Fall of Giants

by Follett, Ken

Ethel hesitated, not wanting to tell him but reluctant to lie.

  Her hesitation told him what he wanted to know. “I see,” he said. “That would explain his vituperation.”

  “I don’t think you need to look for an ulterior motive,” she said. “What happened at the Somme is enough to make soldiers angry, don’t you think?”

  “He should be court-martialed for insolence.”

  “But you promised not to—”

  “Yes,” he said crossly. “Unfortunately, I did.”

  Lloyd George entered the chamber.

  He was a small, slight figure in formal morning dress, the overlong hair a bit unkempt, the bushy mustache now entirely white. He was fifty-three, but there was a spring in his step, and as he sat down and said something to a backbencher, Ethel saw the grin familiar from newspaper photographs.

  He began speaking at ten past four. His voice was a little hoarse, and he said he had a sore throat. He paused, then said: “I appear before the House of Commons today with the most terrible responsibility that can fall on the shoulders of any living man.”

  That was a good start, Ethel thought. At least he was not going to dismiss the German note as an unimportant trick or diversion, in the way the French and Russians had.

  “Any man or set of men who wantonly, or without sufficient cause, prolonged a terrible conflict like this would have on his soul a crime that oceans could not cleanse.”

  That was a biblical touch, Ethel thought, a Baptist-chapel reference to sins being washed away.

  But then, like a preacher, he made the contrary statement. “Any man or set of men who, out of a sense of weariness or despair, abandoned the struggle without the high purpose for which we had entered into it being nearly fulfilled, would have been guilty of the costliest act of poltroonery ever perpetrated by any statesman.”

  Ethel fidgeted anxiously. Which way was he going to jump? She thought of Telegram Day in Aberowen, and saw again the faces of the bereaved. Surely Lloyd George—of all politicians—would not let heartbreak of that nature continue if he could help it? If he did, what was the point of his being in politics at all?

  He quoted Abraham Lincoln. “‘We accepted this war for an object, and a worthy object, and the war will end when that object is attained.’ ”

  That was ominous. Ethel wanted to ask him what the object was. Woodrow Wilson had asked that question and as yet had got no reply. No answer was given now. Lloyd George said: “Are we likely to achieve that object by accepting the invitation of the German chancellor? That is the only question we have to put to ourselves.”

  Ethel felt frustrated. How could this question be discussed if no one knew what the object of the war was?

  Lloyd George raised his voice, like a preacher about to speak of hell. “To enter at the invitation of Germany, proclaiming herself victorious, without any knowledge of the proposals she proposes to make, into a conference”—here he paused and looked around the chamber, first to the Liberals behind him and to his right, then across the floor to the Conservatives on the opposition side—“is to put our heads into a noose with the rope end in the hands of Germany!”

  There was a roar of approval from the M.P.s.

  He was rejecting the peace offer.

  Beside Ethel, Gus Dewar buried his face in his hands.

  Ethel said loudly: “What about Alun Pritchard, killed at the Somme?”

  The usher said: “Quiet, there!”

  Ethel stood up. “Sergeant Prophet Jones, dead!” she cried.

  Fitz said: “Be quiet and sit down, for God’s sake!”

  Down in the chamber, Lloyd George continued speaking, though one or two M.P.s were looking up at the gallery.

  “Clive Pugh!” she shouted at the top of her voice.

  Two ushers came toward her, one from each side.

  “Spotty Llewellyn!”

  The ushers grabbed her arms and hustled her away.

  “Joey Ponti!” she screamed, and then they dragged her out through the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  January and February 1917

  Walter Ulrich dreamed he was in a horse-drawn carriage on his way to meet Maud. The carriage was going downhill, and began to travel dangerously fast, bouncing on the uneven road surface. He shouted, “Slow down! Slow down!” but the driver could not hear him over the drumming of hooves, which sounded oddly like the running of a motorcar engine. Despite this anomaly, Walter was terrified that the runaway carriage would crash and he would never reach Maud. He tried again to order the driver to slow down, and the effort of shouting woke him.

