The Aliens Who Knew, I Mean, Everything ; Target- Berlin!

by George Alec Effinger

  There was a stunned silence, and then a great deal of muttering from the American side of the table. One of the American delegates cleared his throat. "You know," he said, "we never looked at it that way. He has a point."

  The conference went on more smoothly from there and eventually achieved a compromise that both sides could accept enthusiastically. Japan no longer felt threatened economically, and war with the United States was averted. However, there were other causes for the sudden mending of political fences, many of which might have seemed laughable at the time but which cannot be underestimated in the light of successive events. One of the emperor's younger nephews, a member of the Imperial War Office, was a great baseball fan, as were many of his countrymen; this influential person believed that it would be a shame to interrupt the career of such a star as Joe DiMaggio. The emperor's nephew, too, was a voice that counseled patience.

  In Nazi Germany, the citizens were made aware of the activities of Heinrich Himmler and Reinhard Heydrich. These men, chiefs of the SS and the Security Police, were assembling vast dossiers on millions upon millions of people: Nazis, anti-Nazis, politicians, common people, rich, poor, old, young. No one in the Reich could escape their scrutiny. Of course, this news made the people of Germany nervous; at the first opportunity, the Nazis were removed from office. "Thank God for the American news services," said many German citizens afterward, for it was through the American newspapers and radio broadcasts that the Germans were alerted to the shenanigans of the Nazis. "The Americans are the sentinels of liberty. Once again they have had to save our necks." The political structure of Germany reformed, moving from the extreme right, stopping comfortably just left of middle; the new rulers in Berlin made it embarrassingly clear to Washington that there was no further reason to seek war. Italy, her trains humming along on schedule, followed suit a few months later. The trains got all fouled up, but tourists in Italy reported that otherwise things had changed for the better, except around Venice during July and August, and even Mussolini hadn't been able to do anything about that.

  AT LAST, THE WAR AS IT WAS!

  TARGET: BERLIN!

  BY GEORGE ALEC EFFINGER

  OFERMOD PRESS, $12.95

  ILLUSTRATED

  At long last, Ofermod Press is proud to announce the publication of the first genuine firsthand documentary to come out of the war. A searing indictment of the conservative voices in President Roosevelt's cabinet and of the timid liberal partisans, both groups which almost led the United States to ruin. MORE! A caustic attack on the fearful counselors who would allow other nations in this postwar world to maintain a superiority in number and type of bombing weapon. MORE! A vital book for all thoughtful citizens, a shocking, sometimes amusing glimpse into the world of high-pressure politics and top-level decision-making. MORE! This book is much more because it was written by one of the most influential men of the Second World War, and it contains an urgent message for all Americans.

  NATIONAL ADVERTISING, PROMOTION, AND TWENTY-FOUR-CITY AUTHOR TOUR

  $12.95, Publication Date September 9, 1981

  PREFACE (continued)

  I could see how the war was going to go, even at the very beginning. I know that isn't the kind of thing one should say about oneself, especially in a book like this. But in this case there isn't anyone else around to say it and, after all, my opinion was later seconded by President Roosevelt himself, in addition to a handful of lesser dignitaries. "Well, George," said the president, "you guessed which turn this war would take quite a while ago, didn't you?" I had to agree. And, in the same way, I can see which way this book is going, too, not that it does me any more good. Because during the war I had what I came to call a Cassandra complex. I'll discuss that in more detail later; let me just say now that I had a sense of the magnitude of the war's climax, but I never felt certain of the moral implications.

