Weapons of Peace

by Johnston, Peter D. ;

  She paused, letting her own question linger.

  “Go on, tell me, then. How did Hitler do it?” Nash asked.

  “Hitler used new inventions, including new forms of communication, to magnify his impact,” she said. “It started while he was in prison for an attempted coup in 1923, and he wrote about his struggles and his beliefs in Mein Kampf. No one had used a book this way, building his profile and early support. Later, he and his crony Joseph Goebbels used moving pictures—crafting the first big-budget films to promote a political cause. And when Hitler campaigned in 1933 he flew rather than taking a train or an automobile like the rest of us. To the masses, he looked like a demigod descending from the heavens.”

  “With these aerial descents captured on film for the news reels, of course.”

  “Exactly. And when he spoke passionately in person, or over the radio—which was again new and doubly impressive—he repeated three simple, memorable messages: Ignore the Treaty of Versailles, it was forced on us unfairly; Germans from across Europe must be reunited in one great nation, with all the land we need; and, finally, We must purify our race and our nation for eternity by doing away with weaker, threatening elements. In brief, Everett, he was a mesmerizing orator. It was his greatest strength.”

  “Very good points,” Nash said with a shiver, looking toward a beckoning window. “Be warned, you have five minutes before we leave for that warm tea parlor.”

  “That’s all I need,” Emma said. “During the 1933 campaign, when the economy was still a mess, Hitler committed to Germans that, if elected, he’d spend gobs of money on the military and on infrastructure.”

  “I remember it well,” Nash said.

  “Well, within just three years,” she continued, “he’d followed through on his commitment: the economy had dramatically improved, and almost everyone was working again. As a result, he gained credibility, reaffirming his supporters’ belief in him, drawing in even skeptical Germans. Many came to see their führer as flawless, all-knowing, and all good.”

  “All evil, all good—neither extreme is ever accurate,” he mused with a gentle smile.

  “But Hitler was also a master of attracting people to his coalition by committing to something and then slowly moving away from it, turning it into something very different in the end, with most people noticing only after it was too late. It began with the Jews—yes, Germans tacitly agreed to undermine Jews by electing Hitler, but each year he’d ratchet up his attacks, first taking their jobs, then their businesses, then their freedoms, and, rumor has it, their lives.”

  “What if he’d committed to such extremes all at once in 1933?”

  “If he’d started out that way,” Emma said, “his ideas would have been rejected outright by the masses. Instead, he increased his persecution over time, so not enough people would be incensed at any single point—avoiding a general revolt.”

  “Anything else regarding Hitler’s use of commitment in his negotiations—to firm up, prune, or grow his coalition?” Nash asked, cupping his hands to light another cigarette.

  “Yes, Hitler would commit to something he knew someone was hoping to hear. When he broke his word, however, it didn’t happen incrementally; it was abrupt, devastating—and also strategic.”

  “Let’s look at some examples here, starting with Röhm,” Nash said.

  “Ernst Röhm, the head of the Nazi Party’s own militia, believed Hitler was committed to promoting him in 1934,” Emma said. “Instead, Hitler had Röhm—one of his most loyal supporters—executed without warning, thinking he’d gained too much power. It was a chilling signal to his inner circle: ‘Don’t give me reason to doubt you; no one is safe from my wrath.’ The SS delivered on Hitler’s wrath, while protecting him against his growing list of enemies, screening anyone near him for guns, keeping his public appearances unpredictable and brief.”

  “What about Neville Chamberlain’s experience with Hitler and commitment?”

  “As Britain’s leader, Chamberlain desperately wanted to avoid war, as did his people,” Emma answered. “In 1938, Hitler committed the Nazis to staying put if they could just absorb part of Czechoslovakia. Chamberlain agreed. But in March 1939, Hitler’s men marched into Prague. Then, in September 1939, Hitler betrayed Chamberlain again, sending his forces into Poland unimpeded, leaving our prime minister unprepared—and furious on the eve of war.”

