Shadows of War

by Michael Ridpath

  15 May

  French tanks arrived. Air attacks continue. We are hard pressed.

  16 May

  We are out in open country! We drove 65 kilometres today. Sedan is secure, as is our beachhead over the Meuse. Without warning, the French gave up their counter-attacks and turned tail. We have no orders for what to do in this situation, so Guderian decided to push west. We reached Montcornet, where we took hundreds of prisoners who had no idea we were anywhere near them.

  It’s a wonderful feeling, like a long-distance runner pulling ahead of his competitors in a sprint for the finish line. Like the runner, though, I fear we will become exhausted. Guderian’s philosophy is not to bother about our flanks, but to stay moving and keep the enemy off balance. That seems to be working so far, but I can’t help worrying that when the French finally bring up serious reinforcements our flanks will be in trouble.

  You can see why they call him Schneller Heinz.

  17 May

  Looks like I have lost a commander! General Kleist flew in first thing this morning, and without even saying ‘good morning’, let alone ‘well done’, he gave Guderian a public bollocking for disobeying his orders. Apparently we should have halted at the Meuse. Guderian calmly asked to be relieved of his command. This took Kleist aback for a moment, but then he told him to hand over to one of his divisional generals and stalked off. I think he recognized me, but didn’t show it. I always used to admire Cousin Paul, but I think his behaviour is outrageous. What is the point of sacking your best general at the moment of a stunning victory?

  So we are hanging around at Montcornet until General List arrives with orders from Rundstedt to sort things out.

  18 May

  Guderian has been reinstated. Technically we have to keep our HQ at Montcornet, but we are permitted ‘reconnaissance in force’, which means we are off again!

  2nd Panzer reached Saint-Quentin this afternoon. The whole of northern France is opening up before us.

  42

  Extract from Lieutenant Dieter von Hertenberg’s Diary

  19 May

  Crossed the old Somme battlefield. War has changed in the last twenty years, thank God.

  Close shave this afternoon. Our command vehicle was in a wood, virtually alone save for a battery of AA guns, when we heard French tanks close by. If they had found us, they would have captured us. Fortunately they moved off.

  Regent’s Park, London, 19 May

  It was a glorious day in the park. After a brutal winter, flowers were shooting up in the few beds that had remained undisturbed by war preparations. Even the ack-ack guns and the bobbing barrage balloons seemed to be celebrating spring. The iron railings had all been removed, turning the city park into something more akin to a lush rural meadow. There were few people about, just some old codgers snoozing in deckchairs and a group of small boys sailing their boats on the lake, untroubled by German submarines.

  The weather matched Alston’s mood, if not that of his compatriots. The news from France was bleak, and getting bleaker by the day. The Germans had cut through the French like a knife through Camembert. The English press were trying to find ways of coming to terms with what was turning into a humiliating defeat. Those in the know – the MPs, the society hostesses, the generals, the gossips of club and dining room – already feared a disaster was in the making. This was worse than 1914. Some thought the French and British generals might be able to pull a Marne victory out of the hat. Realists thought that unlikely.

  People laid the blame in two places: the French and Churchill.

  Only the day after Churchill had taken over as PM, many Tory backbenchers wondered what they had done. At just the time when the country needed a cool rational brain, they had plumped for a leader who seemed to be struck by bizarre ideas at random, and who wrapped himself in sentimental bombast.

  The party had made a mistake and they knew it. Constance was right. Between them, the French and Churchill were losing the war. Peace was the only rational alternative. But this time Alston would make sure he was in control of how that peace was achieved.

  He spotted the plump Swede sauntering towards him. They ‘bumped into each other’ at the prearranged spot at the stone pillars by the rose garden where a splendid wrought-iron gate used to stand before it was melted down.

