Goering

by Roger Manvell

  All seemed set for negotiations to start. Dahlerus, in spite of his excitement, was at last able to get some sleep. The following day, August 29, he went to Goering’s office, where “Goering dashed up to me, pressed my hand, and said excitedly: ‘We’ll have peace. Peace has been assured.’ ”

  Dahlerus went straight to the British embassy; there he met Henderson for the first time and found him deeply skeptical, even about Goering, who, he said, was slightly different from the other Nazi leaders but was frequently guilty of lying when it suited him to do so. Nevertheless, they agreed that Goering was a far easier man to deal with than the rest. Henderson, who looked tired, said how much he dreaded meeting Hitler that evening to receive the German reply to Britain’s formal communication.

  That night Dahlerus learned how badly the meeting had gone. Hitler had inserted a new demand as the next stage in his plan to make any negotiations with Poland abortive, while at the same time putting Britain as far as possible in a position where she would be unwilling to use force. Evidently the influence of Ribbentrop was again replacing that of Goering. The demand was for Britain to see that a Polish representative would be in Berlin the following day, August 30, to negotiate on behalf of his government. Henderson had protested violently at this ultimatum, as he called it.

  While Forbes of the British embassy was telling Dahlerus this disastrous piece of news, Goering himself telephoned, “exceedingly nervous and upset,” and asked Dahlerus to visit him at once. Dahlerus found him not only nervous but angry. Goering put the blame squarely on Henderson and fiercely underlined with his red pencil the points in the German note that he considered specially significant. He talked now like Hitler, against Britain, against Poland, near whose borders the German Army was massing. “Sixty German divisions—about one million men—are there waiting, but we all hope nothing will happen. The Poles are mad . . .” Only the hope of an agreement with Britain was preventing Hitler from marching in to stop the atrocities the Poles were at that moment practicing against the German minorities. Hitler was working on a plan to present to the Poles. Again Goering tore a page from an atlas and marked off the territories it would suit Germany to acquire. He begged Dahlerus to return to London in a special German plane; he then thanked him for what he had done, in case they never met again, hinting that there were certain people who were determined to prevent Dahlerus from “getting out of this alive.” By “certain people” he meant Ribbentrop. At five o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, August 30, the indefatigable Swede left by air for London, where elaborate precautions were taken to shield him from publicity.

  In Downing Street the atmosphere still remained one of skepticism of Hitler’s and Goering’s intentions. Britain would not encourage Poland to send any representative to Berlin; negotiations should take place on neutral territory. Dahlerus telephoned Goering with this suggestion, but Goering turned it down flat. “Nonsense,” he said. “The negotiations must take place in Berlin, where Hitler has his headquarters.” Dahlerus flew back to Berlin with further assurances from Britain that they still wanted Hitler to negotiate. Still sleepless, he left Berlin shortly after midnight on the morning of Thursday, August 31, to meet Goering on his train —just, in fact, as Henderson was leaving a stormy interview with Ribbentrop following the British answer to Hitler’s “ultimatum.” Ribbentrop had in the most insolent manner read Henderson the text of Hitler’s terms to Poland in such a way that he could not grasp them, and had then refused to give him a copy for study, declaring that it was too late in any case, since it was past midnight and the Poles had failed to send their representative within the time limit that had been set by Hitler. When Goering boasted to Dahlerus about the generosity of Hitler’s terms, a copy of which he had with him, Dahlerus asked permission to telephone the embassy. When he found out what had happened, he begged Goering to intervene and see at least that the ambassador received a copy of the terms. Goering paced about nervously, then said suddenly, “I’ll do it. I’ll take the responsibility! You can telephone him.” While Dahlerus dictated the terms to Forbes at the embassy, Goering kept hurrying him, anxious for the call to be over, because, it seemed, of his fear of Ribbentrop. Goering then persuaded his visitor to spend the rest of the night on the train.