  “And, last but not least, his treatment of his Russian ally, Josef Stalin?”

  “All of Hitler’s victims want so badly to believe he’ll follow through on his deals with them,” Emma said, shaking her head. “He’s cagily unpredictable, though, so far staying loyal to Japan, for example, because that’s seemingly in his own interest. After committing to a peace pact with Stalin, the Nazis attacked in 1941, when Russia’s guard was down. But that’s one commitment Hitler may regret violating, since he turned a vital member of his coalition into an archenemy: Russia is now counterattacking from the east with the vengeance of a cheated lover.”

  Nash chuckled at her apt metaphor. “Yes, Hitler is being reminded that you have to sequence your conflicts carefully as part of a solid defense, never creating so many enemies on all fronts that they can come together and undermine you,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, please give me a brief closing statement so we can get to our tea.”

  “Yes, Professor,” she said, a smile dimpling her rosy cheeks. “In summary, Hitler built his winning coalition by turning a nation of losers into winners, making sure no one could stop him, including the Jews, while spreading word of his Aryan revolution through simple messages and new technologies—keeping his word to increase his support, or breaking his word at critical times to destroy his enemies.”

  “Excellent,” he said with an exaggerated nod, unable to suppress a beam of pride.

  “It’s only now,” Emma said, “because of how much you’ve taught me, that I can appreciate how the führer has mastered the art and science of influence.”

  Nash stopped nodding and sighed. She could tell that something she’d said bothered him.

  “I would only offer up one other observation as to how Hitler secured his coalition while avoiding assassination, especially from foes inside the military who had access to him,” he said.

  “What did I miss?” she asked, shoulders dropping.

  “All soldiers and officers must formally pledge an oath of loyalty to Hitler personally, not to the state or to the constitution. Any potential assassins would first have to decide to break this commitment—a major impediment. Then, as one final hurdle, they might well have to deal with the führer face-to-face. You see, one-on-one or in small groups, you’d never suspect that Adolf was ultimately responsible for countless deaths. He can be very charming, very charismatic—”

  “Dare I say you almost sound as though you admire him,” she said with a quick laugh.

  Nash didn’t laugh in return. “Oh, I did when we first met in my late twenties. And I do admire how he’s executed plans for influencing a nation and the world, even though I oppose most of what he’s achieved.” He paused, reflecting. “In truth, Emma, I once knew Herr Hitler much better than I’d ever admit publicly—and this will forever be my cross to bear.”

  “I’m sorry, Everett, I had no idea,” she said. She reached for his hand, but when he didn’t respond she patted his arm awkwardly.

  “No reason for you to apologize,” he said, rising abruptly. “After all, how could you know that I was the one who gave Adolf Hitler the blueprint for building his grand coalition?”

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday, September 19, 1944

  5:20 p.m.

  They sat in the tiny Tudor teahouse surrounded by its charming but dated floral wallpaper, sipping their hot drinks and eating scones slathered with thick butter and strawberry jam.

  They’d chosen seats as far away as possible from the other half-dozen custom
ers as well as the entrance, since cold air rushed in whenever the door was opened.

  She had passed her final exam. Nash had never met anyone who absorbed his teachings so quickly, and he told her so. She blushed and expressed her thanks, but then they fell silent. Nash’s admission about his connection to Hitler hung in the air as palpably as the smell of freshly baked pastries.

  Emma had never seen him look so sullen.

  Her mind kept flashing back to one of the articles that Alina had sent her, the one that raised concerns about Nash’s being “too close” to those who worked with Hitler.

  Was he somehow forced to advise Hitler, or did he want to? Surely it can’t be as bad as it sounds or he wouldn’t have said anything.

  She began tentatively. “Everett, thank you for sharing your secret with me. I’m sure that can’t be easy. I want to know more—but not tonight,” she said across the small table.

