"Take over?" Earhart repeated, sounding bewildered.
"You are still licenced for multi-engine? I have to ah visit a certain facility."
She took the control yoke and he unstrapped, stepping back to the loo. When he was done, he stepped into the passenger compartment, looked back, and saw Putnam sitting in a window seat, looking out the window. Then, apparently seeing motion, he jerked his head to look forward. When he saw Manfred, he jumped, or at least twitched upright in the seat. Manfred wondered if something was wrong. Nothing felt wrong, but he hastily went back into the cockpit and began fastening himself in.
"I've got it," he said.
"No!"
She looked set and nervous, but . . ."All right, but let me take over when we get to Breslau. I have landed this thing before," he said, reassuringly.
About twenty minutes later Earhart said, "I'd like to see more of the countryside. What's our fuel status?"
"We had a full load. You can't fly too far, because there's Poland to the east and Czechoslovakia to the southwest, but I'll keep watch."
"You do that."
He began calling Breslau to explain the change of plan.
They flew down past Neisse before she turned back, and indeed she didn't let go of the controls until they were near the Breslau approach. Some extremely nervous police and drivers escorted them to Schweidnitz, where Mother was standing just inside the front door of her house, looking quite concerned. "Manfred, they called from the airport at least twice," she said. "You really should keep to your schedule. Herr Putnam, Frau Putnam, welcome. Dinner will be served presently. Would you like to rest before we eat?"
At dinner the conversation was turned to health problems. Manfred figured that talking about his own might get her to open up. "I had thought the headaches would be gone but every now and then they come back. Like in June, after the big riot in Bremerhaven. I spent a whole day in bed, and got up thinking the government had gone to pieces without me."
"Most leaders would think like that," Putnam said.
"But I hoped that it hadn't. If it hadn't, then I could step down and let normal party government, like we had in the twenties, take over. The problem with our Grand Coalition Government is that it hangs together mostly because everyone is afraid to drop out. Last term, of course, it was because if we didn't, the Nazis and Bolsheviks would rend the country. But now we have hope for the future. I have hope that we can have normal government again."
Putnam took a drink from his wineglass. "Did you know that there was a bidding war among us publishers -- well not us, not Putnam's, for your Doctor Goebbels's novel?"
"He's not my Doktor Goebbels."
"It was his notoriety. That and the attraction of being able to solve all the problems decisively. A lot of people who otherwise didn't like President Roosevelt's politics liked his decisiveness. Instead of issuing platitudes or setting up commissions of study he just dived right in.
"That's why they like that trashy novel of Goebbels's. He has the Reichstag pass a law giving Hitler the power to make laws by decree and he just dives right in. That's a lot of power to give a leader, you know."
"Hubris," Earhart said. They all looked at her and she gathered herself together. "Anyone with such unchecked power would ruin himself, overreach himself. Having that power would be a dreadful temptation."
Manfred reached up and rubbed his head, on the bald spot over his ear. "I wonder about that situation. What if this leader were incapacitated? I had to spend a day in bed, and this is a vacation, on doctor's orders, I take every weekend off and leave early on Friday, in fact. I needed the rest. The government keeps on going without me.
"Hope. There's hope. I hope that soon enough they will realize they really don't need me.
"But such a leader could not take off, his subordinates would have to be doglike followers without initiative. Which, I admit, does describe pretty well some of the late Herr Hitler's followers. Or Stalin and his people. Better yet, look at Mussolini!"
Earhart smiled. "Or what if they packed him off and set up a junta, ran things in his name while he was off on some estate? If he was, like -- well, like Hitler, unstable or deranged."
"I don't think it would work. If they were only followers, something would happen and they would be lost. You know, like the riot in Bremerhaven, or the ones in Paris, or Vienna. Or what if, God forbid, something like Spain happened next door? Doglike followers would be completely at a loss then.
