A country’s war effort will fail when its people decide to invest effort elsewhere. In wartime the citizen may choose to allocate effort to patriotic service of the country’s interest or to service of self-interest. In economic terms, the Soviet Union in 1942 was a dictatorship of the ‘stationary-bandit’ type. In this system, the dictator manages his assets through agents. Each agent will remain loyal to the dictator’s interests as long as that agent’s share in the dictator’s expected revenues from the assets he manages surpasses the anticipated value of the asset if the agent were to steal it. If and when the agent steals from the dictator, he becomes a ‘roving bandit’. This reduces the value to all agents of serving the dictator loyally and increases the incentive of other agents to rove too.
War production was a crucial factor in the Soviet war effort, but in 1942 its foundations were already crumbling. In fact, they started to crumble in 1941. Soviet factories could not operate without metals, machinery, power, and transportation. Their workers needed to be fed and clothed, and competed for the same means of subsistence as soldiers on the front line and farmers in the rear. As war production climbed, civilian infrastructure fell away. While Soviet factories turned out munitions, civilians were starving and freezing to death. The German success in the Caucasus and consequent capture of a large proportion of Russia’s oil production districts and refineries pushed the crisis of resources passed the point of recovery and made ‘roving banditry’ a pre-requisite for survival.
Once Baku and Grozny had fallen, the USSR was doomed by shortages of fuel and the attendant dislocation of communications and transport, the inability to sustain a war on two fronts down the immense distances of the Trans-Siberian Railway was critical in exacerbating the strain but the inevitable disintegration of the country into minor satrapies and their subsequent coalescing into larger post collapse economic units was a direct result of the loss of the fuel producing areas.
CHAPTER 18: MONDAY 9TH FEBRUARY 1942
Commander Mike Brevard, USN, watches the light gather on the eastern horizon, a sliver of blinding yellow sun breaking through the low clouds and touching the grey bulk of Table Mountain across the bay. He is standing on the bridge of the cruiser USS Wichita, moored by the inner mole at the Royal Navy’s Simonstown naval base. It is five o’clock in the morning and already he can feel the moist African heat beginning to build.
It is time to get the ship ready to depart. The smoke from Wichita’s funnel rises vertically in the still air as they begin to raise steam. They have been away for four months but are sailing today for their home port, Norfolk, Virginia; there is not a man on board who is not anxious to be off.
They leave Simonstown in the late morning, round the headland into the Atlantic and steer north-north-west, sailing past Cape Town and the long swathe of white beach to the north of the suburbs until the shoreline falls beneath the horizon and Wichita seems alone on the dark ocean. They are glad to leave the heat of the land behind them. The wind freshens from the north and the raucous gulls that have followed them out of the harbour turn back toward the shore.
They see the shadow of smoke on their starboard quarter in the middle of the afternoon. It is a British escort carrier. Both ships ‘dip’ the flags at their main mast in salute as is the common courtesy of the sea, Captain Richards steps out of the Chart House onto Wichita’s bridge, Brevard looks up from the message chit he is signing as he hears him say, “What is that?”
Brevard follows the direction in which the captain’s binoculars are pointing with his eyes. “That sir, is the British escort carrier HMS Activity.”
“Not the ship, commander. That thing on its flight deck.”
Brevard takes his own binoculars and focuses on Activity. He hesitates a moment, but he is fairly sure that he knows which aircraft the captain is referring to. “It’s a Fairey Swordfish, sir.”
“A what?” Brevard is about to repeat himself but Richards cuts him off.
“It looks like something out of the Great War.”
“They are phasing them out I believe, Sir. They’re used mostly for anti-submarine work now.” Richards lets the binoculars fall to his chest and stares at the aircraft with distaste.
“Ya know Brevard, if the Germans and the Japanese don’t start behaving themselves we could wind up allied to the British – and they’re using goddam’ biplanes?”
“Apparently they are quite effective anti-submarine airplanes, sir.”
Richards snorts contemptuously. “Would you want to go to war in a plane named ‘Fairy’ Brevard?”