  It must be made clear, prefatorily, that international disagreements had not been completely resolved without open conflict. No, rather, the war had merely been shelved. The more bloodthirsty members of Japan's Imperial War Office went underground for some years, as did their counterparts in France and Great Britain, in the Soviet Union, the war-seekers in the United States, Hitler's colleagues and Mussolini's. The world at large slumbered in three decades of what the Twenties and Thirties had been —a mixed bag of peace, prosperity, anxiety, and depression. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, relieved of many of his heaviest political worries, continued in office, as hearty as ever, a visual reminder, along with Winston Churchill, of a nostalgic time. The Forties passed, and the Fifties, and the frenetic Sixties. Then the Seventies began, and it looked once more as if the world were edging closer to that irrevocable stumble into total war. In Germany the populace, tired of thirty years of liberal politics and the rowdiness it induced in the younger generation, began a slow retreat toward fascism. Adolf Hitler, now eighty-five years old, came out of retirement to lead his country. Himmler dusted off his old dossiers. The people of Germany who recalled the old days smiled and nudged their neighbors. Hitler was something they could understand, not like the glittery transvestite singing stars of their children's generation. Hitler would show those guys something. The older people settled back to watch.

  In Japan, the emperor's nephew no longer followed American baseball. He had taken up golf. With a worldwide fuel shortage in 1974, Japan found herself back in the same situation that she had been in the early Forties. "What the hell," muttered the Imperial War Office. "What the hell," muttered the emperor. Secret plans were made.

  Prance watched nervously, Great Britain watched confidently, the Soviet Union watched slyly. The United States didn't seem to be watching at all, but it was difficult to be sure.

  Events moved quickly thereafter, resuming their inexorable march to war along the very same lines that had been abandoned three decades before. But there were a few alterations, thanks to the progress of both technology and human relations.

  Hermann Goering, leader of Hitler's Luftwaffe, studied detailed maps of Poland and France. Goering, now eighty-one years old, looked somewhat ridiculous in his refurbished uniforms. His fat face was masked by broad striations of wrinkles. His hands wavered noticeably as he lifted small replicas of aircraft, moving them from bases within the Reich to proposed targets all over the mapboard. He beamed happily as he set an airplane down in Paris, another in London, a third in Prague. An aide moved still another airplane to Moscow, too far for Goering to reach by himself. The air marshal's aides whispered behind his back. Someone would have to tell the Fiihrer's trusted lieutenant about the Luftwaffe's weak point. The young men, fearful of the senile yet powerful man, contested among themselves. Eventually the least assertive and most vulnerable of them presented Goering with a special file, one which had been placed on his desk several times before and which Goering had chosen to ignore. He could ignore it no longer.

  FROM THE DESK OF ...

  ... HERMANN GOERING

  Reich Master of the Hunt

  June 10, 1974

  Dear George:

  It's been a long time since I've seen you. How are things in the Free World? Things are moving along at a rapid pace here, under the banner of National Socialism. I'm sure you're keeping up with events, but I'll bet we still surprise you. The next few years will be momentous ones in the history of the world. Isn't it kind of exciting, being on the inside?

  Talk of war is heard on all sides. I'm sure you're keeping up to date on our air force, its size and capabilities, just as I receive reports on you and the others. I wonder if your reports are any better than mine. You must know that the Luftwaffe is in no shape to face a long, drawn-out war now. But there's no talking to Adolf these days. He has this timetable, he keeps telling us. Ah, well, we do our best. You know just how difficult this job is.

  You probably also know that we've scrapped the idea of long-range heavy bombers. I don't suppose I'm giving away any secrets in saying that. We'd have to restructure our entire automotive industry. You've alre
ady beaten us there. But don't count us out altogether! You might wake up some morning to the sound of Volkswagen six-passenger luxury bombers driving by under your window. You know us. We have more Situation Contingency Plans than anyone even knows about—including me, Adolf, the OKW, or anybody. If we could just get everything indexed and sorted, we'd be in great shape. Too many personalities clashing for that, though, I'm afraid... .

  Tell Diana that my Emmy tried her recipe for Mad Dog Chili last week. Emmy saw it in the New York Post. It was so good that I was in bed recovering for three days. That was a very nice profile on Diana, too. She must be happy. Emmy can't get anything like it here, in the Beobachter. I think Emmy's jealous.

