"You know how those tales go . . . like last time, with that woman Harlow! All we did was swap stories about what a wooden-top that Hughes was!" Udet said.
"Herr Mertz, let us by!"
And young Lothar forced himself into the office, followed by his cousin Wolf-Manfred. They drew themselves up in line in front of his desk.
"Father," Lothar said.
"Uncle," Wolf-Manfred said.
"We have come to offer our services to the Reich."
"We both have been piloting for the past two years and are qualified for multi-engine, night, and instrument flying."
"The Kaiser's brothers are in the front line, as is my brother. The family cannot be seen to be shirking."
"Carmen has flown that new plane down from Hamburg, ferried it here from testing. I cannot look my own sister in the face now," Wolf-Manfred said.
Udet turned to look at the boys. "I like that. Youth, eagerness, and enthusiasm. Boys, when I was with the Aeroclub 1909 in Munich and we dreamed about flying --"
"Ernst," Manfred said, and then stopped. Udet had been nineteen when he had volunteered for the Luftstreitkräfte, and twenty-one when he had run up a string of victories. That young man he had seen putting up a tent in the rain . . .
"Ernst," he said again, "if you think you can get these young hoodlums combat-ready before the end of this fighting, you are welcome to them. But . . . ALBRECHT!"
"Yes, Herr Reichskanzler?" Mertz von Quirnheim said through the open door.
"Let Carmen in."
Carmen entered, looking tiired and sweaty, if composed, in her Earhart-style khakis. She sat down beside Udet and cocked her head. "He let the boys in but he wouldn't let me in," she said.
"I'll remind him of that. As for you, you have somehow induced your brother, and my son as well, to try to sign up. How does Herr Tank's new FW-190 fly?"
"A bit much for me, I wouldn't want to do aerobatics. Tell him to do something about the engine heating! I nearly roasted. It would be a pity, too, Professor Tank was quite eager about its prospects."
Manfred sighed and put his head down. Training accidents, strain . . . would he be asked to make the sacrifice of Abraham? Then he looked up. "I have to sign for you, boys, you're underage. Herr General der Flieger, if you will administer the oath?"
Udet sat upright. "Very well. Men, please face me and raise your right hands. As the dull old lawyers say, you are permitted to use a religious formula at the end of the oath. Now repeat after me, 'I,'"
"I."
"I."
"Your name," Udet said.
"Your name."
"Your name."
Udet broke out laughing but Carmen looked almost humiliated. The boys -- no, he was right, men now, looked at each other. Manfred remained impassive -- it might have been either. They had been watching that early print of the Marx Brothers' movie and it had stuck a little too much.
Once Udet could speak again he said, "All right, let's try that again. 'I, your name . . .'"
"I, Lothar Siegfried Ernst Freiherr von Richthofen. . ."
"I, Wolf-Manfred Lothar Freiherr von Richthofen . . ."
"Do solemnly swear to uphold and defend the constitution and laws of the German Reich . . ."
After the General der Flieger departed with his two newest Vizefeldwebels, Major Mertz von Quirnheim called in again, announcing the staff officer from the British.
Manfred stood up. "Hello, Randolph."
He did cut an adequate figure in his army uniform, hat under one arm. He drew himself up to attention, did not salute, and said, "Lieutenant Churchill reporting as ordered."
Manfred made to open his mouth but Carmen spoke first. "Mr. Churchill! You were asked not to drink on the flight but you did anyway!"
Nonplussed, Randolph did manage to get out a reply, "Look, at least you were in charge. We didn't even have that comfort of knowing. And that one woman . . ."
"Never mind that. You owe me an apology."
"Er, I apologize . . "
"No, something more tangible. Say, a dinner at the Adlon."
Randolph became less truculent, he held out his arm and she took it. "With pleasure, Baroness," he said, and they walked out the door. Love in bloom. For a moment Manfred fancied he could hear the breeze that fills the trees on the Unter den Linden . . .
"They're out, then?"
Theo Osterkamp had occasionally observed that his rank should be perhaps "Kapitan der See und Luft". During the War he had been in the Marinefleigerkorps; now he was it, the Kommandeur of the Marinemixtegeschwader, with two groups of fighters and two of dive-bombers at his disposal.
