Decades of Darkness #178: The One Regret Of My Life
“Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.”
- Attributed to Clement Churchill
* * *
RFS Utrecht
8 February 1932
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Admiral Erwin Gercke was not a happy man. As the commander of the South Atlantic Squadron of the Krijgmarine, his ships had been far out at sea when the war broke out. He had not been back to German soil ever since. Over two years in exile from his wife Erika, whom he missed more than life itself. Over two years to rage at the stupidity of the naval high command. They had known the war was coming; why didn’t they prepare better for it?
It would not have taken all that much effort. With a few weeks warning, or maybe even a few days, they would have lost far fewer of German’s merchant ships interned or captured by the Bouclier. Gercke had done what he could, and had amassed a large collection of German- and Polish-flagged merchant vessels in South American waters, first in Brazil and more recently here in Argentina. He had been joined by those merchant vessels which had sheltered in Germany’s other colonies until those fell one by one. Under his command now, he had his own squadrons, a few additional cruisers who had been raiding the sea lanes and driven here, and the remnants of the Indian Ocean and Far Eastern Fleets. Under his protection, he had a much larger collection of merchant vessels and unruly civilian sailors. He wanted to get all of these ships to somewhere useful, but he had never been in a position to do so.
Until today, when he had received a set of orders which made him speculate aloud about the anatomically improbable place where the naval high command had placed their heads. The orders had given him fresh congratulations on his accomplishments in gathering so much of Germany’s shipping into a safe harbour... and given him instructions on what to do with them.
“Which buffoon back in Rotterdam came up with this stroke of genius?” he muttered. He had been given four days to evacuate all German and allied ships from Buenos Aires, both military and civilian. Four days to prepare for a voyage back to Germany. And more specifically to a Baltic port, or failing that Hamburg.
Oh, there were dangers staying here, to be sure. The Argentines had been jittery ever since Germany signed a ceasefire with the United States. They had remained cool despite repeated assurances that Argentina would not be abandoned by Germany in any peace treaty. Now he had been told, belatedly, that peace would happen in four days. America would recognise Argentine independence, at the price of the Falklands and Tierra del Fuego. Maybe the Argentines would accept that deal, but his orders stated that he was to be out of Argentine waters before the peace treaty was publicly announced. And make it home to Germany afterward.
“Some more notice would have been nice,” he muttered. He sent for Konteradmiral Kindler, commander of the Utrecht, and a man who had always been handy for bouncing ideas off.
While Gercke waited, another even more ominous thought occurred to him. These orders were nonsensical in most circumstances, but it was particularly strange that he had been ordered to attempt the dangerous route around England. Why not cross to conquered Morocco and transit the Straits into the Mediterranean? That was now reportedly a German lake, at least at the western end. If he was being sent on such a long voyage around England, that could only mean that his ships were needed in the North Sea. The rumours must be true; the planned invasion of England was going ahead.
“Ah, come in, Jörg,” he said, motioning Kindler to a chair. “Think we can get every warship and merchant vessel ready to leave Buenos Aires in four days?”
“Why ever for, sir?” Kindler asked.
“Peace is coming with the Jackals. We need to be out of here, and pick a route which avoids any trouble.”
“I see.” Kindler paused for thought, then said, “There’s no safe route. If the Brazilians don’t attack us for selling them out, the British and Yankees will. Not to mention that it’s a damnably long way to anywhere safe.”
“We’re meant to make it to the Baltic. Arrangements have been made so that we can refuel in the Azores or Morocco if we choose, although we can’t linger there.”
“Great help that is,” Kindler said. “The Allies will be looking for us. Even assuming that they aren’t reading our codes – and you already know what I think about that – it’ll be impossible to miss the fact that all of our ships are gone from Buenos Aires.”
“They certainly didn’t intercept this set of orders. They were delivered by sea wolf,” Gercke said. “Hmm. Perhaps we could refuel at Recife. If the Americans are at peace with us, they should permit it.”
“I doubt it, sir,” Kindler said. Gercke raised an eyebrow, and the other man continued, “Guess you haven’t heard the news. Blundell’s done it again. He seized four American merchantmen, and scuttled them in the harbour at Rio. It’ll be weeks before the Americans get any use out of their newly-captured port. They’ll certainly be too suspicious to let us go anywhere near a port they control.”
“And they occupy too many Brazilian ports, even if their control isn’t all that firm,” Gercke said. He smiled. “Blundell again. I wish that man well.” Despite the inconvenience which Blundell’s actions had caused, he still could not make himself dislike that man, even for a moment. This was the man who had captured the heir to the Brazilian throne. The man who had stolen an American ship full of Chilean nitrates and brought it close enough to destroy one of their artificial harbours when the ship exploded. The man who had finally killed General Yarwood. And now this, another strand to the legend. In his own way, Blundell was becoming as famous a Yankee as the Black Fox.
“We still have to work out how we’re going to move,” Kindler said.
Gercke thought for a few moments, then said, “Put the fear of God into everyone ashore, and get our ships moving. Anyone who isn’t ready in four days gets left behind. Probably best to travel in a combined fleet as far as the Azores. We will need to refuel there; no point going to Morocco.”
“It’ll be damnably slow in a convoy with the slowest ship,” Kindler said.
“Indeed, but we’ve got no choice. Strict funk silence at all times, I think. After the Azores, we should split into, hmm, four squadrons, and take different routes. Make it harder for the Yankees to get lucky.”
“Sounds workable as a basic plan, but there’s a lot of details still to cover,” Kindler said.
They summoned their staff, and got to work on the many details. Gercke still had many reservations, but he didn’t have much choice. The German fleet sailed out of the Rio de la Plata four days later, and began a slow journey to the Azores. They divided there, and thanks to the strict funk silence, they did not communicate much with each other after that. But later than he expected, Gercke brought the Utrecht and a large convoy of other vessels into Hamburg. Only there did he find that two of the other convoys had made it home, but one convoy was caught by a Yankee carrier and most of the ships had been sunk far from shore...
