Manfred said, "I wanted to congratulate you for your ingenious assault."
"Horseshit."
Manfred hadn't known Manstein understood English, for he had flinched at the comment. He himself said, cooly, "Herr Oberst, I would appreciate an explanation of that remark."
"Horseshit. No American would have given up so easily. If I'd been there, I would have told you 'Nuts!' and that only because it would get into the goddamned Press! Goddamned Press always screws up a man's comments!"
Manstein looked bemused at this unusual flow of comment. Manfred was also bewildered by the abrupt turn of opinion, not to mention the odd upwelling of hostility, but saved him the trouble. "I agree the newspapers seem to enjoy distorting the facts, I could tell you some stories. In fact, why don't you dine with me tonight and I will tell you."
When they were alone, Manfred said, "Aside from the fact that I believe it will be Generalmajor von Manstein soon, why don't you tell me more about what you did." Which Manstein proceeded to do.
That night at dinner, the American colonel made another incident. "That Colonel Manstein, what was his name before he changed it?" he said, after a long description of the military history of the Pattons, who had apparently fought in every American war since the seventeenth century.
"How did you know that?" Manfred said. "I only knew because it came up . . . there were the two von Sperling sisters, one married Erich von Manstein and the other married Eduard von Lewinski. Frau von Lewinski had nine children and Frau von Manstein didn't have any, so they agreed that the next son would be adopted out. And Erich was."
"Lewinsky. I thought so. They do that."
Then Patton launched into a story of how in a previous life he had been with Blind King John, fighting the Turks in wagons plated with iron. "And I bet this son- excuse me, General Guderian of yours was one of my French comrades in arms there."
Then he changed back. "Americans have always loved a winner, and that is why we have never lost a war. Unless the government gets off its ass and does something about the army, that may change, I am sorry to say."
"I am sorry to say there has been a problem with observers," General von Fritsch said the next morning. "Spectators, anyhow."
The Referees' Headquarters was beginning to stir and a flow of messengers was indicating the staggering success of the Rundstedt Offensive. The maneuvers might end early. Manfred looked annoyed himself. "Spectators? A problem with women?"
"Not really," Fritsch said, and looked around. "Good, His Royal Highness is away . . . We have had to pull the Third Company of the Second Baden Grenadiers out of maneuvers and confine them to barracks. There was a unit of Herr Röhm's play soldiers drilling near the maneuver grounds, staves instead of rifles, sticks for grenades, all that imitation trash. One of the landsers saw them playing and he pulled down his trousers, wagged his arse at them, and shouted 'Hey sweetie, why don't you come over here!?' They all did, and there was a fight.
"The real soldiers won, of course. But they have been confined to barracks for this disciplinary violation."
Noske had come up during this conversation, he coughed discreetly. "Herr General, you must understand that we have a citizen army. I myself understand the need for order and discipline, but we respect our soldiers as citizens. I have been informed that the local chapter of the Bavarian Social Democratic Party has donated three kegs of beer to the soldiers to ease this confinement, and as Minister, I have approved this relaxation of discipline in the interests of bettering civil-military relations."
Fritsch turned and glared at the Minister. "Herr Minister," he said coldly, "I am quite aware of this matter. The officer in charge of the canteen erred grossly. He delivered six kegs; I believe he is a local, a Bavarian. But it has all been opened now and there is no point in undoing what can't be undone."
Manfred looked around and caught sight of the person he needed, which wasn't all that hard to do given how the man towered above most others. "Stauffenberg!" he shouted, "Report at once! Herr Minister, Herr General, I understand the problem, Herr Rittmeister von Stauffenberg, please have the supply department dispatch a half-dozen, no make it a dozen bottles of schnapps to the sergeants' mess of the Second Baden Grenadiers. They must have some means of relief in order to be able to endure the rowdy inebriation of the men. The bill is to go to my personal office in Schweidnitz. Oh yes, and the officers are to report to me in Berlin next Monday, I will need some trustworthy officers for a special mission, to have the Kit Kat Klub inspected."
