by Scott Palter
The Marine colonel knew he was stretching the limits of his authority. He didn’t care. It would work, and Washington could argue the details after the fact. Agreeing got him out of this career dead end. His new command would take the unit flag of 2nd Battalion, 6th Marines. The residual enclave guards could be 4th Battalion or Provisional Battalion. For all he cared, his successor could call them the Danzig Guards. He was going to be a China Marine and lead troops in combat.
2200 Hours Gibraltar time and CET
30 September 1930
RAF HQ, Gibraltar
The day’s French air raids had been mostly ineffectual, but there was still smoke over the harbor when the flying boat landed at dusk. The French were apparently seriously annoyed. General Arthur Harris could sympathize. So was he.
That twit Dowding had disbanded Bomber Command, and the War Cabinet had backed him. Slackers, all of them! The proper answer to the London fire raid was to come back at Berlin or at least the Ruhr. You keep pounding to victory. The Empire was richer and could afford the strain longer. Sad about that silly French art museum, but omelets and eggs …
He, perhaps the leading bomber-man left in the RAF after Portal was sacked, had now been sent into exile himself. His former residence in Rhodesia had led to the halfbrights now running RAF posting him as GOC RAF Kenya. There were under fifty planes in all of East Africa, none of them modern. He was lucky they hadn’t sent him to China, where there was essentially nothing. There had been promises of reinforcements. Harris would believe it when he saw it. The bombers made redundant by this truce would go to West Africa. It was closer and this balls-up Montgomery, whoever he was, had caused some disaster that had London’s grandees fixated. They had lost an entire colony, Gambia. Harris doubted half of them had heard of Gambia before the French seized it, and was equally sure none could find it on a map without help. God save poor England from this gang of fools and shop stewards.
1000 hours CET
1 October 1940
Ministère de la Défense Nationale (Ministry of Defense), Vichy
Since July the various hotels of the spa town of Vichy had been the home of the French government. One of these hotels was the home of the Ministry of Defense, and so the home of General Georges Blanchard, the State Secretary of War. The last few months had been a whirlwind of change. The Fall of France, the death of Hitler and the rise of Göring … or was it Heydrich. Vichy was divided on who ruled Germany. What was obvious was that Reichsführer Heydrich was the only one paying attention to France.
For himself, command in the disaster of the Low Countries and North Eastern France earlier this year, and then retirement. Then life took another turn as a French-German history group had been formed to write a history of the 1940 campaign. Many had been dubious of the effort, but the Germans had provided access to their own records in turn. Several sessions had been held where German and French commanders had been interviewed, and the reports compared. The process was still ongoing; the work could go on for years. One of the results of those meetings was this converted hotel room, and his occupation of it instead of General Huntziger. The former State Secretary of War had come off very poorly in the campaign review, while his own reputation was rehabilitated. Huntziger’s ineptitude at Sedan could no longer be hidden by friends in the higher circles of the French Army. Huntziger was now in South East Asia as colonial official in one of the more mountainous regions of poor, landlocked Laos. All thanks to the mystery man in the black and silver of the SS, Heydrich. The history group had been his creation, one of several creations and projects.
Reports from Berlin made clear that all acknowledged Göring as Führer, but nearly all ministerial orders came by way of Heydrich. Perhaps it was best to think of Heydrich as a modern-day Richelieu, an able, ruthless but loyal minister. Richelieu the Red Eminence versus Heydrich the Black Excellency. One such ministerial missive was now on his desk. As part of what was being termed the Europa Project, the Germans desired a French army in the east to keep watch against the Soviets. General Corap and his Ninth Army has been resurrected as a beginning of this program. Besides the request, the Germans were offering help with modernizing the French Army.
Blanchard looked out the window of his suite on to the streets of Vichy. It was France, but it wasn’t where he belonged, it wasn’t where the French government belonged. It wasn’t Paris. For now, France was prostrate ... but things could change. The missive was the latest sign from Berlin of a desire for closer ties with France; perhaps what they said of a cooperation might actually be true. Still, Blanchard was under no illusions; Germany would be on top. But there was no need to allow Italy to maintain its current place as number two. Indeed, French troops now garrisoned the Louvre, Versailles, and two arrondissements in Paris, as well as the buildings that housed a ministry. The French flag flew from the Eiffel Tower. Bordeaux was again a French city, with their German overlords departed.
A quick memo was drafted for the Marshal to review and no doubt approve. Blanchard chuckled to himself. More likely the approval would be by Petain’s staff. The old man was the symbol of the New France, but at his age did less and less of the work. Rumor had it that he opposed the rapprochement with Germany, but had been overruled by Weygand and Darlan for the key military services. Thank God there were a few realists left. France would accept the German offer of help to reform the French Army. Besides, what choice did they or France have? The British were by now France’s enemy, stealing her Empire. Month by month, America’s backing of the British was made more evident. France’s only road to its rightful place was via this new European Community.