* * *
16 April 1932
Amsterdam, German Holy Roman Empire
“Welcome to the Office of Information,” the receptionist said. “Please take a seat; Herr Fagel will be ready in a moment.”
A moment which could stretch to an hour, for all Gercke knew. He had never had dealings with Fagel before, but he had heard that the man was a bureaucrat through and through, and quite focused on matters of status. Although that had not matched with his correspondence with the man. Fagel had given no job title, no indications of his authority, nothing. But then, what else could be expected from a senior spy?
The moment turned out to be about ten minutes, and Gercke spent the intervening time reading through his briefing papers. He needed to have his facts in order before this meeting. Although Gercke could not yet decide if he would rather be right than wrong. Having Fagel convince him that he was mistaken would be a relief, even if it would reflect badly on his judgement. And being right could lead to many headaches.
When Gercke was ushered in to meet Herr Fagel, he found a man entirely unremarkable. Fagel had medium build, medium height, offered a handshake which was neither too soft nor too firm, had medium-length hair on his head, and no facial hair. He had, in fact, no distinguishing features worthy of mention. Gercke suspected that five minutes after leaving this office, he would be hard-pressed to recall what Fagel looked like.
“Your letter mentioned that you had important news, Admiral,” Fagel said. His voice was similarly undistinguished, with a monotonic delivery that gave no hint of his feelings about any subject.
“Yes. Based on what I and my colleagues have seen, I believe that the Yankees can read our codes. Our naval codes, at least, and probably others. Our encryption is based on similar principles for all services, isn’t it?”
Fagel gave a half-shrug. “What leads you to this belief?”
“The Yankees were just too damned good at knowing where our ships were moving. They’d appear where they had no right to be. They had to be reading codes, since they were too accurate to just be direction-finding funk waves. They even appeared at times when we had funk silence.”
Fagel said, “How can you be sure that they don’t have sources within your navy? Although it is not my area of responsibility, I am sure that we have sources within their navy.”
“They’d need a network of people everywhere to find this out,” Gercke said. “I have trouble believing it.”
Fagel said, “I have it on good authority that our codes would be extremely difficult to read. Still, I have heard a few indicators which suggest the possibility. We had one American defector a few months ago who swore that the New Englanders or British could read some of our army codes. One of our Greek colleagues say that his contacts amongst the New Englanders have dropped enough hints that he is sure that they are reading codes. And we’ve had a few other indicators which I will not mention here. But we have nothing concrete. All of these could be disinformation. If the Bouclier cannot crack our codes, why not encourage us to go to the trouble of changing them, especially to something which they might be able to read?”
“There might be ways around that,” Gercke said. “Create an operation where sources on the ground are told one story, but where the funk messages show another. That would be a strong indicator.”
“It is worth exploring, perhaps,” Fagel said. “Do you have any more specific ideas?”
“Something involving the invasion fleet. Why not create decoys in a port which we are not actually using? Rotterdam, say. If everyone on the ground knows that they are decoys, then if they human sources, the Yankees will not bomb them. But if our funk messages give hints of congregating shipping, I would expect the Allies to do what they can to strike at Rotterdam.”
“I will consider this,” Fagel said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
* * *
6 May 1932
The Reichstag,
Frankfurt-on-Main, German Holy Roman Empire
“Keep your wits about you,” Grossadmiral Gerard Huygens whispered, before they stepped into the conference room for the meeting that could decide the fate of the war. “The eagles are in flight.”
Admiral Erwin Gercke nodded as he followed Germany’s highest-ranking naval officer into the room. The chamber had the feel of a place where much argument had taken place. Underground and windowless, but with ample lighting around a large conference table.
A veritable host of men awaited in the chamber, though he did not know many of them. Chancellor Schulthess’ white-moustached, spectacled profile was familiar enough, although he had aged considerably since his last public photograph. He knew Hermann Müller, the Foreign Minister, and Wilhelm Moeller-Bruck, the Minister of War. There were four other civilians around the table whom Gercke could not recognise on sight, and several clerks sitting behind them.
He knew more of the military men present in the room. Prinz-Marshal Adolf Ernst of Schaumburg-Lippe, head of the Deutschleger, would have been distinguished by his broad-jawed profile if he had not been festooned with medals and ermine. Gercke knew enough to look beyond that fanciful appearance; the Prinz-Marshal had risen to his position through merit. He had two other marshals beside him, and an array of lesser officers behind.
Marshal Heinz Naumann, commander of the Luftmacht [1], was booming with laughter at some comment by one of his colleagues when Gercke walked in. Naumann looked like a normal-sized man who had been rolled through a printing press into someone tall and ill-proportioned, but his voice and laugh were always loud. He had other sky officers with him, a few whom Gercke knew, although not well.
“Now that everyone is here,” Chancellor Schulthess said, with his gaze lingering on Gercke and Huygens for a moment, “We may as well begin. As you no doubt realise, gentlemen, I’ve invited you here to hear your views on how best to bring Britain to her knees.”
Moeller-Brock said, “Throw the full weight of our armed forces against them, and they’ll crumble.” He spoke in the tones of one who has been advocating the same course for a while.
“Launch Jungeisen, you mean,” Grossadmiral Huygens said.
“Of course. Everything is in place, or will be within a few weeks,” Moeller-Brock said.
“The threat of invasion works best as just that: a threat,” said Müller. “Britain has come close to surrendering once already. They are running out of allies, and soon enough they will run out of courage. With us ruling the skies above their home islands, their capitulation is merely a matter of time.”
