrades had been convicted of being secret agents of capitalism, confessed their crimes, and been shot. In January, twenty-one more had been accused of being agents of Germany. This meant that for the first time in a cabinet meeting, a Social Democratic minister had spoken politely to Papen. "Congratulations on your good work, Herr Papen," Noske had said.
Papen had said nothing.
Later on, while waiting for the generals to arrive for a meeting, Noske had said privately to Manfred, "Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it, worth letting the Freikorps loose like that. But they would have done it to us, ten or a hundred times over, and then this. I had to save the Reich."
Then he turned and stared at Manfred. "Now, little airman, that is your job."
So the purge of Thälmann and the leadership cadre of the Communist Party was just one more strand of terror in a vast flood of it. The problem was that some people believed it.
The American ambassador Dodd, for example. "Herr Chancellor," he had said, agitated, "you must get rid of this man and stop this intervention in the affairs of a foreign country."
"Which man?" Manfred had said, disingenuously.
"This saboteur! This spy who meddled in our country's affairs during the War and is now meddling in the Soviet Union's affairs."
The Chancellor's office was quiet, as the . . . strange demand of the American ambassador seemed to soak into its walls. Manfred glared at Dodd and said, forcefully, "Mr. Ambassador, I will presume that this folly is only your personal opinion and not that of your government. You are demanding the same action you accuse the Herr Minister von Papen of committing, and on no evidence whatsoever.
"It is only my desire to retain normal relations with the United States during the forthcoming period of transition that brings me to leave my reply at this."
Diels had, later, explained the situation. "His daughter has some rather dubious contacts."
At the time he thought it would be the a problem for the next Reichskanzler. If perchance that next person were to be Papen himself, the fireworks would have been amusing, for someone now out of politics.
But now he was in. Perhaps his job would be easier, now that it amounted to setting a democracy on its course, instead of keeping it from going on the rocks. Which meant he couldn't see that wonderful horse Mr. Riddle was playing up run . . . "It's too early in the year to run a good horse, and there's no racing worthy of the name out West, but all the horse players seem to think he should run in that race. I will keep you posted, Baron," he had written.
"Herr Reichstagspräsident, I offer my government to the German people and the German nation," he said. Back to the present . . .
CHAPTER 24
Reichskanzlerpalais, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Thursday, May 6, 1937
On Saturday evening a man in the telegraph office at Schweidnitz would call his home It would be about midnight, but he would wait up. Then, if War Admiral won, he would pop open the champagne bottle. Mother would graciously accept a small glass, scold Carmen and young Manfred and Manfred von Reibnitz if they did more than sip one tiny glass, smile indulgently at the Papens, and then they would book a call to Bolko and Viktoria in Louisville, USA to hear the good news. Next week Bolko would come back on the Hindenburg and describe the race to the family and a coven of appreciative officers, such as Rittmeister von Wangenheim, hero of the Olympics and officer of the Garde du Corps, or Manfred's new Army aide, Rittmeister Schenk von Stauffenberg of the Chevaulegerregiment König. (Tresckow had departed for "Higher Leadership Training" -- what they now called Command and General Staff College.) Stauffenbe
rg was an eccentric sort, Manfred thought, much given to discoursing on philosophy and the like from the days of that teacher of his, that Stefan George. He and his two brothers had come to dinner shortly after his appointment and the three of them, towering over the Reichskanzler, had spent the meal grunting at each other in some private language. He couldn't win.
If they won. If the Admiral somehow faltered, then everyone would have a few and then go to bed. But for now he was fiddling with papers -- he needed to go to bed. This day had been a hard one, with a dragging debate in the Reichstag, the KGNS naggingly calling for quorums, interjecting nonsensical points of order, and otherwise making a nuisance of themselves. Someone must have given them a book on parliamentary procedure. Schleicher had not been overwhelmingly fond of parliamentary procedure when he was in charge, but people could learn.
