The German Peace

by Derek Pennington

To Halifax’s immense relief the consensus was to agree to meet with the German delegation on the proposed date in Lisbon. There were certain security considerations to be addressed, but in principle, everything else raised in the envoys notes was accepted.

  There must be no pre-conditions by either side.

  In anticipation of a positive outcome at the War Cabinet meeting, Halifax had already formulated his replies to the foreign governments involved. It only needed the go-ahead from the Churchill to release them. No time would be wasted!

  The Prime Minister formally addressed the Foreign Secretary. “Lord Halifax, it is the decision of this esteemed Council that you inform the ambassadors of Portugal, Switzerland and the United States that His Majesty’s Government has no objection to attending the proposed meeting in Lisbon on the terms as outlined, subject only to the minor details we have discussed here.”

  As always, Churchill could not resist an opportunity for a little oratory. He looked at his colleagues. The speech was short.

  “Gentlemen, let us not succumb to unjustified optimism at this particular moment in time. We are in the middle of a war against unspeakable tyranny. Hitler wishes to enslave the British people. Indeed he wants to bend the whole world to his evil will.

  Every time I hear that man’s name I wish I had the power to change history. If only I could go back in time to the day in the Great War when one of our own soldiers had Herr Hitler in his sights, and didn’t fire. Oh what trouble the world would have been saved.”

  Churchill was referring the case of Private Henry Tandey, Britain’s most decorated soldier of the Great War. He took part in an attack on German trenches in 1918 and his orders were to take no prisoners. However, when a wounded enemy soldier appeared before him, Private Tandey found he could not shoot, and he let the man go. The enemy soldier was Adolf Hitler.

  “Things have not gone well for us and the current military situation is bleak. However, I have no doubt that our resolute island race will fight on, and triumph in the end. Let us not drop our guard in the coming days.”

  He looked at Halifax and added, “If there is one single confirmed attack by a German submarine or aircraft on a British ship or our land over the next few days, the talks are finished. No ifs or buts!”

  He continued his speech. “We will sincerely hope for the best outcome from these upcoming talks, while at the same time continue to prepare for the worst.

  The British people would welcome an honourable peace. But, if we lead them into slavery through a lack of vigilance or lack of firm leadership on our part, we will never be forgiven.

  History will not be kind to us.”

  14 JUNE

  It had been hectic. Meeting after meeting of the War Cabinet, thrashing through all conceivable scenarios. Briefings from various ‘specialists’ who did not know, and could not be told, the reason why they were there. Secrecy was paramount.

  Now the British delegation was here, over Lisbon.

  So far the Germans had lived up to their undertakings. No sinkings by enemy submarines, and no sightings of Luftwaffe aircraft had been reported over Britain in the previous two days. The American embassy had, however, passed on a concern of the Kriegsmarine, the German Navy. They had been unable to establish contact with one of their submarines, U-48, to order it to suspend its activities. It was probable that their radio was malfunctioning. They would keep on trying to contact them, and they had also ordered two other submarines into the general area of its last reported position. These would try to find U-48.

  The morning before, the RAF had flown the delegation from London to an air base in Devon in a Douglas DC3 transport aircraft, escorted by a flight of fighter aircraft, the daunting Spitfire. After refuelling they had taken off again for Lisbon. During the flight they stayed a respectable distance from the coasts of France and Spain.

  Along the way they had flown over the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal, in company with a cruiser and two destroyers somewhere off the coast of Northern Spain. It had been a sight for sore eyes to see this fine example of British sea power here, off an unfriendly coast. They had circled the ships and dipped their wings in salute before carrying on towards Lisbon.

  The total flight distance flown was a little over one thousand nautical miles, which at the modest cruising speed of the Dakota meant a little over five hours and a half hours actual flying time. This had ended up being more like eight hours total travelling time when one included boarding time and the refuelling stop. The passengers were not impressed with the quality of the light lunch that had been served to them during the flight. Is this the best the RAF could do?

  As they flew over Lisbon they were greeted with the sight of the now famous British cruiser, HMS Ajax, moored in the harbour. It had recently been refitted in Chatham Dockyard after its epic ‘Battle of the River Plate’ a few months earlier – in company with two other cruisers – against the German pocket battleship Graf Spee, off the coast of South America. The news of the destruction of the Graf Spee had been a welcome bright spot in a dark period only noted for British ships being sunk by U-boats.

  Ajax had been en route to Gibraltar when she had received fresh orders from the Admiralty and been diverted to Lisbon.

  Normally under international rules, warships from a country at war would only be allowed to visit a neutral country for a maximum stay of twenty four hours. However, in these special circumstances, the Portuguese were turning a blind eye to this limitation, citing the need for ‘emergency repairs’ required by Ajax. This was with the tacit understanding of the German ambassador in Lisbon.