They had a more northern base than the other squadrons, and one could see the Baltic from there, (well, the Frisches Haff, anyway) or go into Königsberg if perhaps one could get a few hours' leave. More commonly they saw the town, or the Baltic, from directly above, and already three Red submarines had been scuppered by his Stukas. That Tuesday morning, though, he had to face a more serious threat.
He put down the field telephone, looked around, and then said, "All pilots to assemble for a briefing. Have the armorers load with armor-piercing bombs. The Reds' big ships have come out of harbor, and are on the way here."
"They're out, then?"
The Befelshaber der U-Boote had relocated to Rostock. Konteradmiral Karl Dönitz considered his lads family. A "canoe", one of his little coastal U-Boats, would have twenty-five men and he would know all of them by name. Now they were getting bigger boats than the Type II and he was weighing whether he should commit the two new Type VII Atlantic boats and even the Type IX long-range ones. For now, his Baltic boats were doing fine.
A line of six of them closed the Gulf of Bothnia. A radio message had heralded the sortie of the Reds' Red Banner Baltic Fleet, and Dönitz was ordered to commit resources to stop it.
He looked around the office, then out the window over the docks. The merchant ships had one section, but he had taken over this building for his command. The boats in reserve bobbed at anchor.
He lifted the telephone again. "Signals? This is BdU. First Flotilla is to attack. Boats in harbor are to recall all crews and sortie. Yes, immediately!"
"They're out, then?"
Konteradmiral Gunther Lütjens crossed the bridge of the Graf Spee and held out his hand for the signal. The flagship was followed by the Admiral Scheer, the Scharnhorst, and the Gneisenau -- four armored ships, forming a main battle line of sorts. At night, sometimes, he would draw out the plans the Design Bureau had drawn up for full-fledged battleships, great vessels with 38-centimeter main guns, forty-five thousand tons displacement. He would imagine himself battling a valiant but overmatched enemy to the death; sometimes their flag would be American, sometimes Japanese, sometimes British, but mostly Bolshevik. Then he would sigh, saddened, and put away the dreams.
It was handed to him and he read the message. "ESTIMATE BATTLESHIPS MARAT AND OCTOBER REVOLUTION, THREE CRUISERS MAXIM GORKY CLASS, SIX TO EIGHT DESTROYERS" it said. Then he looked up. "Signal Admiral Harwood. We must defend the convoy at all costs."
"That's the British Army, heading for Memel. I believe he will be zealous in defending that force."
"They're out, then?"
Manfred had flown to Königsberg to meet with Rundstedt for a report on the deployment. Three of the infantry corps had already crossed into Lithuania and were deployed near the border, and the First Panzers were crossing now. (He resolved to visit the Second Panzer Division and say hello to young Manfred.) But now his naval aide was interrupting with this sea news.
"The Red Baltic Fleet, Herr Reichskanzler." The Prince stood at attention. Like all the survivors of Captain Müller's famous cruiser, he had been allowed to tack the ship's name on to his, and the Kaiser had said of his kinsman, half-joshingly, "Franz Josef Prinz von Hohenzollern-Emden. Won't that cause a stir for some poor confused researcher to come. How did Hohenzollern, up in the Alps, get the seaport of Emden?" And he laughed. But Korvettenkapitan His Serene Highness Fr
anz-Josef Prinz von Hohenzollern-Emden was sufficient "show" to impress the navy, when he took his post at the side of the Reichskanzler.
"How many ships?" Not that that meant all that much to him; like Billy Mitchell, he saw them primarily as targets. Particularly in the close waters of the Baltic.
"Two battleships, three cruisers, and six to eight destroyers. Can't be too well manned, thanks to the purges. But they might do some damage. Admiral Raeder has ordered all units to hit them."
Manfred sighed. "So much for lunch with Daddy Osterkamp."
All around them the Army headquarters bustled with the deployment of the Reichswehr on its first campaign.
"There they are."
Osterkamp looked down over the wave-flecked sea. The two Red battleships pressed on south, towards the British convoys. One seemed to be leaking oil, one of the U-boats must have got lucky. Well, they wouldn't be any longer. He thumbed the microphone. "Take them."
