World War II Behind Closed Doors (12 page)

The invasion of the Soviet Union also offered the solution to an increasingly irksome problem for the German leadership – their continued dependence on Soviet raw materials. Hitler and many leading Nazis found it almost intolerable that the future of Germany was dependent on Stalin's continued good will. As Walter Funk, the Nazis' Economic Minister, put it, Germany should not be ‘dependent upon forces and powers over whom we have no influence’.
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THE VOYAGE OF THE
KOMET

In the wake of the Nazi conquest of France, Stalin continued with his policy of appeasement. And one dramatic form this attempt to please his powerful neighbour took was a secret and extraordinary act of military cooperation that centred on a German ship called the
Komet
.

Apparently a normal merchant vessel, the
Komet
was actually an auxiliary cruiser armed with 5.9-inch guns, several anti-aircraft guns and a number of torpedoes, modelled on the successful Q-ships of the First World War. These vessels had been disguised
as normal merchant ships in order to lure enemy submarines to the surface – submarine commanders preferred to attack unarmed merchantmen with their deck gun rather than waste a valuable torpedo. Once the submarine was on the surface, the hidden armament of the Q-ship would be revealed and the submarine sunk.

In the summer of 1940, while Hitler's generals digested the news that their Führer wished Germany to invade the Soviet Union, the
Komet
attempted one of the most daring of all wartime sea journeys.
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Starting north of the Kola inlet, the captain of the ship, Rear Admiral Robert Eyssen, planned to sail around the top of the Soviet Union and emerge in the Pacific Ocean, where he would be able to conduct surprise attacks on Allied merchant ships. This route, known as the Northern Passage, was fraught with danger and only possible with the help of powerful icebreakers. After a month spent at various anchorages in Soviet waters, including the original proposed site for Base North at Teriberka Bay, the
Komet
set sail on the morning of 13 August 1940. By the 19th they had entered the ice-strewn Siberian Sea. ‘The task was a challenge to us’, says Karl-Hermann Müller,
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who was a member of the crew. ‘We knew it could go wrong, but in every situation we were prepared to make a sacrifice’.

On 26 August, Rear Admiral Eyssen met with two Soviet pilots and two officers on the icebreaker
Stalin
. The German High Command records reveal that ‘After a chat about the ice and the
Komet's
ice reinforcement, its speed etc., they all went to the map-house to judge the situation on a map…. At six in the morning Eyssen and Kropesch [the other German officer with him] have to drink water glasses full of vodka…’.
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The cooperation between the Soviet sailors and the Germans was amicable. ‘The Russians were quiet, calm and factual’, says Müller. ‘The relationship was good…. We liked them. We saw they were good people. There were no difficulties, no excitement’.

And although the
Komet
was disguised as a merchantman, its armament hidden, the Soviets knew that this was a military ship. ‘Certainly [they knew]’, says Müller. ‘We only had military crew… they were walking round in uniform’. Nor did the Soviets appear
neutral when it came to the course of the war. Not only were they physically aiding the German war effort by helping the passage of the
Komet
, but when the crew of the German ship celebrated news of a successful attack on the British, Müller witnessed how ‘the Russians were happy about that as well. They joined us in that [the celebrations]. You can't fake that. That was real. They were genuine. The Russians were on our side, you can say that’.

However, on 1 September the captain of one of the accompanying icebreakers, the
Kaganovich
, came on board the
Komet
to explain that, since both American and Japanese vessels had been seen in the Bering Strait, he had received orders from Moscow not to escort the
Komet
further but to accompany the ship back. ‘I took it very calmly without showing any excitement or disappointment’, recorded Eyssen.
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‘But inside me I felt totally different. To go through all this and now very soon there will be free water in front of me. Only 400 sea miles and I would be through! And now to turn around! This is no option, even if I have to act on my own against an order of the High Command of the Navy’.

