Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07

by The Second Seal

  There, he was provided with a guide, and a quarter of an hour later, an A.D.C. conducted him to a youngish-looking, cleanshaven Colonel, named Bauer. When he had stated his business, the Colonel said:

  “Naturally, General von Moltke will give the letter you bring from General von Hötzendorf his earliest possible attention; but he has been out all day, accompanying His Majesty on a tour of inspection, and they are not expected back until late to-night. To-morrow morning will be the earliest he can see you. If the matter is urgent, perhaps you would prefer to discuss it with his deputy, General von Stein.”

  Anxious as De Richleau now was to get out of Germany, he had killed two men for an opportunity to influence the Chief of Staff, and an interview with his deputy would not amount at all to the same thing; so he replied:

  “I should be very happy to have a preliminary talk with General von Stein; but I must, of course, present my letter personally.”

  After speaking over a telephone, Bauer announced that the General would see the Duke at a quarter past six. He then ordered the A.D.C. to have De Richleau’s baggage sent for and allot him one of the visitors’ rooms at the top of the house.

  At six-fifteen the Duke was received by von Stein, a handsome, monocled Prussian, with a pleasant smile; and the moment they came face to face, De Richleau realized that his luck was in. Although he had forgotten it, he had met the General some years before, when they had both been guests at a big shooting party in Hungary.

  The ice having thus been happily broken, they were soon talking with complete frankness about the situation on the battle-fronts. German Main Headquarters were entirely satisfied with the progress in the West. Although, as the General remarked, his Chief had reduced the ninety-seven divisions prescribed in the original Schlieffen Plan to seventy-eight, that had not made the least difference. The line of the Meuse had been forced on the 19th—20th, the mighty wheel was swinging inexorably through Belgium, and its all-important pivot, the great fortress of Namur, had fallen on the 23rd. The quite unexpected appearance of a British Army, under General Sir John French, on the extreme left of the allied line had failed to hold the advance for more than a day, and hour by hour news of fresh victories continued to come in.

  So, thought the Duke, Churchill was right about the Germans getting across the Meuse by the 20th day, and everything now hung on whether he would prove equally right about the 40th. It was good news that the Germans were employing many fewer divisions than required by the original plan. That would give the French a better chance when the attempt was made to stem the tide. But it was bad news about Namur—very bad, as that shoulder of the wheel should have been the point at which the counter-attack was launched, with the object of lopping off the extended right arm of the German armies, and the loss of the fortress would make such an operation far more difficult to launch. It was the first he had heard of the British having landed an Expeditionary Force, and he asked with much interest how it was showing.

  “We came up against them at Mons yesterday at dawn,” replied the General, “and they fought there very stubbornly all day; but last night they were compelled to retire. Many of their officers and men saw active service in South Africa, so if their numbers were greater they might prove quite formidable. But they have only two corps in the field. As His Majesty remarked, it is a contemptible little army. Its defeat will prove no more than a side show.”

  “What of the French?” inquired the Duke.

  “They have been fighting with great bravery. Since the 20th they have done their utmost to turn the tide of battle, but without avail. Of course, everything was against them from the start. Their staff-work is not to be compared with ours, and most of their equipment is pitiful. They have not even field-service uniforms. The red trousers and blue coats of their infantry make them an easy mark, and the tin breast-plates of their Cuirassiers, shining in the sun, invite a bullet from a mile away. But, that apart, including the four British divisions, they have only fifty-five all told operating against our seventy-eight, so their defeat is inevitable. But tell me about the Eastern front? I fear that presents a very different picture, and we are acutely worried about it.”

  De Richleau gave a résumé of the situation, which might have been taken almost word for word from the first part of Ludendorff’s dispatch.

  As he listened, the General’s face was grave, and at length he said: “It would be a great blow to our prestige if East Prussia were overrun. That might even put new heart into the French, and it is of the first importance that we should overcome their resistance quickly, so that we can about face before the bulk of the Russian hordes descends upon us. What do you think of the new Command’s chances of re-forming a solid front?”

