THE FORESIGHT WAR (8 page)

She sat in an easy chair and looked at Don.
 
‘Next will
come
Czechoslovakia.
 
Are we sure that the politicians will keep us out of this one?
 
From what you said before, there’s quite a risk of war.’

‘I think we’re safe.
 
Chamberlain is no war-monger, and I know that the Foreign Office has been pressing him not to get Britain involved.
 
The only reason that Chamberlain is trying to mediate is that he’s afraid that if Germany does invade Czechoslovakia, France might feel bound to go to her defence, and Britain could be dragged in later.
 
If all goes well – for us, that is, not the Czechs – Hitler’s informant will have no reason to suspect my existence from any changes in our policy.’

‘Is there any risk that the Czechs will fight this time?
 
They’ve been making a lot of defence preparations.’

‘They did last time, but it won’t do them any good.
 
Germany is too strong for the Czechs to stand up to alone.
 
Even if they do fight, and Germany defeats them militarily, I can’t see that making much difference to subsequent events.
 
Poland will be next on Hitler’s list, to enable him to get at the Soviet Union.’

‘Does that have to be so?
 
The German propaganda only seems concerned about the position of Danzig and the treatment of Germans within Poland.
 
I would have thought that a diplomatic solution would be possible.’

Don sighed.
 
‘In a sensible world it would, my love.
 
But the Germans have been demanding the reunification of Danzig with Germany, plus access through Poland to Danzig, since before Hitler came to power.
 
Hitler would prefer to gain this without fighting, of course, but this would effectively cut off Poland’s access to the sea, which is too vital to their economy for them to agree to.
 
In any case, Hitler would only use any Polish concessions as a springboard for a later attack.
 
German hatred of the Slav peoples has a long history; the Germans have regarded Eastern Europe as territory for expansion since the Teutonic Knights first invaded centuries ago.’

Mary walked over and slipped her arm around him.
 
‘Sometimes it seems so unreal.
 
Here we are, in the peace of an English springtime, talking about the certainty of a horrible future.
 
It seems almost…biblical, like the Apocalypse.’

Don thought of the nuclear weapons programme and gripped her hand.
 
He had not wanted to give encouragement to the atomic research which had been in progress anyway, but the thought of Hitler’s adviser providing him with such a weapon chilled the blood.

‘Let’s hope you’re wrong,’ he whispered.

Herrman was feeling nervous, as he always did before meeting Hitler. He was uncomfortably aware of the dissonance between his knowledge of the crimes committed on Hitler’s orders, and the way in which this extraordinary man seemed to look on Herrman as a personal totem, a sign from above of Hitler’s destiny.
 
This evening the Fuhrer was with Göring, both of them in high good humour.

‘Have you seen this?’
 
Hitler waved a press report.
 
‘Franco’s showing the way, and proving you right about the bombers!’
 

Herrman looked at the paper, which reported the results of three days of bombing raids on Barcelona.
 
Nearly a thousand were believed killed with thousands more injured.
 
No wonder Göring was looking smug, he thought.
 
Successes for air power meant a higher status for the Luftwaffe, and more influence for Göring.

‘The prototype of the new Heinkel four-engined bomber is almost ready to fly, with the big Dornier following a few months later,’ Göring stated.
 
‘Thanks to your advice, Professor, there is little doubt that they will be successful.
 
By the end of nineteen-forty we will have a force of heavy bombers capable of bringing Britain to the conference table on her knees.’

Herrman could not help pointing out the obvious.
 
‘It won’t be enough by itself.’

‘Yes I know,’ said
Göring
, tetchily.
 
‘The new submarines are doing well on trials, I hear, but they will only be of use against Britain.
 
The bombers will also have the power to reach out and crush Russia after Britain has surrendered.’

‘But they will not be enough for that task, either.’
 
Herrman ploughed on doggedly, unsure whether to be more worried about Göring’s increasing irritation or the glint in Hitler’s eyes.
 
‘It is imperative to win the Soviet satellite states over to our side.’

Hitler stood abruptly, forcing Herrman to do the same.
 
‘With your knowledge, we will deal with everyone who stands in our way.
 
We have been given another chance to deal with the Slavs.
 
We cannot lose this time.
 
Why else would you have been sent to us?’
 
He turned abruptly and left the room.
 

Göring eyed Herrman sardonically.
 
‘Be careful, Professor,’ he said softly.
 
‘To survive here you need friends.
 
With your support, my position will become unchallengeable.
 
With my support, you can have anything you want.
 
Just think about it.’
 
He smiled benevolently and followed Hitler from the room.
 

Shaken, Herrman sat down abruptly.
 
After such sessions, he could never decide whether his feelings of nausea were due to the release of tension or simple revulsion.
 
Despite his fear of the casual, cruel power of Hitler and his cronies, he knew he could not give up.
 
He was driven to try to achieve the best for Germany and the rest of Europe, whatever the cost to himself.

Don was feeling equally nauseous, but in his case it was due entirely to the rhythmical motion of the Hunt class corvette as it cruised down the Channel at twenty knots.
 
It was a bright, fresh, April day and the sea seemed calm, but a steady swell was rolling in from the Atlantic.
 
Helmsford, unfamiliar in naval uniform, stood easily beside him on the bridge and considered his distress.

‘I think I should prescribe some medicinal brandy,’ he said judiciously.

‘Will that make me feel better?’

‘Perhaps not, but it will at least take your mind off it.’

The commanding officer laughed.
 
‘I hope this isn’t putting you off the Atherstone.
 
She’s a beautiful little ship.’