“We can’t wait forever,” Moeller-Brock replied. “We’ve booted the Jackals out of Europe, which is well and good. But I don’t trust what Russia will do if let ourselves get trapped in a long stalemate with England. They’ve already caused enough problems over Courland.”
Schulthess had been flicking his gaze between his two ministers like an umpire at a tennis match. “Your opinions have been noted, gentleman. I’d appreciate the insights of some of our military men. Prinz-Marshal?”
“If we can get enough men and machines across the North Sea and keep them supplied, we can defeat the British on their home soil,” Adolf Ernst said.
“We need the Krijgmarine to guarantee our supplies,” one of the other marshals added. Rather redundantly, Gercke thought.
“The only guarantee in war is that events will not turn out as planned,” Grossadmiral Huygens said coolly.
“Do you think that Jungeisen shouldn’t go ahead?” the Prinz-Marshal asked.
“It may work, but it is a gamble,” Huygens said.
“A pointless gamble,” Gercke heard himself add. When he realised he was the focus of everyone’s attention, he continued, “We can starve Britain into submission. Why risk what will be a very bloody attack even if it’s successful?”
“Britain will not surrender through starvation,” the Prinz-Marshal said, confidence dripping from his voice. “Our intelligence is clear on that point. They learned their lesson from their struggle with America.”
“We can’t bomb England into submission either,” said Marshal Naumann. “They struck our cities repeatedly – even if we haven’t returned the favour much. We didn’t give up. Neither will they, not from sky power alone. We’ve concentrated our efforts on military targets, but even a prostrate England will be loath to yield. We need to get soldiers ashore and defeat the English there.”
“It’s a pointless risk,” Gercke said. “Even if we defeat the Royal Navy, we will pay an immense price. In the last war, the English and Americans wrecked each others’ fleets, and kindly made the Krijgmarine the largest navy in the world. Do we want to return the favour for the Americans?” He tried to put aside his private thoughts about his career prospects in a navy which was a quarter of its former size, or however much would survive a great battle. “And even such a battle does not guarantee us any success in invading England. We will need to have everything go right, while they only need to have one thing go right.”
“Have we thrown away so many skycraft and pilots for nothing?” Naumann said. “My men have been fighting and dying over the skies of England while the Krijgmarine hides in port. If we don’t act quickly, it will have been for nothing. The English skycraft have withdrawn to the north, but we haven’t put the Royal Sky Force permanently out of commission. They will rebuild, and all of our sacrifices will have been in vain.”
“A fighter is much cheaper to replace than a battleship,” Gercke said quietly.
“A weapon which is never used is of no use, whether it’s a fighter or a battleship,” Naumann answered.
“We have a chance of winning, but a failure would cost us too much,” Gercke said. “Not just losses of ships and men, but it will invigorate English morale. They will be willing to stay in the war for years, as they did against the first Bonaparte.”
“Delaying a decisive blow will cost us too much, too,” Naumann said. “If we dally, our soldiers will wonder why they are being left to grow bored in port. Our civilian population will ask why we are prolonging the war, while rockets fall about our heads.”
Schulthess cleared his throat. “Gentleman, I think we have heard enough of these disagreements for now. Tell me what other alternatives there are besides Jungeisen, or if you think there are any refinements which should be made to that plan.”
After a few moments awkward silence, Grossadmiral Huygens said, “Jungeisen does not have any fundamental flaws which anyone has identified. It is the result of much careful planning. It has been well-resourced, includes the best technology we have available, and allows for what we know of the enemy’s resources and intentions. While our political strategy has required that we trade strategic surprise for moral advantage, I believe that it incorporates enough misdirection that we can still achieve tactical surprise. If there are any minor amendments which my colleagues can provide, I will ensure that they are given due consideration. But for today, I believe that there is little to add.”
Schulthess asked, “If we decide to delay Jungeisen, how quickly could it be restarted?”
“At least a month’s notice would be required,” Huygens said. “Quite likely more, depending on how long until the next full moon.”
Gercke added, “The later we leave it, the worse the weather will turn.”
“Are you now advocating that we proceed?” Naumann asked.
Gercke said, “I think that we should wait until next year. Give England a year of starvation and destruction from the skies, and they will be much more amenable to a negotiated surrender.”
“If we give them another year, their army will be much more prepared,” the Prinz-Marshal said. “The New Englanders have been bloodied in France and are still recovering. Give them a year, and they will have reorganised and brought more strength across from their homeland.”
“They’d better not, if the Krijgmarine is up to the job,” Naumann said.
Huygens said calmly, “We can intercept many of the ships coming from North America, but not all of them. The ocean is simply too vast.”
“The Yankees have lost much of their strength anyway,” one of the other army marshals said. “Much of their armour was built in Liberia, and they’ve lost that.”
“Give them a year, and they will retool more of their own factories,” Naumann said.
“And most likely keep much of their new strength close to home,” Foreign Minister Müller said. “Canada already troubles them, and they will be wary of what the Americans may do.”
“The Jackals have their hands full in Brazil and Chile,” Moeller-Brock said. “They won’t open yet another front by interfering in New England.”
“Never underestimate a vitalist’s paranoia, or a slaveholder’s foolhardiness,” Müller replied.
Schulthess said, “This meeting is straying from the topic. So far, all I have heard is that Jungeisen should go ahead, or it should be delayed. Are there any other options?”
The Prinz-Marshal said, “Not at the strategic level. Either we force a decisive confrontation with Britain, or we continue to attack them in the skies and on the seas in the hope that they will surrender. There is no third option.”
“Not military options, but a continued chokehold over Britain will make for auspicious conditions for renewed diplomacy in a few months,” Müller said. “Whereas a failed attack will invigorate the British for months or years to come.”