  On August 31, Weizsaecker, Ribbentrop’s deputy and the moderate man on the Foreign Ministry staff, felt the situation to be so dangerous that he begged Hassell to intercede and warn Goering about Ribbentrop’s intolerable attitude in recklessly encouraging Hitler to make war. “Carinhall will go up in flames,” was in his view the best way to put it to Goering. Hassell, was able to speak to Goering on the telephone through the help of the latter’s sister, Olga Rigele, who was a friend; Goering maintained that the Poles must send a negotiator at once and told him to impress on Henderson the absolute necessity for this. Hassell was left with the impression that Goering genuinely wanted peace, and Olga Rigele told him with tears in her eyes how Goering had embraced her and said, “Now, you see, everybody is for war. Only I, the soldier and field marshal, am not.” But Goering had kept himself apart, at his “battle station” at Oranienburg, though he returned to Berlin later that day.32

  By ten o’clock on the morning of August 31, Dahlerus was back in the British embassy, and Forbes took him to meet Polish Ambassador Lipski, with whom Henderson had been in constant touch since the small hours of the night. They found Lipski too distraught even to study Hitler’s proposals, so Dahlerus dictated them to a secretary and left. Meanwhile Lipski had told Forbes that if there were war between Germany and Poland the Germans would rise against Hitler and the Polish Army would march into Berlin. Shortly after midday Hitler issued the final order to his commanders in chief for the invasion of Poland to start at dawn on September 1. The directive included the words, “It is important that the responsibility for the opening of hostilities should rest squarely on England and France.”

  At one o’clock Dahlerus was back with Goering, whom he found instructing his secretary about the disposal of the art treasures in his Berlin palace in the event of war. An adjutant brought in a copy of an intercepted communication between Warsaw and Lipski, at the Polish embassy, which made Goering bound out of his chair and pace about in fury. It proved, he shouted, that the Poles had no intention of negotiating. He made a copy of this message in his own handwriting and gave it to Dahlerus for Henderson.33 After further raving, he proposed they should lunch together, and ended by inviting himself and his adjutant to eat at Dahlerus’ hotel in the public restaurant, which led to the maximum publicity. Dahlerus decided to give his self-invited guest the finest possible meal, which ended with a cognac that so appealed to Goering’s palate that he immediately ordered two bottles of it to be sent out to his car. Dahlerus, satisfied that Goering was mellow with food and drink, appealed to him to take over the negotiation with Henderson himself. Goering went off to get Hitler’s permission to discuss the matter with the ambassador. Hitler consented, provided a neutral person were present, and the result was a strange tea party at Goering’s residence, to which Henderson, Forbes and Dahlerus were invited. After rather elaborate civilities, the discussion began in vague terms, and it was agreed that Goering’s proposal for Anglo-German negotiations, with Britain representing Poland, should be investigated. At the same time Goering showed Henderson the intercepted message from Warsaw. He spoke of the horror of war; he would hate, he said, to bomb England. When Henderson replied that he might die as a result, Goering promised to fly over England himself and drop a wreath on his grave as a final act of friendship.34

  Henderson came away from this lengthy conversation convinced that Goering was prepared to give him so much time only because preparations for war were complete and there was nothing left for him to do but make a “forlorn effort” finally “to detach Britain from the Poles.” He was equally convinced that Goering did not want war, but Henderson remembered only too well what Goering had once said about Hitler: “When a decision has to be taken, none of us count more than the stones
on which we are standing. It is the Führer alone who decides.” He also hinted that a military pact was being negotiated with Russia.

