Faked Passports

by Dennis Wheatley

  “Why? Climatic conditions?”

  “Yes. The lakes and swamps make Finland’s eastern frontier almost impassable from April till November, and from February to April the snow is so deep that major operations are impossible; whereas from the end of November up till the end of January the lakes are frozen over and the ice thick enough to carry transport but there is still insufficient snow to prove a serious obstacle. That is why, having gobbled up Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, Stalin had to wait until now before he could bring real pressure to bear on Finland. If he waits until January it will be too late to launch an offensive with any hope of a quick break through, and if he waits until next November he may have lost his chance for good and all.”

  “Yes, yes; you’re right about that. But do you think the Finns will fight?”

  “God knows. They’re a brave people but their numbers are so small and the weight of the Russian tanks and bombers that can be brought against them is tremendous. If they do fight they risk utter annihilation and the destruction of every town in the country, but it is certainly to your interest that they should do so.”

  “Not necessarily. Personally, I have always been for curbing the power of the Bolsheviks, and if Russia secures her bases in Finland either by threats or by overrunning the country it will be another blow to German prestige in the Baltic. On the other hand, if Russia starts even a minor war it will make it much more difficult for her to fulfil her obligations to us and we don’t wish to give her any further excuse for delaying the supplies of material that she’s promised. If the Finns give in we get our supplies; if they fight—well …” Goering shrugged.

  “Listen.” Gregory set down his glass with a bang. “You’re not going to get those supplies—or, anyway, nothing like the quantity you have been led to believe—so you might as well count that out. I tell you Stalin doesn’t mean to help Germany win the war; therefore you’d be mad to allow him to get away with the rape of Finland if you can possibly prevent it.”

  “I’m doing what I can to persuade Russia to moderate her demands. You heard me say that I intend to see the Soviet Ambassador tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s not enough. You’re in no position to exert any pressure on the Kremlin so they won’t take the least notice of you. Your game is to tackle this job from the other end and to persuade the Finns to tell the Russians to go to Hell.”

  “To do so would be to go against the Fuehrer’s policy. If it leaked out that I had privately been in communication with the Finnish Government there would be the very devil to pay.”

  “Perhaps. But there are ways and means of ensuring that it doesn’t leak out—and, anyhow, I’m not concerned with the Fuehrer’s policy. He thinks that he is going to win this war, doesn’t he? But you don’t.”

  Goering smiled. “As I’m talking to a man who is already as good as dead I don’t mind admitting that I think it unlikely. If we had attacked France and Britain right away we might have pulled it off, but I was overruled about that; the others insisted that once the Polish business was a fait accompli the Western Powers would throw in their hand. But when I say I think it unlikely that we shall win I do not at all mean that we shall necessarily lose, because, as I’ve told you, Germany can hold out against the blockade indefinitely.”

  “Right. Let’s assume, then, that this year, next year or in five years’ time, when everybody is thoroughly fed up, there will be a peace by negotiation. Germany may still be strong enough to insist on retaining her Austrian, Czechoslovakian and Polish territories; but is that enough? She will still be fenced-in by customs barriers and emigration restrictions. You may be quite certain that Britain and France will not give up any of their Colonies, and if you go on sinking neutral shipping as you have been doing Germans aren’t going to find a ready welcome if they try to settle in other countries. It’ll take you a few years to recover from the war. Then you’ll be faced again with the same old problem; the inevitable pressure of Germany’s virile population will force her leaders to seek a new outlet.”

  “Yes,” Goering nodded. “The Democracies sneer at our claim for Lebensraum, but they have no right to do so. We Germans cannot be bottled-up indefinitely and this question must be faced, if not at the peace conference then a few years later, when the distress of war has once more faded from the public mind.”

  “Good. Then what are you going to do—have a third crack at Britain and France? That’s not going to get you anywhere, because if the peace is one of negotiation Europe will remain an armed camp. But why should you when, if you could get the Ukraine, South Russia down to the Black Sea and a free hand to develop the resources of Asiatic Russia, you’d have an empire equal in its potentialities to the British or the French? Stalin is the bad boy of the family—nobody loves old ‘Joe’—so we’re not going to his assistance, particularly after the help he is assumed to have given you against us in this present war. Obviously, then, Germany’s future lies in the East.”

  “Exactly what I have always maintained.”

  “Like Stalin, then, you must forget the present and adopt a long-term policy. I think it’s very doubtful if the Democracies will ever agree to make a peace with Hitler; they have no faith whatever in his word. But he’s as good as said himself that he would be prepared to go into retirement if it were for the good of the Reich. Your situation is very different. You are the most popular of the Nazi leaders in Germany and, in spite of the war, your stock still stands pretty high in Britain. Clearly, therefore, if there is a negotiated peace while the Nazis are still in control of Germany you will be the new leader of the German nation.”

  “Only with the Fuehrer’s consent and approval.”

  “Yes, yes; but we can take that for granted. Internal and external pressure will be too great for him to resist. My point is that you should not wait until supreme power is placed in your hands—possibly at some extremely difficult moment—but must make up your mind now what your policy is going to be when power comes to you, and shape events as far as possible so that conditions will be favourable for you to carry that policy out.”

