‘Does it mean the end for Stalin, do you think?’
Don considered. ‘It’s hard to be certain about anything to do with Russia. What we do know is that he hasn’t surrendered yet, nor do I believe he will. After years of repression, his government isn’t exactly loved by his people and the only thing holding them together is their determination to fight to preserve the Rodina, the Motherland. If Stalin gives up, all that will collapse and he would probably be killed by his own side before the Germans could get at him. His only hope of survival is to hold on to power and maintain the tight communist discipline. He’s not alone in that, of course, the commissars and the entire communist party structure know that they would go down with him, so he should be able to keep the apparatus of state control effective.’
‘But can he still make any sort of defence?’
‘His government has withdrawn to the Volga, but that line is the next obvious German target so I wouldn’t be surprised if they have to move further east still. One benefit is that Stalin started transferring weapons factories far to the east several years ago. Given time, he will have the men and equipment to reconstruct a substantial army. And of course, the aid from the USA and ourselves should help.’
Mary laughed grimly. ‘If we can still get it to them.’
Don nodded. ‘The sea route to Murmansk could be vulnerable to air attack if the Luftwaffe base themselves in Finland. The Germans will probably try to cut rail communications with the port in any case, but thanks to the new railway connecting Murmansk with Archangel that will be difficult. The Americans can ship their supplies to Vladivostok for another few months but that will close as soon as the Japanese attack. The only other possibility is the southern route, via India, which doesn’t have a high capacity. Basically we need to get as much to them as we can, while we can. It’s just as well Churchill has been placing orders for military equipment with America; we can divert those orders straight to Murmansk. One other consolation is that the Germans won’t be launching any attacks in winter, so the Russians will have a few months to recover.’
‘There are still a couple of months before the rains are due.’
Don sighed grimly. ‘Indeed there are. The Wehrmacht will need some time to recover and regroup, but it’s not hard to guess what they’ll do next.’
It made a pleasant change for Herrman to be in Berlin. Hitler was rarely there, spending most time at the Rastenburg FHQ or his retreat at Berchtesgaden, but he had returned for the celebrations of the fall of Moscow and to confer with the Party and Wehrmacht leaders over the next moves. Herrman took every opportunity to stroll around the streets, enjoying the holiday atmosphere in the great capital city, as yet apparently untouched by war. The shops were all open and stocking a wide range of goods, although with some exceptions, he noted. The British blockade of Atlantic and Mediterranean sea routes had cut off supplies of some goods, as had the war with the Soviet Union, but produce from Italy and Greece varied the home-grown foods. He could not escape his destiny for long, however; every day, there was the war.
‘After seizing Moscow, the army is already back on course to take Leningrad and the Crimea, encircling and destroying the Russian forces there. Next we will press on to the Volga and kick the Russian Government out of their new capital. By then we will have seized nearly half of all Soviet production facilities. Then our army can enjoy a well-earned winter rest.’
Hitler was evidently in a particularly omnipotent mood and not without reason, Herrman reflected. The imposing meeting room in the Reich Chancellery was filled with senior officers of OKW, OKH, OKL and OKM.
‘Not so for the navy and air force, however! England still holds out, and a maximum effort must be made to enforce our blockade. Every merchant ship that gets through must be regarded as a defeat in battle, for every one brings to the English what they need to defy us for a little longer. The only exception to this maximum effort shall be the bomber groups on the Eastern Front, which must keep pounding the remnants of the Russian forces and their industrial capacity. Meanwhile, the army must be preparing itself to crush the final Russian resistance in the spring. The new Panther tank has proved itself to be more than a match for the best Russian tanks, and this will be steadily replacing the earlier Panzers in our tank armies. The conversion of the railways will continue so that we can take our supplies up to the front line, and partisans will be dealt with ruthlessly. This does not mean that the military will get everything that you ask for. We must remember the ordinary German people. We cannot just print all the Marks we need, because that way lies inflation, and we have all seen the devastating effects of that under the Weimar Republic. Production of military equipment will be limited to what we calculate we need to finish this war, so that our people can continue to enjoy a good standard of living. We will never again subject the German people to shortages and rationing.’
Afterwards, Herrman circulated somewhat reluctantly among the assembled uniforms, clutching a glass of champagne that he supposed had been filched from some unfortunate chateau. There was a palpable buzz of excitement and confidence in the air, with officers chatting animatedly.
‘You must feel rather outnumbered by all these uniforms.’ Herrman turned to meet the eyes of a Generalmajor.
Herrman smiled slightly. ‘I have become rather used to that in recent years.’
‘Yes, I must confess I have been intrigued by your attachment to the Führer’s staff. I know you’re not an intelligence man, or a doctor, or anything like that. You’re something of a mystery man.’
Herrman laughed rather uneasily. ‘Nothing mysterious about me. I just bring an historical perspective to the great events we are living through.’
‘Interesting. I thought our Führer was more interested in the future than the past.’
‘Excuse me.’ Stadler’s voice was firm and cold. ‘Professor Herrman’s presence is required.’
‘But of course,’ the officer murmured. Herrman was conscious of the man’s eyes on his back as he walked away.
‘Who was that?’