  If there isn't war by then, I'll see you in the fall in Milan for the air show. I wish I had your youth; nowadays, a few days away from Emmy means only that I'll end up with diarrhea. Regards to your... President (I almost wrote you-know-what).

  Best,

  H.

  PREFACE (continued)

  In Tokyo, the War Office studied a photographed copy of Goering's file. The Japanese conclusions were the same as the German: the Imperial Air Force would also have to be drastically restructured. As things turned out, that did not prove to be so large an obstacle.

  Finally, here in the United States, the clamor to arms did not sound so loudly. Nevertheless, President Roosevelt was aware of what the potential belligerent nations were doing and spurred production. The Air Force followed in the footsteps of Germany and Japan and turned from the development of aircraft to the exploration of the motorcar as a tactical weapon, both as long-range bomber and as fighter escort. The reasons were the same: the Air Force generals were astonished by the statistics concerning the vast amounts of petroleum products that an all-out war would demand. Oil was scarce, and supplies were dangerously low. There was no guarantee that overseas oil-producing nations would remain friendly. Automobiles could bring about the same results as aircraft and with much greater economy. All that was necessary was a certain basic alteration in military thinking. Naturally enough, because of the conservative outlook of the military mind, this change met some resistance. But when the facts were made clear and the economic and political ramifications were explained, the real business of realigning the Air Force began, in Washington as well as Berlin, Tokyo, Moscow, Paris, and London.

  It was against this background, then, that I began my work. I was given a suite of offices in the Pentagon; that was on February 18, 1974. Across the United States, huge lines of cars waited at service stations, unable to purchase gasoline with the freedom the American motorist had come to enjoy. On the way home each day I saw hundreds of automobiles still queued up hopefully; I remember thinking that it was ironic that the same gasoline shortage that paralyzed these motorists had made an all-out air war equally impractical and that the common solution of all the leading nations had been to replace their aircraft with automobiles. Billions of gallons of gasoline would be saved in this way—involuntarily, of course, as the gasoline was not actually available to be saved in the first place; still, I wondered if the man in the street would react as we hoped, would rise up in patriotic sacrifice and curtail his pleasure driving for the war effort, should hostilities become official.

  CHAPTER TWO

  George Alec Effinger, Special Assistant to President Roosevelt: Then you were involved with the early Luftwaffe attacks on Poland?

  Oberleutnant Rolf Mulp, pilot of the German Nazi Luftwaffe: Yes, indeed, certainly so. I commanded a kette in an attack—

  Effinger: "Kette"?

  Mulp: Yes. I'm sorry. It's a German word. Don't worry about it. Anyway, we were taking these three Stukas against a bridge just across the Polish border. This was September 1, 1974. The first day of the war.

  Effinger: And the Stuka, the old terror bomber —

  Mulp: Was now the 1973 Opel 53 four-door sedan. We had made the change in strategy and procedures very quickly, thanks to our basic German love of discipline. We practiced a lot, driving around shopping centers, aiming our fingers at people —

  Effinger: And with Hitler and Goering and everybody back in power, it was like old times.

  Mulp: I wouldn't know firsthand, of course. I was too young in the Thirties to remember them. But my parents told me stories of what it had been like. And we all joined in, and we all settled down quickly. It was so comfortable to have those familiar faces back, now grown so old, but still so familiar. Comfortable, like an old boot.

  Effinger: A high black one, no doubt.

  Mulp: It comes just below the knee. Ah, I see that you understand, do you not? Ha, ha, ha.

  Effinger: Ha, ha, ha. We can laugh, now that the war's over.

  Mulp: Ha, ha, ha. Indeed, yes. But those were terrible years. Me, driving the Opel at top speed. My tail gunner sitting in the back seat, worried, nervous, chattering nonsense while I was trying to keep my mind on the road. We had a constant fear of enemy fighters screaming toward us around the next bend in the road. And then the business of having to pitch bombs at bridges or whatever, or stopping the car and getting out to toss the things. It took a lot of skill and a lot of luck.

