O Shepherd, Speak!

by Upton Sinclair

  They were put under arrest—the head physicist in jail, so that he would have no chance to agree upon a story with the others. The Alsos men set out for Strasbourg, full of anticipation, hoping to find clues that would tell them what German science had achieved in one remote and difficult field. Prior to the past five years the nuclear men of all lands had been a tight little group of abstruse thinkers, exchanging reports, meeting in small conventions, having what amounted to a secret code which nobody else could understand. Now there would be a new sort of convention, in which four Germans would do the talking and as many Americans the listening.

  Professor Goudsmit, head physicist of Alsos, invited the son of Budd-Erling to go along, and nothing could have pleased Lanny more. The party was flown to Strasbourg in very bad weather—no other sort was available; the operations at the front were semi-amphibious, there being so many swollen rivers and flooded fields to cross. The plane was a bucket-seat job, and you were strapped to a ring in the wall. Fortunately the flight took only a couple of hours, and they were set down safely at an airport with an inch or two of water on its surface. The Germans were just across the river; the great bridge had not been blown up, but was constantly being shelled, and now and then there were hit-and-run air raids—it was the fighting front.

  The ancient city of Strasbourg was marked with a red circle on Lanny Budd’s mental map, for at this bridge, eleven years ago, the Nazis had turned over to him the broken body of his boyhood friend Freddi Robin. It was in the Hôtel de la Ville-de-Paris that he had sat by the bedside of this young Socialist, weeping for man’s cruelty to man, and preparing himself mentally for the role of secret agent against the Nazi beasts. Now the secrecy was over, and here was this swarming brown-clad Army, all over the airport and the city, disciplined, trained, and on its toes to get at the foe.

  Lanny knew this part of the Force, the Seventh, for he had ridden with it all the way from St. Raphael on the Riviera by way of Grenoble to Lyon and beyond: a delightful trip along the foothills of the Alpes Basses et Hautes, interviewing German prisoners on the way and making reports on what he had been able to get out of them. It had been a combination of war and picnic, always in sound of the guns yet out of range; a sweet sort of revenge, satisfying yet amiable, for he never carried out any of the dire threats which he made to the enemy, and wouldn’t have been permitted to do it even if he had wished to. Poor devils, they knew only what they had been taught—and what a new set of lessons they were learning! First the superiority of American arms, and then the superiority of American food, strangely known as “K-rations”!

  VI

  Now the presidential agent sat and listened while the American specialists questioned their German colleagues. Some of them had met in earlier days, and then they had been friends; now they were enemies—or were they? You could never be sure how any interview would turn out; some would be cautious and sly, while others would take the position that there had never been any war so far as scientists were concerned and that knowledge was free as it had always been. German scientists had received orders and had had to obey them, and surely nobody could hold them responsible for what use was made of their discoveries! That was up to the government.

  The tactics of Alsos were to assent to all this and be friendly and casual. No German was to know that they were seeking knowledge of nuclear fission; the Alsos men were just ordinary scientists, interested in all new ideas and discoveries. The Germans were questioned closely but apparently didn’t have much to tell, except the names of their colleagues who had fled: Weizsäcker, a leading theoretical physicist, and Haagen, who was a virus specialist, believed to be preparing dreadful diseases to be turned loose behind the American armies.

  The invaders confiscated all the papers in the laboratory, and in Weizsäcker’s office at the University. All night they sat studying these, by the light of candles and one compressed gas lamp. Planes flew overhead, and bombs and shells exploded; American mortars roared near by, but the scientists paid no heed, for they had come upon an alarming discovery, an envelope with the imprint: “The Representative of the Reichsmarshall for Nuclear Physics.” The implications of this were obvious: a Reichsmarshall is the highest rank in the German military system, and if they had one of these in charge of nuclear physics they must have a colossal establishment, possibly even greater than that of the Americans; they might be producing bombs wholesale!

  The son of Budd-Erling pointed out the obscurity in this title; it might just as well mean the Reichsmarshall’s Representative for Nuclear Physics, which would mean one of Göring’s assistants, and he might be a person of less importance than, for example, the Reichsmarshall’s Representative for Stag Hunting. The American scientists drew an audible breath of relief.

  They found still greater comfort before this night and early morning had passed, for in the Weizsäcker papers they got the information they were seeking. This Herr Professor Carl Friedrich Freiherr von Weizsäcker was an important person, and not merely in the field of physics; he was a Prussian aristocrat, son of a diplomat who had been Hitler’s Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs. The son considered himself a privileged character, and perhaps that was why he had carried on elaborate correspondence with other German physicists concerning their most secret work. It took no skill in divination to know that “Lieber Walter” was Professor Gerlach and that “Lieber Werner” was Professor Heisenberg. Evidently it had never occurred to “Lieber Carl Friedrich” that American physicists might get to Strasbourg, and in his hurry to get out he must have forgotten these papers.

