"Well, I think we can prove him wrong. Oh, and about that air support matter? I think I have solved it for you; an integrated unit of dive bombers and fighters. They're shifting their base of operations to Lithuania even as we speak."
"I didn't know the Luftstreitkräfte had such a unit. What did you do to Udet, threaten to cut off his . . . girls?"
"Ernst?" Manfred shook his head. "No, the man I had to work on was Raeder. Now that the Red Baltic Fleet is in permanent harbor on the bottom of the Baltic Sea, the Marinemixtegeschwader is available. Our proceedures of cooperation begain with the old Marinekorps anyhow, you know that! Didn't you serve with Theo in the Freikorps in the Baltic war?"
"As much as I did with Alex. We had dinner with his new liaison officer from us and swapped stories about the Old Days. Oh, and thanks for finding him."
Manfred shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "He volunteered. There was some trouble with the KGNS, but we patched that up. I think the Strassers may become actually civilized soon . . ."
Guderian pointed at a very visible commander and said, "Look at Fritsch, wearing that coat with the bright red lapels. What is he trying to do, imitate you? He wouldn't dare wear that at the front, he'd be dead inside of two minutes."
"Herr Reichskanzler," interrupted their conversation. Manfred turned and saw Oberst Mertz von Quirnheim there with Prinz Franz-Josef, both saluting.
Gravely, Manfred returned their salutes, and then said, "Where's Karl?"
"Herr Bodenschatz went by the signals office," the Prince said. "Meanwhile, I believe the good Danzigers have provided a buffet for us poor warriors."
Guderian said, "And I flew out here in such a rush that I forgot to eat."
"Herr General, nutrition is an important factor for a flier!" Manfred barked. "In any case, I see the last staff officers have passed within, so we can take his Serene Highness's advice."
He lost all appetite, though, when Bodenschatz caught up. The Luftstreitkräfte aide entered the room, looking around wildly, then when he saw the knot of officers ran over to their table. Guderian saw him first and visibly looked up, which got all the others to do so. Bodenschatz was so distracted he forgot to salute and he blurted out, "The Reds have bombed Königsberg!"
The bombers, it turned out, had come in from the south, flying over the occupied Polish territory and through a weak spot in their air defenses -- there were no unoccupied Polish air fields south of East Prussia. About eighty or ninety planes had struck at the East Prussian capital, killing several hundred people and destroying part of the industrial area.
"About the only good thing was that Udet was on the scene and he called in everything on hand: JG1, JG2, and the Marines. Wolfram got four and so did Daddy Osterkamp, and I think only about a dozen Red bombers got away," Bodenschatz said in conclusion.
The meal was spoiled. Manfred dispatched Guderian off to his Panzergruppe, sent a message off to Udet asking for reports, and went back across the border to see what else could be done. That was where Diels found him, as he was in the sub-Wehrkreis headquarters building making calls.
The tall, scarred Politischpolizeichef had often been the bearer of bad news. Last week, for example, he had reported the arrest of a young officer in the Luftstreitkräftetruppenamt named Schultze-Boysen, who was an agent of the Reds. This time, he seemed even more gloomy. He entered the office Manfred was using, closed the door, and sat down before he began, "The Landesturm and Nopos have restored order in Kiel. Admiral Carls has sent the Naval trainees back to barracks -- " He stopped at Manfred's uncomprehending look.
Then he began again. "Last night, an insurrection -- I can't call it anything more -- began in Kiel. Something called the 'Spartakist Emergency Front'. They sounded Communist, but Fischer has disavowed them. Wollweber, their top sabotage man, disappeared the night the fighting began, and we are tracing connections, but . . . the insurrection took control of several blocks in downtown Kiel. Admiral Carls, at the naval base there, sent in the trainees and some crews from minesweepers to contain the rebels. I think he wanted to wipe out the High Seas Fleet's bad reputation along those lines.
