Herman Wouk - The Winds Of War

by The Winds Of War(Lit)

  "Why, hell, Kip, I was drinking in Manila. Plenty."

  "Were You? I forget. I just remember what a roaring teetotaller you were in the Academy. No tobacco either.

  "Well, I fell from grace long ago."

  Victor Henry had started to drink and smoke on the death of an infant girl, and had not returned to the abstinences his strict Methodist father had taught him. It was a topic he did not enjoy exploring.

  With a slight smile, Tollever said, "Do you play cards on Sunday now, too?"

  "No, I still hold to that bit off-lishness"

  "Don't call it foolishness, Pug."

  Commander Tollever began to talk about the pOSt of naval attache in Berlin. "You'll love Germany," were his first words on the topic.

  "And so will Rhoda. You'd be crazy not to grab the chance."

  Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, legs neatly crossed, he clipped out his words with all the -old articulate crispness; still out of the Academy, while officer of the deck of a destroyer, - Two years the handsomest men in Pug's class, and one of the unluckiest one Tolliver had rammed a sub at midnight in a rainsquall, during a fleet exercise.

  The submarine had surfaced without warning a hundred yards in front of him, It had scarcely been his fault, nobody had been hurt, and the ri general court-martial had merely given him a letter of rep mand.

  But that letter had festered in his promotion jacket, sapping his career. He drank two martinis in about fifteen minutes, as he talked.

  When Victor Henry probed a bit about the Nazis and how to deal with them, Kip Tollever sat up very erect, his curled fingers stiffened as he gestured, and his tone grew firm. The National Socialists were in, he said, and the other German parties were out, just as in the United States the Democrats were in and the Republicans out. That was the one way to look at it. The Germans admired the United States, and desperately wanted our friendship. pug would find the latch off, and the channels of information open, if he simply treated these people as human beings.

  The press coverage of the new Germany was distorted. When Pug got to know the newspapermen, he would understand why- disgruntled pinkos and drunks, most of them.

  "Hitler's a damned remarkable man," said Tollever, poised on his elbows, one scrubbed hand to his chin, one negligently dangling, his face flushed bright pink. "I'm not saying that he, or Goering, or any of that bunch, wouldn't murder their own grandmothers to increase their power or to advance the interests of Germany. But that's politics in Europe nowadays. We Americans are far too naive. The Soviet Union is the one big reality Europe lives with, Pug-that Slav horde, seething in the east. We can hardly picture that feeling, but for them it's political bedrock. The Communist International is not playing mali-jongg, you know, those Bolos are out to rule Europe by fraud or force or both. Hitler isn't about to let them. That's the root of the matter. The Germans do things in politics that we wouldn't-like this stuff with the Jews-but that's just a passing phase, and anyway, it's not your business. Remember that. Your job is military information.

  You can get a hell of a lot of that from these people. They're proud of what they're accomplishing, and not at all bashful about showing off, and I mean they'll give you the real dope." Rhoda asked questions about the Jews, as Pug Henry mixed more martinis. Tollever assured her that the newspaper stories were exaggerated. The worst thing had been the so-called Crystal Night when Nazi toughs had smashed department store windows and set fire to some synagogues. Even that the Jews had brought on themselves, by murdering a German embassy official in Paris.

  As an embassy official himself, Tollever said, he took rather a dim view of that! He and his wife had gone to the theatre that very night, and on the way home had seen a lot of broken glass along the Kurfiirstendamm, and the glow of a couple of distant fires.

  The account in Time had made it seem that Germany was ablaze from end to end, and that the Jews were being slaughtered en masse. There had been conflicting reports, but so far as he knew not one of them had really been physically harmed. A big fine had been put on them for the death of the official, a billion marks or something. Hitler did believe in strong medicine. 'Now as to the President's recalling our ambassador, that was a superfluous gesture, utterly superfluous," Tollever said. "It only made things worse for the Jews, and it completely fouled up our embassy's workings. There's just no common sense here in Washington about Germany."

  Drinking two more martinis, the erect warrior began dissolving into a gossipy, slouched Navy insider, reminiscing about parties, weekend S, hunting trips, and the like; about the potato soup he had drunk with Luftwaffe OiTicers in the dawn, while recovering from a drinking bout after a Party rally; about the famous actors and politicians who had befriended him. Great fun and high living went with an attache's job, he chuckled, if one played one's cards right.

  Moreover, you were supposed to do those things, so as to dig up information. It was dream duty. A man was entitled to get whatever he could out of the Navy! He had sat in a front seat, watching history unfold, and he had had a glorious time besides. "I tell you, you'll love it, Pug. It's the most interesting post in Europe nowadays. The Nazis are a mixed crowd, actually. Some are brilliant, but between you and me, some are pretty crude and vulgar. The professional military crowd sort of looks down on them. But hell, how do we feel about our own Politicians?

  Hitler's in the saddle and nobodvis arguing about lat. He is boss man, and I kid you not. So lay off that , t topic and you'll do fine, because really you can't beat these people for hospitality. In a way they're a lot like us, you know, more so than the French or even the Limeys.

  they'll turn'themselves inside out for an American naval officer."