The next day Eyssen reiterated his desire to press on and even went so far as to sign a document absolving the captain of the
Kaganovich
of responsibility for any subsequent problems. The Soviets then accompanied the
Komet
for another day or so before turning back. ‘There was a friendly farewell’, says Karl-Hermann Müller. ‘We hooted and signalled with our ship’.

The Soviets had guided the
Komet
through the worst of the ice, and a couple of days later the Germans emerged on their own into the Bering Sea at the far eastern end of the Soviet Union. The Northern Passage had been completed in a record twenty-three days. ‘I'm proud that I fulfilled my mission and we were the first German ship through the Siberian Sea path to the East’, says Karl-Hermann Müller. ‘It wouldn't have been possible without the help of the [Soviet] icebreakers’. The
Komet
was now free to roam the sea lanes of the Pacific, attacking and sinking Allied vessels at will. In total the
Komet
destroyed nine ships during its months on the far side of the world, including the large food and passenger transport vessel
Rangitane
, before returning to Germany via the more
conventional route around the Cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa.

The German Kriegsmarine, responsible for the naval aspects of the war, was grateful to the Soviets for their assistance both with Base North and with the
Komet's
passage. So much so that Grand Admiral Raeder wrote a thank you letter to the Commissar for Naval Matters, Admiral Kusnezow, on 16 September 1940. In it he explained that as a result of the successful German occupation of Norway it was no longer necessary to maintain Base North – explicitly stating that the ‘use of the Russian bay’ had been for ‘German naval warfare purposes’. He also mentioned that Base North had been ‘of immense value to German naval warfare’ and ended the letter by writing: ‘It falls to me to have the honour of expressing the German Navy's sincerest thanks to you, esteemed Commissar, for your invaluable support’. The letter was hand-delivered to Admiral Kusnezow by the German military attaché in Moscow, Baumbach, who recorded that Kusnezow received the letter with ‘satisfaction’. Baumbach then told the Soviet admiral that he had been asked also to thank him in person for the ‘help of the Soviet Navy in the Northern passage of our ship’.
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It is no wonder, given all this gushing gratitude from the Germans, that both the existence of Base North and the details of the assistance given to the
Komet
were subsequently deeply embarrassing incidents for the Soviets. After the German invasion of their country in June 1941 the fact that – beyond question – the Soviet government had rendered direct and effective military assistance to the Nazis was potentially explosive information. Even today this is still a sensitive and inconvenient part of Russian wartime history.

MOLOTOV IN BERLIN

But despite the warm sentiments of Admiral Raeder's letter, and Stalin's attempts at appeasement, tension and uncertainty remained beneath the surface in the relationship between Germany and the
Soviet Union. Stalin's own anxieties, occasioned as we have seen by the unexpected and swift German conquest of France, showed in the alacrity with which he accepted a German invitation in October 1940 for Molotov, his Foreign Minister, to visit Berlin for discussions on the way forward. Since the summer Stalin had dared to think that – just perhaps – the Germans might be planning to act against the Soviet Union.

The coincidence of interests that had permeated the two meetings over the Non-Aggression Pact the previous year had all but evaporated. In its place lay suspicion. For the Soviets that suspicion crystallized on German intentions regarding the fate of the buffer states between them – Hungary, Romania and especially Bulgaria – plus the overwhelming importance of ensuring that Soviet ships had free passage through the Dardanelles, the narrow stretch of water between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The Soviets were almost obsessed with the question of these Straits, which were currently controlled by neutral Turkey. It was an obsession based in history – Russia had been threatened a number of times in the last two hundred years by foreign incursions through the Straits, most notably during the Crimean War in the 1850s.

So as Molotov left Moscow in November 1940, he was on a mission of discovery, tasked by Stalin with finding answers to a series of practical questions about German intentions in eastern Europe and the Balkans. He was specifically forbidden to get involved in detailed negotiations, particularly on the matter of future Soviet foreign policy. The Soviet intention was that all these bigger issues should be discussed at a subsequent conference, perhaps with Ribbentrop returning to Moscow for direct talks with Stalin.

