A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany

by Joseph T Major

  "Rydz-Smigly wasn't pleased about that, he wanted to bolster the southern part of the line -- where the French and Polish are holding, from the Pripet Marshes on south -- so he could post troops along the line of the Dnestr," Manfred said. He had memories of Polish obstructionism to counter that.

  Randolph snorted. "The Romanians, you mean? When they mobilized, their War Department issued an order that no officer under the rank of Major could wear makeup!"

  "The Romanians were on our side, for what it's worth," Manfred went on. "King Carol was offering to send troops into the Ukraine and only held back because he didn't want to widen the war. Also, he had to be concerned about Hungary and about all the Magyars in Transylvania.

  "No, it was this Italian army in Hungary was threatening. General Bergonzoli dashing about at the head of the troops, beard all abristle with excitement at the thought of struggling with the Bolsheviks, and Marshal Balbo himself coming in to meet with Horthy, flying over the Slovakian border, and dropping leaflets with the Duce's speeches all over hither and yon."

  "If the Italian troops had been well led, they would have been serious opponents during the War. As it was they were good fighters but poor soldiers, so to speak," said Rommel, speaking with authority, from experience. "I do not think that nearly twenty years of Mussolini's rule has done anything to improve that."

  "Ah yes, Cadorna," Manfred said, staring into the fire. "God's gift to our Austrian allies. What was it, the Italians attacking for ten battles of the Isonzo, and all ending up about where they started, then one counteroffensive and Italy gets half-overrun? Small wonder Mussolini doesn't trust his generals. Like our late Herr Hitler, he was a front-line fighter, and while they sat back in whatever the Italian is for chateau, he was in the mud at the front."

  "As were our distinguished Generals," Carl said, inclining his head in Rommel's direction. "Their current successors have taken that lesson to heart. The valor of General Rommel has been the talk of the Press; 'A General Who Leads from the Front', I believe the Vössische Zeitung put it. When you get the, er Ullsteins to praise you so extravagantly, you must be doing well."

  Then he nodded his head the other way, towards Alexander. "As for our distinguished Ally, his leadership has also been commendable, as I myself saw at first hand. What did that one sergeant say to his subaltern, oh yes, ''ell of a recce. We got shot at,' and then he looked at us and said, 'Right General sir?'"

  Alexander demurred. "General Guderian -- Field-Marshal, I suppose I should say now -- was the great exemplar in that regard; always in front, dashing about in his car or flying in that little plane you all seem to have, always at the right place at the right time. And now he's going to be, what, your chief of staff?"

  "Indeed so, and I look forward to working with him," Rommel said. "I have some suggestions in the tactical and operational areas which I believe will be of much benefit. There are several officers I can recommend for higher positions, now that the Army is expanding again."

  "Again?" Randolph said.

  Manfred said, "It's not as if it weren't in the papers. We are setting up a new Panzerkorps and one of infantry, while expanding the Gebirgsjäger into a division. Most of the expansion will be in the Luftstreitkräfte. Udet is handing over to Ritter von Greim with some relief, to be honest."

  "I understand Field-Marshal von Udet is going to America," Carl said.

  Randolph laughed and got up to pour himself another drink. On the way he said, "Going to make another pass at Howard Hughes, make a movie about the air war."

  "Hughes . . . Hughes . . . didn't he fly around the world last year, no the year before that?" Alexander said. "Got back safe, too."

  "Yes he did," Manfred said. "He flew over Germany and we sent up planes to welcome him, but he wanted to make the distance to Moscow. Udet tried working with him before but he is a hard man to work with. Miss Earhart told me she tried to meet him to congratulate him, but he made so many conditions that she gave up. He has the income to do as he pleases; I understand most of his money is in oil-well drilling tools and he has a virtual monopoly in that field. So he can make all the movies he wants, however he wants, just as he can equip an airplane with whatever he needs to set a record."

  "Well I hope Udet has good luck," Randolph said. "I understand the Hollywood starlets are already lining up to greet him."