  The Duke shrugged. “They were doing their utmost when I left; but, unfortunately, General von Prittwitz scattered the 8th Army over such a wide area that there is a great risk of its being defeated piecemeal.”

  Feeling that he had said enough for the moment, he turned the conversation to his mission from von Hötzendorf, and expressed the Austrian C. in C.’s disappointment that his allies had, so far, failed to give him the co-operation they had promised.

  Von Stein smiled bleakly. “You know even better than I do how we are placed up there. And the fact is that the Russian attack came before we expected it. We have good reason to believe that the French begged the Russians to take the weight off them, and that the Grand Duke responded by launching his first offensive several days in advance of his original schedule. Anyhow, you can see for yourself that we are in no position to assist your army at the moment; but, of course, we’ll talk the matter over with General von Moltke in the morning.”

  That ended their formal talk. But De Richleau met von Stein again later that evening, at dinner in the senior officers’ mess. There, he had excellent opportunity of sowing further alarm and despondency about the Eastern front, both in the mind of the General and those of several other officers, to all of whom it was already a dark cloud in Germany’s otherwise sunny sky.

  When he went to bed, he felt he had made an excellent beginning, but he fervently hoped that he would be out of Germany within another twenty-four hours. He thought it very unlikely that anyone at Wartenburg would learn his whereabouts, or that he would be called upon to give further evidence about the tragedy on the train, for a day or two yet. But one could never tell, and it needed only one little piece of bad luck for his life not to be worth six hours’ purchase.

  Next morning, the 25th, at eleven o’clock, he was summoned to the presence. General Count Helmath von Moltke was the nephew of the great Field Marshal of that name, who, ably supported by the ‘Iron’ Chancellor Bismarck, and the extremely capable War Minister, von Roon, had directed the victorious German armies in their classic campaigns against the Danes, Austrians, and French in the late ’sixties and ’seventies. The present holder of the title was a charming elderly gentleman of sixty-six, who owed his position to a combination of the facts that his uncle’s mantle had descended on him and that he was a courtier-soldier with the ability to present all army matters in a light calculated to please his difficult Monarch. His experience of military affairs was wide, but his brain only mediocre. With him were General von Stein, and Colonel Tappen, his operations expert.

  Von Hötzendorf’s letter consisted of only a few lines, introducing its bearer, and a strongly worded appeal that, even at this belated date, the original plan for combined Austro-German operations against the Russians should be adhered to. When the Chief of Staff had read it, he said to De Richleau:

  “Believe me, all of us here feel the deepest regret that it was not possible to carry out our original intentions with regard to the Eastern Front. But the destruction of the French army as the first move in the war was, for us, a paramount necessity. However, that is well on its way to accomplishment.”

  “My congratulations, Excellency,” said the Duke. “May I, then, carry the good news back to General von Hötzendorf that you will shortly be in a pos
ition to assist him?”

  “We may be able to do so indirectly, but I do not wish to guarantee anything for the moment; and I am much comforted by the thought that his situation does not urgently demand it. His offensive is meeting with considerable success without our help. This morning the news came in that General Dankl’s 1st Austrian Army inflicted a heavy defeat yesterday on the Russians, and took Krasnik.”

  “I am delighted to hear that, Excellency. But what of the future? Your 8th Army in East Prussia is seriously disorganized and in a most precarious position. Should it be defeated by General Samsonov, he will then be able to turn round and add his weight to the forces already opposing the Austro-Hungarian armies. How can they be expected to stand alone against the whole might of Russia?”

  “Ah!” sighed von Moltke. “You have touched upon the sore point that I have just been discussing with my officers. I gather from General von Stein that you take a very pessimistic view of our prospects in East Prussia.”