"Now if one or two of them were not doglike, they'd fight -- come to think of it, that's like a dog pack too. They'd fight, and the winner would take charge, dump the old leader who's out of it. I understand Stalin does the most extraordinary things for security when he takes time off in the Crimea, and Mussolini . . . they hope nothing goes wrong when he does one of his little tricks, like digging on the Pontine Marsh project, and most of us hope the opposite. He's overreaching and someday his luck will run out."
"Hubris, like I said," Earhart said.
"And after that comes nemesis," Putnam said. "When all his plans fall apart and he's destroyed. That's why we have a government of checks and balances, to make the system not depend on one man, even a man like President Roosevelt."
"Carmen told me all about it after we went flying," she said.
Manfred mockingly clutched his heart. "Oh, I can't stand the shock." Earhart laughed.
"All about what?" Putnam said.
They were at the door of the stables, ready for a ride, but evidently Earhart had already been up in the air. Manfred tapped his riding crop against a boot and said, "The Storchs?"
"Oh yes. George, Manfred here has three of these little planes and he's right, they are just plain fun! They take off on a pocket handkerchief . . ." and she went on describing the virtues of Fieseler's little airplane.
"Again, all about what?" Putnam repeated, puzzled.
"He has three of them. One's red, one's brown, and one's pink. You can guess who the red one is for, but do you want to know why one is pink?"
Manfred knew, of course, and smiled. Earhart went on, "You see, Carmen complained that the boys -- her brother and Manfred's son -- always left her plane in a mess, trash in the cockpit, out of fuel, and all the controls set wrong.
"So she had one painted pink. They wouldn't fly a girl's airplane." And she pulled a face as she said "girl's".
"I have a mare for you to ride," Manfred said, and she mimed punching him out, scowling.
After church the next day, Putnam got him alone once they got inside the house. "I owe you one, Manfred," he said, staring down at him, his usually cheery mood even more on notice. "I really do."
"One what?"
Putnam blinked at this inability to cross a cultural barrier. "A favor. Two or three, even. You see . . . she hadn't flown after the crash, not until Friday."
Manfred's jaw dropped. "I didn't . . ."
"You didn't know? And I thought -- maybe it was for the best. You saw how messed up she was. She just wasn't bouncing back, that was part of what this trip was for. Like you coming down here on weekends, a rest and the chance to get away from it all. She's been, well, not interested in anything. But now, and the last two nights . . . well, I'm grateful to you myself, as well as being grateful for her."
A slight figure, ethereal and fair, bounced down the stairs. "There you are! Have the boys messed with the plane again, or can I borrow it for one last flight?" Earhart said, animated, lively, eager.
"Tell you what," Manfred said. "The Kondor has to go back to Berlin anyhow. You take the pilot seat this time, and we can have a leisurely lunch and you can pack properly."
"Manfred? Can you fly that thing alone? Can you lock the pilot door?"
Manfred stifled a laugh and said, "Certainly. Do you want to make an endurance test, too?"
The Putnams made for one kind of break. He had his other interests -- Manfred found that, as real parliamentary procedure took the place of rule by decree, his need to concentrate on the minutae of gover
nment lessened. But he had known long since that delegation was the way a good military unit worked, and that attitude transferred itself to government all too well. For a couple of months his two fields remained in parallel and did not interfere with each other. Then, at the beginning of November, a different sort of crossing of the two lives came back to haunt him.
"This must be your field, Comrade Noske," Braun said. The Cabinet meeting had broken up before noon with no decision taken. The Foreign Minister was talking about the need for the Chancellor to go to Prague himself, to reassure the Czechs over Mussolini's meeting with Dollfuss and Admiral Horthy in Vienna last week. The Poles were making trouble in Danzig again over the Nazi government there. But Richthofen had sat there, preoccupied, looking at a telegram -- and then had left it when he had dismissed the Cabinet for lunch. Vizekanzler Braun had been sitting next to him and had retrived the message.
"What does it say in German? 'ADMIRAL LOST MUST TALK RIDDLE'," Noske said. "Now that's a riddle in itself. What Admiral? Must I brace up Herr Raeder, find out about the American admirals?"
"Is he even dealing with the American Navy? I thought you had put that aside."