“We cannot allow this war to go on indefinitely,” Schulthess said. “But I have not yet heard enough to convince me that we must strike immediately, either. Grossadmiral, tell us frankly: what do you estimate to be our chances of success of this invasion if it proceeds as scheduled?”
“About sixty percent, assuming we get full cooperation from the Luftmacht,” Huygens said. “Even victory will come at a bloody price, however.”
Schulthess said, “Marshal Naumann?”
“The Royal Sky Force will come out in strength on the invasion day,” Naumann said. “But we have the advantage in numbers and technology. We will defeat them on that day, and we will have several weeks of sky supremacy. We will strike at enemy artillery, disrupt troop movements and bombard fortified positions. Whether that is enough for victory is up to our colleagues on the ground.”
“Prinz-Marshal?” Schulthess asked.
“I do not like the chances of survival for any soldiers who come ashore in the first wave,” Adolf Ernst said, his tone dry. “But assuming that we retain control of the seas and sky, then I believe we can defeat the English on the ground within six months.”
Schulthess coughed. “So far, I’ve heard too many assumptions and not enough surety. I am not yet convinced, nor will it persuade Their Majesties. Continue with planning for Jungeisen for now, but I make no guarantees that I will authorise its launch.”
“There’re no guarantees that morale will hold up if we delay,” Naumann said.
“I have heard your objections already,” Schulthess said, his tone cool. “But the final decision is mine, not yours. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”
* * *
12 May 1932
Hamburg and Frankfurt, Germany
The ringing phone woke Gercke, eventually. He murmured to his wife to go back to sleep, then answered it groggily. “Gercke here.”
“You need to get to the Luftfeld immediately. A skycraft is waiting to take you to Frankfurt.”
“What’s the emergency, Hans?”
“You’ll find out when you get there. The Chancellor wants to speak with you.”
A blurry period of time later, Gercke stood before Chancellor Schulthess. He knew he looked bad; he had taken only the minimum amount of time to freshen up before leaving Hamburg. But then, Schulthess did not look much better.
“Thank you for your promptness, Admiral,” the Chancellor said. “Have you been told why you were ordered here?”
“No-one wanted to talk about it.”
“Good. We need to keep it out of the news for a few hours yet. Kaiser Willem is dead.”
“Dead?” Gercke asked. Not the most eloquent of replies, perhaps, but the best he could manage in the circumstances.
“Killed in a rocket strike on Rotterdam. Which was aimed, as best we can tell, because the enemy found out he was visiting the ‘sailors’ there. Your suspicion about Yankee code-reading looks to be correct.”
“Kaiser Willem really went to visit dummy ships?” Gercke asked, feeling numb. He suspected that he would rue this for the rest of his life.
“He was never near the port facilities. But rockets are murderously inaccurate.”
“Grave as this news is, you can’t have summoned me here just to tell me that,” Gercke said.
“Indeed not. I need your advice. You are the voice most opposed to Jungeisen. If I am still to oppose it, I will need a reason,” Schulthess said.
“Still to oppose it? Why...?” Gercke’s voice trailed off as he realised the implications.
“Indeed. Crown Prince Willem – Kaiser Willem VI now– is enraged. He wants the invasion to go ahead immediately. So do the other Kaisers. So do most of the Diet. So will the German people, when they hear the news. Delaying Jungeisen now will be... difficult.”
That struck Gercke as a fine understatement. “We can’t let passion sway good judgement, Herr Chancellor. The problems with Jungeisen have not changed since yesterday.”
“Not at all? Surely knowing that the Yankees can read our codes can be put to some suitable misdirection.”
“No doubt we could trick them,” Gercke said. Indeed, one idea immediately sprang to mind. “But only once. Jungeisen requires too many things to go right.”
“Perhaps, but not launching it leaves the problem of what to do with Britain once the war is over,” Schulthess said.
“I don’t follow.”
The Chancellor said, “Now that the war is – mostly – over, what concerns me is about the future of Germany after the war. You don’t need me to tell you what Germany’s biggest threat will be then.” Schulthess gestured toward the east.
“Russia will be there regardless of what we do to England,” Gercke replied.
“Indeed. But if we allow Britain a negotiated surrender, will we be able to make them our friends again? Allies is too much, but if we can make them friends again afterward, well and good. What do you think, Admiral?”
Gercke had the ominous feeling that whatever answer he gave, he would regret if for the rest of his life. Eventually, he said, “I do not see how England will become our friends after this war, no matter how generous peace terms we offer them.”
Schulthess nodded. “If they receive Russian or American backing to be our enemies, they will be a thorn. We can strip much of their empire from them, but their Kingdoms will remain on their side. So, is it best to grind Britain into the dust, however bloody the price?”
Gercke waited for long thought before he answered. The Chancellor had looked much further ahead than him. “I don’t know if we can grind them into the dust by force of arms.”
“You may be underestimating the effects even of a failed invasion,” Schulthess said. “Regardless of whether Jungeisen succeeds or fails on the ground, do you think that the Krijgmarine can smash the Royal Navy?”
“At the price of making the US Navy the largest in the world, yes.”
“Forget the Americans. Their navy will be formidable in their home waters, but they will have no influence outside of their own continents. Not before we can rebuild the Krijgmarine, at least. But for Britain, would you think that they will come to terms with their navy gone?”
“I am no diplomat, but I understand that the biggest stumbling block is restrictions on the Royal Navy. If they have no navy to speak of, and if we can rebuild faster than them, then yes, perhaps we can negotiate a peace we can live with.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Schulthess said. “Given our problems with communications, I will leave you to convey this message in person to the Grossadmiral: The invasion will go ahead. Use whatever subterfuges you can to mislead the British along the way.”
* * *
[1] The Luftmacht uses ranks which are directly equivalent to ranks within the German Army, rather than any separate titles.
* * *
Thoughts?