  ‘Ah, Lindfors, fancy seeing you here!’ said Alston loudly, holding out his hand and smiling. Karsten Lindfors was a Swedish banker whom Alston had met a number of times before the war in London and Berlin. Alston did not know him well enough to trust him, but in March Lindfors had approached Alston with a message from Joachim von Ribbentrop, who it appeared did trust him. Since then they had met twice. Lindfors was a much better intermediary than Constance and Millie de Lancey had been. Alston knew exactly where the Swedish banker’s loyalties lay. The opportunities for profitable trade finance, given all the raw materials and ordnance that were flowing from Sweden to Germany, would be extraordinary. A neutral banker’s dream.

  After a few words of greeting, Alston turned to join Lindfors on his stroll, as if they were acquaintances who had met by chance, and had decided to walk together and chat for a few minutes.

  ‘I have a message for Joachim,’ Alston said. ‘Churchill is vulnerable; it won’t take much of a prod to topple him. It’s likely that this will happen within the next two weeks, especially if the news from France gets worse.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then we need a new regime. We have plans. But it’s vital that Herr Hitler refuses to deal with the existing British government and insists on a new regime of leaders who are sympathetic to Germany. That will give the ditherers enough of an excuse to give way to us.’

  ‘Who are the ditherers?’

  ‘Churchill. Chamberlain. Halifax.’

  ‘And who will be in this new regime?’

  ‘Lloyd George. Myself. Sam Hoare. Rab Butler. Other sympathetic souls. And be sure to tell Ribbentrop that we will invite back a king whom he can deal with.’

  ‘The Duke of Windsor?’

  ‘King Edward. Or Edward the Eighth Part Two as Shakespeare would call him.’

  The Swede smiled quickly. ‘How confident are you that you can achieve this?’

  ‘Very confident. As long as the German government refuses to deal with Halifax and Churchill. It’s all planned.’

  ‘I’ll tell Joachim.’ He shook Alston’s hand again. ‘Somehow I suspect we will be seeing each other again very soon.’

  Alston nodded, and turned back towards the rose garden.

  Mayfair, London

  ‘All right, can you see anyone?’ hissed Constance.

  ‘No. The coast is clear,’ Anneliese replied. They were on Grosvenor Street. There were no clouds and some moonlight, just enough for them to see what they were doing. They were following Anna Wolkoff’s detailed instructions. Keep on the dark side of the street. Look out for doorways in the shadows where policemen liked to lurk.

  They passed a bus stop. Always a good spot.

  In a practised movement, Constance whipped the poster out of the shopping bag she was carrying, and unfurled it. The back was already covered with glue, and both women pressed it down over the timetable.

  Printed on it was a little ditty written by Captain Maule Ramsay beginning:

  Land of Dope and Jewry

  Land that once was free

  All the Jew boys praise thee

  Whilst they plunder thee.

  But this time perhaps they had had a little too much to drink. The coast wasn’t clear after all.

  ‘Oi! What are you two doing?’

  ‘Run!’ shouted Constance, and they ran. Both women were fast and had avoided heels for just such an eventuality. Anneliese turned to see a helmeted silhouette after them. A bulky silhouette. The policeman blew his whistle.

  They shot across Regent Street and into the warren of alleys that was Soho.

  A quick left and a quick right and they thought that they had lost him.

  ‘
Here! Let’s go in here!’

  Constance pulled Anneliese down some stairs, past a doorman, into what was clearly a nightclub. As they penetrated the heavy blackout drapes over the entrance they were hit by a fug of smoke, alcohol and piano music in a dim blue light. The tables had shiny black tops, the chairs were red wicker and fake plaster columns propped up the walls, or were propped up by them. The lighting changed to red.

  ‘This brings back memories of Berlin,’ said Anneliese.

  ‘I need a drink!’ said Constance. ‘Have you got any money?’

  Anneliese had. She had kept some of the cash Conrad had given her in November for just such an eventuality.

  The manager found them a table in the back, and at Constance’s suggestion they ordered black velvets. Immediately, two men in army uniform approached them, bearing lopsided smiles of charm and alcohol, but Constance told them the women were waiting for someone.

  She laughed as she raised her glass to Anneliese. ‘Cheers!’