  De Richleau gave the appearance of hesitating uncomfortably, then he said: “Excellency, how can one do otherwise with the 8th Army in such poor shape and opposed to more than double its numbers. When I left General Ludendorff, he seemed confident of being able to form some sort of front, but should his confidence prove ill-founded it may result in a major disaster. After all, one cannot forget that to the south of him the Russian frontier is only 180 miles from Berlin.”

  Von Moltke nodded his bald head. “That is just what we fear. His over-confidence may prove our ruin. I spoke to him on the telephone late last night and offered to send him two Army Corps. He said that he would naturally be pleased to receive reinforcements, but he could quite well do without them.”

  The Duke suppressed a tremor of excitement. Two Army Corps! That meant in the neighbourhood of 100,000 men. And he had been thinking only in terms of Divisions. What a magnificent relief for hard-pressed France. Quickly, he said:

  “If you can spare them from the West, Excellency, I beg you to send them. That would, in broad effect, be a satisfactory answer to General von Hötzendorf’s appeal; as, wherever they were employed in the East, they would take a certain amount of Russian pressure off him.”

  “That is what I had in mind when I said just now that we might be able to help him indirectly.” Von Moltke glanced at his deputy, and added: “We talked of sending the two Corps that were earmarked for the investment of Namur, didn’t we?”

  Von Stein inclined his head. “Yes, Excellency. The unexpected surrender of the fortress has rendered them redundant.”

  Colonel Tappen had been listening attentively. Prefacing his remark with a deferential cough, he put in quickly. “As I have already had the honour to point out to your Excellency, it is bad policy to make two bites at one cherry. If we are to reinforce the Eastern Front, we should not do so in driblets. Now that the battle in the West is as good as won, we could quite well afford to detach two Corps from our left and two Corps from our right. It will take them a few days to disengage, but in any case even the two Corps held in reserve for Namur could not reach General Hindenburg in time to participate in his battle for East Prussia. I submit that our wisest course would be to create a new Army under him on the line of the Vistula. If he suffers defeat in his approaching engagement, he can then fall back upon it, and we should at least not have to fear a deep penetration by the Russians into the Fatherland.

  On the other hand if he succeeds in checking the present Russian advance, he will be able to order up those six fresh Corps and deploy them on his front. Then, with an army greater than that opposed to him, he would have the means to eliminate this peril of a Russian invasion once and for all.”

  De Richleau held his breath.

  Von Moltke looked at von Stein and said: “Tappen is right, you know. I was almost persuaded to adopt this policy when we discussed the matter yesterday, Our visitor has confirmed my worst fears about prospects in East Prussia, so I now feel we must. That’s settled then. Please give orders for the entraining of the two Corps to begin at once, and for the other four to follow as soon as possible.”

  The Duke could hardly believe his ears. Six Corps! Six whole Corps! Three hundred thousand men—and 200,000 of them to be pulled out of the fighting line. It was beyond his wildest dreams. If the French were capable of going over to the offensive on Churchill’s 40th day, they would now have the advantage of numbers. By then, owing to these huge withdrawals, the German Army in the West would be stretched to breaking point. By an all-out effort it might not only be stopped, but smashed.

  But the French were now being driven back all along the line. They might not stand, and certainly would not risk attempting a counter-offensive, unless they learned how greatly the forces opposed to them had been weakened. If they did not receive intelligence of the withdrawal of the six Corps they might continue to retreat, and this God-given opportunity be lost to them for ever. Everything might still be lost if De Richleau failed to get the stupendous news swiftly to Paris or London.

  Keeping the excitement out of his voice with an effort, he said: “General von Hötzendorf will be delighted to hear your Excellency’s decision. Have I your leave to convey it to him?”

  “Certainly,” von Moltke nodded. “I will confirm it in a personal letter for you to take back with you. But at mid-day I must attend upon His Majesty, so I shall not have time to write it until to-night. It will be time enough if you leave with it to-morrow morning.”