Brevard is about to answer him but a noise from astern is beginning to drown out the sounds of the sea. It is a rhythmic thumping, an endless series of pulsating reports like a broken drum being beaten at a very fast time. They turn and see that it is an aircraft, but instead of wings it has two pylons jutting out of the sides of the fuselage and at the end of each pylon a huge upward pointing propeller thrashes the air. As it draws closer the noise becomes deafening. Like the Swordfish it is painted in greys and greens and wears British markings, the carrier has slowed to three or four knots and turned into the wind. Richards shouts above the din, “And what the hell is that?”
Brevard answers him, “An autogyro Sir…’
“I know it’s a goddam’ autogyro Brevard.”
“I’m sorry sir. Activity is being used as a trials ship I believe, but more than that I can’t tell you…”
The autogyro lands on the carrier, a graceless belly flop of a landing that compresses the oleos and shakes the machine’s entire frame but mercifully the noise begins to fade as its rotors slow. The captain shakes his head and goes below decks.
*
Two hours later, the wind has turned around and is now coming from astern of them, another shadow of smoke darkens the horizon directly ahead. The ship that is making it is travelling on a reciprocal course to their own; as it draws closer they see from her fittings that she was once a whaler. She is painted in the colours of Norddeutscher Lloyd and flies the flag of Nazi Germany.
Brevard is on the bridge, though it is not his watch when he hears one of the lookouts say, “Sir, I think you should take a look at this.”
“What is it?”
“They seem to be burying dead Sir but… I don’t know, I can’t quite make it out. It looks as if some of them are women and children.”
Brevard raises the binoculars and looks for himself. An involuntary exclamation escapes his lips. “What the hell?”
The crew of the ship are throwing corpses overboard, but you could not call what they are doing ‘burying the dead’. The bodies have not been prepared in any way. They have not even been wrapped in cloth, some of them are half naked. There is no care or respect in the way the crew of the ship are treating them, they are just slinging them without ceremony into the water. Boxes, suitcases and possessions are also thrown over the side to bob in the ship’s wake like flotsam. Quickly he takes in the rest of the ship, the nameplate; Sonderburg, the cranes and rig. He notes that she is flying the quarantine pennant and has not dipped her flag in salute.
The two vessels close at roughly twenty-five knots. They pass, port side to port side, about two cables distance from each other. As they pass, Brevard orders the helm to come about. The cruiser crosses the ex-whaler’s wake and begins to overhaul her. It is only now that they are downwind of the other ship that the smell reaches them across the water. It is a stench so vile that Brevard feels his throat contract involuntarily.
It is hard to describe, a co-mingling of the smells of death, disease, vomit, excrement and decay. Brevard says to the signalman, “Send – ‘Do you require assistance?’” The Wichita slows to around nine knots so as not to pass the other ship, they wait, Brevard reaches for the telephone that will connect him with the captain’s cabin but before he can lift the receiver he hears Richards behind him.
The captain scans the Sonderburg quickly. He says,
“Are you familiar with that smell, commander?”
“No Sir and I would be glad to be less familiar with it to be honest.”
“Commander, sound general quarters, prepare a boarding party and signal that ship to heave to and prepare to be boarded.”
Brevard looks at the captain sharply.
“Yes, sir. Sir – they’re flying the quarantine pennant, and Sir, may I ask what grounds we have for boarding them?”
“I don’t give a damn if they’re flying Adolf Hitler’s lederhosen Mr. Brevard, give my order.”
“Yes Sir.”
He gives the order. The klaxon howls as the ship comes to action stations, the signal lamp rattles in one corner of the bridge as the message is sent. They wait. The party on Sonderburg’s deck cease what they are doing and seem uncertain what to do next. The ship does not slow down or lower a ladder. Finally Sonderburg replies, “We are going about legitimate business. By what authority do you stop us?”
Captain Richards does not lower his binoculars, he barely waits a moment, then says, “Mr Brevard, have the forward five inch gun put a shot across their bows.”