Noske snorted. "I thought the Generalitat was bad, the Admiralitat is worse. Raeder was back with plans for another huge battleship, sixty thousand tons, no less. I was tempted to say 'You can have them if you name the first one SMS Scapa Flow,' but I didn't."
"Your son has entirely too much influence with the Herr Reichskanzler," Schwerin von Krosigk said as he walked down the hallway with the Minister of Education. "He should go through the proper channels of authority."
Magnus von Braun was puzzled. "Herr Minister, I haven't been able to do anything with Wernher since that time he strapped some skyrockets to his toy wagon and zoomed off down the road. Those American magazines only make it worse. Herr von Richthofen was at dinner with us after the maneuvers this summer and they spent the entire time talking about some American named Kinnison." He stumbled over the unusual foreign name.
"That must be an associate of their Herr Doktor Goddard, the American rocket man. Your son and Herr von Richthofen, they have me in a trap. Your son asks for more money for his fireworks and the papers come in already marked 'approved'. By the minister, too: Herr Noske is no doubt dreaming of sending the old generals off to the Moon, he'll approve that or indeed anything in the way of new weapons. There's no hope for him. What will we have next, three thousand marks for a lavatory!?
"But if your son didn't encourage the Herr Reichskanzler in his daydreams, I wouldn't have these budget-busting rockets to deal with."
"It's a family matter. His cousin Wolfram wants to be the first man to go to the Moon; he rushes back and forth between Peenemunde and the Bendlerstrasse, and they all just encourage him."
"Oh there you are, Herr von Braun," Hugenberg approached them. "I need you to lobby that damned Red at the Bendlerstrasse! As long as Herr Lang is busy doing those sleazy films that the foreigners gobble up I need some patriotic balance, and the more troops we have to do this movie about the Siege of Kolberg the better . . ."
"The calls are booked for three and three-fifteen," Manfred said, looking at the clock. "I think they can do without me at this afternoon's sitting. You don't really think a civil war will break out among the parties over the election in Mecklenburg?"
"Well no," Papen said. "What will happen is that they will want your presence --"
"The government will have to get along without me soon enough," Manfred said, testily. "I would think that you of all people would be looking forward to that. Now that Herr Hugenberg is becoming more interested in his film and publishing interests, I would think you could work up a coalition. With Schleicher on the fringes now, and Brüning out of the country, I would think you would be able to present yourself as the voice of experience."
"Is this the bitter and the sweet blended? Perhaps after the next election. But I want to hear about how your horse did."
"He lost."
The last conversation had been right after the Putnams had left. His partner was just a bit dismissive of this match race their winning horse was being solicited to run in. "Herr Riddle," he had said over the crackling trans-Atlantic line, "in the War I did not stop flying just because the British had set up a special Anti-Richthofen Squadron. I would not have had any reputation against any pilot if I had." Sports writers had refered to "War Admiral, the Richthofen of horses, owned by Manfred von Richthofen, the Man o'War of air aces." He felt the comparison did not quite work but they had to fill the pages somehow. And besides, it was only a part interest in Glen Riddle and some of its horses.
"Baron, it's not the same. That horse is more like one of those kid boxers who makes a lot of noise about wanting to take on the Champion." Riddle was indeed very much the old Junker, and Manfred was reminded of the one fight he had come close to losing, with the Prussian Land League over those subsidies to the old inefficient Junker estates.
"That horse won eleven out of fifteen races last year and only finished out of the money once."
"You know there's no real racing out West. And besides, that man who owns him, he's not a horseman! He sells cars. Just a self-promoter."
"Like Rickenbacker?"
A hissing silence filled the air on the line. After a few expensive moments Manfred said, "Herr Riddle?"
"He's a self-promoter. I doubt he'll agree. The Admiral is finicky. You know that."
"Then it should be easy money."
Bolko arrived shortly before three, bringing along young Manfred. "It's too bad about our -- your horse, Father," the latter said. "I do understand that last year's crop of colts from our wonderful sire Omaha is doing very well. Perhaps I will have one to ride in the Olympics, the one in London, after Tokyo."
