World War Two Will Not Take Place

by Bill James

  ‘Steglitz town hall is a monstrous mess.’ The music had begun again. ‘Now I must go and be ready to dance with another partner.’ She went back to the group of girls. Mount couldn’t make out what had made her lose interest in him. Was it because he had crudely translated her words ‘security police’ into ‘Gestapo’ twice? Not roundabout enough? Or was it because he had told her he did not own properties and was, therefore, only an ‘employee’? Of course, he was only an employee, though not in the property game. And she’d half sensed that. He’d thought of asking Annette back to the apartment when her stint at the club finished, but that might offend Inge and Olga if they arrived there with Toulmin, and it would put the numbers out. Probably Toulmin himself wouldn’t mind any addition.

  EIGHT

  Andreas Valk thought the first full security meeting for the Führer’s likely trip to London a truly joyous gathering. It had the feel, the rich scent, of victory. Invitations to make a state visit were rare. Yet the British authorities had virtually pleaded with the Führer to come, and to share all the pomp and grandeur of the occasion with their king. Wisely, they had realized that Edward VIII would spectacularly benefit from very publicly associating with – and hosting – the Führer. They sought a fusion of the traditional and the new, the historically founded and the dynamically creative.

  By contrast, that loud, posturing, Italian oaf, Benito Mussolini, would never be asked: impossible to rely on decorum from him when with royalty. For the Führer to be welcomed into Buckingham Palace to stay several nights as a guest meant, didn’t it, that he, and therefore the Fatherland, were both recognized as noble parts of the great, advanced, civilized, community of Western nations? For today’s meeting, Valk wore what he called his ‘Vienna suit’: dark blue, fine material, tasteful cut, acquired with very little difficulty during the recent trouble-free incorporation of Austria into Germany. The Führer, an Austrian-German himself, had for years longed to bring back into the Fatherland this country lost in the peace settlement.

  ‘Edward the Eighth’ – Valk liked the actual spoken sound of this noble rank, in either German or English. Time had produced that number eight: a fine continuity for the name, appearing, reappearing, off and on through hundreds of years since Edward the Confessor in the eleventh century. But this didn’t mean the title ‘Führer’ lacked substance merely because no number was suffixed. The opposite could be argued. This title had not been handed down, but was indisputably, conscientiously, earned and unique to one man. My Struggle! That ‘my’ so significant, so exact and individual, so powerful, yet so poignant, in the title of his famed autobiography.

  Of course, other countries’ monarchs might have numbers after their names, some higher than eight. In France there’d even been a Louis XVIII. But Valk found a special, admirable resonance and solidity in the current British sovereignty score. If he’d abdicated in 1936, as he very nearly did, there would be a George VI on the throne now. Valk thought this somehow lacked resonance, not just because six was less than eight. The appeal to the ear of ‘George the Sixth’ somehow fell short of ‘Edward the Eighth’.

  Valk could be considerably influenced by words. For instance, he very carefully picked ‘joyous’ to describe his reaction to the present planning conference for the triumphant visit. This was not only because the special gathering pointed to magnificent, justified progress for the Führer and Germany. No, something else: although the subject discussed was security, and, therefore, certainly serious, it delighted him to find that the general atmosphere here today had a remarkably relaxed tone. ‘Festive.’ This was another word he associated with the proceedings. Yes, the tone reminded him of the pleasant, exuberant cheerfulness of a festival. It was as though the coming splendour of celebrations in London had already begun to show aspects of itself here, as spring flowers would signal the glorious approach of summer. He felt pleased that he had somehow anticipated the pleasantness of the mood and put on the excellent ‘Vienna suit’ to harmonize.

  So, ‘joyous’, ‘festive’ – these seemed to Valk exactly suitable terms for the initial planning session. The Führer would call on a supremely friendly king and country, their enduring, happy relationship brilliantly endorsed and enshrined at Munich. Security preparations should amount to not much more than a formality. If the visit remained a real prospect, Valk would go over to London soon with a couple of staff to check well ahead on safety provisions; but he expected the British to have given full, effective consideration to this side of things. It would be merely a rubber-stamping duty for him and his small team. A sniper, or snipers, in some high building overlooking the procession route would be the obvious main danger. Anyone could realize this and provide against it. Of course, Bilson himself had been a sniper, was familiar with their work methods and tricks, so he would know how to guard against the danger.