  After a depressing evening and a little sleep, Dahlerus joined Goering on his train at eight o’clock on the morning of Friday, September 1. Goering seemed very depressed, and eventually he admitted that the German Army had crossed into Poland and that his Air Force was now destroying that of the Poles. Goering then abused both the Poles and the British, who had forced him to take this unnecessary action. Having said what Hitler wanted him to say, he agreed with Dahlerus that the war might be limited in its effect if Hitler were to permit him to meet the British representatives. He then left for the Kroll Opera House, where the Reichstag was assembled to hear the Führer give his own explanation of the failure of the negotiations on which he had pretended to place so much hope, after which Hitler proclaimed himself “the first soldier of the German Reich.” He also legitimized Goering as his rightful successor and so made legal and public the claim that Goering had been making for so many years in private.

  Goering arranged a final meeting between Dahlerus and Hitler, at which the Führer performed lunatic gesticulations in order to emphasize his ability to fight Britain. Even Goering turned his back on the spectacle, though as they went in he had spoken with pride of his new right of succession. When they returned together to Goering’s palace, Dahlerus noted that the works of art were still being packed off for safety. They met again that afternoon to discuss the same vain topic. By now Britain had delivered her conditions for not going to war with Germany. Goering was plainly caught up in the war fever, as if for him the die was finally cast. He presented Koerner and Gritzbach with swords of honor in Dahlerus’ presence and ordered them to fight with glory. That night Berlin was blacked out for the first time.

  Dahlerus, still persistent in hope, visited Goering on his train early on Saturday, September 2, and learned that Mussolini had offered to mediate. He carried the news at once to the British embassy and with the speed of Mercury dashed back and forth between the British and German centers, until he finally ended up by spending the whole afternoon lunching at the Esplanade with Goering, who had returned to Berlin and seemed, in spite of waging a war in the air against Poland, to have considerable time at his disposal. The British were demanding the withdrawal of German troops from Poland as the prerequisite for any further talk of negotiation, whether inspired by Mussolini or anyone else; this was followed by the firm ultimatum handed to Ribbentrop the following morning, Sunday, September 3. Dahlerus was told of the ultimatum by the embassy an hour before Ribbentrop, and he tore through the streets of Berlin in a German staff car to Goering’s train, which was stationed near Potsdam, to give him this final news. The drive out of Berlin took forty minutes.

  Goering seemed to know little of what was going on, to be “at sea,” as Dahlerus put it. He was utterly surprised by the British ultimatum, which expired at eleven o‘clock, and as he talked he seemed to be able only to lay the blame for the war and its extension on Britain. He telephoned Ribbentrop while Dahlerus was out of the room, and when they met again it was plain to Dahlerus that Ribbentrop had won the struggle for influence over Hitler. At this moment of supreme decision, Hitler made no approach himself to Goering, whom only a brief while before he had proclaimed the second man of Germany. Dahlerus, speaking from a telephone in a vestibule situated between the dining car and the kitchen, pushed his way through the blocked telephone system to the Foreign Office in London to implore the British government not to ask too much of Germany—a standstill, possibly, as distinct from a withdrawal. He then begged Goering to offer to fly to London and conduct negotiations himself on Hitler’s behalf, leaving before eleven o’clock although it was now already past ten. Goering rang Hitler.

  Again Hitler gave his consent. While Bodenschatz hastened off to make arrangements for a plane, Dahlerus wormed his way once more through telephone connections to the Foreign Office in London, only to be told that Goering’s visit could be considered only after Hitler had replied to Chamberlain’s ultimatum. By now only twenty-five minutes was left, and Goering was angry at this further example of what was, in his opinion, British intransigence. He asked Dahlerus to leave him and spoke again to Hitler. Then he came out, said nothing of how Hitler had responded, and sat in a chair under the beech trees. He looked hopeless and disappointed. The idea of a momentous visit to Britain had appealed to his imagination. Now, like the rest of the Germans, he had to sit and wait for the Second World War to begin. About half an hour later Koerner brought him the news that Britain had declared war. It was then, and only then, that he was summoned to the Chancellery.