  A strange smile, rueful and somewhat beaten, appeared on his face as he glanced from Rhoda to Pug. "Especially a man like you. They'll know all about you long before You get there. Now if this is off the reservation say so, but how on earth did a gunnery redbot like you come up for this job?" 'Stuck my neck out," Pug growled. "You know the work I did on the magnetic torpedo exploder, when I was at BuOrd-"

  "Hell, yes. And the letter of commendation you got? I sure do."

  "Well, I've watched torpedo developments since. Part of my job in war Plans is monitoring the latest intelligence on armor and armaments.

  The japs are making some mighty healthy torpedoes, Kip. I got out the old slide rule one night and ran the figures, and the way I read them our battlewagons are falling below the safety margin. I wrote a report recommending that the blisters be thickened and raised on the Maryland and New Mexico classes. Today C.N.O called m, d"wr, to his office. My report's turned into a hot potato. BuSbips and BuOrd are blaming each other, memos are flying like fur, the blisters are going to be thickened and raised, and-"

  "And by God, pug, you've got yourself another letter of commendation. Well done!" Tollever's brilliant blue eyes glistened, and he wet his lips.

  "I've got myself orders to Berlin," Victor Henry said. "Unless I can talk my way out of it. C.N.O says the White House has decided it's a crucial post now."

  "It is, Pug, it is."

  well, maybe so, but hell's bells, Kip, you're wonderful at that Sort of thing.e monkey. I don't belong there. I had the I'm not.

  I'm a grease myself, that's all, when the boss man was misfortune to call attention to my german. Now I'm in a looking for someone. And I happen to know some Ge crack." tch. "Well, don't pass this up.

  That's my Tollever glanced at his watch rtant, and sorneadvice to you as an old friend. Hitler is very, very impo thing's going to blow in Europe.

  I'm overdue at the embassy."

  Victor Henry walked him outside to his shiny gray Mercedes.

  Tollever's gait was shaky, but he spoke with calm clarity. "Pug, if you do go, call me. I'll give you a book fun of phone numbers of the right men to talk to. In fact-"- A twisted grin came and went on his face. "No, the numbers of the little frauleins would be wasted on you, wouldn't they?

  Well, I've always admired the hell
out of you." He clapped Henry's shoulder. "God , I'm looking forward to this party! I haven't drunk a decent glass of Moselle since I left Berlin."

  Reentering the house, Victor Henry almost stumbled over a suitcase and a hatbox. His daughter stood at the foyer mirror in a green wool suit, putting on a close-fitting hat. Rhoda was watching her, and Warren oat slung on his shoulder, holding his old pigskin valise.

  waited, trench c oing?"

  "What's this, Madeline? Where are you g She smiled at him, opening wide dark eyes. "Oh, didn't Mom tell

  you? Warren's taking me to New York."

  Pug looked dourly at Rhoda, who said, "Anything wrong with that, tickets for the shows. She loves the theatre dear? Warren's lined up extra and there's precious little in Washington."

  "But has college closed down? is this the Easter vacation?"

  The daughter said, "I'm caught up in my work. it's only for two days, and I don't have any tests."

  "And where would you stay?"

  Warren put in, "There's this Hotel Barbizon for women.

  "I don't like this," Victor Henry said.

  Madeline glanced at him with meltin appeal. Nineteen and slight, with Rhoda's skin and a pert figure, she oddly resembled her father, in the deep-set brown eyes and the determined air. She tried wrinkling h" small nose at him. Often that made him laugh, and won her point.

  This time his face did not change. Madeline glanced at her mother for support, but it was not forthcoming. A little smile curved Warren for sup 1 th Madeline's mow That's that. Warren, I th, more ominous perhaps than a rebellious tantrum; a smile hope you can get rid of those extra tickets. When's dinner?"

  of indulgence. She took off her hat. "Well, okay!

  "Any time," Rhoda said.

  Warren donned his trench coat and picked up the suitcase. "Say, incidentally, Dad, did I mention that a couple of months ago my exec put in for flight training? I sent in one of the forms too, just for the hell of it.

  Well, Chet was snooping around BuNav today. It seems we both have a chance."

  "Flight training?" Rhoda looked unhappy. "You mean you're becoming a carrier pilot? just like that? Without consulting your father?"

  "Why, Mom, it's just something else to qualify in. I think it makes

  sense. Doesn't it, sir?" C

  Commander Henry said, "Yes, inde d. The future of this here Navy might just belong to the brown shoes."

  "I don't know about that, but Pensacola ought to be interesting, if I don't bilge o'ut the first week. Back Friday. Sorry, Madeline," She said, "Nice try. Have fun." He kissed his mother, and left.

  Pug Henry consumed vichyssoise, London broil, and strawberry tart in grim abstracted silence. Kip Tollever's enthusiasm for the mocre spying job had only deepened Henry's distaste. Madeline)s itch to avoid schoolwork was a steady annoyance. But topping all was Warren's casually dropped news; Pug was both proud and alarmed. Carrier aviation was the riskiest duty in the Navy, though officers even his own age were now applying for Pensacola, so as to get into the flattops. A devoted batLleship man, Henry wondered all through the meal whether Warren hadn't hit on something, whether a request for flight training might not be a respectable if desperate way to dodge Berlin.