  In reality he was in an automobile, a chauffeur-driven Mercedes 37/95 Double Phaeton, traveling at moderate speed along a bumpy road in Silesia. His father sat beside him, smoking a cigar. They had left Berlin in the early hours of the morning, both wrapped in fur coats—it was an open car—and they were on their way to the eastern headquarters of the high command.

  The dream was easy to interpret. The Allies had scornfully rejected the peace offer that Walter had worked so hard to promote. The rejection had strengthened the hand of the German military, who wanted to resume unrestricted submarine warfare, sinking every ship in the war zone, military or civilian, passenger or freight, combatant or neutral, in order to starve Britain and France into submission. The politicians, notably the chancellor, feared that was the way to defeat, for it was likely to bring the United States into the war, but the submariners were winning the argument. The kaiser had shown which way he leaned by promoting the aggressive Arthur Zimmermann to foreign minister. And Walter dreamed of charging downhill to disaster.

  Walter believed that the greatest danger to Germany was the United States. The aim of German policy should be to keep America out of the war. True, Germany was being starved by the Allied naval blockade. But the Russians could not last much longer, and when they capitulated, Germany would overrun the rich western and southern regions of the Russian empire, with their vast cornfields and bottomless oil wells. And the entire German army would then be able to concentrate on the western front. That was the only hope.

  But would the kaiser see that?

  The final decision would be made today.

  A bleak winter daylight was breaking over countryside patchworked with snow. Walter felt like a shirker, being so far from the fighting. “I should have returned to the front line weeks ago,” he said.

  “Clearly the army wants you in Germany,” said Otto. “You are valued as an intelligence analyst.”

  “Germany is full of older men who could do the job at least as well as I. Have you pulled strings?”

  Otto shrugged. “I think if you were to marry and have a son, you could then be transferred anywhere you like.”

  Walter said incredulously: “You’re keeping me in Berlin to make me marry Monika von der Helbard?”

  “I don’t have the power to do that. But it may be that there are men in the high command who understand the need to maintain noble bloodlines.”

  That was disingenuous, and a protest came to Walter’s lips, but then the car turned off the road, passed through an ornamental gateway, and started up a long drive flanked by leafless trees and snow-covered lawn. At the end of the drive was a huge house, the largest Walter had ever seen in Germany. “Castle Pless?” he said.

  “Correct.”

  “It’s vast.”

  “Three hundred rooms.”

  They got out of the car and entered a hall like a railway station. The walls were decorated with boars’ heads framed with red silk, and a massive marble staircase led up to the state rooms on the first floor. Walter had spent half his life in splendid buildings, but this was exceptional.

  A general approached them, and Walter recognized von Henscher, a crony of his father’s. “You’ve got time to wash and brush up, if you’re quick,” he said with amiable urgency. “You’re expected in the state dining room in forty minutes.” He looked at Walter. “This must be your son.”

  Otto said: “He’s in the int
elligence department.”

  Walter gave a brisk salute.

  “I know. I put his name on the list.” The general addressed Walter. “I believe you know America.”

  “I spent three years in our embassy in Washington, sir.”

  “Good. I have never been to the United States. Nor has your father. Nor, indeed, have most of the men here—with the notable exception of our new foreign minister.”

  Twenty years ago, Arthur Zimmermann had returned to Germany from China via the States, crossing from San Francisco to New York by train, and on the basis of this experience was considered an expert on America. Walter said nothing.

  Von Henscher said: “Herr Zimmermann has asked me to consult you both on something.” Walter was flattered but puzzled. Why would the new foreign minister want his opinion? “But we will have more time for that later.” Von Henscher beckoned to a footman in old-fashioned livery, who showed them to a bedroom.

  Half an hour later they were in the dining room, now converted to a conference room. Looking around, Walter was awestruck to see that just about every man who counted for anything in Germany was present, including the chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, his close-cropped hair now almost white at age sixty.