‘His name is Oster. He is one of Canaris’s Abwehr men, running their Central Department. Don’t talk to him; the Abwehr is politically unreliable so they haven’t been told about you.’
‘I see.’ Herrman did indeed. He was well aware of the intense rivalry between the SD and the military’s intelligence and counter-intelligence organisation, only held in check by a relatively good working relationship between Admiral Canaris and Obergruppenführer Heydrich, the head of the RSHA, the Reich Central Security Office, of which the SD was a part. He recalled that much of the opposition to Hitler had its roots in the Abwehr, who in the nature of their work were well aware of the atrocities being committed by the Nazis.
The gathering was suddenly interrupted by the wailing of sirens. Stadler looked astonished. ‘An air raid warning? Here? How ridiculous!’
Herrman was aware that British bombing of Germany had been restricted to precisely defined military and industrial targets, carefully avoiding city centres. The gathering was clearly reluctant to break up and descend to the bunkers, so the party went on. Curious, Herrman walked to a tall window overlooking the city. Searchlights were leaping up into the night and the distant rumble of gunfire was audible. He watched, fascinated, his first view of a bombing raid. For a while, nothing much seemed to be happening; then a vivid, multi-coloured glow lit the window.
‘My God, they’re coming here!’ Stadler was incredulous and there was an unprecedented touch of panic in his voice. ‘Come away from the window and down to the shelter. NOW!’ He hurried Herrman away in an iron grip. Just as they reached the door, the building shook to a massive blast. Herrman glanced back and saw glass flying across the room from the window he had been standing by.
‘They must be mad!’ Stadler seemed caught between astonishment and fury. ‘Hitler will smash London for this!’
A sudden thought almost stopped Herrman in his tracks. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I expect that’s exact
ly what Churchill wants!’
Don and Mary stood at the window of their darkened apartment, looking at the clear night sky revealed by the blackout.
‘Peaceful so far,’ she said.
Don was subdued. ‘Not for much longer. Hitler is bound to retaliate soon.’
‘Is it worth it? Sacrificing this beautiful city?’
‘It had better be. Churchill would never admit it publicly, of course, but diverting the Germans into attacking our cities is the only thing that might take the pressure off our ports and shipping, as well as convincing the Russians that we’re still fighting and won’t abandon them.’
She sighed. ‘History seems to be repeating itself in so many ways, despite all of your efforts. We were doing so well until a couple of months ago. Now there’s a real threat that Hitler will finish off the Russians and turn his full force onto us.’ She paused for a moment, then continued hesitantly. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m afraid I’ve been rather careless. I’m pregnant.’
For a moment Don did not reply. Then he took her in his arms and held her close. His thoughts were in turmoil, but above all he felt a powerful, unaccustomed surge of tenderness and protectiveness. His voice was muffled by her hair. ‘Then we’d better make sure this will be a world worth bringing our child in to.’
CHAPTER 7 – CO-PROSPERITY
Winter 1941-42
The morning air was cool and fresh; the sun was just beginning to penetrate the light mist. The guard paused in his rounds, enjoying the first moments of a day which promised to be warm and sunny. The long stretch of featureless runway slowly crystallised out of the haze, with surrounding trees and buildings taking firm shape.
The planes he was guarding were clustered neatly, wingtip to wingtip, as ordered by the base commander. International tension had been steadily mounting and the brass were apparently afraid of sabotage. Certainly there had been unaccustomed activity around the base in recent weeks, with many new aircraft arriving and much effort put into training. He hated to think how much fuel was being burned up.
A sudden roar of engines jarred him out of his semi-reverie, and he turned to see the ungainly four-engined plane warming up ready for take-off. The guard watched as it slowly taxied down to the end of the runway then turned in his direction. The four undercarriage legs, one beneath each engine, were unmistakable.
The engine note hardened and the plane began to roll, gathering speed with relentless determination as it sped down the runway. As it flashed past the guard, the tail slowly rose then the whole aircraft gradually lifted itself into the air.
The guard watched with interest as the Vickers Warwick vanished in the haze, puzzling as everyone had been about the presence of the aircraft. The official word was that it was on loan, together with its crew, for some sort of evaluation exercise. All the same, it seemed very odd to see an RAF plane in Oahu!
Several hundred miles to the north-west, Vice-Admiral Chuichi Nagumo was feeling acutely nervous. His flagship, the giant 40,000 ton aircraft carrier Akagi, moved easily through the heavy seas. His fleet had adopted the daytime cruising formation an hour before and was now spread over an area of the Pacific with a front and depth of some sixteen nautical miles.
Closest to the Akagi were the five other aircraft carriers which, along with his own, were the home for the 465 aircraft of the First Air Fleet: the equally huge Kaga, the 30,000 ton sister ships Shokaku and Zuikaku, and the 20,000 ton Soryu and Hiryu. In the past, he had been comforted by the thought that even the smallest of these was similar in size to the British Royal Navy’s new Ark Royal class carriers. As the time for action approached, his anxiety grew beyond the help of such thoughts.