  There was another professor, named Fleischmann, who had been even more indiscreet. He was a gossipy person who liked to record interesting events and personalities. He dated everything, which was a great help. He put down names and addresses of the leading physicists of Germany, and even the telephone numbers of secret laboratories. The Americans would have liked to call them up—if the Germans hadn’t cut the lines across the river. Professor Fleischmann wrote in shorthand part of the time, but one of the Americans knew the Gabelsberger system, so that was easy. Sometimes he wrote formulas, and if they were wrong, this gave the Americans satisfaction and made up for the strain of reading by candlelight.

  Here was the story of what the Germans had done with the Kern, as they call the nucleus. They knew a tremendous lot about it, but surely didn’t know how to turn it into an explosive. They didn’t even know what plutonium was—at any rate, their top men never mentioned it. They thought that a uranium pile in chain reaction would be a bomb! How they expected to transport that enormously heavy mass of metal and heavy water through the air they did not discuss, nor how they were going to keep the bomb from blowing up the laboratory. Now and then they mentioned the American efforts with a patronizing word; their certainty of their own superiority was most comforting to Alsos.

  “This settles it,” said Professor Goudsmit. “They haven’t got the bomb, and won’t have it in this war.”

  “Then perhaps we won’t have to use it either,” remarked one of the younger scientists wistfully.

  Lanny permitted himself an indiscreet reply. “Don’t fool yourself. If we get it we will surely use it.”

  The scientists looked unhappy. They were full of dread at the idea of what they were doing, creating this awful weapon and entrusting it to politicians and military men. They were making for themselves the same excuse the Germans all made.

  VII

  The party went back to Paris by motorcar, taking the captives along. One of them rode by Lanny’s side, and they chatted agreeably—speaking English, because the German was proud of his fluency. They talked about places they had visited, in America as well as on the Continent. They became friendly, and the German made it clear that he was willing to give Lanny’s country the benefit of his rare and special knowledge. Lanny was politely sure that his country would treat its scientific guests with all courtesy, and he was careful to give no hint of his belief that America was at least a decade ahead of Germany in nu
clear research. Cautiously he ventured to suggest that the Fatherland had injured its cause by the exiling of able Jewish scientists. The German agreed and revealed in confidence that the greatest theoretical physicist in the world—so he called Werner Heisenberg—had ventured to approach no less a person than Reichsminister Himmler on the subject of the ban against the teaching of the Einstein theory of relativity in German universities. Lanny might have made quite a sensation by remarking, “I too have had the honor of meeting Reichsminister Himmler.” But he didn’t.

  Back at the Crillon, Lanny’s first duty was to prepare a brief report for his Boss. Roosevelt would get one through the Army, of course, but he would be more interested in the statement of a man whom he knew and trusted. The P.A. had brought along his well-worn little portable, a priceless possession in wartime, and he pecked away diligently on it; he permitted himself to go into some detail, for this was, quite literally, the most important subject in the whole world to the President of the United States. It was by his fiat that the atomic bomb was coming into existence, and it would be by his fiat that it would be used. He would name the time and the place, and would carry the responsibility for the tens or hundreds of thousands of lives it might take.

  Lanny Budd didn’t actually know that there was going to be this dreadful weapon of war. He knew only that a large share of his country’s resources had been mobilized in the effort to create it, spurred by the fear that the Nazis might get it first. He knew that Albert Einstein had written to Roosevelt, pointing out how new discoveries in nuclear physics had made the project a possibility; and this seemed like a bit of irony or Providence or fate, for Einstein was one of those Jewish scientists who had been forced to flee from the Nazis. What the Nazis had lost the Americans had gained.

  At present the P.A. knew only a little about the success his own country was having. Two years ago F.D.R. had entrusted him with the secret that the first chain reaction had been achieved, and later on Lanny’s friend Professor Alston had whispered that an enormous atom-splitting project was under way. That was enough, and Lanny had never asked questions. But in the last few months he had gathered a hint here and there from the Alsos people and had realized that the bomb might soon be a reality. Professor Goudsmit, Jewish physicist born in Holland, was a top man, co-discoverer of the so-called “spin of the electron.” He undoubtedly knew everything, but his younger assistants didn’t. They guarded every word, and the soldiers who protected them had no idea what they were looking for; on the first night in Strasbourg the soldiers had sat in the room, playing cards by candlelight, while the scientists were ferreting out secrets which might determine the fate of the American Army, and indeed of civilization for centuries to come.

  The ethics of this fearful new weapon Lanny had discussed with Einstein and his assistant, with Alston, and briefly with F.D.R. The country was at war, and this war was not of American making. Not only had Japan attacked America, but Germany had at once declared war on America, a fact which some Americans overlooked in their thinking. It was Japanese and German lives against American lives, and who could measure the value of enemy lives against our own? There could be no comparison; the President would not be justified in sacrificing a single American life in order to spare ten thousand enemy lives. As for the question of bombing civilians, the Nazi-Fascists had set the pattern; they had been the first to bomb—Guernica, Barcelona, Valencia, Madrid; then Warsaw, London, Rotterdam. The Japanese had killed many civilians at Pearl Harbor; and having made the bed, they must lie in it.