  Portugal was Britain’s oldest ally. The Anglo-Portuguese treaty of 1373 was the oldest alliance in the world still in force. However, in this current war Britain deliberately did not seek assistance from Portugal as they considered the non-belligerent role of that country was essential if they wanted to keep neighbouring pro-German Spain from entering the war on the side of Germany.

  Now the guns of Ajax were a reassuring sight to the British delegation.

  Their aircraft landed safely and taxied as directed, to an isolated but well- guarded part of the airport. There, several motor cars were waiting for them, together with a motorised detachment of tough looking Portuguese soldiers under the command of a Colonel. After a courteous welcome to Portugal by the officer, who spoke excellent, if heavily accented, English, he wasted no further time and whisked them away to their designated accommodation in the city.

  This turned out to be a beautiful old villa on the outskirts of Lisbon, part of an estate of the old nobility. The German delegation was housed in something similar on the adjoining estate. The grounds of both were heavily patrolled by Portuguese soldiers.

  In between these two residences was an imposing summer house. A perfect meeting place. Neutral ground, as it were.

  After seeing the British settled in, the Portuguese Colonel wished them a comfortable stay and departed, taking his escort with him. There were more than enough soldiers guarding the locality already.

  The meeting with their German counterparts was scheduled for nine a.m. the following morning. The British decided to meet in one hour for an evening drink before dinner. “Then, I think an early night is called for,” Halifax stated. “We have to have our wits about us tomorrow.”

  Apart from Lord Halifax, the British delegation consisted of General Alan Brooke, his aide - Major Jeremy Blackstone, Halifax’s personal secretary, and another civilian who went by the name of Oliver Smyth, ostensibly with the Foreign Office.

  General Brooke, aged fifty seven, was from an aristocratic background and had been in the army since 1902. He had served in The Great War with distinction and was regarded as one of the British Army’s foremost generals. Unusually for a soldier, he had built a strong relationship with the Chief of the RAF, which had established a vital basis of co-operation between the two military services. This was something that had long been needed, as the Germans had shown in their recent lightning campaigns.

 
A man not known for a sense of humour, Brooke was sober, thoughtful, determined. He was considered to be an astute judge of military strategy. He had been at the battle for Dunkirk but, despite pleading to be allowed to stay, he had been firmly ordered to return to England before the surrender. A fellow General later reported that Brooke was severely overcome with emotion at having to leave his men in such crisis.

  This was the man, second only to Lord Halifax, who would attempt to negotiate peace with Germany.

  Brooke’s aide, Major Blackstone, thirty five, was from an old English family with a history of providing sound and capable servants of the crown, notably in the civil service and the army. Jeremy Blackstone was now the fourth generation of Blackstones to hold a commission in his regiment, the Lancashire Fusiliers.

  He had an older brother James, who was a Member of Parliament. His sister, Katherine, one year older than him, was a professional yacht captain, a very rare occupation for a female. She skippered a beautiful classic sailing yacht for a wealthy banker. This job that had been interrupted by the war, when she volunteered for the Royal Navy. A younger brother, George, was a doctor. Jeremy’s father, Horace Blackstone, was a senior civil servant, being Permanent Secretary to the Treasury.

  Jeremy had been personally selected by General Brooke to assist him at these talks.

  The civilian Oliver Smyth, if that was his real name, had been foisted on Halifax by MI6. As a seasoned intelligence officer, his brief was to listen and learn.

  In the adjacent villa the Germans were doing more or less the same as their opposite numbers. Perhaps a little more wine was being consumed at dinner; after all they were the ones calling the shots - weren’t they? They were the masters of Europe.

  While this feeling was perhaps understandable in the circumstances, it was an attitude that the Foreign Minister stamped down hard upon the minute he noticed it.

  The composition of their delegation mirrored that of the British.

  Apart from Baron von Altendorf, the military had sent General Rommel as their representative.

  Rommel, forty nine, had been a highly decorated officer in The Great War. He had distinguished himself as a commander of a Panzer division during the invasion of France over the past weeks. He was a superb exponent of speed, surprise and manoeuvre: the tactics employed by the panzers in the campaign that had been so stunningly successful.

  He was a leader of men. Direct, unbending, tough in his manners, both to superiors and subordinates alike. He did not suffer fools gladly. In earlier years he had supported Adolf Hitler and his policy of re-armament, but he had later become disillusioned and now held the Nazis and their ideology in contempt.

  Rommel’s aide was a newly appointed captain in the Luftwaffe, Adolf Galland. They had met for the first time the previous day. Galland had been a pilot since 1932 and had flown combat missions in Spain in support of the Nationalists under General Franco. He had later been attached to the air ministry before becoming a fighter pilot. Galland was a clear thinker with a no nonsense approach to military matters.

  There was also a civilian named Horst Brandt. He was military intelligence and had been sent by Admiral Canaris.

  The Foreign Minister addressed the company.