Yes, definitely time for bed. The Jagdgeschwader commandant had not needed much of an establishment, and in spite of the passage of years, neither did the Reichskanzler. Manfred put out his shoes to be brushed, folded his clothes over the stand, slipped into a nightshirt and cap, looking like an illustration from Simplicissimus, turned back the sheets, crawled into bed, and put out the light.
The klaxon echoed through the night. Was it another attack? Man your planes . . . He reached out a hand from the covers and picked up that damned telephone on the nightstand, the instrument they had put in the other day. It had better be important. "Richthofen here."
"Herr Reichskanzler! Oh God, at last! It's terrible! Ach the humanity . . ."
Manfred sat up, groaning, and said, "What is terrible? Have the Nazis tried a coup?"
"The Hindenburg!"
"The Nazis have stolen the Hindenburg?"
"Fire, fire, oh God in Heaven it's terrible, I can see the smoking ruins . . ."
The man had called all the way from New Jersey. That alone proved how terrible it was. They had been right in putting it through to him. He listened to the fragments of description, then said, "Calm down, calm down, it's not going to bring anyone back. We have to find out what happened. Thank you for your information."
"It won't be in the papers until this afternoon, tomorrow for the morning ones," Manfred said. Milch and Udet occupied chairs in his office, and a chastened Doktor Eckener sat between them. "Right now the important thing is not to fly off the handle with wild ideas. Do that and you get biased." And he glared at Eckener, who had already been mouthing sabotage.
"Ernst, can you get our air attaché in Washington to talk to whoever handles those accident reports -- the federal government, the state one, whoever? See if they will let us have someone on their accident investigation and you find someone to go there."
"I heard there was a film, a newsreel, of the landing," Udet said. "That may help a little, I'll see if I can get anything there. And should I ask Rickenbacker if he can help?"
"If he can."
"Who is this Herr Norway you have asked to come over?" Milch said. "Does he know something about this?"
"Remember the R101?" Manfred said.
"The English zeppelin," Eckener said. "It crashed -- oh, he was the designer who wrote about it! Quite well known. I have my doubts . . ."
"He is foreign, but he is neutral," Milch said. "He won't be necessarily blaming things on sabotage, and besides he'll only be one voice on the committee. Perhaps he can see things we might not.
"How many were killed, hurt?"
Manfred began searching among the papers on his desk. "There ought to be some sort of telegram . . ." he said, his voice trailing off as he looked.
"They say about twenty passengers and crew," Milch said. "I have a preliminary report from the management of the American landing field."
Manfred scowled. "Should I ask Captain Coppens from the Belgian Embassy to sit in? If anyone knows about balloon fires he does."
Eckener shook his head. "Na, na, those were hydrogen Drachen and we had helium in the Hindenburg. If it had been hydrogen I suppose the ship would have burned faster. Fire. Now that I think about it perhaps you had better have Herr Coppens sit in, unless there are any German balloon busters."
Manfred said, "Löwenhardt got nine, I think, not that it did him any good in the end."
"There was von Röth, got twenty -- didn't he kill himself after the War?" Udet said, "Yes he did, now that I recall.."
"Gontermann and Schleigel both got shot down. And Friedrichs too, never knew he won the Blue Max., very sad indeeed. Höhn, Näther . . . ask no further, they are all dead. Does your ever-efficient personnel office know where to find Oskar Heinrich?"
Udet smiled. "I'll ask Jacobs. Eight balloons out of forty-eight, you know!"
The other two had been driven into silence by this reminiscence of the Old Days. "If we have Herr Major Jacobs it will spare us having to ask a Belgian officer to sit in," Milch said.
"On the other hand, having him sit in may help improve our relations with Belgium," Manfred said quickly, suddenly realizing a political point. "Willing to let the foe sit in judgment, that sort of thing. I'll get on to Herr Neurath about that. It won't hurt to ask.
"I think I can spare Bodenschatz to run things. Remember what he said about their skill. Herren, I believe we are on the way to setting up a commission to investigate this. Herr Doktor Eckener can find some of the design engineers, I assume, and the Air Ministry should have some crash experts. As for the Justice Ministry, it seems we can't eliminate the possibility of a deliberate action, so we may have to have someone from the Criminal Police.