  Goering took a long drink and stared at Gregory. “Why the Hell do I allow you to talk to me like this?”

  “Because you’re not the fat, jolly fool that it suits you to let the masses think you, but one of the greatest statesmen in Europe; and you know that I’m talking sound sense.”

  “Go on, then. What do you suggest that I should do?”

  “Your long-term policy is an invasion of Russia three years after you have been able to secure a negotiated peace. Finland is your last stronghold in the Northern Baltic. As long as Finnish independence is maintained there is always an opening for you to negotiate a secret alliance with the Finns. Use Finland as your base and strike right down at Moscow. That is why Finnish independence must be maintained at all costs and, rather than that she should give a single base to Russia, by hook or by crook you’ve got to persuade her to fight.”

  “That’s easier said than done. As I’ve already told you, I dare not enter into secret negotiation with the Finnish Government and from all I’ve heard it looks as if they’ll give in rather than fight.”

  Gregory emptied his second goblet of champagne. He was feeling pretty good again now as he said: “I think you’ll admit that I’ve managed to interest you on the subject of Finland, so can I take it that I shall not be handed over to the gentlemen downstairs who beat people with steel rods?”

  “Yes. You’ve won your wager,” Goering nodded, “but don’t get any idea that I mean to let you go; you’ll still have to face a firing-squad.”

  “Have I convinced you that it is in Germany’s interests that Finland should resist Russia’s demands?”

  “Yes, and I admit that your long-term policy for Germany and the world offers the best hope of permanent peace that has ever been devised.”

  “Are you, then, prepared to lead Germany on this new and glorious destiny?”

  “If I could do so without disloyalty to my Fuehrer.”


  “Good. Then let us discuss it further.”

  “It would be useless to do so. Our talk has clarified my ideas on the subject and many of your views are in line with those that I’ve held for a long time, but the plan breaks down at its very outset because the Finns dare not resist.”

  “If I could produce a method by which you might induce them to do so, would you give me my life?”

  “No.” Goering turned away. “I’ve talked much too freely for that. I’m sorry on personal grounds, but I never allow such things to influence my decisions. Nothing you can say now will save you from a bullet.”

  Chapter XI

  Faked Passports

  Gregory remained quite silent for a moment, studying the heavy, forceful face in front of him. It was serene but implacable. There was nothing cruel about it, nothing evil. It was fat with good-living, like those of the later Caesars and, like the best of them, still handsome in its rugged strength. The eyes, too, were quick with understanding and intelligence.

  Hours earlier that evening when Gregory had first entered the great, silent apartment in which they stood he had believed that if he could once intrigue Goering with the story of his adventures his life would be safe. He had done so and they had dined together like the best of friends, yet he had lost that round.

  Afterwards he had still believed that he might save his neck if he proved clever enough to clarify the Marshal’s ideas upon the European situation by putting forward possibilities with a bluntness that few Germans would have dared to use. He had done so; and to such a degree that he might, perhaps, even have altered the whole course of events in Europe for the next fifty years by influencing Goering’s decisions through the ambitious plans he had laid before him. But he had lost that round as well.

  What was there left? An appeal to sentiment was utterly useless. Goering moved through life as a super-battleship ploughs the seas; he allowed nothing to deflect him from his course once he had set it, and all lesser vessels were forced to give way before his relentless progress. Having once decided that Gregory knew too much to be allowed to live, what possible argument could make him go back on his decision? He liked brave people and if he would not spare Gregory when he had shown himself to be a man of courage he would only treat him with contempt if he started to beg for mercy.

  Gregory knew that he was up against the toughest proposition that he had ever encountered; but he felt no malice. Goering was an opponent worthy of his steel. If the sands of his life were really running out at last he could console himself with the thought that he had failed only because he had tried to move a mountain. It was no disgrace to have broken oneself against the implacable ‘Iron Hermann’.

  With a little shrug he said: “Well, I suppose we might as well finish the magnum.”

  “Certainly.” Goering refilled the champagne goblets for the third time and replaced the big bottle in its ice-bucket. “I don’t feel in a mood for company this evening so I shan’t go down and join my guests now. I shall set to work on this Russian business; but there’s no immediate hurry, as I never go to bed before two in the morning.”

  “Good. In that case I may be able to help you.”

  Goering grinned. “I was thinking of my interview with the Soviet Ambassador tomorrow; and although you’re a very clever fellow, Sallust, I don’t see how you can help me to bring pressure to bear on the Kremlin.”

  “No. Nobody can help you there. I meant my scheme for persuading the Finns to resist Russia’s demand.”

  “But you ask your life for that, and as I don’t think it possible, I’m not playing.”

  “You can’t say whether it’s possible or not until you’ve heard it.”

  “In my view, whatever your scheme might be, the general situation would make it impossible of application; because we are no better placed to exert pressure on the Finns than we are on the Russians.”

  “I don’t agree; and since you won’t pay me for it I’ll give it to you for nothing.”

