"Captain von Richthofen," the writer said, looking back and forth between father and son. "You're looking well."
"I have a year to recuperate, then -- Father, can I tell him?"
Manfred looked at his son, then back at his guests. "Might as well. Don't be too specific, though, it's still sort of under the rose."
"I will still be on limited duty, you understand. Still a lot of Red lead -- ach -- in me. Can't command in the field any more. I'd wanted to be a pilot, but my eyes weren't up to it."
"Just like mine," Robert said.
"Well, yes, but I had a reputation to carry on. But now, I can fly, in a different way! I'm being posted to our Munitions Testing Office, under Colonel Dornberger. I'll be firing off rockets!"
Manfred saw Robert's eyes light up. They all talked rockets -- well not Frau Heinlein, she paid attention to her plate and particularly her wineglass. That line of conversation led to some other developments.
"I'm actually writing about Nehemiah Scudder, I'm afraid I have to say," Robert began. "John Campbell is pressing me to explain that story, and much as I dislike the character, I suppose I owe it to him, and to the readers, to do that."
"The Prophet," young Manfred said, almost reverently. Then, at his father's puzzled look, he went on, "The leader who seized power in America, like Mussolini did in Italy, or Hitler almost did at home. It was the background of 'If This Goes On --'."
"Yes, there's a far too strong strain of religiosity here in America. You weren't here during the Dayton trial, the Darwin controversy, but let me tell you, it was frightening! If there had been someone like that during the first years of the depression -- Huey Long was just an able politician, but a real fanatic, like your Hitler, that would have been worse. Some preacher in the Mississippi Valley, one who was a real orator, could organize a movement --" and he went on to lay out a political scenario for a March on Washington.
"When will we see it?" said young Manfred.
"Not until next year, if then. I have some of the material down already and I can mine my first book, the one that never got published, too, that has some of the ideas."
Manfred said, "This seems to be a big year for political thrillers. Upton Sinclair has another one coming out. Manfred, he seems to admire your poor thick-headed father . . ."
Why did Robert seem so interested?
He left the job of getting matters set up to Bolko, and spent two weeks flying, north and south. After his trip to Canada, out of curiosity he took a hop down to this city in the desert that Bolko was always talking about. With that huge artificial lake at its behest it looked as if they might get by.
America was so big! They needed airplanes more than anyone else, just to get around. There was be a market for small personal ones, which was why he kept on seeing all those advertisments showing Earhart standing next to a Stork.
Bigger airplanes, too -- Douglas was talking about an airplane to match the Ju-290, a great one with four engines, able to fly from New York to London. The world was changing.
How much it was changing he found two weeks after that meeting, their first family Sunday dinner in the new place, or palace. It was quite the dinner en famille. Bolko had said, "As long as we have this palace, we might as well use it." So he and Viktoria were there, the two Manfreds, father and son, were there, and Carmen was there.
They were full of conversation. Manfred recounted, dolefully, his flier into being a movie prop. "Not even an actor, not really. There we were, Rickenbacker, Udet, and me, sitting behind Billy Bishop like stuffed figures, while he delivered the graduation lecture. The Great Aces. They couldn't afford to bring over Fonck, I suppose, not for one scene. I wonder if we'll get at least a screen credit? Those Canadian air cadets were probably inspired, but to do what I have no idea."
Young Manfred had a letter from his brother, in China. "He says they flew another strike today. The Japanese seem to have sent their second-rate planes there. One more kill and he will be a Kanone."
"So he has nine. Carmen, your brother has only eight. They have to hold up the reputations of their fathers!" Manfred said.
"Oh, yes, I hear that the Japanese are speaking of the 'Red Devil Pilots'. Father, didn't the French call you that?"
Manfred stopped between spoonfuls of soup. "Oh yes, of course. It was 'le petit rouge', the little red one, or 'le diable rouge', the red devil." Then he resumed eating.