  Effinger: And a lot of daring.

  Mulp: I'm glad that you can appreciate that now. I'd like to ask you a question, if I may.

  Effinger: Certainly. I'll bet I know which one, too.

  Mulp: You were almost single-handedly responsible –

  Effinger: No, for crying out loud, I don't want to hear it. I'm tired of hearing it already.

  From the Cormorant, Indiana, Flash-Comet

  ON THE TOWNE

  by Craig Towne

  This column's reporter went to an unusual promo party last week. In town for a few days pushing a new book was a former aide of the late President Roosevelt. The author, George Effinger, visited our little city once several years ago, before the war. I recall meeting him then, shaking his hand, and hearing him say that he was "glad I could make it." This reporter was very gratified that Mr. Effinger, too, remembered that brief acquaintanceship. Also, his book seems very handsome. But remember when books cost five bucks?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Effinger: What was it like?

  Maginna: It was awful, what do you think? Really awful. Anybody who lived through it would tell you the same thing. About how awful it was. We were all thinking such idiotic things while it was happening. And now, looking back, it's kind of hard to straighten it all out in my mind. I remember thinking, "God, they're all going to think we were idiots here." I was afraid that people would laugh or something, because we let it happen. That Pearl Harbor would go down in history as our fault.

  Effinger: Of course, there was a certain lack of communication.

  Maginna: Things seemed worse at the time. I've read about the attack since, many times. I'm glad, of course, that the whole thing wasn't as bad as it looked to me then. But the accounts never convey the real feeling we had, the loud awfulness. I thought, "There goes the shortest war in the world." I thought the Navy was sunk.

  Effinger: Can you describe what it looked like?

  Maginna: Sure. Nothing easier. It was mostly these Honda Civics—we called them Kates during the war—that did most of the bombing. And these Toyota Corolla 1200 coupes, what we called Zeroes, were the fighter escorts. It was such a quiet morning. I don't know, I can't remember what I had planned for the afternoon. Anyway, these Jap cars started driving up in long lines from Honolulu, a couple of hundred of them at least. They roared through the sentry posts, the Zeroes shooting down soldiers, sailors, a lot of civilians, even. The Kates screeched their brakes at the end of the piers, threw their bombs, and drove away. All the time their Zeroes, those Toyota coupes, were demolishing our planes before our pilots could get them started. Most of the damage was done real quick. We never knew what hit us.

  Effinger: And you have no trouble recalling your feelings.

  Maginna: No trouble at all. That's something I'll remember until the day I die. That's the reason I don't like to
read about Pearl Harbor, because the accounts just don't capture it.

  Effinger: I'm giving you the chance to correct that.

  Maginna: Sure. A lot of us that saw the Arizona get hit—some of us had friends on her—were glad of what you did at the end of the war. We would have voted for you for president. And you're right these days, about not letting other countries do that to us all over again. Sure. We ought to screw them down while we have the chance.

  Effinger: That's not exactly what I—

  Maginna: I wouldn't want that to happen all over again.

  Effinger: Me, neither.

  Maginna: Right. Right. (Pause) Are you okay?

  Dear Mr. Effinger:

  I recently borrowed your book Target: Berlin! from the library. It isn't such a big library, here in Springfield, not so big as you'd think with a college right in town, but then the college has its own, of course, but we had your book, and since my husband was a pilot in the war I thought I'd read your book. My husband was killed in one of the raids over Germany that you talk about in Chapter Eight late in the war. We were married only a little while before Pearl Harbor, and when my husband was killed, it was a tremendous loss, but I have learned to live with it and accept it as God's will, something that a lot of us wives have trouble doing but I don't. That's just the way I was raised, I guess.