0900 hours Eastern Daylight Time, 1500 hours CET
1 October 1940
Oval Office, White House, Washington DC
FDR had a problem. He hated to be forced to decisions he didn’t like. His entire style of management was very loose, broad comments by himself, while pitting subordinates against each other. These strategies had cost him his near-to-irreplaceable political tactician, former Postmaster General Farley. That had devolved those responsibilities onto his truly irreplaceable alter ego, Harry Hopkins. Now Dear Harry was telling him unpalatable truths and refusing to be put off by grand, flowery effusions of sentiment.
“Franklin, you are on track to lose this election.” Hopkins’ normal style was not this confrontational, but the situation was that dire. “Do you really want Willkie as President?”
Of course Franklin didn’t want to lose. He also did not want to make the decision he was being pushed into. He was the prime mover. Others didn’t manipulate him. “Harry, I’ve overworked you. I’ll get you help. It’s not that bad. I’m still loved by most Americans. We saved them in 1933, and they know it.”
With barely more than a month to go until the election, there just wasn’t time for Franklin’s usual games and moods. “Then you want to lose. I’ve got a road to a chance at victory. If you think you can skate through on charisma, I’ll always back you; but I won’t keep working myself to death. We can say I have taken leave for health reasons. I’ll check into a hospital and sit out the campaign. Your way won’t work. Not after the Roosevelt Depression two years ago. Not after Dear Guru. We need the city machines going all-out for you. That means Morgenthau goes at Treasury. No more civic crusade prosecutions like he did to Pendergast in Kansas City. That means you don’t find another high-minded fool like Wallace for VP. I need Truman – ”
“That clown? He was Pendergast’s puppet Senator. He barely won the primary for reelection in a three-way race – ”
“He’s personally honest, and I can prove it to the press. Same way you do business with the machines but don’t take a dime. He’s down-the-line New Deal, even if the college-boy lefties will look down on him as a hick. The big part is that he was Pendergast’s man. He knows how to get down and dirty on patronage and construction contracts. He’s your proof of good faith to the bosses. You tell me – why on Earth should Frank Hague and the rest of the Jersey bosses go all out fo
r you, just so Morgenthau can send them to prison?”
“Henry Morgenthau is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
“Yes. He is. And he had your approval to prosecute Pendergast. Now do you want to be a loyal friend, or President? Make Morgenthau ambassador to Britain. He can view it as a step up if you spend some of your bottomless charm telling him that expedient lie. He’s no bureaucrat. We’ll take a hit from the Chicago Trib. They’ll see it as proof you’ll declare war after the election. Their readers won’t vote for you anyway. You’ve even lost the soft Isolationists. Midwest is a disaster. Truman can whistle-stop across the states we have a prayer of carrying outside Dixie. He was Over There in the last war. Artillery officer. Combat veteran. When he tells small-town people that you won’t send their boys to die in foreign wars, they might just believe him.”
The dispute took up most of the day. Roosevelt gave in the way he usually did. Grudgingly. Yet there was a part of him that was proud of Hopkins for standing up to the pounding.
1800 hours CET
1 October 1940
Prinz-Albrecht- Straße, Berlin
In theory it was just a social engagement with an old acquaintance. Admiral Canaris, head of Abwehr, requested his presence at a small reunion for coffee and biscuits. The nice Standartenführer who had delivered the invitation had been polite, but ever so uninformative as to who would be at the reunion. He had suggested civilian dress instead of uniform. The Mercedes limousine outside and the minder’s rank hinted at this being more than a social occasion, so Alistare-Smythe had dressed up for it, as if he were calling on a Cabinet Minister at Whitehall.
The guess had been good, but the reality was a trifle more exalted. His friend the admiral had invited his riding companion, the ex-junior naval officer Heydrich. The topic of discussion was the 1922 Committee. The Abwehr’s sources had tagged it as the key player behind the ascension of Bevin to the office of Prime Minister. Alistare-Smythe got to spend three hours educating one of the heads of Germany on British political practices. The final question took Alistare-Smythe up to the line of what he regarded as treason. Heydrich point-blank asked for names and proper forms of address, for the sending of letters direct from his office to the Committee via the Spanish Embassy in London. Alistare-Smythe made clear that he advised against this, but provided the needed names and which address would suffice.
2000 hours local; 1900 hours CET
1 October 1940
Finance administrative tent, Strauss Brigade HQ in rear of Italian lines, Alamein
The family team of Witt and sons was still settling into their new situation when they received two high-ranking visitors, Oberstleutnant’s Gregor and Ivan. The Witts found the casual use of first names within the officer corps of this Brigade strange. The Witts were adapting, attempting to fit in, but it seemed most strange, almost Bolshevik in its enforced lack of proper social distance.
The two Oberstleutnant’s wanted to discuss the setup of the paymaster section, something the Witts were as yet unprepared to actually accomplish. They were still awaiting their in-transit support staff. Gregor had prepped Ivan with what he felt was needed, but preferred the aristocratic ex-White officer do most of the talking. Gregor was still getting accustomed to this whole concept of himself as a field officer.
“Yes. We know nothing happens till your backup people arrive. What we want to do is make sure what you set up fits our needs. You see, we don’t want our men paid yet.” The Witts looked at Ivan most strangely. “Think it through. If you give them money, what on Earth will they do with it here except gamble and buy bootleg liquor? Both of those are major disciplinary problems.”