‘I’m sure Dr Erlang appreciates her,’ said Helmsford drily.
 

Don had as usual been introduced as a senior official in the Ministry and no-one except Helmsford was aware of the fundamental role he had played in specifying the design of the new class of escorts.
 
Although generally similar in size and purpose to the historical ‘Hunts’, the design differed in many details. She included all of the wartime lessons that Don could recall, with an emphasis on anti-submarine and anti-aircraft armament, a hull designed for heavy-weather performance rather than the smooth-water speed of the traditional destroyer, and an accommodation layout intended to ensure reasonable comfort on Atlantic winter patrols.
 
So the radar, two twin-4 inch, dual-purpose guns and multiple 40 mm and 20 mm automatics dealt with surface and aerial targets, while the forward-firing ‘Squid’, coupled with the pencil-beam sonar, saw to the anti-submarine role. Using one half of a destroyer’s twin-screw powerplant, she was fast enough to deal with the new high-speed U-boats and a much more useful escort vessel than a destroyer, while costing far less to build.
 
As a result, the corvettes were being built at three times the rate of destroyers, to the anguish of many in the Navy.

Helmsford led Don to the CO’s cabin immediately behind the bridge and poured him the prescribed brandy from a bottle which he triumphantly produced from his briefcase.
 
He seemed far more cheerful now he was at sea.

‘Foresee all eventualities,
that’s
my motto.
 
Seriously, how do you like her?’

‘Looks OK, but I’m not exactly an expert.
 
The captain seems pleased, though.’

Helmsford grinned.
 
‘Commanding officers always are.
 
The important thing is how she performs against the electroboats.
 
The rush job to produce high-speed submarines for target practice is on schedule, so he’ll soon have something to get stuck into.’

‘I didn’t say anything about advanced submarines earlier on,’ Don admitted.
 
‘I couldn’t see any point.
 
We didn’t need them, and if we built them the Germans would soon copy us.’
 
He settled back into the only chair in the cramped cabin; Helmsford made
himself
comfortable on the bunk.
 

‘We still don’t really know what the new U-boats will be capable of,’ Helmsford pointed out.

‘We can assume that the combination of larger electric motors, larger battery capacity and streamlining will double their underwater speed to around seventeen knots.
 
The boat in the picture seems to have a schnorkel as well, so it can run its diesels for cruising or recharging while staying underwater.’

Helmsford nodded.
 
‘The combination of the big electric motors from the Thames class in a streamlined version of the small ‘S’ class hull should give comparable performance for our target, albeit without the range.’
 
He leaned back on the bunk, sipping his brandy thoughtfully.
 
‘It does seem strange, you know.
 
All my training and experience, all the assumptions in the Service, lead to enemy battlefleets being treated as the major threat and our own capital ships as the best counter to them.
 
Yet here we are, quietly preparing for an entirely different kind of war to the one my fellow officers expect.
 
They would be horrified if they knew.’

Don grunted.
 
‘As long as the equipment and training are provided, they’ll cope.
 
Lack of competence was not something that the Navy was accused of in my time.’
 
He looked around the cramped cabin and smiled.
 
‘Thanks for arranging this.
 
I’ll never be much of a sailor, but anything to get out of that house for a while.’

Helmsford looked at him sympathetically.
 
‘I can imagine how you feel.
 
If you like, I think I can arrange some more trips.
 
The first of the new frigates is working up, with the battleships and aircraft carriers following shortly after, not to mention the assorted amphibious mongrels.’
 
He grinned again.
 
‘There can’t be many people who can claim to have been responsible for the design of a whole new navy!’ He fiddled with the glass for a moment then asked abruptly, ‘what chance does Poland have?’

    
Don was surprised.
 
‘Basically, none.
 
They are surrounded by potential enemies with Britain and France too far away to be able to intervene.
 
And although Poland has a large army, it is nothing like as well trained and equipped as the Germans’.’

    
Helmsford sighed.
 
‘It just seems such an appalling mess,’ he muttered.

Autumn 1938

Herrman stood in the warm August sunshine, peering over the desolate countryside; heathland scattered with groups of trees.
 
A deep, rumbling roar like distant, continuous thunder slowly built in volume.
 
Vague movement became visible through the screen of trees.
 
The roar gained a hard, clanking edge and the ground began to shake.
 
Herrman knew what to expect, but even so he found himself filled with an unreasoning, atavistic fear.
 
He flinched as a line of tanks burst through the undergrowth like a pack of hunting dinosaurs, roaring towards his position at over thirty kilometres per hour.

Stadler laughed.
 
‘Don’t worry, they’re on our side.
 
But God help the troops who have to stand their ground against this lot.’
 

Over a hundred tanks were now visible, storming across the heath, fire blasting from their cannon as they passed in front of their viewing platform.
 
Behind them came the boxy shapes of the armoured personnel carriers.
 
As they came abreast of the platform, they stopped as one, hatches bursting open and troops tumbling to the ground, the air suddenly filled with the crackling roar of a thousand automatic weapons.
 
A wave of self-propelled guns crashed into view, some heavy artillery, some with automatic anti-aircraft guns.
 
They slewed to a halt and added to the appalling din.
 
At the front of the platform, Hitler clapped his hands with delight while the generals beside him looked on smugly.

Stadler spoke in his ear.
 
‘The boys are pleased with their new toys.
 
Guderian is in seventh heaven.’
 
Stadler’s casual disrespect never failed to amaze Herrman.
 
The SD man had been assigned to him only recently, the latest in a line of ‘aides’ whose job seemed to be to accompany him at all times.