  This last comment fell into silence. Then Alexander said, "I understand you have been speaking to the Prime Minister, Chancellor von Richthofen, about these economic measures you have put in place over the past three years."

  Manfred held up a hand. "Randolph, no need to comment just yet. And this is not for attribution. I had a long correspondence with Winston over some of the economic measures Herr Schacht and his State Secretary Herr Erhard have been getting through the Reichstag.

  "There were just too many regulations to obey, forms to fill out. Do you know how many forms it took to get approval to build a new type of airplane? I know something about that. It took longer to get the approval than it took to actually design, test, and build the airplane, and the paperwork weighed more than the entire production run!

  "So now we are decontrolling, as they say. Fewer detailed regulations, less nitpicking supervision. We are still keeping an eye out for the rights of the workers -- the Social Democrats won't stand for it otherwise -- but we are cutting back on direct regulation.

  "Winston was very enthused about this. What did your father say, Randolph? Something about the difference between the queue and the ladder?"

  Randolph finished his drink. "What he's got is the problem that factory owners like to do it just the way dear old Pater did. Goes double for workers."

  "There is, if you will excuse my frankness, still a great deal of class separation in England," Rommel said. "That would be another source of problems."

  "Not as bad as our system," Manfred said. "Some of our businessmen . . ."

  "Yes," Carl said. "There are many who don't know where their best interests lie."

  "Not to mention the old line folks," Randolph said. "Like Herr von Papen; nobody likes him but everybody seems to need him . . ."

  CHAPTER 39

  Norfolk, Virginia, USA, Saturday, October 26, 1940

  The car drove down the federal highway, leaving behind the building on the naval base where the negotiations had been going on, and the housing where the foreign ministers were being hosted. Or held. If the circumstances had been reversed, Franz von Papen assumed, he would have assigned an English-speaking driver from the Politischpolizei to chaffeur the American delegates, and the American delegates would have spoken about trivialities. There's no end to the spiral of deception. So he assumed that this driver worked for the American Staatspolizei -- "Federal Bureau of Investigation" didn't they call it? -- and spoke German, so he himself spoke only of trivialities. When he spoke at all. Mostly he summed up in thought his accomplishments in the negotiations.

  On this weekend day off, they were going to see someone nearby. "Manfred remembered the man," his companion said. "He didn't believe him at the time, but when he became Reichskanzler, that said something about the predictions."

  One could almost count his assistant -- his "watcher" -- as a triviality. But Herr Karl-Bolko Freiherr von Richthofen, being able to speak for his brother personally, could lend a certain impetus at the right moment. He had a certain talent at negotiations himself, and under experienced guidance could lend a certain emphasis to the diplomatic maneuvering.

  The arrogance of Colonel Beck! Perhaps that map was a dream, but when the Polish Foreign Minister said so proudly that "As with the rightful desires of the oppressed people of Belarus and Volhynia, the rightful desires of the oppressed people of Masuria and Silesia must be fulfilled by their liberation under the banner of the great and noble Polish Commonwealth," he had wondered if Beck, or all the Poles, had gone mad. They had certainly treated his quite reasonable (under the circumstances) counterclaim for the boundaries of 1914 as such. Had they no idea of moderat
ion? Evidently not.

  Herr von Richthofen could then help the Reich appear reasonable, with this proposal for limited-access roads and railways crossing the Corridor. How this joint management could work out would be a different matter, and perhaps committing the Reich to improve the Polish transport systems would be too expensive, but it did break the deadlock. Herr Hull, for example, had praised them for their statesmanship.

  And as much for Danzig. The Poles wanted it, indeed he had glanced at the official Polish map and noticed that they had bestowed some grotesque Polish name upon the city. What would they do, expel all the Germans? Herr Eden didn't stand up for them on the matter, and Papen had made a note of that.

  Again, compromise was the key, and by agreeing to improve the Polish port in the Corridor, what did they call it, yes "Gdynia", and grant certain tariff concessions on goods imported in bond for Polish distribution, they could get the reversion of Danzig. Papen smiled at the thought. He would travel with the Reichskanzler to the handover and perhaps say a few words.