Jared
- Attributed to Clement Churchill
* * *
RFS Utrecht
8 February 1932
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Admiral Erwin Gercke was not a happy man. As the commander of the South Atlantic Squadron of the Krijgmarine, his ships had been far out at sea when the war broke out. He had not been back to German soil ever since. Over two years in exile from his wife Erika, whom he missed more than life itself. Over two years to rage at the stupidity of the naval high command. They had known the war was coming; why didn’t they prepare better for it?
It would not have taken all that much effort. With a few weeks warning, or maybe even a few days, they would have lost far fewer of German’s merchant ships interned or captured by the Bouclier. Gercke had done what he could, and had amassed a large collection of German- and Polish-flagged merchant vessels in South American waters, first in Brazil and more recently here in Argentina. He had been joined by those merchant vessels which had sheltered in Germany’s other colonies until those fell one by one. Under his command now, he had his own squadrons, a few additional cruisers who had been raiding the sea lanes and driven here, and the remnants of the Indian Ocean and Far Eastern Fleets. Under his protection, he had a much larger collection of merchant vessels and unruly civilian sailors. He wanted to get all of these ships to somewhere useful, but he had never been in a position to do so.
Until today, when he had received a set of orders which made him speculate aloud about the anatomically improbable place where the naval high command had placed their heads. The orders had given him fresh congratulations on his accomplishments in gathering so much of Germany’s shipping into a safe harbour... and given him instructions on what to do with them.
“Which buffoon back in Rotterdam came up with this stroke of genius?” he muttered. He had been given four days to evacuate all German and allied ships from Buenos Aires, both military and civilian. Four days to prepare for a voyage back to Germany. And more specifically to a Baltic port, or failing that Hamburg.
Oh, there were dangers staying here, to be sure. The Argentines had been jittery ever since Germany signed a ceasefire with the United States. They had remained cool despite repeated assurances that Argentina would not be abandoned by Germany in any peace treaty. Now he had been told, belatedly, that peace would happen in four days. America would recognise Argentine independence, at the price of the Falklands and Tierra del Fuego. Maybe the Argentines would accept that deal, but his orders stated that he was to be out of Argentine waters before the peace treaty was publicly announced. And make it home to Germany afterward.
“Some more notice would have been nice,” he muttered. He sent for Konteradmiral Kindler, commander of the Utrecht, and a man who had always been handy for bouncing ideas off.
While Gercke waited, another even more ominous thought occurred to him. These orders were nonsensical in most circumstances, but it was particularly strange that he had been ordered to attempt the dangerous route around England. Why not cross to conquered Morocco and transit the Straits into the Mediterranean? That was now reportedly a German lake, at least at the western end. If he was being sent on such a long voyage around England, that could only mean that his ships were needed in the North Sea. The rumours must be true; the planned invasion of England was going ahead.
“Ah, come in, Jörg,” he said, motioning Kindler to a chair. “Think we can get every warship and merchant vessel ready to leave Buenos Aires in four days?”
“Why ever for, sir?” Kindler asked.
“Peace is coming with the Jackals. We need to be out of here, and pick a route which avoids any trouble.”
“I see.” Kindler paused for thought, then said, “There’s no safe route. If the Brazilians don’t attack us for selling them out, the British and Yankees will. Not to mention that it’s a damnably long way to anywhere safe.”
“We’re meant to make it to the Baltic. Arrangements have been made so that we can refuel in the Azores or Morocco if we choose, although we can’t linger there.”
“Great help that is,” Kindler said. “The Allies will be looking for us. Even assuming that they aren’t reading our codes – and you already know what I think about that – it’ll be impossible to miss the fact that all of our ships are gone from Buenos Aires.”
“They certainly didn’t intercept this set of orders. They were delivered by sea wolf,” Gercke said. “Hmm. Perhaps we could refuel at Recife. If the Americans are at peace with us, they should permit it.”
“I doubt it, sir,” Kindler said. Gercke raised an eyebrow, and the other man continued, “Guess you haven’t heard the news. Blundell’s done it again. He seized four American merchantmen, and scuttled them in the harbour at Rio. It’ll be weeks before the Americans get any use out of their newly-captured port. They’ll certainly be too suspicious to let us go anywhere near a port they control.”
“And they occupy too many Brazilian ports, even if their control isn’t all that firm,” Gercke said. He smiled. “Blundell again. I wish that man well.” Despite the inconvenience which Blundell’s actions had caused, he still could not make himself dislike that man, even for a moment. This was the man who had captured the heir to the Brazilian throne. The man who had stolen an American ship full of Chilean nitrates and brought it close enough to destroy one of their artificial harbours when the ship exploded. The man who had finally killed General Yarwood. And now this, another strand to the legend. In his own way, Blundell was becoming as famous a Yankee as the Black Fox.
“We still have to work out how we’re going to move,” Kindler said.
Gercke thought for a few moments, then said, “Put the fear of God into everyone ashore, and get our ships moving. Anyone who isn’t ready in four days gets left behind. Probably best to travel in a combined fleet as far as the Azores. We will need to refuel there; no point going to Morocco.”
“It’ll be damnably slow in a convoy with the slowest ship,” Kindler said.
“Indeed, but we’ve got no choice. Strict funk silence at all times, I think. After the Azores, we should split into, hmm, four squadrons, and take different routes. Make it harder for the Yankees to get lucky.”
“Sounds workable as a basic plan, but there’s a lot of details still to cover,” Kindler said.
They summoned their staff, and got to work on the many details. Gercke still had many reservations, but he didn’t have much choice. The German fleet sailed out of the Rio de la Plata four days later, and began a slow journey to the Azores. They divided there, and thanks to the strict funk silence, they did not communicate much with each other after that. But later than he expected, Gercke brought the Utrecht and a large convoy of other vessels into Hamburg. Only there did he find that two of the other convoys had made it home, but one convoy was caught by a Yankee carrier and most of the ships had been sunk far from shore...