The gull-winged Stukas tilted, one after the other, and fell from the air on the ships below. Above, as the commanding officer circled the battlefield in his Heinkel, his mind was filled with thoughts of the old days fighting the Bolsheviks, with the Freikorps Perhaps now they could finish the job.
Below, the whistle of the air rose to screams, as the Stukas came down on their foe. The pilots took aim and prepared to release, and one by one the armor-piercing bombs would go on their not so merry way, down to the ships below.
"There they are."
Kapitanleutnant Engelbert Endrass of the U-27 stepped back from the periscope, turned his white hat round, and crisply ordered, "House the scope."
Then he looked around the crowded control room. The red battle lights gave the steel coffin a somber glow, as if from some ancient tribal council, held in the glow of a dying fire. Glints of light reflected off men's eyes. Endrass finished formulating his thoughts and now spoke crisply, professionally, a manner befitting an officer of the U-Bootwaffe.
"Fire a spread from the forward tubes, fifteen degrees, all four tubes. Be ready to reload at once, even those Reds can chuck a depth charge over the side. Do you have the solution? Good, inform the forward torpedo room at once. No, no magnetic pistols, the water's too shallow for that."
"Jawohl, Herr Kaleut."
"There they are."
Admiral Lütjens looked through the binoculars, but the lookout up above had better perspective. The two Bolshevik big ships would be seen soon enough. He reviewed the estimated course and then said. "Signals: To our ships, deploy to starboard, signal enemy range and formation. To Admiral Harwood, proceed in execution of Plan B."
Signal flags flashed in the upper works of the Graf Spee and lights flashed from the bridge, while off to port, in response the British cruiser squadron began to peel off to the west. They would divide the Bolsheviks' fire, trap them between two fires and then . . .this wasn't the Skaggerak, no great masses of ships to maneuver. Lütjens sighed. Those had been the days.
He looked up, saw a speck, then saw that there were airplanes diving on the Red ships. Well, well, they finally arrived for the game! Below him, the 28-cm main guns went off with a crash.
Osterkamp watched with an almost morbid glee as he saw torpedo tracks stretching out towards the westernmost Red cruiser. "Don't bomb that U-Boat off to the west," he said over the radio. "If it isn't ours, it's doing as good a job."
Down below, the diving specks of Stukas pulled out, flinging deadly missiles down towards the Red ships. The field remained unchanged for a moment, then great bursts of cordite smoke and fire erupted on the ships. One battleship's steering seemed to have suffered; the vessel had gone into an evasive turn and now kept going.
Then, great towers of white, tinted with color, erupted around the Red warships. Osterkamp began calling the ships, offering to call in corrections.
"LOS!" The four eels slid out of the tubes of the U-27, one after another, then picked up speed as their engines kicked into life. The torpedo officer turned to look at Kapitanleutnant Endrass and said, "Torpedoes away, running hot, sweet, and true."
The entire boat had shook to the four thuds of the four torpedoes being fired and everyone could hear the whine of their engines as they kicked in, fading away as the torpedoes set off on their deadly mission. "Fifteen degrees to port and increase speed to four knots," Endrass said.
He put up the scope again and watched his target, they began to turn to comb the tracks, would it be too late, too late, too late . . . The cruiser shook under first one hit, then a second. "We hit him, boys!" Endrass cried, and a moment later the blasts could be heard. Cheers rang in the control room.
"Are they reloaded! The destroyers are coming!"
Osterkamp watched in some satisfaction as the one Red cruiser took on a list and began to sink. The other one on that flank was being just a bit overwhelmed by the four English ships. He saw their Walrus spotting plane circling over the common foe and altered course so as not to hit the slow thing. Perhaps Lütjens should have launched one of his own Arados but he was quite content to fill in, getting the best seat in the house.
One of the Red battleships was circling, helplessly, getting pounded. The other was under control, but slow, as if there were some problem. He continued to call in corrections to the ships down below, watching the salvos land on target more often.
The Graf Spee trembled. The next salvo was ominously quiet from aft, and damage control teams were scrambling thence.
