"I'm only a farmer by courtesy," Manfred said, digging a toe into the rich black Ukrainian loam. "Even I can tell you that this should be good land. Wonder if they'll let foreigners buy any. I could buy a few hundred hectares, bring in a manager --"
After the concert they had flown south, down into the Volhynian Free State. The open Ukrainian plain (which was what the country really was) stretched around them flatly in all directions, the stubble of the last crop still not quite gone. Above then the sky was blue and clear, and Manfred thought if he went straight up for a few kilometers the plains would still stretch as far as one could see.
"The Texans will have to finally admit something is bigger," Stauffenberg said, a comical lilt to his voice. "One reads about them . . . there are countries that have less myth and legend."
"Oh, yes, I remember visiting the Alamo," Manfred said, and recounted that story as they walked along. Then he felt something beneath one foot.
They stopped, knelt, and brushed away the soil, then flinched back from their discovery. Stauffenberg crossed himself and Manfred gasped. Then he nerved himself to brush away the rest of the soil, revealing the eye sockets and the shattered bone. "'Nine grams,' isn't that what they say?" Stauffenberg said.
"When they shoot a prisoner? I believe so, but those are tooth marks. Not human, I hope."
They had gone away from the nearby village to escape the evilly deep miasma of horror that pervaded it. There were no children older than six to be found. The gutted church had an elderly, scarred priest holding his services there, once a month they said. There were three other churches in nearby villages, equally ravaged, equally in need of divine ministers. Manfred had wondered why Stauffenberg had been in such a hurry to go to Mass at that church, certainly they weren't Catholic here?
"Eastern rite. Uniate," he had said by way of explanation. So they were Catholic, though the good Father certainly hadn't looked the part. Manfred found the idea of bearded, married Catholic priests to be startling; unexpected anyhow. One learns something new every day.
All he said now was, "Better stop that priest before he leaves, so he can read the burial service."
As the thud of boots faded away in the distance, Manfred looked around, not just at the running Stauffenberg. He didn't like what he saw. Now that he had been made aware of it, there was a certain sinister pattern of undulation to the soil around them. The good Father would be very busy.
At dinner that evening, in the German consulate's temporary building in Zhitomir, Stauffenberg didn't have much of an appetite. He pushed back his plate, took a drink of the wine, and said, "How low men can sink without God."
"Terrible things have been done in the name of God, too," Manfred said. "What the Turks did in Armenia, that was part of their jihad. Ask the Herr Foreign Minister von Papen about it. And the Japanese, in Nanking, I am told they were as religious as most of their countrymen, they are conquering China in fulfillment of their national destiny."
When the Nazis were a significant party in the Reichstag, he had been searching for ways to combat them, and the Centralverein had been very helpful in that regard. That Jewish council had sent him a historical dissertation on the massacres in the Rhineland during the Crusades, for example, which had left him very depressed. Not at all like their long tribute to Wilhelm Frankl. He only said, "It was like that in the Reich, also. Not as bad, I think, but what happened during the revolutions Herr Noske let the Freikorps loose on our Bolsheviks, but there it was one side doing what the other side would do, and at least they were punishing people who would have otherwise killed innocents. Still, it was a dreadful time.
"Some people called me a coward for going to America then, but there were most unsavory types around who would not have taken 'no' for an answer. One way or another. Imagine the recruiting potential of 'Red Battle-Flier killed by Reds!'"
"That would be terrible," Major Strik-Strikfeldt said. "I've been interrogating our prisoners and they seem almost petrified at being killed by the Reds."
"What?" they both said.
"There was an order. Stalin said that any soldier of the Red Army who surrenders is a traitor. And traitors get -- " he pointed his forefinger and snapped his thumb down -- "nine grams. They are not thrilled at that prospect."
Having seen too much of that from the past, Manfred did not want to talk about the present, so he changed the subject. "How did you get into the Army? Bock was telling me he had a first-rate translator and expert, and he said he needed you back."