Harmony and concordance were restored. Now they had to win the war, and find out what they could learn about it.
"What are the lessons we have learned?"
Noske stood on the podium before the assembled commanders. The invasion by Angriefer had been roundly defeated and President Leuchtkäfer had sued for peace. "And two hard-boiled eggs." *WHONK* "Make that three hard-boiled eggs." (Julius, Leonard, and Arthur had filmed the peace offer before going back to America to film their new movie, about a producer trying to swindle his backers by overselling his play.) Now the generals were meeting to hash out what had gone wrong.
As Manfred sat there and listened to the commanders talking, he wondered what would have happened if some big brain in the Grossergeneralstab had thought to rehearse the Schlieffen Plan beforehand, and whether they would then have been willing to consider the old Kaiser's impetuous, last-minute scheme to turn the trains around and attack Russia. The regiment would have come to him, instead of the other way around, and . . . ach, what was done was done, and the thing to do was use the experience to learn what not to do. Not getting everyone in the world angry with you, for starters.
Here was Guderian himself, already with the insignia of a Generalleutnant, lecturing. "We have learned that the coordination of tanks and infantry is an essential. But even more so is the coordination of combat troops and support units. The breakdown rate of our armored vehicles was unacceptable, and it is well that we learned this in an exercise, and not in battle."
Which meant more greasy-handed mechanics, and that in turn meant more officers who were Not Of The Right Sort. He could see that Noske, at least, was not disappointed.
"I found him!" Udet said, at the reception that evening. "Leutnant Mölders, Werner Mölders, right here."
Manfred held out his hand. "I am pleased to meet you. In person, that is. You gave an old man quite a workout the other day."
The young lieutenant was almost shy. "Herr Reichskanzler," he began, then fell silent.
"I know I was officially a referee, and you should have recognized me, but --" he laughed. "I could use a challenge every now and then. My current life is so stultifying."
The "referee" had flown over the lines in an all-red He-112 to get a view of the fighting, or "fighting". Then a flicker towards the sun had drawn his attention, and before he knew it, one of the Bf-109 with the Angriefer markings had made a pass. If there had been real combat loads he might have been in trouble then, but old reflexes kicked in and he put the plane hard over.
What was the last time he had done that? Rickenbacker! "Let me tell you about the great American fighter pilot, Herr Hauptmann Rickenbacker. I presume our Ernst here has been filling your ears with his own wild tales. Eddie was flying over our lines, you see . . ."
And when it was all over, he made a point of speaking to Udet. "You will be keeping an eye on that man." It wasn't a question.
Udet chuckled. "Still?" At his superior's surprise, he went on, "He was one of our 'observers' in Spain, with the Nationalists. Unofficially, of course, he has four kills. He had a lot of useful comments about the Red planes, too. Normally he's an instructor, and he's working out some new tactics. He's on my list of people on the fast track." Udet grinned. "We may have to look to our laurels, if there's a war."
"If there's a war, Germany will be overrun by the Bolsheviks and their Polish lackeys!"
It was an appalling day in the Reichstag. Even if the Doktor had been diverted into writing (there were
ghastly rumors that he was writing a second book about the Nazi Earth's expansion to the stars, to be titled The Thousand-Year Rule) he still had the time off for an odd rant in the Reichstag. And today he was riding the trend, or so he saw it.
"Our army is pitifully inadequate! It would be crushed under Jew -- Red boots! Commissars would thrust their way into every German house, and with their vile exactions pollute German blood!
"Our army must be strong! The terror of the world! We must be prepared to fight! We must have conscription! And tanks, tanks, tanks! Artillery, machine guns, mortars! An army powerful enough to defy the world!
"And a world-class Navy! U-Boats, battleships, aircraft carriers! Sweep the vile Bolshevik trash from the seas, and then their foreign followers!