  ‘Prost!’ said Anneliese. Then ‘Heil Hitler!’ in a whisper.

  Constance giggled. ‘Heil Alston!’ she said.

  ‘That’s a good one,’ said Anneliese.

  They were already both tipsy. They had been taken out to dinner at La Coquille by Captain Maule Ramsay, Tyler Kent and a diplomat from the Italian Embassy. Anna Wolkoff and Joan Miller, the model, had been there as well. Much alcohol had been consumed and Tyler Kent and the Italian diplomat, who was a count, were at their most charming. It was clear that Anna Wolkoff was acting as some sort of intermediary between Jock Maule Ramsay and the American Embassy employee.

  ‘Did I see Tyler give Jock something?’ Anneliese said.

  ‘You did,’ Constance said. ‘And it’s very secret. I persuaded him to keep a copy for Henry.’

  ‘A copy of what?’

  Constance looked around the room. No one was listening to them, but two men dressed in dinner jackets were staring. ‘Tyler works as a cipher clerk in the American Embassy. He has been deciphering correspondence between Churchill and President Roosevelt. It shows Roosevelt is sympathetic to the British.’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ asked Anneliese.

  ‘No, it isn’t at all.’ Constance turned to two more men approaching them. ‘Go away!’ she snarled before they had even got to the table. They went away.

  ‘Apparently the American public don’t want to go to war with Germany.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ said Anneliese.

  ‘Precisely. And Roosevelt must be seen to be keeping his distance.’

  ‘Which he isn’t, according to Tyler.’

  ‘Quite right. So Henry’s plan is to pass the correspondence on to an isolationist US senator he knows. The senator will publicize the messages, and Roosevelt will be forced to disown them. It should stop America from coming in to the war.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Anneliese, trying to make herself believe that the news was indeed wonderful, and succeeding. She had developed a technique when she was with Constance of persuading herself that she was in fact a loyal Nazi stuck in a foreign country. She had known enough of them in Berlin, and she tried to react to whatever she saw and heard in that role, blanking out all thoughts of the true implications until later.

  Constance’s eyes were shining. She was excited, she was drunk, and she was enjoying being with Anneliese.

  She wanted to talk.

  ‘You did something similar for Henry when you were in Holland last year, didn’t you?’ Anneliese said. ‘Something hush-hush?’

  Constance frowned. For a moment, Anneliese thought she had gone too far, and raised Constance’s suspicions. Then the Englishwoman smiled and leaned forward. ‘I was talking to some representatives of the German government for Henry. It was all a bit of a disaster.’

  ‘Really? What went wrong?’

  ‘I can’t say. But I had to... take action.’

  ‘Take action? What do you mean?’

  ‘I had to kill someone.’

  ‘No!’ Anneliese raised her hand to her mouth. She suppressed the excitement she felt and smothered it in feigned shock. But only mild shock, not enough to put Constance off.

  ‘You look surprised,’ said Constance.

  ‘I am,’ said Anneliese. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I can’t say. But wouldn’t you kill someone for the Fatherland? If it absolutely had to be done?’

  ‘I never have,’ said Anneliese. Then she seemed to give it consideration. ‘But if the circumstances demanded it, I would.’ She sat up straight. ‘I would be proud to.’

  Constance smiled. ‘I knew you would understand. But don’t tell a soul.’

  ‘I won’t. Are you still in discussions with the German government?’

  ‘I’m not. But Henry is.’

  ‘Will there be peace?’ Anneliese said. ‘Surrender?’

  ‘Peace. It will look like a draw but it will be victory for Germany. Henry has it all worked out.’

  ‘A revolution? A coup?’

  ‘No!’ said Constance. ‘This is England. This will all be done in a very British way. No goose-stepping. No Roman salutes. In fact the public will hardly realize what has happened until it has happened. That is the beauty of his plan.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Anneliese.