"He sent a staff officer up to Riga when the fighting started." The Major was, it seemed, a veteran of the War -- with the Russian Army! And one of those German Balts, who thought he had settled down. He explained the situation, "Herr Noske signed the permissions very enthusiasticially, Feodor said --"
Bewildered looks greeted this rather personal comment, and Strik-Strikfeldt stopped, then said, "My mother was a von Bock."
Stauffenberg laughed. "Family ties. Which is why our Chancellor here so avidly read Lady Chatterly's Lover."
"Na, na, Freida von Richthofen Lawrence is about as distant a cousin as she could be."
At least their mood had improved. Anything to forget the great scars the Bolsheviks had left on the country.
CHAPTER 41
Reichskanzlei, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Monday, December 2, 1940
"The Reds are gearing up," Papen said. He shuffled a pile of papers, stamped with various classifications. Outside, the Wilhelmstrasse was quiet, with policemen posted between the SS and SA collecting for the Winterhilfe and Red Guards protesting the "Imperialist War on Workers". Most of the shoppers, bent on having a most happy Christmas, ignored them.
"For what?" Manfred replied. "A counteroffensive?"
The Foreign Minister laughed. "One might say that. But it will be one fought more on the battlefields of our Herr Comrade Münzenberg's choosing. For example, consider the headline of last week's Welt am Abend, their series on the 'Riga Forgery Factory at Work'. It seems that the photographs of Bolshevik massacres are unlabeled, so cannot be trusted; the survivors have a financial interest in lying; and those of our officers and men who uncovered these atrocities are misled.
"You see, thanks to the unremitting imperialist war against the Soviet Union, naturally the distribution of food to the far better than they deserve prisons for traitors has been interrupted. So of course the many foreign agents, reactionaries, and suchlike who seek to enslave the proletariat went a little short, and when released to resume their wrecking, knew that a maudlin portrayal of suffering would gain them undeserved respect and pity."
Manfred felt revulsed. "The Turks about the Armenians, the Japanese about the Chinese -- God in Heaven, what a terrible world we live in! What would the Nazis have done if they had had power!"
"I still think you are overestimating them. Look at how they disintegrated. I don't think holding power would have been much help. And besides, they would have had to deal with reality. Blundering around without careful diplomatic preparation -- " (Papen made it clear he included his efforts under that head) "-- driving the economy to ruin with a bloated, ramshackle rearmament, no I can't see a Nazi government being very successful or lasting very long."
"But what they could do, what they said they would do?"
"Platforms!" Papen said, disparagingly. "Political platforms! Entertainment for the idle. Look at our pinkish friends, the Social Democrats. Their party platform calls for the take-over of the entire economy by 'the workers', that is to say the government. Yet have they? That promise sounds good, it keeps the party faithful enthused, but their leaders are far more realistic, and accomodate these outrageous plans to the requirements of reality. Which is why Herr Leuschner has agreed to form a government, joining with more stable representatives of the established parties."
Which Manfred knew full well was Papen-talk for Papen and his friends in the Zentrum. Enough of that line. "Then, your government must be ready to deal with the refugee problem. The Bolsheviks are
closing the borders with the Polish protectorates, but that's only cut the daily intake from thousands to hundreds."
"What's the problem? The Ukrainians stay in Volhynia, the Russians stay in Belarus."
Manfred leaned forward. "And the Jews come here."
In the silence he pressed on. "You recall the riot in Königsberg last week? The Nazis claiming that 'Judeobolshevik bloodsuckers' were taking bread out of the mouths of good Germans? All because refugees were patching up after the bombing, and the repair crews were hiring them because they would work for less?"
"Aren't you being contradictory? First off you say that there's too much government power and now you're saying there's too little."
Then Papen sighed. "At least they are not supporting the Bolsheviks. Indeed, that unrest you mentioned saw Bolsheviks and Nazis of all factions working together. The Herren Fischer, Goebbels, and Röhm all denounced the refugees. So much for their patriotism.
"Which brings us back to what we were talking about. I have a report of a meeting in New York City, where a number of American intellectuals and -- actors have reaffirmed their support for the Soviet Union against 'Kaiserist lies'. Fortunately our Herren Brüning and Einstein did not lend their names to this preposterous performance." At the word "actors" Papen had made a most revulsed face.