  Dahlerus saw him once more, on the following day. Goering promised to conduct the war as humanely as possible and said Germany would initiate no hostilities against France and Britain. Meanwhile, war in Poland would take only a month, and her territories would then be divided between Germany and Russia. He only hoped the rapid defeat of Poland would compel Britain and France to have second thoughts about extending the war. Goering talked on and on, until Dahlerus grew fearful of missing his train. He was tired and all he wanted now was to return to Sweden.

  At the Chancellery the previous day Goering had turned to Schmidt, who had brought the British ultimatum to Hitler, and said, “If we lose the war, then God have mercy on us.”

  VII

  Blitzkrieg

  THE GERMAN INVASION of Poland was completed in three weeks. The Polish Air Force resisted bravely, but many of their machines were destroyed on the ground during the first two days of the war. By September 17, when the Russians moved in to occupy their share of Polish territory, the struggle was all but over. On October 5 Hitler rode in triumph in the streets of Warsaw.

  The strategy that had conquered Poland was new in warfare and was used with devastating suddenness and savagery—the combined operation of Brauchitsch’s fast-moving mechanized ground forces, commanded by Guderian, and Goering’s air arm, commanded by Richthofen.1 The Luftwaffe struck first, using the blitzkrieg method to destroy the Polish Air Force and annihilate the Army; when the Poles attempted to make a final resistance in Warsaw, the city was bombed by men who had been well rehearsed at Guernica. When the German blitz was over, movie cameras in aircraft flying low over the endless streets of roofless, gutted houses pried on the bones of Warsaw for The Baptism of Fire, Goering’s film of praise for the might of the Luftwaffe. Once more the Stukas dropped screaming from the sky to hurl their bombs into the smoking streets, and the handsome blond airmen grinned in the summer sun.

  The immediate success of this blitzkrieg confirmed both Hitler and Goering in their long-standing prejudice in favor of the bomber, a prejudice which was in the end to cost them the defeat of the Luftwaffe. The theory was that wars could be won cheaply and quickly from the air; the enemy’s defense could be broken or immobilized, and the fast-moving panzer divisions could move in and occupy relatively undefended territories in a matter of days. The quick and bloodless occupations of Austria and Czechoslovakia could be followed now by the equally swift, if bloody, conquest of large territories in Europe. “Leave it to my Luftwaffe,” became Goering’s favorite boast, and in a broadcast from a munitions factory on September 9 he threatened fearful retaliation if British or French planes attempted to bomb Germany. This might, he said, be a long war.

  The Luftwaffe was designed for short-range operations; the production of heavy, long-range bombers had been suspended as early as 1937. The emphasis from then onward was on the production of medium bombers, dive bombers (such as the Junkers 87) and fighters (such as the Messerschmitt 109); Germany did not develop a heavy bomber of the kind that was used later by the Allies and that she needed desperately when the range of the war front extended. Telford Taylor claims that the Luftwaffe “was shaped by aviators who were amateur soldiers, and soldiers who were amateur aviators.”2 The old high-spirited aces, such as Udet and Robert Ritter von Greim, found themselves serving alongside soldiers such as Generals A
lbert Kesselring and Hans Jeschonnek. In any case, the Luftwaffe was to be controlled as much by Goering’s personal vanity as it was by Germany’s war needs, and most of those to whom he gave authority came into conflict with him when the Luftwaffe began to face defeat. Nevertheless, the German Air Force was never designed to have the strategic independence from the Army that both the British and the Americans gave to their air forces. In addition to the friction that developed at Goering’s headquarters, there was friction also between Goering and the high commands of the other services, more especially at first between Goering and Raeder, Hitler’s energetic and far-seeing naval Commander-in-Chief.

  Goering’s Luftwaffe intelligence misinformed him about the capacity of the Royal Air Force. The experiment of using the Graf Zeppelin during May and August 1939 to test Britain’s radar defenses failed to give him the information he needed, and Major Schmid, his chief of intelligence, responded to his vanity by underestimating the strength of the R.A.F.’s fighters in the same year.