  Most of Germany’s senior military commanders were sitting around a long table. For lesser men, including Walter, there were rows of hard chairs against the wall. An aide passed around a few copies of a two-hundred-page memorandum. Walter looked over his father’s shoulder at the file. He saw charts of tonnage moving in and out of British ports, tables of freight rates and cargo space, the calorific value of British meals, even a calculation of how much wool there was in a lady’s skirt.

  They waited two hours, then Kaiser Wilhelm came in, wearing a general’s uniform. Everyone sprang to their feet. His Majesty looked pale and ill-tempered. He was a few days from his fifty-eighth birthday. As ever, he held his withered left arm motionless at his side, attempting to make it inconspicuous. Walter found it difficult to summon up that emotion of joyous loyalty that had come so easily to him as a boy. He could no longer pretend the kaiser was the wise father of his people. Wilhelm II was too obviously an unexceptional man completely overwhelmed by events. Incompetent, bewildered, and miserably unhappy, he was a standing argument against hereditary monarchy.

  The kaiser looked around, nodding to one or two special favorites, including Otto; then he sat down and made a gesture at Henning von Holtzendorff, white-bearded chief of the admiralty staff.

  The admiral began to speak, quoting from his memorandum: the number of submarines the navy could maintain at sea at any one time, the tonnage of shipping required to keep the Allies alive, and the speed at which they could replace sunk vessels. “I calculate we can sink six hundred thousand tons of shipping per month,” he said. It was an impressive performance, every statement backed up by a number. Walter was skeptical only because the admiral was too precise, too certain: surely war was never that predictable?

  Von Holtzendorff pointed to a ribbon-tied document on the table, presumably the imperial order to begin unrestricted submarine warfare. “If Your Majesty approves my plan today, I guarantee the Allies will capitulate in precisely five months.” He sat down.

  The kaiser looked at the chancellor. Now, Walter thought, we will hear a more realistic assessment. Bethmann had been chancellor for seven years, and unlike the monarch he had a sense of the complexity of international relations.

  Bethmann spoke gloomily of American entry into the war and the USA’s uncounted resources of manpower, supplies, and money. In his support he quoted the opinions of every senior German who was familiar with the United States. But to Walter’s disappointment he looked like a man going through the motions. He must believe the kaiser had already made up his mind. Was this meeting merely to ratify a decision already taken? Was Germany doomed?

  The kaiser had a short attention span for people who disagreed with him, and while his chancellor was speaking he fidgeted, grunting impatiently and making disapproving faces. Bethmann began to dither. “If the military authorities consider the U-boat war essential, I am not in a position to contradict them. On the other hand—”

  He never got to say what was on the other hand. Von Holtzendorff jumped to his feet and interrupted. “I guarantee on my word as a naval officer that no American will set foot upon the Continent!” he said.

  That was absurd, Walter thought. What did his word as a naval officer have to do with anything? But it went down better than all his statistics. The kaiser brightened, and several other men nodded approval.

  Bethmann seemed to give up. His body slumped in the chair, the tension went out of his face, and he spoke in a defeated voice. “If success beckons, we must follow,” he said.

  The kaiser made a gesture, and von Holtzendorff pushed the beribboned document across the table.

  No, Walter thought, we can’t possibly make this fateful decision on such inadequate grounds!

  The kaiser picked up a pen and signed: “Wilhelm I.R.”

  He put down the pen and stood up.

  Everyone in the room jumped to their feet.

  This can’t be the end, Walter thought.

  The kaiser left the room. The tension was broken, and a buzz of talk broke out. Bethmann remained in his seat, staring down at the table. He looked like a man who has met his doom. He was muttering something, and Walter stepped closer to hear. It was a Latin phrase: Finis Germaniae—the end of the Germans.

  General von Henscher appeared and said to Otto: “If you would care to come with me, we will have lunch privately. You, too, young man.” He led them into a side room where a cold buffet was laid out.