He went on, "Or this forthcoming 'Second Amsterdam-Pleydel Congress', organized to protest our restoration of our military power. The English, too, but ours. It seems we are feeding proletarians into giant electrical execution machines!"
"We," Manfred said.
"Yes, they say we are! Such infamous lies!"
"Actually, I am thinking of a book someone recommended to me the other day. Strik-Strikfeldt, it was. He reads Russian books. The book is titled We, it is by a Soviet emigre named Zamyatin, and it is a sort of extrapolation of Soviet life into the future. Very disturbing," Manfred said, and shook his head.
"Very useful, I'm sure, but what does this have to do with anything?"
"That was where they got the electrical execution machine. You see -- oh, never mind, have one of your people go over the book and see what we can do. We do need to launch a propaganda counteroffensive, having to put up with Herr Doktor Goebbels has taught me that."
While the Red Jew-Flyer and his Count of Lies plotted against the Aryan Race in the Chancellery, Aryan defenders of Europe and its Aryan race were mobilizing nearby. Once again, long columns of men in black and silver were marching down the Unter den Linden. It was all proper and right, the organizers had obtained a parade permit, posted a bond, and the publicity had stressed "Aryan Discipline and Dignity".
The twisted little man in brown uniform, a mocking smile on his face, stood on a review platform under the lime trees, a platform draped in red, black, and white, beneath the banners of those colors with the great swastika in the center. He raised his arm in their Roman salute at every flag of that type that passed him. Inside the elongated head of Paul Josef Goebbels, Dr.Phil., Führer of the National Socialist German Workers Party, no doubt this pettily imposing scene was being transmuted into a giant scenario of Aryan Victory, and would appear in a novel before long, if not sooner.
The tall, sinisterly handsome, broad-beamed man in black and silver who marched at the head of this procession had returned the first salute with a vengeance. His uniform was already adorned with the medals of Nationalist Spain, and of commemorative emblems given by his own Leader. (Or Leaders; there had been a certain turnover.) Now Reinhard Tristan Eugen Heydrich, Reichsführer-SS, was off to win more laurels in another war. In Danzig, now reunited to the Reich, the SS-Freiwillingenverband "Barbarossa" would board ships for the long sail to Burmah, and then China.
"As long as they don't carry weapons, there's no point in bothering them," said Gustav Noske, the departing Reichswehr Minister. "Let them go off and get killed in Spain, China now."
For now, his authority was still in force, and he was meeting with his party comrade to discuss the matter, on neutral territory in the former Reichspräsidentenpalais on the Wilhelmstrasse. The Herr Foreign Minister was in another building at the time, much to the relief of the inhabitants.
"Herr Noske, I am appalled that you should consider this march with such equanimity! You, of all people!" said the Minister of the Interior. Herr Doktor Julius Leber (SPD) was one of those who would keep his position when the new cabinet was sworn in on January second of next year, unlike his party comrade who was leaving for a deserved retirement.
The old fighter sat back. "That is not the Nazi matter you should be worried about!" he said decisively. "Our army is enough now to defend against a coup. What you should worry about is their reviving politically! Have you already forgotten 'thirty-two, when everyone seemed intent on committing political suicide!? Hanging around the Reichspräsident like flies on a carcass, waiting for the government to drop dead. Or even aiding and abetting that process, like our Herr Meissner."
"Here is the list of those who have accepted His Imperial Majesty's offer," Meissner said, as proper and formal as any Junker.
The Imperial Chamberlain had made the transition from being Presidential State Secretary without a murmur, and some suspected that Meissner had wanted to make the transition sooner. Or at least treat Hindenburg like a Kaiser. Now he stood between two of the honorees on the said list.
"Wirth and Marx, now Karl Joseph Graf von Wirth and Wilhelm Graf von Marx. Somehow I'm not surprised," Manfred said, "and similarly, Herr Brüning and Herr von Schleicher, who have declined. Not that they have anything else in common."