  43

  Extract from Lieutenant Dieter von Hertenberg’s Diary

  20 May

  Orders allow us to move as far as Amiens, so we have taken Amiens. It’s a beautiful city and a fine cathedral. Captured some English prisoners. The roads are full of French refugees. 2nd Panzer claimed they were out of fuel, but Guderian didn’t believe them. His theory is that’s just an excuse commanders use when they are tired.

  Two of our own aircraft attacked us this afternoon. We shot them down and the crew drifted to the ground under parachutes. Guderian was there to meet them and gave them a severe bollocking. Then a bottle of champagne.

  Abbeville taken this evening. The Channel is only 20 kilometres away!

  Suffolk, 20 May

  Conrad read the cable that was waiting for him in the mess. ‘YOU MUST MEET ME IN LONDON AS SOON AS POSSIBLE VERY URGENT ANNELIESE’.

  That was at least clear.

  The battalion was keeping itself busy. The disasters on the Continent had injected a dose of urgency into their preparations. Intelligence analysis suggested that the Germans were considering an immediate assault on England, before France fell. If that were true, then such an invasion would have to come from the north German ports, since the Germans would not have had time to prepare the Dutch harbours they had captured to launch an armada. And if an invasion fleet left from Hamburg or Bremen, it would almost certainly alight in East Anglia.

  Personally, Conrad didn’t believe the intelligence reports. In fact, from what he had learned of intelligence over the last few months, there was more bluff and double bluff going on than straightforward acquisition of genuine secrets. If he were in charge, he would junk the whole lot and rely on common sense. Common sense told him that the Germans would be as preoccupied with the invasion of France as the Allies were, and would be very unlikely to have taken the time to plan an assault on Britain right away.

  So Conrad was wasting his time in Suffolk and had been desperate to get back to London. But since the German blitzkrieg, all weekend leave had been cancelled, and Colonel Rydal had been unwilling to make an exception for him.

  Conrad would just have to try harder. He went to see the CO.

  Colonel Rydal was at his desk. Conrad handed him the cable, on the basis that honesty was most likely to earn him Rydal’s trust.

  ‘Who is Anneliese?’ Rydal asked. ‘Your girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But I met her in Germany last year. And she is helping me with my investigation of the Duke of Windsor. If she wants to see me that urgently, she has discovered something important.’

  ‘I take it you want leave to see her right away?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The colonel raised his eyebrows. ‘And wh
at if she wants to tell you she is pregnant?’

  That stopped Conrad; the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him, but it was one of the classic reasons for requests for leave from his own men. ‘It’s not that, sir,’ he said. ‘If it were, Anneliese would wait to tell me. Besides which the timing is wrong.’

  Rydal grunted. ‘I have received another order from the War Office not to grant you more leave.’

  ‘Did they say why?’

  ‘No. But they were firm about it.’

  ‘Doesn’t that rather suggest that there is something to learn in London?’ Conrad said. ‘I’m not a Soviet spy, sir. The very idea is ridiculous.’

  ‘I know it is,’ said Rydal.

  Conrad could tell the colonel wanted to believe him. He just needed some help. ‘When I went to Holland last November I was told that the Germans had received information from the Duke of Windsor that the French lines were at their weakest at Sedan. I passed that information on to the British authorities, who seem to have ignored it. They didn’t like the idea of the duke being a German spy. Now I quite understand that – I don’t like it either. But you know where the German army broke through last week?’

  ‘Sedan.’ Rydal frowned. ‘And you think that your friend Anneliese has more information about the duke?’

  ‘She may well have. She has been investigating an MP who has been involved with the duke, or friends of the duke. An MP who is pro-Nazi. Sir Henry Alston.’

  ‘Is Alston pro-Nazi?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you have proof?’

  ‘Absolutely not. That’s why I have to see Anneliese.’

  Rydal stood up and turned towards the window. Conrad waited.

  Rydal’s shoulders stiffened. He had made a decision. He turned back to Conrad. ‘I can’t give you leave. But I can send you to see someone at the War Office. A different department. As you know, I have been having a long-running argument with the WO about our Bedfords being armoured. Here’s the man’s name and the department.’ Rydal scribbled a name.