"The rebels had raised the red flag and they were calling for a general rising, for a Soviet Germany. I don't think this was well planned. Oberstleutnant Heinz of the Abwehr took charge and threw a cordon around the port, but then Minister Noske arrived and ordered an assault. He wasn't too pleased with Heinz, either."
"How come?" Manfred said.
"Heinz is in his little black book, I understand. Herr Oster was keeping him on hand to lead some sort of special storm troop he had in mind. That, by the way, got there from Brandenburg about noon.
"Some of the fighting was bad. Most of the rebels were the café types, the ones who wear all black and shoot up with heroin and debate the meaning of a phrase in Stalin's latest speeches, but there were a few Spanish veterans in among them."
Manfred leaned forward, if nothing else to suppress the sinking feeling in his stomach. "What about the Nazis?"
Diels looked down in his portfolio, saying, "Oh yes, here it is . . . Herr von Heydebreck showed up, half in the bag, and started bellowing out orders. 'I have the imprimatur of the SA-Stabschef himself!' he was saying, and the report is that 'No mercy to the Reds,' was one of the less bloody ones. He crossed the Herr Minster's path, and in a few minutes he was off to the same sort of camp he was calling for. At least that little set-to made our Herr Noske realize that a hard line wasn't the most desirable one to take.
"He offered a sort of amnesty to all those who surrendered before noon, and mentioned something about the fate of traitors. Enough of them surrendered that the Landesturm could get into their positions and round up the rest. By then Herr Braun showed up and stopped him from having the others shot."
"Did they find out who was leading them?"
"Not so far, but they are questioning the prisoners."
Königsberg seemed untouched -- except from the air, where the swathe of fire was patently visible. But the old university city, where Friedrich I had sped at the height of the winter that ushered in the eighteenth century, to be crowned, then himself crown his queen, was untouched and placid.
Manfred had passed through there on his way to the bombed-out area; he would spend the night there. But for now he was amid smoke-blackened devastation. All around, weary workers were pulling down dangerous ruins, moving charred timbers in the hope of finding some survivors beneath, or clearing paths through the rubble.
What was worse was people trying to touch him, as if he had that power the English Kings supposedly had to cure scrofula. The Hero lays on his hands and everything is all right. They crowded around him, in besmutched overalls, dirty work clothes, worn suits, staring at him with bright eyes in darkened faces, silently beseeching the Hero to amend their ills.
He went up and down through the ruins for what seemed like hours, asking questions and getting brief replies, or none at all. At least there were no curses. That one woman who saw her husband, among the corpses laid out for inspection . . . that was more wounding than any curse.
It was almost a relief to go outside of town. An Ilyushin-4 had had its engines flame out and had landed almost intact. The co-pilot had played dead and was now on his way to Berlin for interrogation. The other crew members had not been so lucky, but their hanged bodies had been removed and decently buried, before the Reichskanzler could see them and take retribution.
Instead he looked over the airplane itself. Russian airplanes were crude but effective. "Not much concern for the crew, I see," he said as he struggled through the hatch.
"Their loss rates have been heavy," Bodenschatz said. The aides had sensibly waited outside but Manfred had to see what it was like. "Besides the commanders, others ran up a few kills. Leutnant Priller of JG1 got six, and there were three or four others who got five."
"They don't care about people," the Prince said. "No concern for their bodies, much less their souls."
Mertz looked around. "Not much
concern for the Geneva Convention, either," he said. "They don't respect it but we are supposed to," he added, bitterly.
The controls were crude, the plane was made to be stamped out quickly. Manfred struggled against their heaviness and wondered. Their own planes were made with a meticulous fineness. The controls responded to the pilot's touch and he could spend his time flying the plane. Even Carmen could fly a fighter plane, she had had no trouble with Tank's new FW-190, at least on a ferry trip.
These planes were made with no concern for the crew. But at the same time it was easier to make them, to make more of them. Would a swarm of faceless Red monsters swamp their more refined pilots and planes? He shuddered at the thought and crawled out of the hatch again.