"Enough airplanes to turn the sky black! Bombers, big enough to wipe out a city with one raid!
"Gas! And even more dread weapons! Bring all the resources of science to bear to defend the Reich!
"The Bolsheviks are building all these and more! While our government, under the control of an old café-socialist, does movies!"
"What more do you want me to do to the Bolsheviks!" Noske shot to his feet and bellowed back.
Howls and screams arose from the Bolshevik side of the chamber at this reminder of 1919. "Impeach him! Out with the Butcher of Moabit!" Ulbricht bellowed. On either side of him, Fischer and Münzenberg retained a pained silence, as if they could put their Stalin's man on point and let him take the damage.
Up above, Wels banged for order. "If any members insist on fighting, they will be expelled!" he shouted, in vain.
"Yes, the government will not fight, will not preserve the purity of the Reich! Judah governs on the Wilhelmsstrasse!" Goebbels shot back.
Then the quarrel became general. Noske reached over the table and handed him a note -- it was too loud to talk any longer. "Let them yap, it only makes them look bad," he had written.
Manfred read it, had a thought, and wrote, "Any suggestions?" before passing the note around the cabinet table. If Hugenberg had been there he might have expected something enthusiastic from the Nationalists, but as it was von Braun only wrote "Such patriots we have." The Social Democrat Braun, on the other hand, sneered, "Now they fight for the workers!"
Bolko was waiting outside, his face strained as he strove to restrain himself. "I was there when they had the news," he said.
Manfred stopped and then let Bolko lead him into the Reading Room. The two brothers stood there at one end of the great dark hall, abandoned for the moment. Outside the windows showed a busy Berlin day. Bolko said, "You know Röhm was planning a big march in Bremerhaven. There are still a lot of Bolsheviks in the dockworkers, some veterans of Spain, Wollweber apparently was there himself, in charge they think. They were saying that the Fascists would not pass there either.
"It was just the usual jeers and sneers . . . and then someone fired a shot. You remember, from school, that story about the Greek hero and the dragon's teeth? How he threw a rock in among the soldiers and they fought and slaughtered each other? That's what happened there. The SA had guns -- to 'protect' themselves from the Bolsheviks, and the dock-workers had guns to 'protect' themselves from the fascists. Neither one would use them first, of course, but once the first shot was fired . . ." Bolko's voice trailed off.
"How many dead?" Manfred asked. "How much damage?"
"Two-three hundred, they're estimating. Giesler and Vogel among the SA, two of Röhm's new top men, so there's some good out of it.
"But there was a fire, and with all the shooting and armed men the Fire Brigade couldn't get there in time. They had to call in troops. Half the docks at least are gone, and it'll take millions to rebuild. Some ships caught fire too, at least one English one."
Manfred sat down. Pain lanced through his head again.
The next day he still had that pounding headache. As Manfred sat on the edge of his bed he realized he was aging. During the War he had flown feeling that bad, and worse. But twenty long years had taken their toll on him, and for the past five he had been Reichskanzler too. Sometimes he wondered whether it was worth it.
Back then it had been a simple brutal choice, fly until you died, or until the war ended. He had achieved the latter trick, but all too many times it had been the former. If some Allied pilot had been luckier -- or even someone from the ground. That would have been the cruelest irony of them all, the great hero of the air being shot down like a partridge.
Now it was the same choice. Stay the course and try to keep the government from falling to pieces. This time their foes would not be so generous . . . and he shuddered, thinking of the results that would make the Dictated Treaty "generous". No matter. In any case he had to carry on.
He looked around the bedroom. Everything was a matter of image. At the Front, he had lived in the most sparse of conditions, not much better than the enlisted men from the ground crew. And so here, a bed not much better than one from the Kadettschule, and not much in the way of furniture. The sunlight glinted through a window.
No one had to come to awaken the Reichskanzler; he kept reasonable night hours and rose reasonably early, but not too early. His task still was not done.