  “I have detected a small measure of arrogance, even condescension, towards the British, among us. THIS STOPS NOW!

  Remember, it us that approached the British for these talks. They may have suffered a major defeat at our hands at Dunkirk, but they are by no means, a defeated nation. The Royal Navy is still the most powerful navy in the world, and the Royal Air Force is still intact.” He gave each of the delegates a cold stare.

  “We will assemble at the meeting house at eight fifty five a.m. sharp; to welcome our opposite numbers, who I expect will be there promptly at nine a.m. Goodnight gentlemen.” He left the dining room.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING – THE NORTH ATLANTIC

  Somewhere off the south coast of Ireland, Karl Schiller, captain of the German submarine U-48, was peering intently through his periscope at the enemy convoy. The sea state was moderate. Visibility was good. He had positioned his ship perfectly. A nice big merchantman would pass directly in front of him. He would only need one torpedo to send it to the bottom of the sea. He couldn’t miss!

  After that they could all go home. The crew could have some well-deserved rest and recreation, and U-48 needed some serious maintenance. He desperately looked forward to seeing his family again. They had been at sea for three weeks. It had been an uneventful cruise until now.

  Schiller dreamed of lying in a hot bath. After three weeks he and his crew smelled like – ‘what was it he had heard from an English prisoner of war – ‘a Swahili wrestler’s jock strap’! He could not help smiling at the memory.

  “Anything on the radio, Willi?” He asked his second in command. They had been out of radio contact with their High Command for five days.

  “Nothing, sir. It is kaput! We do not have the necessary spare parts and we have not been able to improvise.”

  “Very well. It cannot be helped. Call the crew to action stations. In the next ten minutes I expect to deliver a present to our enemies.” He grinned mirthlessly.

  The group of British ships steamed closer. At their head was an old and tired looking destroyer which must have first seen service more than twenty years ago. Two smaller frigates were scuttling around somewhere to the rear of the convoy.

  Schiller had watched patiently. He was now ready. The enemy merchant ship had not changed course and U-48 was in a perfect position. He thumb rested on the firing button. It was time.

  Sudden consternation and momentary panic seized him! ‘What the hell….’?

  Captain Henry Nicholson on the destroyer HMS Arbroath scanned the seas ahead through his binoculars. He was completely and utterly tired out. Since the convoy had left Halifax in Canada nine days ago, he had had little rest. Just an hour or two here and there. Always on the alert for the hated enemy submarines. The sharks of the sea.

  The signal he had received two days ago, ordering no offensive action should he sight an enemy vessel, had baffled and worried him. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do if a U-boat appears on my bow?’ he thought. ‘Smile and wave?’

  “SUBMARINE OFF OUR STARBOARD QUARTER”, shouted the lookout urgently.

  In three swift strides Nicholson was on the bridge starboard wing staring in disbelief at the German U-boat surfacing about six or seven hundred yards away.

  “ACTION STATIONS.” He pressed the alarm and the unearthly din of the klaxon horn reverberated throughout the ship sending the crew scurrying to their allotted stations. There was no one among the crew that did not know what the alarm signified, and accordingly they all experienced a sudden spasm of fear.

  “Starboard one twenty degrees, full speed ahead.” The destroyer turned hard towards the enemy sub.

  “They are signalling sir,” his first lieutenant reported in amazement. This was a first! He read the Morse code as it was spat out of the blinking German Aldiss lamp.

  On U-48, Captain Schiller watched in astonishment through his periscope as a submarine surfaced less than 50 metres in front of him. Another second and it would have received his torpedo. He read its number. U-37. He knew its captain, Peter Braun, well. What was he playing at?

  Three people appeared in U-37’s conning tower. He recognised one of them as Braun. Another was signalling him. A third seemed to be signalling the British destroyer, which was now turning towards him….

  “U-37 to British destroyer. We have orders from our High Command not to attack British ships. One of our sister submarines has been out of radio contact for some days and is unaware of this order. We have found them, and are now in communication. Please stay back,” the first lieutenant relayed to his captain.

  Nicholson reacted instantly. “Reduce speed. Tell Guns no firing. Signal the other escorts to keep an eye on the situation, but to maintain their current position. Acknowledge the U-boat’s signal.”


  He watched warily.

  “ANOTHER SUBMARINE SURFACING, SIR”, called the bemused first officer. What the hell was going on?

  Excitement surged along the length of the ship as anybody who could find an excuse to be on deck watched the impossible sight of two enemy submarines lying close together only five hundred yards from the guns of their ship. This was something to tell their wives and sweethearts! Cameras had been rooted out from various storage places. This was a unique photo opportunity definitely not to be missed.

  The two sub captains seemed to be having a shouted conversation. This went on for a few minutes. Two U-boat captains surfacing close to the guns of an enemy destroyer, just to have a conversation? Nobody is going to believe this!