"Now there is the matter of making a statement to the press."
And mentioning Bodenschatz brought him in, mentioning the newspapers meant he brought one. "I have the first afternoon . . . newspaper," he said, but the last word had a certain disdain.
What he tossed on the desk was the Völkischer Beobachter, the Special Afternoon Extra Edition. And there it was, banner headlines stretching across the front page:
JEWS MAKE WAR ON THE REICH!!!
Jewish Bandits Destroy German Zeppelin!
Seen Cheering on Rooftop Near Landing Field!
Manfred winced, but said, "Better call Herr Schäffer, have the states send extra police to the Jewish temples tonight. Levetzow too, Berlin will be a flashpoint . . ."
Bolko had had enough wit to call Berlin instead of Schweidnitz that Saturday night with the racing news. "He led from the start, going away, and won by almost two lengths. That Governor Chandler is something else, I tell you! He took us on the special train from their capital, Frankfurt, here to Louisville. I thought Hugenberg was bad, but him, well. They let Viktoria hold the trophy and got some nice pictures. I guess we'll be taking the boat home now."
Manfred sighed, the echoing international long-distance line adding to the resonance. "Be grateful you didn't have to go over at the last minute. Give Riddle my congratulations and have him keep me posted on that next race."
"I'll do it, it's next Saturday. We've never seen Baltimore, and besides, the ships are all booked up. I'll let you know what happens. Conway and Charlie Kurtzinger -- the jockey -- they think he has a chance. How are things there?"
"No more than the usual rioting."
"We must punish the perpetrators of this outrage!"
What bothered Manfred about the reception the Herr Doktor's little speech was getting was how many Nationalist members seemed to see something in it. He had already had to talk to Hugenberg about reining in his suspicions. "I spoke with the Herr Hoover himself, of their Staatspolizei, and he said that there were no rejoicing spectators to be found," he had said.
He looked over the half-full Reichstag chamber and mused again, melancholically, about how much trouble science could make. Gernsback could eulogize the wonders of the world of the future, but all too often he ended up sounding like the Herr Doktor Goebbels.
The disaster of the great zeppelin was on his watch. He had done all he could to make it safe; the examples of Röth, Coppens, Collishaw, and Luke had made clear to him what the dangers
of hydrogen were. Now it looked as if other factors mattered. Not sinister Jewish or Bolshevik or Trotskyite plots, as the elected representatives of the German People were maintaining.
All that and Earhart's flying troubles too all weighed on him. Her plane had already flopped once in a takeoff. That was another circumstance where a failure would make him look bad.
If War Admiral won these races, that might help. Help him feel better, anyhow. Meanwhile Goebbels went on about how important it was to crack down on the perpetrators of this act of war against the Reich. The Aryan purity Quatsch Röhm was spouting outside wouldn't go over in here at all, but it made for such drama . . .
CHAPTER 25
Karachi, India, Thursday, June 17, 1937
The two men looked out over the ocean. "D'you think that's it?" the man with the American accent said.
"The Rittmeister will have a bird if it isn't," the man with the German accent said.
But a number of the airmen of the RAF station at Karachi were looking, as well. After all, someone famous was coming.
"Two engines," the first man said. "Must be it. Well, Daddy, shall we go and see?"
The man called "Daddy" smiled and put on his hat. "At your command."
The two pilots descended the tower and sauntered out onto the tarmac, as the Electra got into the traffic pattern. Some of the other pilots clustered around the Commander and his distinguished guest. "You met her, sir?" someone said.
"We both did, back year before last at the little do Richthofen held to celebrate the forming of his new air force," the Commander said.
"They are friends," the guest added. "Her husband -- Mr. Putnam -- he publishes the Rittmeister's books, and of course we all saw them together at the Olympics."
"D'you think the next Olympics will have a flying event?"
"Depends on whether the Japs feel up to it." Everyone laughed.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 39