Brevard is shocked, but he gives the order, he hears the crash of the gun, sees the waterspout leap up a mile beyond the Sonderburg. For a moment she continues and then they begin to overhaul her. Wichita slows too. They come to a dead stop and lower the boat which begins to cross the gap between the two ships. Again Sonderburg’s signal lamp begins to flash. “We do not consent to your search. Be advised there is cholera on board.”
Richards lowers his binoculars. “Commander, have our boat keep station but signal they are not to board until they receive my order. Send to the other ship, ‘What is your business in these waters?’”
Again they wait. The three vessels rise and fall on the ocean swell. The stench is worse than ever. At last the reply flashes out from Sonderburg’s bridge wing. “We are a passenger liner transporting Jews to Madagascar.”
Brevard looks over at Richards. He can see the anger in his eyes, his knuckles are white against the black coating of the barrels, but again the captain hesitates. He brings the binoculars back to his face and Brevard can almost feel the intensity with which Richards is scrutinising the other ship. Again he brings the glasses down. His eyes beneath his frown are diamond hard pinpricks that would bore a hole through the steel of the other ship if they could. He stands motionless for what seems an age. When finally he speaks his words are choked by an impotent rage. “Send to the other ship – ‘Your failure to show respect for the dead is offensive.’”
Again the signal lamp rattles, but Richards does not wait to see what the response will be, as he turns to leave the bridge he says, “Commander, recall the boarding party and get us out of here.”
*
That evening, as is his habit, Richards invites Brevard into his cabin where they discuss the ship’s business and the day’s events over a drink. The United States Navy is a ‘dry’ service, but the captain keeps a bottle of Tennessee whiskey in his desk. He pours two glasses and hands one to his executive officer. Never one for small talk he launches straight into the subject that is uppermost in his mind. “Will the British fight Brevard? What did you make of the officers you met in Simonstown?”
Brevard takes a sip of his drink before responding. “I’ll be honest with you, sir. Some of them seemed dispirited, their collapse in 1940 weighs on them. Most of them seem positive about their new Government and they are getting a lot of new equipment, some of it is quite innovative – as we saw this afternoon.”
“That contraption looked like some unholy cross between a bedstead and a couple of sycamore seeds. Perhaps they’re hoping the Germans will surrender because they’ll be laughing so hard. But the question is, do you think they have the stomach for another round?”
“I really couldn’t say sir. I’ve always been impressed by the professionalism of the British Navy men I’ve met. I think most of them would very much like to get back at the Germans. It’s their Government that is going to hesitate.”
“The Germans beat them pretty badly.”
“The Germans beat their army, not their navy My opinion is that the British won the battle in the air too, but they came to an agreement with Germany right after the Battle of Britain so the Germans got to claim it as their victory. That’s one for the historians to figure out.”
“Brevard I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t joking this afternoon. I think America is going to be at war with Germany within the next three years, perhaps Japan too, and if that’s the case we are going to need allies. The British are the only power left that aren’t in alliance with Germany. I know they made some sort of treaty in 1940, but will they be bound by it? I don’t know. I hope not, but I don’t know.”
There is silence for a few moments. Then Brevard says, “Captain, you asked me if I knew what that smell was? The smell from that German whaler – or whatever she was. What was it, what was that smell?”
Richards places his glass on the desk and looks at him evenly. “That’s the smell of a slave ship commander. It’s the smell of torment and fear, misery and despair. I’ve only smelled it once before, but it’s not the kind of thing you forget. I was an ensign on the Marblehead, maybe twenty years ago now. We were cruising in the Red Sea off Al Hudayah, it was a large dhow out of Aseb. We boarded her – they had no cargo – but the smell… that smell gets right into the fabric of a ship. Once it’s been used as a slaver a few times there’s no way to get rid of it.”
Brevard thinks for a moment. “Sir, do you think they did have cholera on board?”
“I doubt it, but I wasn’t prepared to take that risk. Or set off an international incident.” He reaches once more for the bottle. “Have some more whiskey Commander; it will help get the stench out of your nostrils. It won’t get it out of your mind though, it’ll take more than whiskey to do that.”