Gregor felt confident enough to insert himself now with the wisdom of Feldwebel’s. “You’ll also have theft issues, or at least claims of theft. The different companies came from different places and services. They have no reason to trust each other that way. There will be fights, then reprisals.” As an ex-Feldwebel he’d seen this pattern before.
The father did the talking. He felt he was threading his way through a minefield in the dark while partially blindfolded. “So we do what?”
Ivan was back to speaking for both. “Set up allotments for the family men. A lot of our guys have wives, kids, mothers waiting back in the Bari camp. Hell, you do. There’s got to be forms so your wife can draw a part of your monthly for her own expenses. For the rest we hold the money till we take Alexandria. A big city has places for troops to spend money. Cat houses, bars, restaurants, shops. Once we are settled in, you do a paycall for each company before they get their first leave tickets. The money will help them blow off steam before we march on Palestine. Then it’s the same procedure, until we take Haifa.”
Sort-of-Major Witt was curious. “How do you know it’s Palestine?” When he had served in the Great War all his unit had to go on were rumors, which were always wrong.
“We know. It’s common knowledge among us. Hell, the British probably know. Issue is what they can do about it.”
The three Witts of course agreed to everything. Mother and grandmother would need money more than they did. What a way to run a war. Troops who actually knew what they were doing. Also some fixed place where the family could be reunited. Maybe they had a chance at a real life again.
1000 hours CET
2 October 1940
Villa Recalcati, Varese, Italy
The audience was so quiet that other than the speaker’s voice, you could have heard a pin drop. The room was filled to capacity with 48 of the top people in the Italian military, the relevant ministries, and the major defense contractors. The speaker was an extremely angry Italo Balbo.
“Comrades, our Italy was nurtured by Il Duce for greatness. It was for a New Roman Empire that we broke the back of the Marxist chaos to create the virile Italy of today. Our victories in Ethiopia and Spain were only prequels to the true March of Italy’s Glory. We have taken Malta. Egypt is next. A new empire in Africa and the Near East will follow. Britain’s day has passed. Germany is in the ascent, and Il Duce far-sightedly linked us to that new hegemon.
“At my doing, Fascist Italy recognized that the future of war, of conquest, was military aviation. Yet for the great air assault on London, Italy’s contribution was minimal. Our glorious air forces could only field biplanes for this first European air armada. The prestige of the regime and dynasty, the destiny of the Italian people, need Italian-designed and -built aircraft at the forefront of the future battles to come in Africa and the Middle East. Failure is not an option. Prince Umberto and I demand new efforts worthy of the New Rome. Il Duce is watching us all, awaiting further proofs of the fruits of Italian genius.
“We must all share the pride of the designers of our gun trucks. The German general Rommel, the victor of the desert battle, sings the praises of this mighty and revolutionary Italian creation. We must have better models with a more powerful gun. We must produce enough so that the Germans and French will beg to carry Italian arms.
‘Great days lie ahead. Before the year is over, our boots shall march in triumph through the streets of Cairo where the great Italian Napoleon once rode. Egypt will be ours, as it was in the times of the Caesars. We live in glorious times. Italy demands that we here prove worthy of the trust the Party and nation have placed in you.”
The audience sat in rapt attention, each man thinking to himself of how he could avoid responsibility for the inevitable failures to measure up to this level of grandeur. Italy had brilliant designers – but the machinery to translate those designs into a sound industrial program wasn’t there. The new German-enforced cartels were beginning to make a dent in the entrenched administrative and industrial interests that operated as a block against ever getting anything done. Marshal Balbo did not seem to be in a mood to take excuses. Examples would be made ... and each man was determined that the poisoned chalice would pass to another.
1300 hours CET
2 October 1940
War Ministry, Berlin, Germany
&nb
sp; Relations between Minister Beck, administrative head of the Army, and Generaloberst Halder, its operational head, had been trending poorly for weeks; but today’s discussion was a new low point. Beck had chosen to make the charge ‘usurpation of command authority’ a line of battle he was prepared to stake his position on. He wanted it changed to murder, and simply refused to see another point of view. “Göring is already hopeless. Now you as well are toadying to that little shit Heydrich. What on Earth did we overthrow the Old Regime for? These gangsters do whatever they please, overturning law and established custom.” Beck was not as emotionally agitated as usual, but was even more dogmatically hostile to any view except his own.
“We recovered operational independence. We have been given a proper technocratic administrative structure for day-to-day governance. We are seeing the results every week, in more production of better weapons. We are moving towards clear, attainable strategic objectives. The production wasted on the Navy has mostly ended. The Air Force is firmly committed to an Army support role. National morale is high, thanks to both decent living standards and Führer Göring’s endless round of public events. The Gauleiters have been firmly put in their place. Yet all I hear from you is endless rants about Heydrich. Yes, he’s an unpleasant fellow. Yes, in our world a failed Leutnant discharged for immorality would never rise to such a position. He’s kept the Party and its militias under quite firm control. He didn’t let the atrocity go unpunished. Yet here you are, ranting about what charge the drunken sot of an SS was executed for. Two years ago you would have been outraged that the entire thing was hushed up.”