* * *
16 April 1932
Amsterdam, German Holy Roman Empire
“Welcome to the Office of Information,” the receptionist said. “Please take a seat; Herr Fagel will be ready in a moment.”
A moment which could stretch to an hour, for all Gercke knew. He had never had dealings with Fagel before, but he had heard that the man was a bureaucrat through and through, and quite focused on matters of status. Although that had not matched with his correspondence with the man. Fagel had given no job title, no indications of his authority, nothing. But then, what else could be expected from a senior spy?
The moment turned out to be about ten minutes, and Gercke spent the intervening time reading through his briefing papers. He needed to have his facts in order before this meeting. Although Gercke could not yet decide if he would rather be right than wrong. Having Fagel convince him that he was mistaken would be a relief, even if it would reflect badly on his judgement. And being right could lead to many headaches.
When Gercke was ushered in to meet Herr Fagel, he found a man entirely unremarkable. Fagel had medium build, medium height, offered a handshake which was neither too soft nor too firm, had medium-length hair on his head, and no facial hair. He had, in fact, no distinguishing features worthy of mention. Gercke suspected that five minutes after leaving this office, he would be hard-pressed to recall what Fagel looked like.
“Your letter mentioned that you had important news, Admiral,” Fagel said. His voice was similarly undistinguished, with a monotonic delivery that gave no hint of his feelings about any subject.
“Yes. Based on what I and my colleagues have seen, I believe that the Yankees can read our codes. Our naval codes, at least, and probably others. Our encryption is based on similar principles for all services, isn’t it?”
Fagel gave a half-shrug. “What leads you to this belief?”
“The Yankees were just too damned good at knowing where our ships were moving. They’d appear where they had no right to be. They had to be reading codes, since they were too accurate to just be direction-finding funk waves. They even appeared at times when we had funk silence.”
Fagel said, “How can you be sure that they don’t have sources within your navy? Although it is not my area of responsibility, I am sure that we have sources within their navy.”
“They’d need a network of people everywhere to find this out,” Gercke said. “I have trouble believing it.”
Fagel said, “I have it on good authority that our codes would be extremely difficult to read. Still, I have heard a few indicators which suggest the possibility. We had one American defector a few months ago who swore that the New Englanders or British could read some of our army codes. One of our Greek colleagues say that his contacts amongst the New Englanders have dropped enough hints that he is sure that they are reading codes. And we’ve had a few other indicators which I will not mention here. But we have nothing concrete. All of these could be disinformation. If the Bouclier cannot crack our codes, why not encourage us to go to the trouble of changing them, especially to something which they might be able to read?”
“There might be ways around that,” Gercke said. “Create an operation where sources on the ground are told one story, but where the funk messages show another. That would be a strong indicator.”
“It is worth exploring, perhaps,” Fagel said. “Do you have any more specific ideas?”
“Something involving the invasion fleet. Why not create decoys in a port which we are not actually using? Rotterdam, say. If everyone on the ground knows that they are decoys, then if they human sources, the Yankees will not bomb them. But if our funk messages give hints of congregating shipping, I would expect the Allies to do what they can to strike at Rotterdam.”
“I will consider this,” Fagel said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
* * *
6 May 1932
The Reichstag,
Frankfurt-on-Main, German Holy Roman Empire
“Keep your wits about you,” Grossadmiral Gerard Huygens whispered, before they stepped into the conference room for the meeting that could decide the fate of the war. “The eagles are in flight.”
Admiral Erwin Gercke nodded as he followed Germany’s highest-ranking naval officer into the room. The chamber had the feel of a place where much argument had taken place. Underground and windowless, but with ample lighting around a large conference table.
A veritable host of men awaited in the chamber, though he did not know many of them. Chancellor Schulthess’ white-moustached, spectacled profile was familiar enough, although he had aged considerably since his last public photograph. He knew Hermann Müller, the Foreign Minister, and Wilhelm Moeller-Bruck, the Minister of War. There were four other civilians around the table whom Gercke could not recognise on sight, and several clerks sitting behind them.
He knew more of the military men present in the room. Prinz-Marshal Adolf Ernst of Schaumburg-Lippe, head of the Deutschleger, would have been distinguished by his broad-jawed profile if he had not been festooned with medals and ermine. Gercke knew enough to look beyond that fanciful appearance; the Prinz-Marshal had risen to his position through merit. He had two other marshals beside him, and an array of lesser officers behind.
Marshal Heinz Naumann, commander of the Luftmacht [1], was booming with laughter at some comment by one of his colleagues when Gercke walked in. Naumann looked like a normal-sized man who had been rolled through a printing press into someone tall and ill-proportioned, but his voice and laugh were always loud. He had other sky officers with him, a few whom Gercke knew, although not well.
“Now that everyone is here,” Chancellor Schulthess said, with his gaze lingering on Gercke and Huygens for a moment, “We may as well begin. As you no doubt realise, gentlemen, I’ve invited you here to hear your views on how best to bring Britain to her knees.”
Moeller-Brock said, “Throw the full weight of our armed forces against them, and they’ll crumble.” He spoke in the tones of one who has been advocating the same course for a while.
“Launch Jungeisen, you mean,” Grossadmiral Huygens said.
“Of course. Everything is in place, or will be within a few weeks,” Moeller-Brock said.
“The threat of invasion works best as just that: a threat,” said Müller. “Britain has come close to surrendering once already. They are running out of allies, and soon enough they will run out of courage. With us ruling the skies above their home islands, their capitulation is merely a matter of time.”