"We should have franchised the name! I see those putty knives and caulk all over," Bolko said, facetiously. Then he launched into a description of his new project. "This town in Nevada has water now. They built that huge dam and now it's possible to live there.
"With honest management, no rigged games . . . I swear, it'll become a family place. We'll have to have other entertainments, so the children can play while Mother and Father are, er, playing. Then we'll have elite lounges for the big players. It'll be like at Monaco there -- give the dinner-jacket-and-martini crowd a chance to play for high stakes.
"You remember, like that Croat who showed up with Freddi von Kaghaneck that time? Had, what was it, oh yes, 'a very dry vodka martini, shaken not stirred, straight up with a twist.' Won a few thousand Marks, too. Fortunately the punters who were betting against him more than made up the difference!"
The prospects of their management company getting work in America seemed to energize Bolko, and he let his imagination fly on for a while. "And even movies," he finally ended. "They'll shoot movies there."
Manfred shook his head. "The last movie I saw -- and fancy that, I've been in a movie since then -- the last movie I saw was rather different. You know, Putnam and Earhart, and Woollcott all told me I had to see it, particularly after they found out I had been to San Simeon. Udet most of all. So anyhow, right after the Belmont it was . . .
"Mom, Dad, look, it's the Red Baron!"
Relishing his anonymity, Manfred had paid for his ticket and now made his way into the lobby of the theater. After years of getting premieres straight from UFA, enduring lectures by Hugenberg on the moral fitness or unfitness of the work being shown (then why did he himself go to those films he derided as "sleazy trash for the foreign trade"?), and fitting into the small film room in the Reichskanzlei, the former Chancellor felt himself entitled to a visit to one of those super American film palaces that the Marxes were so proud of.
The problem was, so did fans of the air war. This young man, for example, no doubt utterly bored (so far) and having to go to this Important Film with his parents, now running eagerly towards his Hero.
"Another one of my admirers," he said, politely, "And your name is?"
It turned out to be not another one but more like another dozen. It was New York, after all, home of half the world. Old refugees grateful to the rock of bronze against which the Bolshevist tide did not prevail. Younger ones, glad that the infamous aspiring tyrant Herr Hitler was only a forgotten heap of ashes in the Linz cemetery. Veterans of the War, glad to make up. He had enough pictures, and spent considerable time having to make them individual after the young man had spelled his name, implying that it had better be on the picture and correct.
When the crowd had cleared away, Manfred entered the theater, found his way down the aisle to an empty seat (where had the usher gone?) and started watching the newsreel. After a couple of minutes he began to wonder. He should have heard of this man before, the fellow being so movingly eulogized. Something wasn't right about it all. Seeing his own picture along with the Kaiser, speaking at some meeting . . . who was this man?
Then the film cut to the screening room full of reporters arguing over what his last words had meant and suddenly Manfred realized what was going on . . .
"My usual thickheaded pilot's not noticing, that is," he said. "That was what Herr Hearst was talking about. I can understand why he is annoyed. That movie is close enough to the story of his life to be insulting, but different enough not to be libelous."
"I thought it was wonderful," Bolko said. "As a movie, I mean."
"So does Udet. 'Welles is a Kinokanone!' he said."
"What was so special about 'Rosebud'?" Viktoria said. "I know what they said in the movie, but -- he was hinting it was something else. I was expecting something more, really. How silly. You had a sled, didn't you, used to pull Bolko around on it?"
Manfred knew the extra meaning of the mysterious "Rosebud"; Udet had been quite pleased to reveal it, late at night while he and Bishop and Rickenbacker and Manfred were having a few drinks in the hotel that night, after the graduation. Rickenbacker had scowled, Bishop had gulped, and he himself had remained sphinxlike.
"Mr. Churchill."
Randolph came in on the heels of the butler, who scowled at this bumptuous arrogance -- just because some people's fathers are prime minister and great-grandfathers dukes doesn't make them gentlemen -- and left. Randolph looked up and down the table. He looked sober, which meant danger.
"Don't I even get a hullo?" he said, less noisily than might have been expected.