Hitler, on the other hand, had very different aspirations for the Molotov meeting. Although in July he had called for plans for an invasion of the Soviet Union, this still remained only one possible course of action – but almost certainly the one he most favoured. The Germans wanted to use the Molotov meeting to see if the Soviets could be persuaded to leave the eastern European states in German control and divert their attention to the Persian Gulf and
the Indian Ocean. In these warmer climes, the Nazi leadership believed, Soviet foreign policy could happily prosper, snatching territory and influence at the expense of the British Empire.

There also remained the question of the Soviet commitment to the delivery of raw materials. What could the Soviets do to reassure Hitler and his colleagues that they would remain reliable partners for the foreseeable future?

These were the issues that concerned both sides as Molotov arrived in Berlin on the morning of 12 November. He and his personal entourage were greeted at the Silesian station by Ribbentrop and an honour guard of German soldiers, and later that same day Molotov met Hitler for the first time. This first meeting – like the subsequent ones on this trip – was not a success. Molotov, unlike Hitler, was a man of detail. Precisely and unemotionally Molotov asked a series of questions about Germany's intentions. Why were German troops in Finland? Why were German troops in Romania? What were German intentions in the Balkans? What would be Germany's response if the Bulgarians requested Soviet troops in their country?

Hitler was clearly exasperated by this detailed litany. He was a man who wanted to deal with the epic, and here he was being quizzed by a small, shabby Russian. Why, Hitler must have thought, was Molotov not quaking at the sight of German power? The very surroundings of the new Reich Chancellery, where the meeting was held, spoke of Hitler's grandiose vision. He had told Albert Speer, his favourite architect, that he had wanted a building to impress visiting diplomats. ‘Hitler especially liked the long tramp that state guests and diplomats would now have to take before they reached the reception hall’,
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wrote Speer. In fact, to reach the German leader, Molotov had been obliged to traverse a shiny marble-floored gallery twice as long as the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. ‘That's exactly right’, Hitler had said when Speer told him of his plans for the floor. ‘Diplomats should have practice in moving on a slippery surface’. Speer recalled how Hitler especially liked his study in the new building: ‘He was particularly pleased by an inlay on his desk representing a sword half drawn
from its sheath. “Good, good [said Hitler]…when the diplomats sitting in front of me at this desk see that, they'll learn to shiver and shake”’.

But Molotov was most certainly not ‘shivering and shaking’ in front of Hitler. And in response to the Soviet Foreign Minister's questions, Hitler betrayed his annoyance by swiftly parrying Molotov's enquiries – German troops had been in Finland only as part of the military action against Norway, the Bulgarians would never ask for Red Army troops, and so on. Hitler was only interested in the bigger picture, declaiming that the British were beaten and would soon sue for peace. So was the Soviet Union interested in joining the Axis Pact which had been agreed in September 1940 between Germany, Japan and Italy? With Britain out of the way, the whole of the British Empire would lie waiting to be despoiled. Was the Soviet Union interested in receiving its share?

It was a true dialogue of the deaf, as Molotov refused to be drawn into answering any of Hitler's wide-ranging questions. Instead, he responded with still more detailed queries about immediate German intentions. Pavlov, the Soviet interpreter, subsequently described the talks as ‘tiresome and obviously pointless’,
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and it is hard to disagree with his verdict.

In later discussions with Ribbentrop on the same visit, Molotov continued in similar vein. What exactly did Germany intend with Poland? What were German views on Swedish neutrality, on Hungary and on Yugoslavia?

Ribbentrop protested that he was being ‘questioned too closely’.
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Like the Führer, he wanted to return to the ‘decisive’ question, which was ‘whether the Soviet Union was prepared and in a position to cooperate with Germany in the great liquidation of the British Empire…. Compared to this great basic issue all others were completely insignificant and would be settled automatically as soon as an overall understanding was reached’.
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