“We can’t wait forever,” Moeller-Brock replied. “We’ve booted the Jackals out of Europe, which is well and good. But I don’t trust what Russia will do if let ourselves get trapped in a long stalemate with England. They’ve already caused enough problems over Courland.”
Schulthess had been flicking his gaze between his two ministers like an umpire at a tennis match. “Your opinions have been noted, gentleman. I’d appreciate the insights of some of our military men. Prinz-Marshal?”
“If we can get enough men and machines across the North Sea and keep them supplied, we can defeat the British on their home soil,” Adolf Ernst said.
“We need the Krijgmarine to guarantee our supplies,” one of the other marshals added. Rather redundantly, Gercke thought.
“The only guarantee in war is that events will not turn out as planned,” Grossadmiral Huygens said coolly.
“Do you think that Jungeisen shouldn’t go ahead?” the Prinz-Marshal asked.
“It may work, but it is a gamble,” Huygens said.
“A pointless gamble,” Gercke heard himself add. When he realised he was the focus of everyone’s attention, he continued, “We can starve Britain into submission. Why risk what will be a very bloody attack even if it’s successful?”
“Britain will not surrender through starvation,” the Prinz-Marshal said, confidence dripping from his voice. “Our intelligence is clear on that point. They learned their lesson from their struggle with America.”
“We can’t bomb England into submission either,” said Marshal Naumann. “They struck our cities repeatedly – even if we haven’t returned the favour much. We didn’t give up. Neither will they, not from sky power alone. We’ve concentrated our efforts on military targets, but even a prostrate England will be loath to yield. We need to get soldiers ashore and defeat the English there.”
“It’s a pointless risk,” Gercke said. “Even if we defeat the Royal Navy, we will pay an immense price. In the last war, the English and Americans wrecked each others’ fleets, and kindly made the Krijgmarine the largest navy in the world. Do we want to return the favour for the Americans?” He tried to put aside his private thoughts about his career prospects in a navy which was a quarter of its former size, or however much would survive a great battle. “And even such a battle does not guarantee us any success in invading England. We will need to have everything go right, while they only need to have one thing go right.”
“Have we thrown away so many skycraft and pilots for nothing?” Naumann said. “My men have been fighting and dying over the skies of England while the Krijgmarine hides in port. If we don’t act quickly, it will have been for nothing. The English skycraft have withdrawn to the north, but we haven’t put the Royal Sky Force permanently out of commission. They will rebuild, and all of our sacrifices will have been in vain.”
“A fighter is much cheaper to replace than a battleship,” Gercke said quietly.
“A weapon which is never used is of no use, whether it’s a fighter or a battleship,” Naumann answered.
“We have a chance of winning, but a failure would cost us too much,” Gercke said. “Not just losses of ships and men, but it will invigorate English morale. They will be willing to stay in the war for years, as they did against the first Bonaparte.”
“Delaying a decisive blow will cost us too much, too,” Naumann said. “If we dally, our soldiers will wonder why they are being left to grow bored in port. Our civilian population will ask why we are prolonging the war, while rockets fall about our heads.”
Schulthess cleared his throat. “Gentleman, I think we have heard enough of these disagreements for now. Tell me what other alternatives there are besides Jungeisen, or if you think there are any refinements which should be made to that plan.”
After a few moments awkward silence, Grossadmiral Huygens said, “Jungeisen does not have any fundamental flaws which anyone has identified. It is the result of much careful planning. It has been well-resourced, includes the best technology we have available, and allows for what we know of the enemy’s resources and intentions. While our political strategy has required that we trade strategic surprise for moral advantage, I believe that it incorporates enough misdirection that we can still achieve tactical surprise. If there are any minor amendments which my colleagues can provide, I will ensure that they are given due consideration. But for today, I believe that there is little to add.”
Schulthess asked, “If we decide to delay Jungeisen, how quickly could it be restarted?”
“At least a month’s notice would be required,” Huygens said. “Quite likely more, depending on how long until the next full moon.”
Gercke added, “The later we leave it, the worse the weather will turn.”
“Are you now advocating that we proceed?” Naumann asked.
Gercke said, “I think that we should wait until next year. Give England a year of starvation and destruction from the skies, and they will be much more amenable to a negotiated surrender.”
“If we give them another year, their army will be much more prepared,” the Prinz-Marshal said. “The New Englanders have been bloodied in France and are still recovering. Give them a year, and they will have reorganised and brought more strength across from their homeland.”
“They’d better not, if the Krijgmarine is up to the job,” Naumann said.
Huygens said calmly, “We can intercept many of the ships coming from North America, but not all of them. The ocean is simply too vast.”
“The Yankees have lost much of their strength anyway,” one of the other army marshals said. “Much of their armour was built in Liberia, and they’ve lost that.”
“Give them a year, and they will retool more of their own factories,” Naumann said.
“And most likely keep much of their new strength close to home,” Foreign Minister Müller said. “Canada already troubles them, and they will be wary of what the Americans may do.”
“The Jackals have their hands full in Brazil and Chile,” Moeller-Brock said. “They won’t open yet another front by interfering in New England.”
“Never underestimate a vitalist’s paranoia, or a slaveholder’s foolhardiness,” Müller replied.
Schulthess said, “This meeting is straying from the topic. So far, all I have heard is that Jungeisen should go ahead, or it should be delayed. Are there any other options?”
The Prinz-Marshal said, “Not at the strategic level. Either we force a decisive confrontation with Britain, or we continue to attack them in the skies and on the seas in the hope that they will surrender. There is no third option.”
“Not military options, but a continued chokehold over Britain will make for auspicious conditions for renewed diplomacy in a few months,” Müller said. “Whereas a failed attack will invigorate the British for months or years to come.”