  There would be a surplus of unemployed League of Nations officials anyhow. Let them oversee this Polish imperialism in White Russia and the Ukraine. While the Reich supported the Polish overlordship of the former Soviet territories, it wouldn't do to come right out and say it. Once Beck realized what their price was, he might turn reasonable. Papen hoped it would be soon. Anything but Soviet rule.

  Hm. This report on the "terror-famine" -- he made a note to have it printed in Germania. The younger Herr Churchill's excited descriptions were lurid enough but some careful German investigation would have more credibility. Münzenberg was already having to scramble to cover the revelations about Bolshevik atrocities in Poland; a good blow to the KPD and it wouldn't be necessary to ban the Reds, they would disintegrate of themselves. Then on to the SPD . . .

  "So this man predicted your brother's ascent to power. Is he a Gypsy?" he said.

  "Apparently not."

  And indeed the man appeared to be a typical American southerner. "Minister von Papen, I believe?" he said. "And Baron von Richthofen, the less-known one. You favor your brother."

  The house was not too badly set up, for a working-class man's. Papen was looking around for the cabinet, or whatever, this spiritualist would use. His secretary interrupted his search, his musings: "Edgar was quite pleased that the Red Baron spoke so well of him," she said. "Which of you will go first?"

  "Shall we toss a coin?" Bolko said, reaching into a pocket.

  Papen quickly said, "No, let the good lady here choose."

  Nevertheless, Bolko went first -- those associates of his could get gimmicked coins, so a neutral selection was assumed. Bolko disappeared into the next room with the secretary and the seer, while the Herr Foreign Minister of the German Reich knocked his heels in the waiting room and made plans for his eventual return to the Chancellorship.

  After some time, the secretary emerged with Bolko. "Edgar will have to rest up a bit," she said. "Can I offer you two some coffee?"

  Bolko was wishing for something stronger, obviously, but he drank the hot brew. It could have been worse, it could have been that faintly alcoholic swill the Americans mis-called "beer". Papen sipped his coffee and eyed the Chancellor's brother diplomatically.

  Bolko finished his cup and then said, "This rebirthing matter . . . do you know Greek history? I'm afraid they didn't quite cover that in Kadettschule or the business college."

  "Greek? Venizelos, Metaxas, the Salonika front? That sort of thing?"

  "No, the old days." Bolko shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the other room. "He told me about three brothers who fought against a tyrant, but the two older ones were killed, the oldest in a war and the middle one by a cart, and the tyrant kept the youngest under his sway. 'You three were linked,' he said, 'and striving to fulfill your destiny.'" He shook his head. "I ought to be able to identify the city-state, but I just don't know enough. Ach, I'll find someone at home who can tell me."

  That Greek matter was one of those problem spots that troubled Papen. Their premier General Metaxas was a rather stable sort, but he seemed to be drifting too close to Mussolini. There were rumors about Metaxas's health, too . . .

  "Edgar will see you now, Mr. Foreign Minister!" The secretary had come in now and was beckoning him into the other room.

  In a few moments Papen found himself sitting in a dim room, watching the lean form of the seer as he seemed to be readying himself for a doze. He himself longed for a cigarette, but not yet. The secretary had taken her post by the head of the couch, and another man was sitting there. This one said, "You have before you the body of Mr. Franz von Papen of Germany. Diagnose his illness and recommend a cure."

  "Yes, we have the body here," the seer said. Strange, he had looked asleep. "The body is well knit, save for the loss of hearing, and will sustain its soul's existence in this world for many more years to come. Some concern must be taken for the dangers of overindulgence . . ."

  He went on for a while about good health, and recommended what Papen thought were folk remedies from America. Then the tone changed.

  "The client has been saved from further infamy and odium by the good fortune of another. Had he pursued his original course of action, he would have brought ruin to the world and shame to himself, imprisonment amid destruction; distrusted by his allies, despised by his foes. His subsequent cycles of rebirth would have been long and painful."