  That suited the Duke perfectly. The last thing he wanted was to be put on to a special train at once, as it might carry him hundreds of miles back into the heart of Germany before he could get off it. With a bow he said:

  “In that case, Excellency, if you have no objection, I will spend the rest of the day in Aix. I have some old friends living there, with whom I should like to dine to-night.”

  “By all means,” smiled the Chief of Staff. De Richleau saluted and Colonel Tappen showed him out. The momentous interview was over.

  He knew that he must abandon most of his kit, but upstairs in his room he crammed as many things as he could, including Ilona’s photograph, the Austrian decoration he had been given, his pistol and his field-glasses, into a small attache case.

  As he left the building, he saw a line of powerful cars drawn up in front of its main entrance. On the bonnet of the leading one fluttered a flag bearing the Imperial Eagle. Standing aside, he waited there for a few moments then, as he had expected, the Kaiser appeared. A long grey cloak, dangling to his heels, hid his uniform except for the shining jack-boots; but with his fiercely upturned moustache and brass-pointed helmet he looked very martial. As he strutted forward to the car he was followed at six paces by a brilliant retinue of lesser German kings and princes and several generals. When within sight of troops everyone was forbidden to approach nearer to him, because he was so short, and his vanity so great, that he could not bear his lack of stature to be made obvious by the proximity of taller men. It was that same awful vanity which had tempted him to play the War Lord, and made him, after von Hötzendorf and Count Berchtold, more responsible than any other individual for plunging the civilization of his era into chaos.

  When the cars had driven off, De Richleau soon secured a lift in another that was going into Aix. There, he booked a room at the Hôtel de la Poste and lunched in its restaurant. Then he went out shopping, his procedure being similar to that which he had adopted nearly two months before in Belgrade. At a leather merchant’s he bought a portmanteau, then took it to an outfitter’s, where he said that he wanted a good ready-made suit as a present for his manservant who was getting married, and about the same build as himself. Taking it away with him he bought a Homburg hat, six collars and two neckties at other shops. About boots he did not bother, as those he was wearing were very comfortable, and the civilian trousers would come down well, concealing their tops. He then bought ham, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, butter and rolls, enough for a good meal.

  Making his purchases presented no difficulty,
as in those distant days of plenty no one had even conceived the idea that the word ‘ration’ would ever be applied to anything except the issue of food to the fighting forces, or shared out by parties of explorers in the most distant and desolate parts of the earth.

  At a garage, he hired a car, and drove it back to the hotel. Foreign currencies were still readily exchanged in every country and, Aix being so near to Holland, the cashier was able to provide him with Dutch florins in exchange for some of his German marks. Going upstairs, he changed into the civilian clothes, packed his uniform into the portmanteau and, having left enough money on the dressing-table to pay his bill, carried it, with his little attache case, down the back stairs to the yard where he had parked the car. At a quarter to four, he was driving out of Aix.

  Ahead of him to the west, lay that curious tag of Dutch territory between Germany and Belgium known as the Maastricht Appendix. The frontier was less that three miles distant, and he had only to cross it to be safe. He had received official permission to leave Headquarters and, unless something quite unforeseen connected his appearance there with his disappearance from Wartenburg, his absence would not be noticed until the following morning. And even if a telegram requiring his arrest did now come in. it would be hours before he could be traced.

  But, as a result of the war, people could no longer pass freely from one country to another without official papers, and he knew that the frontier would be guarded. In every country there were still many men with strongly pacifist views. Such people saw no glamour in the war and bitterly resented the loss of their freedom when called up for it. In consequence, all the conscript armies were losing quite a considerable number of men as deserters. That was one of the main reasons why Germany had closed her frontiers. She had, moreover, insisted that the Dutch should police their frontiers as well, and return to her any deserters who were caught after managing to get across it. The Dutch were still highly nervous that if they gave offence to Germany they might suffer the same fate that had overtaken Belgium, so they had promptly agreed; which meant that there would be a double line of patrols to get through.