  Madeline kept a cheerful face, making talk with her mother about the student radio station at George Washington University, her main interest there. The houseman, an old Irishman who also did the gardening in warm weather, walked softly in the candlelit dining room, furnished with Rhoda's family antiques. Rhoda contributed money to the household costs so that they could live in this style in Washington, among her old friends. While Victor Henry did not like it, he had not argued. A commander's salary was modest, and Rhoda was used to this better life.

  Madeline excused herself early, kissing her father on the forehead.

  The somber quiet during dessert was unbroken except by the hushed footfalls of the manservant. Rhoda said nothing, waiting out her husband's mood. When he cleared his throat and said it might be nice to have brandy and coffee on the porch, she smiled pleasantly. "Yes, let's, Pug." The housema light in the artificial fireplace. She waited and set the silver tray there, turning up the red flickering until her husband was settled in his favorite chair, drinking coffee and sipping brandy. Then she said, "By the bye, there's a letter from Byron."

  "What? He actually remembered we're alive? Is he all right?"

  They had not heard from him in months. Henry had had many a nightmare of his son dead in an Italian ditch in a smoking automobile, or otherwise killed or injured. But since the last letter he had not mentioned Byron.

  "He's all right. He's in Siena. He's given up his studies in Florence.

  Says he got bored with fine arts."

  ?l "I couldn't be less surprised. Siena. That's still Italy, isn't it "Yes, near Florence. In the Tuscan hills. He goes on and on about the Tuscan hills. He seems to be interested in a girl."

  "A girl, eh? What kind of girl? Eyetalian?"

  "No, no. A New York girl. Natalie Jastrow. He says she has a famous uncle."

  "I see. And who's her uncle?"

  "He's an author. He lives in Siena. Dr. Aaron Jastrow. He once

  taught history at Yale, Briny says."

  "Where's the letter?" "On the telephone table."

  He returned in a few minutes with the letter, and with a thick book in a black dust jacket, marked with a white crucifix and a blue Star of David. "That's who the uncle is."

  "Oh, yes. A few's Jesus. That thing. Some club sent it. Did you ever read it?"

  "I read it twice. It's excellent." Henry scanned his son's letter in yellow lamplight. "Well. This business is kind of far along."

  "She does sound attractive," Rhoda said. "But he's had other nine-day wonders."

  Commander Henry tossed the letter on the coffee table and poured more brandy for himself. "I'll read it through later. Longest letter he's ever written. Is there anything important in it?"

  "He wants to stay on in Italy."

  "Indeed? How does he propose to live?"

  "He has some kind of research job with Dr. Jastrow. The girl works there, too. He thinks he can get by on what he earns, Plus the few dollars from my mother)s trust.") "Really?" Henry peered at her.

  "If Byron Henry is talking about He drank his coffee and brandy, and stood up, retrieving the letter with supporting himself, that's the biggest news about him since you had him.

  a swipe of his hand.

  "Now don't take on, Pug. Byron's a strange fish, but there's a lot of brains underneath.PP

  "I have some work to do."

  Henry went to his den and smoked a cigar, reading Byron's letter twice through with care. The den was a converted maid's room. On the ground lloor a large handsome study looked out on the garden through French windows. That room in theory was his. It was so attractive that Rhoda sometimes liked to at her hu ]rn receive visitors there, and was given to nagging shand when he left Papers and books around. After a few months of this Henry had put bookshelves, a cot, and a tiny secondhand desk in the narrow maid's room, had moved into it, and was content enough with this small space- He had done with less in a destroyer cabin. writer. With his hands on the keys he paused ta When the cigar was burned out, Henry went to his old por able type in a leather frame on , Contemplating three pictures the desk: Warren, in uniform and bristle-beaded, a stern boyish candidate for Rag rank; Madeline, at seventeen much, much younger than she seemed now; Byron, in the center, with the defiant

  what sloping

  large mouth, the half-closed analytic eyes, the thick ful hair, the somber face peculiarly mingling softness and obstinate Byron owed his looks to neither parent. He was his strange self.

  Dear Briny:

  Your mother and I have your long letter. I intend to take it seriously.

  Your mother prefers to pooh it, but I don't think You've written such a letter before, or described a girl in quite such terms. I'm glad You're well, and gainfully employed. 'That's good news. I never could ta
ke that fine arts business seriously.

  Now about Natalie Jastrow. In this miserable day and age, especially with what is going on in Germany, I have to start by protesting that I have nothing against Jewish people. I've encountered them very little since few of them enter the Navy. In my Academy class there were four, which was very unusual back in 1911. One of them has stayed the course, Han Goldfarb, and he is a damned good officer.

  Here in Washington there is quite a bit of prejudice against Jews.

  They've made themselves felt in business lately, doing somewhat too well.

  The other day one of your mother's friends told me a joke. I wasn't amused, possibly because of my own Glasgow great-grandfather.

  The three shortest books in the Library of Congress are A History of Scotch Charities, Virginity in France, and A Study of jewish Business Ethics. Ha ha ha.