Franz Graf von Papen said, "It was of course most gracious that His Majesty would offer to elevate all the former Chancellors. It would hardly do to so honor the leading light of our nation and do nothing for his distinguished predecessors." Naturally, Papen too had been among those elevated.
"It's only a name-change. My princely naval aide is no different as 'von Hohenzollern-Emden' from when he was just 'von Hohenzollern'.
"And the same for my family. Carmen will be just as notorious a pilot as ever as 'Gräfin von Richthofen', and Bolko -- well, it was nice to make my father's descendants all counts, except the one."
Papen leaned back and looked from one to the other. "Still, Herr Meissner, don't you agree that His Highness Manfred Albrecht, Fürst von Richthofen has a nice imperial ring to it?"
Meissner bowed punctiliously. "It worked for Bismarck, and here we have a leader greater than Bismarck," he said.
Manfred grimaced. "Which will make it easier to lay it all down. One last speech, the Friday before Christmas, and then everyone goes home for the holidays."
The Reichstag chamber was unusually full for the going-away speech. As Manfred surveyed the assembled Members, he thought of the forthcoming rush for the trains that would inevitably ensue.
Below him, seated at the cabinet table, the Ministers of the outgoing government looked upwards, as eager to leave as the common members. Some would be coming back (like Papen), others would be retiring (like Noske), and some would just be unseated (like Treviranus). They all had a certain air of relief about them, as if the late war and the long truce before it had been only a prelude. Now they would hear their departing Reichskanzler issue his last statement.
The great room quieted. Its hangings absorbed the last echoes of sound. It had been, what, nearly eight years ago that Manfred had stepped up here and dropped his political bombshell. Now he was bidding farewell to power, and about time. He looked down at the first page of his manuscript and cleared his throat. "Herren und Damen Members," Manfred said, "I appear before you in this post for the last time. At least I hope that it is the last time." Nervous laughter arose from the Reichstag members.
"Nearly eight years ago I took up this burden, not because I wished to, but because our country trembled on the verge of an abyss, and I considered it my duty to expend every effort to save it. Eight years later, I pray that I have been in some small measure a success.
"Today, Germany is once a
gain a nation among the nations. Our territory is recognized and augmented. Our relations are normal and more than normal; we are friends with all the countries that border on ours. We have won the respect of the nations by the valor of our arms, by the sacrifice of our sons for the peace of the world.
"Our nation's wealth, that has in our memory been direly savaged by war and peace alike, has taken the road to recovery. The power and productivity of our workers are again the envy of the world.
"In the new year, you will have the pleasure of choosing your leaders. I leave my best wishes to my successor.
"Again, I say in happier terms, may God preserve our sacred Germany."
There you go. Mercifully short and sweet, all so that the distinguished members can go home for the holidays, get to the train station on time. He would be flying.
Below, in response, the National Socialists, the thin brown streak that once had been the dominant mass, rose as one man and sat on their desks, turning their backs to the podium. Doktor Goebbels sneered; no doubt Der Angriff would have a front-page plaint about the Judification of the Reich, along with the usual explanations about Yule and Frauja (their replacements for "Christmas" and "Jesus"). Simultaneously, the Communists, a well-winnowed red ribbon that once had been second in play, filed out of the chamber, raising clenched fists in their salute as they went. But that day, Comrade Münzenberg's (the fellow marching out right behind Comrade Fischer) paper Berlin am Morgen had had its usual full-sized front page picture with the header "HAPPY BIRTHDAY COMRADE STALIN". As if "Comrade Stalin" hadn't been killing Germans not all that recently.
Ignoring the disputants and the departures, Manfred stepped down to the table and began to shake hands with the members of the Cabinet: Braun, Leuchner, Noske, Goerdeler, Jakob Kaiser (he had said his formal farewells to Kaiser Louis-Ferdinand earlier that morning, when he had officially resigned his post), and finally Papen. They smiled, clapped him on the back, and wished him well, as he wished them merry Christmases. Some would be coming down to Schweidnitz for New Years', of course.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 60