  Valk had been rereading some British history. For his own intellectual satisfaction he wanted to set the Führer’s visit in a context. And he’d like to have available some general, informed conversation when working with the British security people. Naturally – and depressingly – the most important recent history must be the war. He and Bilson both knew plenty about this. Valk sometimes wondered if that appalling experience had affected his mind. Possibly Bilson wondered the same about himself. The constantly updated dossier kept on him by Knecht and Valk didn’t mention any such weakness, though. And Valk hoped his own career dossier had nothing of the kind, either. He could imagine the sort of seemingly considerate but dismissive commentary Knecht might write: a capable officer, despite the obvious lasting effects of bombardment trauma. He strives very creditably to fight the consequent neurosis/psychosis, and only rarely can evidence of mental damage be detected, in a zombie blankness of the face and sad, alarming slump of his shoulders.

  These matters of the mind were very vague and elusive. Anyway, he thought it might be best to steer away from the Somme and other battles as an area of discussion if he met Bilson, as he almost certainly would. Valk would concentrate on less controversial and more favourable topics: say, the eighteenth-century British acceptance of the Hanoverian line of monarchs, leading, ultimately, to Edward VIII; or Waterloo – ‘choc sanglant’, as Hugo called it – a ‘bloody clash’ in which Napoleon was destroyed by Britain and Prussia as the warrior allies they should always be, Prussia having since become part of a united Germany.

  Valk saw that, in an admittedly minor way compared with the Führer’s, his own reputation and status could be given a leg-up by this London commission. Although it might in some senses be only a formality, the job was ultimately and unquestionably about the safety and life of Adolf Hitler in person. In person! Responsibilities did not come much more demanding but inspiring than that. At this preliminary stage he would have the Führer’s well-being entirely in his care. What an accolade, to be trusted with such work! Perhaps, after all, Knecht did not regard him as crippled by ‘zombie blankness’ and a disintegrating physique.

  Valk intended taking two of his people to deal with fringe matters, but the main effort, suggestions, observations, scrutiny must come from him. He’d selected Mair and Schiff as support. They’d been more or less idle since their escort role in Moscow, followed by those busy, headstrong, utterly non-agendad activities around the apartments at Lichtenberg and Steglitz. The kind of banal tasks he’d give these two in London would help remind them they were minor figures in the wider international scene.

  And they needed that reminder – continually. Valk considered it would be stupid and naive to leave them unsupervised in Berlin if he went to London. They were an ambitious, envious, conniving pair, and Valk had to be on hand and watchful to guard his career. During the war, hadn’t he seen many a senior officer undermined by supposed colleagues? Subordinates manufactured hatreds, ganged up, schemed. Often they’d spent more venomous energy on these conspiracies than in fighting the enemy. Perhaps this explained Germany’s defeat.

  He knew Mair and Schiff resented being so arbitr
arily pulled off the Steglitz surveillance. As they saw it, their counter-espionage initiative and skills had been treated with indifference, even contempt. They blamed Valk. Although he’d told them the withdrawal order came from Knecht, possibly even from Knecht’s pal Himmler, they probably didn’t believe him. They didn’t want to. Valk was the one they dealt with – who’d told them the operation was closed down, and who radioed the relief pair in the Opel to quit at once. So, he got their totally idiotic, rank-and-file rage. And, left unhobbled in Berlin, they might apply that dirty rage in tactics to weaken, even destroy, his authority and standing.