"Hello, Randolph," Carmen said. She looked . . . Manfred had a premonition.
Which was confirmed, as the guest came up to the head of the table. "Will you have a seat, Randolph?" Manfred said.
"In a minute, if you still want me." He looked down the table, then back again. "I wouldn't normally do it, but you being all formal and proper and all that . . . her father's dead, and since it wasn't in the War I can be unreservedly sorry, so I guess under the circumstances, I have to ask you. Prince von Richthofen, I would like to ask for your niece's hand in matrimony."
The silence filled the dining room. Then there was a clatter; Bolko had dropped his fork.
Manfred looked down the table. Then he said, "Carmen, you were twenty-one last May twelfth?"
It was rhetorical, of course, and she said, "Yes, Uncle Manfred."
"Do you think Randolph here will make a good husband?"
"He has his virtues, and faults, but I think I can do something about the latter."
Viktoria was smiling now. Was she imagining a conclave, with Doris and Ilse, to plan a great ceremony?
Manfred was very grave. "In that case, I have no objection."
Randolph began to look as if he had got in over his head, or might do something silly. He went down the table to where Carmen was sitting, as she hitched her chair around to face out. Looking nervous and perhaps a bit bewildered, he went down on one knee before her and said, "Carmen . . "
She raised her nose slightly. "Carmen Viola Gräfin von Richthofen, if you please."
Randolph took a deep breath of annoyance. But if he wanted ceremony, by the Lord God he would get ceremony. "Carmen Viola Gräfin -- Countess von Richthofen, will you marry me?"
Now she lowered her head and looked at the top of his to say, "Randolph, I've been at great effort to convince my mother and grandmother that nothing untoward is going on. Amelia has been disappointed. We'll just have to please them all. Yes."
For all that he had been expecting that answer, it seemed that Randolph took a moment to sort it out. He began fumbling in his coat pockets for something, while Viktoria began clapping in a most undignified manner, and Bolko said, "Hurrah!"
He was head of the family, it would not be dignified. Slowly, with dignity, Manfred got to his feet. "I trust you will bring honor and respect to our family, and that yours will find our Carmen worthy."
The worthy lady was now holding her hand out to get a look at her ring, and as she did she burst out, "Oh! I have to tell Amelia! And Frau Andra! Who will be my matron of honor! And where?" The bride to be had many problems to resolve, and her uncle (uncles) could predict a substantial bill for long distance telephony.
There were clicks on the line. "Denver, this is New York, go ahead. New York, this is London, go ahead," the chain of long-distance operators said.
Manfred handed the telephone to Randolph. "It's way too early in the morning in London," he said. "You are certain your father will be available?"
"He keeps odd hours." Randolph said, took the telephone, and proceeded to give a number to a startled London telephone operator. Manfred had to listen, frustrated, to a one-sided conversation, and on his bill to boot.
"Yes, I need to speak to the prime minister, this is Randolph . . . ."
"Father, I have some good news, we are engaged . . ."
"In Denver, Colorado, at the Richthofen Castle . . ."
"She's very happy about it, they all are. Manfred himself is smiling at me right this moment . . ."
"No, it was built by a relative of theirs. Bolko just bought it, earlier this month . . ."
"There may be problems, yes . . ."
"You really think Bert will let us use the palace? Good God! . . ."
"Yes, as soon as possible. Here, you can talk to him."
Randolph reached over and handed the telephone to Manfred, then got up, presumably to look for his fianceé.
The rumbling voice of the British prime minister resounded over the line. "Richthofen," Winston said, "It seems our families are to be linked. Since your brother, the father of that divine nymph of the air, has perished, I must offer my congratulations to you."
"I hope they'll be very happy together," he said.
"Indeed. My son indicates that the wedding should be as soon as possible. If it were less precipitate, my travel plans could accommodate a personal visit to Schweidnitz, but as matters stand, such cannot be the case. Would it inconvenience your family greatly to come to England?"