  Castle Pless served as a residence for the kaiser, so the food was good. Walter was angry and depressed, but like everyone else in Germany he was hungry, and he piled his plate high with cold chicken, potato salad, and white bread.

  “Today’s decision was anticipated by Foreign Minister Zimmermann,” said von Henscher. “He wants to know what we can do to discourage the Americans.”

  Small chance of that, Walter thought. If we sink American ships and drown American citizens there’s not much we can do to soften the blow.

  The general went on: “Can we, for example, foment a protest movement among the one point three million Americans who were born here in Germany?”

  Walter groaned inwardly. “Absolutely not,” he said. “It’s a stupid fairy tale.”

  His father snapped: “Careful how you speak to your superiors.”

  Von Henscher made a calming gesture. “Let the boy speak his mind, Otto. I might as well have his frank opinion. Why do you say that, Major?”

  Walter said: “They don’t love the fatherland. Why do you think they left? They may eat wurst and drink beer, but they’re Americans and they’ll fight for America.”

  “What about the Irish-born?”

  “Same thing. They hate the British, of course, but when our submarines kill Americans they’ll hate us more.”

  Otto said irritably: “How can President Wilson declare war on us? He has just won reelection as the man who kept America out of war!”

  Walter shrugged. “In some ways that makes it easier. People will believe he had no option.”

  Von Henscher said: “What might hold him back?”

  “Protection for ships of neutral countries—”

  “Out of the question,” his father interrupted. “Unrestricted means unrestricted. That’s what the navy wanted, and that’s what His Majesty has given them.”

  Von Henscher said: “If domestic issues aren’t likely to trouble Wilson, is there any chance he may be distracted by foreign affairs in his own hemisphere?” He turned to Otto. “Mexico, for example?”

  Otto smiled, looking pleased. “You’re remembering the Ypiranga. I must admit, that was a small triumph of aggressive diplomacy.”

  Walter had never shared his father’s glee over the incident of the shipload of arms sent by Germany to Mexico. Otto and his cronies
had made President Wilson look foolish, and they could yet come to regret it.

  “And now?” said von Henscher.

  “Most of the U.S. Army is either in Mexico or stationed on the border,” said Walter. “Ostensibly they’re chasing a bandit called Pancho Villa, who raids across the border. President Carranza is bursting with indignation at the violation of his sovereign territory, but there isn’t much he can do.”

  “If he had help from us, would that change anything?”

  Walter considered. This kind of diplomatic mischief-making struck him as risky, but it was his duty to answer the questions as accurately as he could. “The Mexicans feel they were robbed of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. They have a dream of winning those territories back, much like the French pipe dream of winning back Alsace and Lorraine. President Carranza may be stupid enough to believe it could be done.”

  Otto said eagerly: “In any event, the attempt would certainly take American attention away from Europe!”

  “For a while,” Walter agreed reluctantly. “In the long-term our interference might strengthen those Americans who would like to join in the war on the Allied side.”

  “The short term is what interests us. You heard von Holtzendorff—our submarines are going to bring the Allies to their knees in five months. All we want is to keep the Americans busy that long.”

  Von Henscher said: “What about Japan? Is there any chance the Japs might be persuaded to attack the Panama Canal, or even California?”

  “Realistically, no,” Walter said firmly. The discussion was venturing farther into the land of fantasy.

  But von Henscher persisted. “Nevertheless, the mere threat might tie up more American troops on the West Coast.”

  “I suppose it could, yes.”

  Otto patted his lips with his napkin. “This is all most interesting, but I must see whether His Majesty needs me.”

  They all stood up. Walter said: “If I may say so, General . . . ”

  His father sighed, but von Henscher said: “Please.”

  “I believe all this is very dangerous, sir. If word got out that German leaders were even talking about fomenting strife in Mexico, and encouraging Japanese aggression in California, American public opinion would be so outraged that the declaration of war could come much sooner, if not immediately. Forgive me if I am stating the obvious, but this conversation should remain highly secret.”