  Knecht required certain extra inquiries to be made in London, and Valk would drop these also on to Mair and Schiff. This work would be extremely confidential, and Knecht believed Valk’s main, and very open, duties in Britain, checking safety measures, would provide cover for this other, sensitive and secret investigation. Knecht wanted detailed, full information on the extramarital sexual life of one of the newly formed, so-called British ‘Defence Cabinet’: Lionel Paterin. This Defence Cabinet had membership from the general British Cabinet, like Paterin, as well as leaders of the three armed Services, the Prime Minister, armament manufacturers, transport experts, Winston Churchill. It might be that Himmler or Goebbels wanted the information on Paterin and had told Knecht to get it – who then told Valk to get it, who would tell Mair and Schiff to get it. Several times recently Paterin had made abusive public comments about the Reich and its Chancellor. He deserved to be targeted. The name of the woman was known: Mrs Elizabeth Gane-Torr, adulterous wife of a successful businessman. It shouldn’t be a difficult job.

  Goebbels possibly believed such revelations would have a propaganda value if relations with Britain, so rosy and positive after Munich, nevertheless began to darken. He’d want to show to Germans and, in fact, to the world that, even at the very top, the British political system was ridden with degeneracy. This might help boost morale in the Reich’s armed forces and among the general population. The war, if it came, would look like a cleansing operation against a sinful, self-indulgent British empire. But, although he certainly approved of this campaign to discredit Lionel Paterin, the nosing required to secure such evidence seemed to Valk grubby, ignoble. Mair and Schiff could do it. This, also, would remind them of their grade – lowly, talented, muckrakers. In addition, Valk might instruct them to find what they could about the would-be secret, unlisted private meetings between Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, and Stephen Bilson. That was the same kind of furtive, undignified snooping, just right for Mair and Schiff.

  Security considerations for the Führer’s possible state visit split fairly simply into two areas: outdoors and in. Of these, the second seemed almost negligible. Staff in Buckingham Palace would have been vetted when given their jobs. And the audience at the Guildhall, where the Führer was due to speak on the final evening of the visit about ‘Our New Europe’, should be well-known business and commercial chiefs, most of them full of respect and admiration for him and his achievements. That ‘our’ in the title of the Führer’s talk made Valk think. Did it mean Germany’s new Europe, which would be quite an ambitious statement, though probably not contrary to the Führer’s bold thinking? Or did he have in mind the new Europe of all countries in the continent, plus Britain? Knecht would probably say it was the second.

  Out of doors security might be more difficult. Knecht, chairing today’s meeting, said the Führer would wish to use an open car for the inaugural procession of the visit. Pavement crowds must be able to see him properly. The very purpose of the visit would be compromised, if not. Half hidden away in a closed vehicle – a mere face at the window, momentarily glimpsed – he would appear furtive, cowardly, unmesmeric. Hardly the Führer’s style! The king would, of course, have a place alongside him in the car, and it was crucial they should be clearly on view together, in wholehearted friendship. Pictures of them sharing this wonderful, wholesome matiness would go around the world on cinema newsreels and in the Press – and, moreover, thrill much of the world. They would look like equals, which might be acceptable to the Führer, for the short space of his time in London.

  At this stage it was unclear whether the British might intend one of the gilded royal coaches and team of horses should be used in that first procession. Occasionally, at, say, race meetings, the royal family did appear in an open coach. ‘Perhaps the basic drawback, though, is that all these coaches are rather ornate and grandiose,’ Knecht said. ‘This is their essence, their meaning. They are part of, symbols of, a different regime from ours. Although such regimes have undoubted attractions and strengths – and, indeed, an engaging, authentic, though juvenile, showmanship – we do not conduct things in that fashion. A coach, thoroughbred horses, and a driver and postilions in quaint garb would set the Führer too far apart from the citizenry. That, too, might diminish the impact of the visit.

  ‘Most likely he would prefer the normality of a motor car. Consider: he is the Führer because the people made him Führer. He is of them and by them. If he speaks from a platform it is to them. That is plainly so in Germany. And now he will desire this kind of natural, easy, two-way relationship with the British, as well. When he raises his right arm in solemn salute it is as if he would bless the people, like a priest or the Pope, and as if he wishes to embrace the people and draw them to his sacred cause. I think we must plan as for an open motor-vehicle. Of course, such openness does entail risk. It is our task to counter and contain that risk, to neutralize it. This, after all, is the kind of undertaking we came into being for, exist for, and – need I say it? – we shall succeed.’