CHAPTER 19: NAZI GERMANY IN THE INTERBELLUM
“Germany now stands astride the prostrate body of Europe like some dark Colossus, brooding over its success and plotting the perpetration of yet further outrages.” Sir Archibald Sinclair, speaking in the House of Commons in January 1945 [77]
From ‘Germany After the War of 1940’ Piotr Yevseyev, writing in Morskoi Zhurnal, 1994 Volume 4
As 1942 drew to a close, the power of Nazi Germany appeared to have reached an unassailable apogee. Hitler’s domination of Europe stretched from the Ural Mountains to the Atlantic Ocean, but his ambition was not yet sated. Once again, one of the principal causes of German aggression was the Nazi’s ongoing mismanagement of the German economy and the strain of the vast projects undertaken, such as the rebuilding of Berlin and the enlargement of the Kreigsmarine.
Yet despite the general climate of hysterical rejoicing in the Axis countries, a few voices were raised in caution. Prinz Rupprecht, the Crown Prince of Bavaria, who had been forced into exile in Italy by the Nazis in December 1939, wrote to his friend Marie, Baroness von Weinbach in a letter dated 11th January 1943 that,
“It may be that the Nazis have utterly overreached themselves. I cannot help think that this is the high point of the tide, now it must surely flow the other way.”
Switzerland, with its large gold reserves [78] looked a prime target, much as Austria and Czechoslovakia had done in 1938 and 1939. The invasion of Switzerland (Operation Tannenbaum) in 1943 was successfully mounted and Hitler’s power stretched across the entire continent of Europe with only a supine Sweden, a friendly Finland, a nervous Portugal and an apparently marginalised Britain not directly under Nazi rule or in the Axis alliance. German was declared the official language of Europe. English and Russian were outlawed while Danish, Dutch, Polish, French, Norwegian and Swedish were to be tolerated for a decade.
The fact of the German conquest of Europe served to mask the tremendous problems the Nazis had created for themselves. The Nazification, depopulation and exploitation of the
new conquests became Hitler’s principal goal, but his sadistic racial policies alienated the subject populations and inspired an insurgency campaign unparalleled in history for both its scale and its viciousness. Partisan activities in the newly created ‘protectorates’ of Ukraine, Muscovy, Gottengau (Kherson and the Crimea) and the Caucasus were widespread and (particularly in the Caucasus) difficult to counter. More and more of the SS and Wehrmacht were embroiled in the hunt for partisans who knew that they had nothing to lose and whose numbers grew with every brutal reprisal. Hitler was inclined to see this as an advantage, claiming that it would speed the depopulation of those areas for German colonization, but his generals and political advisors were increasingly dismayed by the casualty lists. Inevitably, front line strength suffered and Hitler’s refusal to reverse the sharp decrease in war production that occurred after 1942 exacerbated the problem. The newly created German state of Schweizmark (Composed of the German and French speaking areas of Switzerland) was also a hotbed of partisan activity. At first reprisals were limited, but as the insurgency dragged on, the slaughter of Swiss civilians in revenge for partisan attacks became almost as bad as that of Ukrainians or Poles.
The ‘Vassalzustand’ (Vassal states) of Denmark, Norway, Belgium, Holland and France were less of a problem. In a direct imitation of Bismarck’s policy in 1870, Hitler withdrew most of his forces from French territories after one year, limited the size of the French armed forces by treaty, compelled France to pay vast ‘indemnities’ and surrender the most modern ships of its fleet. In all cases the Vassalzustand were allowed to retain their colonies though their foreign policy was dictated from Germania. [79] Pillaged by their German overlords and hemmed in by restrictive trade practices and the decimation of industries that might compete with German manufacturers, the Vassalzustand suffered severe economic decline.
Luxembourg was annexed outright by Germany in 1942. Belgium on 1st January 1944. Holland, Denmark and Norway were to be similarly seized by 1950. Hitler believed that the Dutch, the Flemish, the Danes and the Norwegians were Aryans and therefore ‘Germanisable’. He also believed the French, Spanish and Italians were Aryans but had a severely diluted gene pool. Nevertheless, significant numbers of German soldiers had to be stationed in these territories, lest their populations prove ungrateful for the Third Reich’s munificence.
The Peace of Amiens Page 16