Manfred was about to object, but suddenly the image came to him of an SA escort surrounding the Gnadenskirche in Schweidnitz, a bloodshot-eyed, beer-sodden, scarfaced Röhm at its head, offering Aryan felicitations to the bride and groom. And then Randolph . . . He said, "Some, but I believe we can manage. Some of the guests might be inconvenienced, we can work something out. But at the palace? Buckingham Palace? You have that much influence with your King?"
A Churchillian chortle came down the line, across the ocean and continent. "That would be overmuch. No, Blenheim Palace, the seat of the Dukes of Marlborough, a place of great importance to me, for there I chose to be born and to marry. Clemmie and I will be most pleased to behold the marriage of our son there. My cousin Bert will be honored to host this grand ceremony."
"Here she is," Randolph said, back quickly from his errand, and Carmen added, "Let me have the telephone, Uncle Manfred."
"Here is your future daughter-in-law, Winston. Good luck." He handed the receiver to her. Let Bolko sweat over the costs.
CHAPTER 46
Blenheim Palace, Oxfordshire, UK, Monday, September 15, 1941
The Castle of BLENHEIM was founded by Queen ANNE,
In the Fourth year of her Reign,
In the year of the Christian Æra One thousand seven hundred and five.
A Monument designed to perpetuate the Memory of the Signal Victory
Obtained over the FRENCH and the BAVARIANS
Near the village of BLENHEIM,
On the banks of the DANUBE,
by JOHN Duke of MARLBOROUGH,
The hero not only of his Nation, but his Age:
Whose Glory was equal in the Council and the Field;
Who by Wisdom, Justice, Candour and Address,
Reconciled various and even opposite Interests,
Acquired an influence which no Rank, no Authority can give,
Nor any Force, but that of Superior Virtue,
Became the fixed, important Centre,
Which united in one common Cause,
The principal states of EUROPE.
Who by military Knowledge, and irresistible Valour,
In a long Series of uninterrupted Triumphs
Broke the Power of FRANCE,
When raised the highest, when exerted the most;
Rescued the EMPIRE from Desolation,
Asserted and confirmed the Liberties of EUROPE.
The Prime Minister finished reading, put down the book, and looked at the two others in the room, the tall man and the short man. He
said, "You see, Richthofen, this palace is meant to commemorate the immortal valour of my ancestor, our ancestor, the namesake and predecessor of Bert here."
"I've seen the Victory Column. I see it a dozen times a day, at the end of the drive. I've even read that inscription already, you didn't really have to read it to me again," said Bert. John Albert Edward William Spencer-Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, then glared from the pinnacle of his elevated form at his cousin and at his guest. "What does this praise have to do with today?"
"Only that history has repeated itself," Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, successor to his ancestor in moral dominance in Britain, if not title or office, looked around the library. "As the first Duke had made a name of valour for himself in the field as a soldier in arms, and then a commander of nations, so has Richthofen here done."
"You forgot to mention making a name for himself in Barbara Palmer's bedchamber, which I don't think Richthofen has done," the Duke said, laughing. "Got him the ready to get started. Then Pater did it again for Mrs. Vanderbilt. Ah, poor Mother! How she suffered for her mother's ambition! She'll be here tomorrow.
"For such short notice, you got quite the mob of wedding guests, Richthofen. Half the retired princes of Germany, almost everyone in the world who can fly an aeroplane, it seems like, and some decidely shady characters from the States. And all Randolph's enemies."
"Surely you mean all his friends," Manfred said.
"Haw haw haw! No, I mean 'enemies'! If he invited his friends he'd have trouble getting a motor-car full!"
There were all kinds of problems. A member of the Reformed church couldn't get married in a Church of England church without a great fuss. The priest was quite happy to preside over the wedding of the Prime Minister's son, but not in church. So they were getting married under license. It all sounded vaguely disreputable, like all those marriages that took place in that town Bolko was always touting. They had already been after one "Red Baron Marriage Parlor" there.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 67