“We cannot allow this war to go on indefinitely,” Schulthess said. “But I have not yet heard enough to convince me that we must strike immediately, either. Grossadmiral, tell us frankly: what do you estimate to be our chances of success of this invasion if it proceeds as scheduled?”
“About sixty percent, assuming we get full cooperation from the Luftmacht,” Huygens said. “Even victory will come at a bloody price, however.”
Schulthess said, “Marshal Naumann?”
“The Royal Sky Force will come out in strength on the invasion day,” Naumann said. “But we have the advantage in numbers and technology. We will defeat them on that day, and we will have several weeks of sky supremacy. We will strike at enemy artillery, disrupt troop movements and bombard fortified positions. Whether that is enough for victory is up to our colleagues on the ground.”
“Prinz-Marshal?” Schulthess asked.
“I do not like the chances of survival for any soldiers who come ashore in the first wave,” Adolf Ernst said, his tone dry. “But assuming that we retain control of the seas and sky, then I believe we can defeat the English on the ground within six months.”
Schulthess coughed. “So far, I’ve heard too many assumptions and not enough surety. I am not yet convinced, nor will it persuade Their Majesties. Continue with planning for Jungeisen for now, but I make no guarantees that I will authorise its launch.”
“There’re no guarantees that morale will hold up if we delay,” Naumann said.
“I have heard your objections already,” Schulthess said, his tone cool. “But the final decision is mine, not yours. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”
* * *
12 May 1932
Hamburg and Frankfurt, Germany
The ringing phone woke Gercke, eventually. He murmured to his wife to go back to sleep, then answered it groggily. “Gercke here.”
“You need to get to the Luftfeld immediately. A skycraft is waiting to take you to Frankfurt.”
“What’s the emergency, Hans?”
“You’ll find out when you get there. The Chancellor wants to speak with you.”
A blurry period of time later, Gercke stood before Chancellor Schulthess. He knew he looked bad; he had taken only the minimum amount of time to freshen up before leaving Hamburg. But then, Schulthess did not look much better.
“Thank you for your promptness, Admiral,” the Chancellor said. “Have you been told why you were ordered here?”
“No-one wanted to talk about it.”
“Good. We need to keep it out of the news for a few hours yet. Kaiser Willem is dead.”
“Dead?” Gercke asked. Not the most eloquent of replies, perhaps, but the best he could manage in the circumstances.
“Killed in a rocket strike on Rotterdam. Which was aimed, as best we can tell, because the enemy found out he was visiting the ‘sailors’ there. Your suspicion about Yankee code-reading looks to be correct.”
“Kaiser Willem really went to visit dummy ships?” Gercke asked, feeling numb. He suspected that he would rue this for the rest of his life.
“He was never near the port facilities. But rockets are murderously inaccurate.”
“Grave as this news is, you can’t have summoned me here just to tell me that,” Gercke said.
“Indeed not. I need your advice. You are the voice most opposed to Jungeisen. If I am still to oppose it, I will need a reason,” Schulthess said.
“Still to oppose it? Why...?” Gercke’s voice trailed off as he realised the implications.
“Indeed. Crown Prince Willem – Kaiser Willem VI now– is enraged. He wants the invasion to go ahead immediately. So do the other Kaisers. So do most of the Diet. So will the German people, when they hear the news. Delaying Jungeisen now will be... difficult.”
That struck Gercke as a fine understatement. “We can’t let passion sway good judgement, Herr Chancellor. The problems with Jungeisen have not changed since yesterday.”
“Not at all? Surely knowing that the Yankees can read our codes can be put to some suitable misdirection.”
“No doubt we could trick them,” Gercke said. Indeed, one idea immediately sprang to mind. “But only once. Jungeisen requires too many things to go right.”
“Perhaps, but not launching it leaves the problem of what to do with Britain once the war is over,” Schulthess said.
“I don’t follow.”
The Chancellor said, “Now that the war is – mostly – over, what concerns me is about the future of Germany after the war. You don’t need me to tell you what Germany’s biggest threat will be then.” Schulthess gestured toward the east.
“Russia will be there regardless of what we do to England,” Gercke replied.
“Indeed. But if we allow Britain a negotiated surrender, will we be able to make them our friends again? Allies is too much, but if we can make them friends again afterward, well and good. What do you think, Admiral?”
Gercke had the ominous feeling that whatever answer he gave, he would regret if for the rest of his life. Eventually, he said, “I do not see how England will become our friends after this war, no matter how generous peace terms we offer them.”
Schulthess nodded. “If they receive Russian or American backing to be our enemies, they will be a thorn. We can strip much of their empire from them, but their Kingdoms will remain on their side. So, is it best to grind Britain into the dust, however bloody the price?”
Gercke waited for long thought before he answered. The Chancellor had looked much further ahead than him. “I don’t know if we can grind them into the dust by force of arms.”
“You may be underestimating the effects even of a failed invasion,” Schulthess said. “Regardless of whether Jungeisen succeeds or fails on the ground, do you think that the Krijgmarine can smash the Royal Navy?”
“At the price of making the US Navy the largest in the world, yes.”
“Forget the Americans. Their navy will be formidable in their home waters, but they will have no influence outside of their own continents. Not before we can rebuild the Krijgmarine, at least. But for Britain, would you think that they will come to terms with their navy gone?”
“I am no diplomat, but I understand that the biggest stumbling block is restrictions on the Royal Navy. If they have no navy to speak of, and if we can rebuild faster than them, then yes, perhaps we can negotiate a peace we can live with.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Schulthess said. “Given our problems with communications, I will leave you to convey this message in person to the Grossadmiral: The invasion will go ahead. Use whatever subterfuges you can to mislead the British along the way.”
* * *
[1] The Luftmacht uses ranks which are directly equivalent to ranks within the German Army, rather than any separate titles.
* * *
Thoughts?
Jared
posted by Jared at 5:30 PM
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