He peered ahead to where Rear Admiral Omori in the light cruiser Abukuma commanded the nine escorts of the 1st Destroyer Squadron; five of them were spread in a screen a few miles in front of the carriers, the other four were ten miles further ahead. In between were the heavy cruisers Tone and Chikuma; trailing the carriers by some four miles were the reassuringly massive Kongo class battlecruisers Hiei and Kirishima. Scattered around the fleet were the tankers necessary for them all to make the 3,000 mile journey from their bases.
Nagumo cast his mind back to the arguments that had raged at the highest levels in Japan about the impasse the country faced. He had not been party to them himself, of course, but Admiral Yamamoto, the Commander in Chief of the Imperial Japanese Navy, had said enough to give a flavour of what had happened.
The Army had been mainly responsible for pressing for war. Their territorial ambitions had already led to the effective annexation of Manchuria and a long drawn out invasion of China. Last summer, they had also moved into French Indo-China. Japan saw herself as the natural leader of Asia and deeply resented the attempts by the Western powers to block the expansion of her power, most recently by refusing to sell her the raw materials her economy needed.
The Navy was not so belligerent, Nagumo reflected, but had been insulted by the West’s refusal, at a series of naval disarmament conferences, to countenance Japanese equality in warship numbers.
The result of the West’s intransigence was that Japan was now cut off from the supplies of oil and other raw materials readily available in the western colonies of the East Indies – temptingly within range of Japanese military power. Japan was slowly strangling for lack of these materials. At the same time, the Americans had announced a massive naval expansion programme of over two hundred warships, including seven battleships and eighteen aircraft carriers, to add to the hundred and thirty ships already being built and more than three hundred and fifty in service. By the time this was completed, the US Navy would be far too strong to attack.
The choice had been stark. Japan either had to give in to Western demands, renounce her expansion plans and withdraw from China, and thereby suffer an appalling loss of face throughout Asia, or attack now while the British were locked in a death struggle with Germany and before America’s naval expansion could take place.
Nagumo remembered the Admiral’s face as he had explained the situation. Yamamoto, who had spent time in the USA, had had no doubt that a war would have to be over quickly, because in the long run America’s industrial might would far outperform Japan’s. The gamble was that a knock-out blow against the American fleet and the rapid conquest of the remainder of the West’s Asian colonies would give Japan enough time to secure her supplies of raw materials and to throw such a strong defensive ring around her new possessions that the Americans would be forced to accept the new status quo instead of continuing the battle.
It was this reasoning that had led Yamamoto to plan the bold step of an attack on the American naval base of Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. The base was essential to American naval operations in Asia and most of the US fleet was based there.
‘Climb Mount Niitaka’. The message from Japan, ordering the attack, had arrived on December 1st. Nagumo grimaced, remembering the mixture of emotions with which he had received it. He was not an expert in naval aviation, but nonetheless had been entrusted with the task of striking Japan’s most daring blow. It was more responsibility than he could easily cope with.
The course of his fleet had been carefully plotted to minimise the risk of discovery. The usual shipping lanes kept to the south of the Hawaiian Islands so the fleet’s route had curved well to the north, through turbulent seas which had made refuelling a nightmare. The fleet was sailing under strict radio silence, but a stream of messages came from Japan, relaying the latest information from spies on Oahu, the island which included Pearl Harbor.
‘The tankers are moving into position for the final refuelling, sir.’
Nagumo nodded acknowledgement. It was the morning of December 6th. Soon it would be time to assemble the crews and tell them, at last, what it was they were there to do.
‘It’s absolutely monstrous! Do you know how long it takes to build a golf course?’ The visitor was red-faced with indignation, moustache bristling. The Briga
dier in the Royal Engineers tried to appear sympathetic. He was too tired to be good at it. He uttered what he hoped were a few soothing platitudes, well aware that the bulldozers had moved in before the august members of the Golf Club Committee could organise in its defence – because he had so arranged it.
The plans had been around for years, he knew, but so massive was the complacent inertia that procrastination had delayed their implementation – until General Wavell had arrived: he had been appointed overall Commander-in-Chief and armed with draconian powers and instructions signed by Churchill himself.
Brigadier Simson sighed and walked around to look at the large maps of Singapore and South-East Asia on the wall. Wavell had given him the authority and resources to put his long-planned defence measures into effect. The last of the additional airfields was well under way, the field fortifications facing Malaya across the mile-wide Johore Strait almost complete. With the accelerated shipments of troops, guns, tanks and aircraft now streaming into the island, as much as possible was being done. Even the 15 and 9.2 inch coastal artillery, most of which could be trained to fire inland, had received large quantities of anti-personnel shells together with some fuses labelled ‘Variable Time’, although the security surrounding them suggested something more than a conventional time fuse. Finally, some large cruisers and a couple of light aircraft carriers had arrived only the previous week.
‘So far so good,’ he murmured.
Geoffrey Taylor, who had sat quietly at the back of the room, observing the confrontation with wry amusement, grunted agreement. ‘It’s the preparedness of the new troops that worries me the most. They’ll have to get used to jungle fighting in a hurry. Still, the Japs had no experience of that until earlier this year, either, so there’s hope yet. And they’re far better equipped with automatic weapons.’
THE FORESIGHT WAR Page 23