Someone was waiting for him when he got back into town. "It may be necessary to spread the occupation," Ambassador Coulondre said. He had come up to Königsberg to tell him this, having passed through Danzig looking for le Pilot Boche.
"That does seem a little optimistic," Manfred said. "Right now the Reds are closing in on the Bug and unless your General Weygand can produce a second Miracle of Warsaw it won't be in our hands how broad the occupation is."
"No! I refer to this latest disorder in Germany! It may be necessary to increase the number of French troops deployed for security!"
Manfred said, "No." Only the extremity of the situation stopped him from doing more. There were still bombed houses to see to.
"He should have had the Red swine shot!" Fritsch said. "Our Reichswehr Minister knows what to do with sedition! Noske is with us!"
"Calm down, calm down," Manfred said. "I am grateful to you for reporting here after that long meeting yesterday."
Outside, the Königsburgers tried to get back to normal. Udet sat in one corner of the room, half-asleep after having spent two solid days directing the air defense one minute and trying to bolster the Nothilfedienst the next. Not even Fritsch's venom at the domestic Reds could seem to rouse him.
Manfred went on, "What did they decide at the Allied War Council? This is the first chance I have had to hear of it."
The Reichsheer commander got control of himself. "It was Rydz-Smigly and Weygand against everyone else," he began. The Polish and French commanders had wanted to mass the troops in Central Poland and push the Reds out. However, Rundstedt was already committed on the Baltic front and was approaching the Velikye River.
"Herr Guderian has the most powerful part of our army, with the English and Czechs, ready for the counterstroke, but all Weygand said was, 'This war shows that the day of the tank is past.' Just because the Reds throw their armored vehicles away doesn't mean we will!" Fritsch said. He may not have been a complete convert to the "Achtung Panzer!" doctrine but obviously he preferred it to the alternative.
CHAPTER 35
Reichskanzlei, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Saturday, August 30, 1940
"God in Heaven," Manfred said, but hardly reverently. He looked at Papen. "This must be a joke."
"It could be," Papen said, judiciously. He had for the moment put aside his Foreign Minister's tailcoat for the cloak and dagger of the security services overseer, and the latest result of those people's efforts was spread before them. The Polish foreign ministry had prepared a map showing their plans for the postwar settlement, and someone caught in a bind had sold a copy to the Abwehr. Thus the Minister charged with overseeing that agency had brought their latest tidbit to the office of the Reichskanzler. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men (particularly someone who had some of it himself) . . .
"They don't actually expect to get all this."
Papen pulled a face. "It does remind one of our annexation plans during the War, doesn't it? Still, you must understand that this is their bargaining position."
Manfred tapped the map at Stettin, which had an uncouth Polish name bestowed on it. "Bargaining position? One would think this was their new Dictated Treaty! Prussia, Pomerania, and Silesia to be annexed to Poland? And in the east, Volhynia and White Russia, all the way to Minsk and Kiev?"
"Perhaps they want to undo the First Partition," Papen said. "But, as I said, this is their bargaining position. They ask for more than we will give, we ask for more than they will give, and we settle in between. That's the first rule of diplomacy."
"You don't think the League of Nations will let them?"
"The League? They will have as much authority and influence on the matter as they have had in Abyssinia, China, and Albania."
And, Manfred had to admit when he had time to think about it, that was about all they could expect to get from the League.
"The principal problem has been with building up supplies," Noske said. Spies had given way to open warfare, and the Reichswehr Minister and his service commanders were there. "The demands of the front in the Baltics have made stockpiling a problem. But we will be able to support the offensive within a week, assuming that the Poles do not plead military necessity and confiscate our supply trains again."
The Minister and his staff had reported thence from the Bendlerstrasse, where they were engaged in the summoning up of war material and replacements.
"What about the rail capacity?" Manfred said. "I have kept the French from taking more than the one line from Saarbrucken, but is the rest of the rail net up to it?"
Noske turned and conducted a whispered conversation with one of his aides before looking back with a smile. "That it certainly is. We have excess capacity and can handle the provisioning of the English and Czech troops as well as our own. That way the English do not have to send ships through the Kiel Canal and we can ensure a speedy turnaround. There is the one bottleneck going through the Corridor, though . . ."