  But what about the future? Who else would follow this pattern, who else would lie in this bed? Knowledge of nuclear physics being general throughout the scientific world, it would be impossible to keep the secret of the bomb very long. Who else would have the handling of it, who else would have the say as to where it might be used? This was the question which tormented the soul of every scientist who shared the awful knowledge.

  Shakespeare had said that it was excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it was tyrannous to use it like a giant. Who could guess what tyrannous men might arise in the future world, and what use they might make of the power to destroy whole cities, even whole countries? For no physicist could guess what might be the total consequences of a chain reaction. Suppose that it were to start a fission of light atoms: the whole earth might dissolve into alpha and beta and gamma particles in a fraction of a second. That would make a minor event in the history of a universe in which colossal suns exploded now and then, their light reaching the telescopes of the astronomers some millions of years after the event. Had there been nuclear scientists somewhere in these galactic systems, and had they invented atomic bombs for the overcoming of their own kind of enemies?

  VIII

  Laurel’s next letter contained a copy of Emily Chattersworth’s will, and Lanny studied it carefully and made sure that the bequest was a reality. In order to avoid inheritance taxes, a “charitable trust” had been established, the American Peace Foundation, with Lanny as the sole trustee. Emily had had two nieces, whom Lanny had met long ago, with the knowledge that either of them was “eligible.” Now the aunt had left money to each, and to a list of pensioners and old servants; she had added the proviso that if anyone should attempt to contest the will, that person would forfeit his or her claim. It was a carefully drawn document, and Lanny could recognize the well-trained mind and pen of old Mr. Satterlee, international lawyer, who had made his home in a villa near Sept Chênes; he had come, bringing his white whiskers and his black leather briefcase, to advise a wealthy widow about her affairs. Mr. Satterlee wouldn’t know how to end war in the world and would doubtless consider it a fantastic idea, but he would know how to draw a will so that it would be valid in both Paris and New York.

  Once more it became difficult for the son of Budd-Erling to keep his mind upon objets d’art and scientific secrets. He had seen a great deal of war, and he disliked it. To know how to end the evil you must know what caused it; and on this you might get a different opinion from every authority you consulted. Modern greeds and ancient prejudices; competition for markets and raw materials; notions of racial superiority; national jealousies, hereditary fears, professional ambitions, religious fanaticism, population pressures—you might accumulate a long list, and each item would have something to do with your problem, adding to its complexity and your own confusion of mind.

  Lanny would think of the friends he had, a host of them, and would interview each in his imagination; he knew pretty well what advice they would give. His friend Rick would tell him that it was capitalism, and so would Lanny’s half-sister, Bessie Budd Robin; but when they got to discussing the remedy, a war would start right there. Rick was a parliamentary Socialist, while Bess was a party Communist, and before they got through the woman would be calling the man “a Social Fascist” and the man would be calling the woman “a fundamentally reactionary Red imperialist.”

  Lanny, who really wanted peace in the world and had learned to get along with all sorts of people, suffered in these controversies because he understood so many different points of view and saw so much truth in all of them. He had told himself that the one set of ideas in which there was no good whatever was Nazi-Fascism, and therefore it was necessary to finish this war before you tried to think about anything else. But now he had begun to worry about this too; for he had seen the armies go through North Africa and Italy and leave behind them in both countries an administration that had very little understanding of fundamental democracy and proceeded to put affairs back into the hands of big businessmen, big landlords, and big priestly hierarchs. Names were changed, but realities remained the same. “Get on with the war,” the brass would say, and then go to dine and dance in the homes of the local aristocracy.

  The presidential agent was pinning his hopes upon the man in the White House. F.D.R. kept telling him to take it easy, that everything was going to work out in the end; the people of North Africa, of Italy, of France, would be given a chance to say what they want
ed, and there would be democratic decisions. But Lanny was growing more and more uncomfortable every time he returned to Europe, for he knew that the time to shape iron is while it is hot, and that when it has grown cold it may be steel-hard. The Army didn’t know who its true friends were; it considered Socialists to be crackpots, just as they were called in America, and the people who knew how to get things done were the powerful ones at the top—the same who had hired the Nazi-Fascist gangsters to put down labor and keep political control in the hands of the well-born and well-to-do. F.D.R. himself understood this quite clearly; but how many in his administration understood it, and how many in Congress—and how many in AMG—the American Military Government that was being set up in so many strange parts of the world?

  2

  Chaos Comes Again

  I

  The winter battle was continuing, and Alsos had to wait until some other town with a university or a physics laboratory had fallen to Allied arms. Monuments also was waiting—since it was hardly to be assumed that the enemy would leave valuable works of art close to the fighting zone. Lanny was tempted, and yielded; a colonel in uniform, all he had to do was to go to Orly or Le Bourget, stroll among the parked planes, and ask, “Anybody going south?” They would point out a plane, and he would ask the pilot, “Can you make room for a passenger?” The pilot would reply, “If you don’t mind being uncomfortable, sir.”