  “Why should you?”

  “Oh, I owe you something for having made the last evening of my life such an interesting one; and when I get to Hell I’ll make even Satan’s mouth water by a description of that bottle of Marcobrunner Cabinet 1900 you gave me for dinner.”

  “All right, go ahead if you wish.”

  “Tell me first what you know about the U.S.S.R. The German Secret Service is pretty good and a précis of all essential reports come to you. Russia is a closed book to most of us. Some people believe her to be the same old Russia of the Tsarist days; slow-moving, inefficient, with bribery and corruption rife everywhere; almost unlimited man-power still, of course, but not the organisation to operate one-tenth of it effectively. Other people believe that Russia has undergone a real rebirth; that her soldiers are now educated men, clean, efficient, proud of their country; and that Voroshilov has forged a weapon in the Soviet armies and air force which is the most powerful fighting-machine in the world. Few people can know the real truth but you must have a very shrewd idea of it.”

  “The first is the case.” Goering lit a cigarette and drew heavily upon it. “Russia remains unchanged in all essentials. Their attitude is very much ‘Nichevo, nichevo!’—never do today what you can put off till tomorrow—just as they used to say in the past. Their Air Force is big—very big. That is why if the Soviet had tied up with the Democracies it might have done considerable damage in Berlin during the first few weeks of the war. Numbers cannot possibly be ignored in such matters and the Soviet pilots are brave men, as they proved in Spain. But aircraft types get out of date more quickly than any other arm. The Soviet Air Force reached its peak as a weapon three years ago and plane for plane the Russians wouldn’t stand a dog’s chance against any of the more modern types that we or the Western Powers now have.”

  Gregory nodded. “I thought as much. How about the army?”

  “There are two armies in Russia. The Army proper is very big in numbers but is composed mainly of conscripts who are ill-armed, ill-officered and ill-fed. They’re not even up to the standard of the reserve battalions of Moujiks which the Tsar sent against us in 1915. None of these units is equipped with the most modern weapons—apart from tanks—because the Kremlin has always been afraid of an Army Putsch. Stalin has deliberately starved the Army proper of equipment, to ensure his own political battalions having at least a great superiority of weapon-power over the ordinary troops if it ever came to a show-down with the Generals.

  “Those political battalions form an army in themselves but a much smaller one, numbering some 300,000 men. Every man in them is a Communist Party member admitted only after the severest tests—in the same way as our S.S. men here. They have the best of everything—food, quarters, women—and would fight tooth and nail to protect the Government that ensures them these privileges. They are commanded by Budenny, who is Voroshilov’s most trusted man, and both are completely loyal to the Kremlin.”

  Gregory swallowed another couple of mouthfuls of the iced champagne. “I take it, then, that the Kremlin would not risk sending its political battalions against the Finns but would use the main army which you say is in such poor condition?”

  “Naturally. They will rely on sheer weight of numbers to smash the Mannerheim Line because it doesn’t matter how many of their conscripts they kill; whereas large losses among their crack political troops would leave the Kremlin Government exposed to the danger of an internal revolution.”

  “Do you think such mass attacks by inferior troops will be sufficient to overcome the Finnish resistance within—say—a month?”

  “I doubt it; because it is not only the troops that are of such poor quality; they will be worse led than any other army in Europe.”

  “Do you mean because Stalin has bumped off so many of his best officers in these constant purges since the Tukachevsky conspiracy of 1937?”

  Goering nodded. “It’s been infinitely worse than most people suppose. There’s no doubt that Stalin nipped the Tukaschevsky cons
piracy only just in time. Nearly every officer of importance was involved in it and the Ogpu have been tracing them up ever since. During the last two years he has liquidated 75 out of 80 members of the Supreme War Council, 13 out of 19 Army commanders and 195 Divisional commanders. Altogether they have murdered 350 odd generals, but even that is not the worst of it. Over 30,000 officers of all ranks have been slaughtered.”

  “Thirty thousand!” Gregory exclaimed.

  “Yes. That means that hardly an officer above the rank of major has been spared and practically all their qualified staff officers have been eliminated. Men who were captains last year are now commanding divisions and sergeants have become company commanders overnight. The Navy and the Air Force have suffered equally in proportion. The result is bound to be absolute chaos when the Soviet forces are called on to undertake a full-scale campaign.”

  “You have, of course, irrefutable proof of this in your Secret Service files?” Gregory asked.

  “Certainly. We have far too many agents operating in Russia for them all to be mistaken.”

  “How much of this do you think the Finns know?”

  “A little, perhaps; but not very much compared with ourselves. Finland is a small country and her resources are limited. For every agent the Finns have working in Russia we probably have a hundred.”

  “Good. Now, what you’ve told me more than confirms my own suspicions, and this is the plan I had in mind. Get the facts from Berlin and sit up all night compiling a full report upon the Soviet Army and Air Force, backed by all the available evidence.”

  A quick smile lit Goering’s eyes. “I see the idea! You’re suggesting that I should tip off the Finnish Government that the main Red Army is only cardboard.”