  Then the man shifted into talking about Papen's past lives. It seemed he had learned diplomacy at the knee of Cesare Borgia. What people will do to get a tip.

  After a few more past lives, all involving diplomacy, often on a losing side, the spiritualist declared that the reading was done. Papen got to his feet and said, "Thank you all for this interesting information. I will take this advice you have given me under the fullest consideration."

  One of the arts of diplomacy is saying what the other side wants to hear but doing something else.

  The Virginia beaches were shadowed now, the sun setting and casting a fading light over the shore and the sea. Papen walked around to one side of the car and waited for Bolko to finish paying the bill and otherwise settling matters. He had already made his farewells and wondered why it was taking so long.

  Bolko walked quickly out of the building and got into the car, and Papen got in on his side. "I should have asked earlier," Bolko said over the roar of the starting-up engine. "I meant to ask who would win next year's Kentucky Derby; I could have put money on Gallahadion, really cleaned up, and didn't. This horse from Calumet Farms is very promising, I hear."

  "American interest?" Papen said.

  "It's a good market. This town in Nevada for example. They don't ban gambling there. So we're putting money into the place. Which puts us up against a bunch of gangsters -- at least they're not political."

  "As if there's not enough to do at home."

  Papen had other concerns on his mind, though. Rumania, for example. Mussolini was backing this "Legion of St. George", the Bolsheviks had an active and eager party, and Horthy wanted half the country, it seemed like. If Herr Bolko wanted to invest money outside the country, why not the Rumanian oil fields? They needed to build up Rumania and Bulgaria as counterbalance to the Italian advance in Jugoslavia and Hungary. At least that kept the Czechs and Austrians on their side.

  The car drove along, taking them back to their temporary home. As it approached the gate Papen said, "It appears that we will have the terms settled. Poland will not gain at our expense, but they will have to give over their eastern territories to those new League of Nations mandates they have. The Soviets --" he grimaced. "The Soviets will gain certain reversionary rights there, along with a mutual demilitarization. It is, after all one entire Republic of their Union."

  Bolko said, "Looking at it from their point of view, suppose we had to give up everything east of the Oder? And have the country cut up? We wouldn't like that, and I doubt the Russians are going to like it. Stalin is going to crack down at home
, I bet."

  The car stopped, and the driver spoke to the man at the gate. "Foreign Minister von Papen and Special Envoy von Richthofen, returning from their visit to that nutcase in Virginia Beach."

  Ignoring him, Papen said, "So, in about three weeks or so, the heads of state will come over and take all the credit for our careful work. I will insist that it not be any earlier than the twelfth; can you imagine what a furor the patriotic elements at home will raise if we sign a treaty on the day of our . . ." he paused, then spoke the word harshly, "armistice?"

  The car passed through the gate.

  Manfred looked around the large, echoing hall, and called to mind his memories of Kaserne, from his first days with the regiment. This was not unlike that. The building was, he presumed, a mess hall for the American sailors. He fretted; he would rather be flying. However, the Americans seemed just a trifle insecure about their security.

  The front row would be for the heads of state. President Roosevelt would genially preside over this ceremony, and be flanked by President Beneš of Czechoslovakia and President Smetona of Lithuania. Now there was a contrast.

  The second row was reserved for heads of government. Churchill would be there. Manfred realized he would also have to sit next to Dollfuss of Austria; no matter how much that would aggravate the Social Democrats, at least that was better than enduring Chautemps. Now that was embarrassing; Reynaud's government had fallen at the end of October, the way French governments did, so the people who negotiated the treaty didn't sign it. Perhaps the fact that Reynaud had been both Premier and Foreign Minister, thus away in America negotiating, hadn't helped. Reynaud had gone home on the Ile de France while Chautemps and his Foreign Minister, M. Laval, had arrived on the battleship Strasbourg. (Manfred restrained himself from the urge to call it the Strassburg, as the city had been when it was in the Reich.)