  “I owe you that,” he said, forcing a smile.

  “So now I suppose it’s my turn to share the secret that I’ve kept from you—including my own link to the Nazis.”

  He looked up. She had his attention. He waited, saying nothing as her eyes flitted toward the A-frame wooden ceiling. He heard her feet underneath the table begin to tap the oak floor.

  “I am married and I have a son,” she said.

  Nash had imagined many possible secrets that Emma Doyle might have hidden away, but this wasn’t one of them. He didn’t believe in sleeping with someone who was legally bound to a spouse. He prided himself both personally and professionally on reading people. He had failed to read Emma Doyle.

  She looked at him, waiting with bated breath for his reaction.

  “I have to admit, I didn’t expect that,” he said.

  She looked down at her hands and picked at her scone.

  “I had just turned eighteen,” she started. “Dieter von Schroeter was a dashing young man—blond, big smile, big laugh, several years older than me. He had German parents but studied political philosophy at Cambridge and spoke perfect English. We met in a London pub during my last year of nursing. He was nice to me. I was lonely and smitten. I’d had a few too many beers, and we ended up in bed.”

  It wasn’t to be the last time, she confided to Nash. She and Dieter met in London once a month to be together. He was intense and brilliant. They fell in love, and their time together was filled with passion and heated political debates. He was an ardent supporter of Hitler. While this concerned her, Hitler had yet to reveal the full extent of his ambitions.

  Then, unexpectedly, she was asked to take part in military training for a year and a half. She and Maria decided to pursue this training—the downside being that they’d be stationed near the Scottish border. Emma would now be able to meet Dieter only every few months in London.

  “He was furious. He slapped me—for the first time—saying I didn’t love him enough. Besides, he couldn’t understand why a nurse needed to fight,” she said, shaking her head. “I was devastated, but had made my decision with Maria. He and I ended our relationship before I left for northern England. But soon his letters begged me to reconsider. He apologized for hitting me. I missed him terribly. I wanted to see him. We began meeting again in London.”

  During her last month of training, after being at the top of her class, Emma said that she suddenly found herself tired and unable to perform. Her superiors joked that she must be sneaking out at night to drink. When she started throwing up, it was Maria who suggested that she might be pregnant, which had never occurred to Emma.

  “Sure enough, I was going to have a baby,” she told Nash. “Axel was born, and everything became a little brighter. I married Dieter because both our parents thought that would be a good idea. I never did receive my military diploma.”

  “More hot water for ya teas?” the spectacled waitress asked. Emma and Nash accepted her offer and sat in silence until she moved on.

  “We rented a small flat near my parents in northern London during Axel’s first year. Dieter was finishing his master’s degree and visited regularly from Cambridge. After he graduated, things changed, for the worse. We argued constantly. He traveled once a month to Germany—to see his parents, he said. He began insisting that war was about to break out and he wanted to be on the right side of it, in Germany. But I said I didn’t want to leave my parents, or support Germany, let alone live there,” Emma explained, looking down. “By then, whenever things became heated he would beat me. As a dutiful wife, I didn’t defend myself or strike back.”

  Then her world fell apart.

  “My parents . . . died when a truck hit their small car at full speed during a trip to the south coast. My father, who rarely drank, had been dipping into the rum beforehand, according to the police. He didn’t see the poultry van coming as he moved through a rural intersection.”

  “Emma, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible,” Nash said.

  “Dieter became even more distant and violent with me. He spent more and more time in Germany, formally joining the Nazis as a political adviser, and continued to insist that we had to move, since my parents were no longer alive and his were. He rarely picked up or touched Axel anymore.”

  “How old was Axel?”

  “In 1939, my little blond boy was three,” she said, tears in her eyes. “And that’s when I last saw him.”

  “What happened?” Nash asked, his face reddening with anger.