"I'm off to East Prussia in the morning," Randolph said. In uniform he looked a little less disheveled, and with his assignment he actually had a task. "Do you have any special message for Alex?"
"Not really. I can pass on messages well enough. Is there any word from your father?"
Randolph scowled. "He is leaning on the French to quit being so obstructive. It isn't easy. Reynaud is under the thumb of his girlfriend Hélène de Portes. What a b-- well, domineering woman she is! Raves about Communists! Communists, Englishmen, and Germans! Doesn't know which she likes least!"
Manfred remembered something Papen had reported. "What's this I hear about Marshal Petain being brought in?"
"Oh, there was some loose talk about that but for the moment he's better off in Madrid, where the Honourable Ambassador can be comforted with fresh sangria and hot señoritas, or is that hot sangria and fresh señoritas."
So the French Republic would not have its own wooden titan brought in to reassure the troubled public. For a moment, Manfred flirted with the thought of Fonck being given a post.
Randolph got to his feet. "I hope you don't mind my rushing off," he said, "but I do have an appointment." He lumbered out the door.
Carmen was at home in Schweidnitz, fretting because all the aviation spirit was going to military planes. So Randolph must be meeting with the British Ambassador, Sir Neville Henderson, to repeat what he had told the Chancellor. Manfred sighed wearily. Were it not for informal channels of communication, nothing would get done. Which reminded him . . .
He took up a pen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a stack of pictures. "Manfred von Richthofen" "Manfred von Richthofen" "Manfred von Richthofen" "Manfred von Richthofen" . . . he signed over and over again. Now these went not to obstreperous supply feldwebels, but to equally difficult Polish and French officers.
Bodenschatz brought in the news. "Well, look who's declared a truce," he said, tossing the Völkischer Beobachter down on the table. The headline was clear enough: "Defend Aryan Purity Against Judeobolshevik Aggression!" and below it a giant lurid cartoon showed a grotesque Red Army soldier with the hammer and sickle in a Jewish star on his chest about to rip the heart out of a fair Germanic maiden.
"He's offering a truce. No criticism of the government during the war. That was the main topic of his radio spe
ech last night."
Manfred shrugged. "Listening to the radio is one of the last things I would do at this time. And to the Doktor, even less so. What's the air report!"
Bodenschatz had that too -- he had been well organized when his authority was only the geschwader, though the scope of his authority had changed, its quality was the same. He produced a slip of paper, and read, "We have another potential knight of the Pour le Mérite, a feldwebel named Bär. I would venture to say that he's glad the new statutes of the order open it up to enlisted men."
"Noske wouldn't have it any other way. How are we holding up?"
There was a slowdown in the transfer of Heinkels. Some units were now operating with both of the planes. "Emil catches them and Hansi kills them," they said of the Bf-109 and the He-112. Something like the English planes, the slow but powerful Hurricane and the speedier but lighter Spitfire. Perhaps he could fly one of those Spitfires now . . .
The next visitor to his office was unexpected and not all that welcome. "His Excellency, the Foreign Minister of the Kingdom of Italy!" was announced and Count Ciano entered, gave the Fascist salute, and said, "Evviva il Duce! Evviva Richthofen!"
Ciano and his translator seated themselves and began to deliver an effusive speech: "The Duce is heart and soul with the brave Germans in their war against Communism and for the civilization built on the foundations of our Rome . . ."
The telephone rang. They wouldn't have put it through to him unless it was crucial. He held up a hand. "The Reich and I appreciate the moral support of Herr Mussolini, Herren, but I must deal with this," he said. "I will try to be brief, please excuse me."
Then he picked up the telephone and promptly had his ear blown in. "THE FASCIST SCUM ARE SENDING TROOPS!" Noske bellowed, so loud Manfred was certain Ciano could hear -- or for that matter, Mussolini himself, back in Rome, and he spoke German.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 53