Bruno turret was cocked, not quite true on its barbette. The somewhat dazed gun crew was scrambling out through the hatches, and a petty officer who looked as if he were a veteran of the Thirty Years War was organizing them into teams.
The cause of this disarray lay on the deck between the turret and the superstructure. A Red 30-cm shell had hit the turret, knocking it askew, and bounced off, landing between the turret and the superstructure. At any moment it might explode, and men were already wrapping lines around the scarred, smoked cylinder attempting to get it over the side without rapping the nose. It looked as if all this Red talk of "wrecking" had made itself come true.
The Executive Officer appeared and took charge of the work. If the shell went off, the after command station would go up with it -- if the whole ship didn't. The teams began heaving, heaving, the great mass scraped and wriggled as it shifted slightly . . .
There was the splash, then the dreadful silence. Inside the long steel tube there was a fearsome air of anticipation, of dreadful expectation -- CRASH! The depth charges went off, below them, making the U-27 jump as if it had been a chip in the water.
A light bulb burst, the fetid air seemed to become denser and hotter, and Endrass said quietly, "Alter course ten degrees to starboard. They're setting them too deep. Keep the trim stable, I don't want to broach."
There were a half-dozen splashes, then a single click and a CRASH!. The entire submarine whipped about.
"It looks as if the quota for defective depth charges has been overfulfilled," someone said in the crimson gloom.
Osterkamp checked his fuel gauge. Almost time to head for home. Pity . . . things were going so well. The English had sent the second Red cruiser to the bottom and it looked as if their destroyers were about to scupper the third. The Stuka flights were on the way back and should finish off the job.
That one Red battleship; it had ceased firing now and was almost dead in the water. The German ships were pounding her hard, and he could see the torpedo boats moving in to finish the job. So much for that . . .
Manfred had gone to East Prussia ahead of the big strategy meeting that would be Thursday; he had wanted to see the pilots, give them a bit of a morale boost. So far it had been enjoyable; he had met Mölders and Galland, and congratulated them on their victories, been deluged with debates about the differing virtues of the Heinkel fighter and Professor Messerschmidt's Bavarian Flugzugwerke one, and managed to leave good feelings beside.
He had even (in transit) seen one of the new Spitfires. A graceful plane, he concluded
, after seeing that one fly alongside his own Heinkel. When he managed to talk to the pilots he discovered it was a bit undergunned, and had said so. "Only machine guns? With the big Red planes we're facing, you'll need cannon!"
Now he had finally reached the Marinemixtegeschwader and was being regaled with tales of the recent Battle of the Baltic Sea. "According to the BdU, Kaleut Endrass, after riding out the depth-charge attack, moved in and sank the Marat with his last four torpedoes. Admiral Lütjens says that after polishing off the October Revolution, the Baltic Squadron finished the Marat with gunfire. The English Admiral Harwood says his cruiser squadron did for the Marat with torpedoes."
"They're all exaggerating. My Stukas sent her to the bottom," Osterkamp said, decisively. Then he laughed. "Poor Reds. I almost feel sorry for them, pounded from every direction. I understand we picked up some survivors. What do they say?"
"That they scuttled the ship."
Representing their national armed forces at the meeting in the Danzig Free State were General von Fritsch and Marshal Rydz-Smigly, the respective army commanders of Germany and Poland. Général Weygand of the French Armée de Pologne, General Alexander of the British Expeditionary Force, and the Czech army commander General Sirovy led the list of allied contingent commanders.
There was one head of state in the area, and he was neither President Moscicki nor Herr Rauschning of the Danzig Senat. Manfred stood across the street with General Guderian of the Panzergruppe and watched as the staff officers of the nations filed into the building.
"It'll be another nothing result. Weygand is timorous and if Rydz has any military ability at all it's eluded me," Manfred said, disparagingly.
Guderian sighed. "Tell me about it. Alex is concerned. 'The French don't do anything by halves,' he said and he's right. They started the War believing with all their hearts in the offensive. That didn't work. So they now believe with all their hearts in the defensive. I had to endure a lecture from their General Huntzinger about how Spain had proved the ineffectiveness of the tank."
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 52