  “I hadn’t seen Dieter in months. It was August 30th.” Nash bristled at the date. “He arrived at our flat late that night, with flowers and wine, apologizing for his long absence and all his mistakes. I’d always hoped for Axel’s sake that Dieter would mature and grow into a better father. This night might be the start of something new, I thought. And it was. But not in the way I expected.” Emma grew quieter as she spoke, scanning the tearoom to make sure no one apart from Nash could hear her.

  She looked at Nash and couldn’t believe she was telling him so much. For his part, he felt sick to his stomach as he listened. He wanted to reach out and hold her and tell her things would be all right, but she wasn’t inviting that, and he hadn’t heard the end of her story.

  Emma described how she and Dieter had kissed in their small kitchen and soon moved into the bedroom. She’d undressed and slipped into bed while he turned off the lights and went into the bathroom. When he came out again, he leaned over the bed in the dark and hit her with a heavy blunt object, possibly the base of a lamp.

  “When I came to, I found myself tied to the bed,” she said. “Dieter assaulted me repeatedly as I begged forgiveness for whatever I had done wrong. I moved in and out of consciousness, refusing to scream because I didn’t want Axel to hear and come into the room.”

  She glanced up at one point and thought that she was seeing things.

  “There Axel was, across the room, watching from his high chair,” Emma said. “A bag sat at his side—full of clothes and toys. He was staring at me, eating his biscuits, confused and upset, but not crying, because I refused to cry out or scare him. I didn’t want him to know what was happening. So—and this is difficult to explain—I laughed and I laughed and I laughed as Axel watched. After a while, I blacked out. And, when I awoke, the only person I lived for was gone.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Nash said, barely able to breathe or speak. But she wasn’t finished.

  “When I regained consciousness the following day, I couldn’t find a trace of Dieter or Axel. I went to the train station. No one had seen or heard anything. Dieter had taken my wallet, so I had no money. I went to the bank, ready to take out whatever was needed to track down my son. But I was too late. Dieter had already emptied our family’s bank account, including all the savings my parents had left me.”

  Emma fell silent.

  “And of course war broke out the next day, when Hitler took Poland on September 1st,” Nash added. “You could no longer follow your
husband into Germany to get your son back.”

  She nodded slowly. Once she could actually think and look after herself again after Axel’s abduction, Emma said, she took the nursing job at the castle as a short-term fix to pay the bills and debts she owed Alina and some of her friends who’d cared for her when she’d been unable to care for herself.

  Her hopes rose when Maria decided to stay in Berlin in 1942. She and Alina believed that if anyone could track down Dieter and Axel it was Maria, but every lead went cold.

  Two more years went by without any word, each year getting harder, not easier, because Axel was growing older without her.

  “I keep hoping the war will end, and I’ll get my Axel back, but it has dragged on and on. To this day, every time I hear about any successful Allied attacks on Germany, part of me is thrilled, but another, larger part wants to die because I’m so worried about my son, whether he’s managed to survive the war—and his father.”

  The waitress was back. “Just the bill, please,” Nash said. The woman scribbled some numbers on her pad, ripped off a page, and dropped it at the corner of their table, hurrying away when the silence caused by her interruption grew strained.

  “And then you arrived and my life changed,” Emma said, touching his cheek. “You’d negotiated the safe return of a stolen boy without bloodshed. You knew things I desperately needed to learn.” She looked at Nash, her eyes reflecting renewed determination, and thankfulness. “Everything you’ve taught me has given me hope again, that I can do something. I want my son back. I want my money back. And I want Dieter jailed. I haven’t shared any of this with you until now because it’s so painful, and so personal. I still feel such guilt for not protecting my son when, for God’s sake, I was trained to fight.”

  “Please, Emma,” Nash said. “Take it from me, you did what you could in the circumstances. We can only do our best to defend ourselves. There are times when our adversaries are so focused and devious, as your husband was, that, in truth, survival alone is how you have to judge success. And you survived.”