If it hadn't been for his other interests, and his other friends, he might have given in. Whatever would he do if he couldn't fly?
CHAPTER 30
Flughafen Berlin-Tempelhof, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Friday, September 16, 1938
"Forty passengers! And it can fly sixteen hundred kilometers, a thousand miles you'd say. The service models should be able to do twice that at least. It would be a bit improvised at first, Berlin to Ireland to Newfoundland to New York, but we will have airplane flights to America!"
For the day Manfred was again the airplane salesman, and Junkers's Ju-90 transport his goods on offer. The big four-engined plane sat there in front of the hanger, a little worn, the Lufthansa markings touched up, and all fueled up and ready to go.
For once he had pulled rank. "This is important," he said. "It will present a positive image to people overseas. Particularly potential buyers." Not that his companions were likely to be in a position to buy any, but the people who would be buying would listen to her.
"By rail from Paris?" he had said, staring at the telegram.
But it was no joke, and so a car had been dispatched to the Anhalter-Station. The commanding general of the Air Force could not be spared from his duties, so the visitors had every expectation of arriving safely and sanely. Still, he was shocked.
"Amelia, George, how was your trip?" he said, having come down as far as the reception hall of the Reichskanzlei to greet them.
"Fine," Earhart said, quietly.
"The French were quite enthusiastic," Putnam said. "I'm afraid I've put on a few too many pounds!"
Manfred turned to lead them upstairs. "Don't start your diet until the trip home!" he said over his shoulder. "You know I have an old tradition of always keeping a good table and, as I always insist, you are to feel free to indulge."
Or she was to indulge, he thought as they went up the steps. Earhart did not seem to have bounced back from the crash.
He didn't talk about it, of course. They had a luncheon in his private dining room and he was the most expansive host. "We have a new plane I want to show you," he said. "More than one, but this one in particular. I tried one and liked it so much I bought a couple more for the children. Keeps their hands in. Amelia, you should see Carmen fly. It's hard to keep her on the ground. Her mother got to me and we're increasing maintenance on the landing fields, keeping power lines away, that sort of thing."
Perhaps bringing how Lothar had died into the conversation would get to her. But no, she picked at a splendid meal, sipped at the mineral water placed at her setting, and looked blankly, hollowly across the dining room. Putnam didn't act like anything was wrong, but then that might be his way of trying to raise her spirits.
"Think of it, an airplane for the home. You'd have to have a big home, but a
lot of those Texas cattle barons would like to have one. Or two!"
"I expect you'll be writing about that, Bar-- Manfred," Putnam said.
He laughed. "I'd like to, I wish I had the time. Writing doesn't come easy to me, but perhaps when I step down after the next election. I have a few articles in mind."
"For your pulp magazine friends, no doubt. You did hear that Gernsback has been sidelined."
They stood there on the sidelines, watching the ground crew prepare the great airplane. After a moment Manfred said, "Would you like to see the controls?"
At the door she paused while Manfred stepped into the airplane, then he held out his hand while Putnam held her other arm. She followed him to the cockpit and at his urging sat in the co-pilot's seat, while he discussed the controls and translated some of the more obscure markings.
Then he sat back and said, "We can be cleared for takeoff in five minutes."
Putnam had been standing over their shoulders, watching with an enthusiastic amateur's eyes the explanation. Startled by the announcement, he said, "We can't go now! What about our luggage?"
"Already loaded on. They didn't take it out of the car, just drove it over here. You can see how easily this plane flies."
His startled look gave way to excitement. Putnam said, "How about it? Sounds great to me!"
Manfred began hauling out the radio harness. "Just think of it, who else has had such an important driver?"
"There was an Anglo-Saxon king who was rowed by eight kings once, back when," Earhart said, tonelessly.
"Well, if your majesty will strap in and put on the radio headphones, we can be cleared for takeoff."
The engines were droning along quietly They were less than halfway there when Manfred realized he had forgotten one thing before he left. "Take over," he said.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 45