  A large screen hung from the ceiling at one end of the room. Knecht had projector slides for parts of the likely route. He presented a series of them now. ‘The British king, also, wishes to be thought of as close to his people, and so the procession is likely to take in certain areas away from the well-known London thoroughfares – areas of inexpensive housing, shops and businesses. Here, for instance, is North Lambeth.’ Knecht pointed with a cane. ‘I can divide my concerns into three categories. One: organized so-called ‘political’ demonstrations against the visit. Two: a street level assault on the vehicle carrying the Führer and the king, perhaps with a firearm, possibly by someone mentally disturbed and/or Jewish. And three: an organized attack by sharpshooter, sniper rifle, from an upper window in domestic premises or a business property.’

  But Knecht spoke lightly of these ‘concerns’, as if he had absolute confidence they could be comfortably dealt with. Valk thought it demonstrated complete trust in him and his London mission. This illustrated what he had meant by describing the atmosphere as joyous and festive. Although a proper awareness of difficulties and dangers existed, the readiness to cope with them was magnificently evident, along with an absolute belief in the officers, such as Valk, who would counter those difficulties and dangers.

  Of course, he felt to some degree patronized by Knecht, the jumped up, self-adoring, pomaded twerp. Get over to London and do a bit of a survey for me, would you, Andreas? I think you’ll manage that quite well. This was a man ten years younger, of negligible combat experience, if any, who had probably been helped to his present rank by influential friends. He belonged to a new brand of leader, chosen not for ability, but from cronyism and perhaps the youthfulness of his arse, though the Führer had better not get to hear promotion could depend on that: remember his disgust when the head of the army, Colonel General von Fritsch, was accused of homosexuality – wrongly, as it turned out.

  But, at least Knecht could recognize the tested flair Valk would bring to this assignment and have full faith in it. He depended on Valk, and he knew he did. That would be regardless of ‘bombardment trauma’, suppose Knecht really did think Valk displayed this. Knecht had not only put the Führer’s basic security in his hands, but also chosen him for the delicate job of collecting any spice and filth findable about the British Cabinet minister Lionel Paterin. Valk would pass that task on, yes, but it would still b
e nominally his; as a great scientist might have his name, and only his, given to a wonderful discovery, though laboratory technicians had helped with the rudimentary stuff. Naturally, Knecht, that despicable career-monger, might claim it to be his, however.

  ‘To take demonstrations first, then,’ Knecht said. ‘In the preposterously lax interests of what the British call “Freedom to protest” and “Freedom of speech”, their governments are wantonly tolerant of choreographed street dissent. Wantonly. They haven’t had a revolution for nearly three hundred years and so don’t fear the mob, or not enough. Occasionally, they’ll suffer a minor uprising with some deaths, as at what they call Peterloo, Manchester in 1819, but such riotousness is regarded as contrary to the national character and therefore swiftly forgettable and, these days, pardonable.

  ‘Such street disturbances aimed at the Führer will not be suppressed by the British authorities. In one sense, they are actually encouraged by people like Churchill and Paterin, bellicose, unreasonable, inflamed, half-mad voices. And, although they may involve shouting, chanting, placards and banners, they probably offer no security threat. If they take place, they will be policed, though policed with a lighter hand than we might consider appropriate – appropriate or sane. Water cannon, staves or firearms are rarely used to disable these agitators. They could be a nuisance, yes, but not beyond that. It will obviously be unfortunate if the political value of the visit is reduced by Press and newsreel coverage of such uncivil excesses. Raucous yelling and screaming would impair the theme wanted by our Führer and the king – a declaration of lasting accord between the two nations and their heads of state.’

  Knecht went into English: ‘“Adolf Go Home.” “No Nazis Here.”’ He returned to German: ‘These might be the sort of unkind, even insolent, banner messages on show. Press photographs of them will not be helpful. We must accept this, I’m afraid. In public, the Führer will act as if unperturbed by this disgusting coarseness, perhaps even as if unaware of it.