Bolko said, "You should keep up with the news better. The IOC moved the next Olympics to Helsinki. Too much of a scandal in China, I think. We can all go, and I think we have an edge bidding on some of the contracts!"
"Next year we'll see. Yes, I think we can have the elections around then, or before then, and we can all go. Would you like to meet Freiherr von Wangenheim? Now that is a man who exemplifies Olympic sportsmanship!"
"Will I represent our regiment?"
Manfred's face lit up. "I hope you will do better than I did. The Uhlans will be proud!"
His son sighed. "I suppose. But first I have to practice my driving."
"Driving?" Papen had entered. "I wanted to hear the news from Baltimore. What's this about driving, Herren von Richthofen?"
Young Manfred turned to politely address his father's minister. "I have been admitted as a Vizefeldwebel in the 1. Ulanenregiment, Father's unit. I should be a full officer next year."
"Congratulations, Herr Freiherr von Richthofen, and may I extend my hopes that you will contribute as much to the Reich as did your father, uncle, and grandfather." As he said this, Papen braced to attention and saluted. "You owe me a Mark, Herr Vizefeldwebel."
"Do you have any money, Father? Uncle Bolko? I didn't bring any . . ."
The telephone rang. Manfred said, "Bolko, you take care of it," as he picked up the receiver.
The overseas operator's voice was dim. "Berlin, this is Baltimore. Is the caller there?"
"Yes," Manfred said, and then pulling his mouth away from the receiver, "Be quiet everyone."
"Baltimore, Berlin is ready." There were clicks as the operators cut themselves out and then, "Hello?" came a rather different voice.
"Mr. Howard, this is Manfred von Richthofen. I would like to congratulate you on Seabiscuit's splendid victory yesterday . . ."
"I checked the stud book," Papen said. "His horse is from Man o'War also. It would be like you, Herr Manfred Eduard, competing against the financial wizard here."
Bolko chortled. "In what? We still made more money last year with our horse than Herr Howard did with his horse, and there are stud fees, not to mention other horses. We don't have a share of Man o'War but I do think some of his get will b
e under our Olympic equestrian team at Helsinki. Viktoria and I saw that Möwe working out at Baden-Baden and he was splendid!"
"Möwe?" Papen said, bewildered.
"Möwe, Wolf, Seeadler -- you don't expect us to go naming horses after the High Seas Fleet, now do you?" Bolko went on in his pleased tone. "Graf zu Dohna was honored, Nerger was ecstatic, and I can't even begin to tell you all of what von Luckner did, he bounced all over the room bellowing 'By Joe! By Joe!' just to start with. I began to half believe some of those things that American writer said about him."
Manfred sighed at this description of nautical exuberance. "Enough of horses and other pleasant things," he said. "Son, will you go with your uncle? Papen and I have to talk government matters and if you say you had to leave, the officers won't pester you with requests to find out what we're doing."
And then he wondered why he was so happy when his son gave such a stiff salute.
CHAPTER 31
Hradčany Castle (Prazsky Hrad), Prague (Praha), Czechoslovakia, Wednesday, March 15, 1939
The gloomy air in the Czech capital had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. The Spanish Republic was in its death throes. Mussolini would be flushed with victory, the glorious victory of Fascism; Stalin burning to avenge the defeat of the world proletarian revolution. Anyone even halfway democratic would be concerned.
Who else was Beneš to look to? Chamberlain had made a gaffe when he referred to Czechoslovakia as "A far-off country of whom we know nothing." A note from Churchill had included the comment "I may have called the wrong man 'the Boneless Wonder.'"
Daladier in France had not been much better. It hadn't helped that Colonel de la Rocque had made what might have been considered a gaffe, inviting his "front-line comrades" Röhm and Schleicher to a review of the Croix de Feu. He had stood between them and lived. But the pro-Nazi French seemed to be irrepressible. This man Doriot, who ranted about a European Community of Europeans, for Europeans, for example . . . That had been the day Papen had included in the week's intelligence report the papers on Esterhazy. "What's the meaning of this?" he had said.
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