“It has the facts, Captain, and all the names and ratings.”
Tully nodded and dropped the sheets in a basket. “Branch told me you’re allergic to paperwork.”
“It’s not my strong point, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Now, did he tell you what I want you for?”
“Just something about salvage, sir.”
“Byron, the Japs are bound to land soon. We probably can’t hold Manila, but as long as MacArthur hangs on to Bataan, the squadron can go on operating out of Mariveles. This is a hell of a lot closer to Japan than any other sub base we’ve got now, or will have for a good long while.” Tully stood, and gestured at the wall. “So—the idea is to clean out Cavite, what’s left of it, and Manila, of every single item we can use, and fetch it here. You seem to have a sort of scavenger instinct.” Tully laughed, and Byron responded with a polite smile. “You’ll work on this until the Devilfish goes out on operations. Lieutenant Commander Percifield is in charge, and you’ll report to him now over at Admiral Hart’s headquarters in Manila. He’s expecting you.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“While you’re there, look in on Admiral Hart. He’s an old submariner, you know. I told him about those torpedoes. He appreciated it, and is writing a letter of commendation.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Oh, and incidentally, I’ve written your father about your exploit, though Lord knows when and how it’ll catch up with him.” Tully irresolutely took off his glasses, looked at the erect impassive ensign, and swivelled to and fro. “Now, Byron. Do you still want to go to the Atlantic? With all hell busting loose out here?”
“Yes, sir. I do want that.”
“You do? When there’s only our squadron now to oppose the Japs on the sea? When this is where the fighting is?”
Byron did not reply.
“As for your wife and baby in Italy—that’s unfortunate, but you know, she’ll be an enemy alien now.”
“Sir, we’re not at war with Italy. Not Yet.”
“Oh, that’s inevitable. Hitler’s scheduled to make this big speech today, you know. Everybody expects him to declare war, and old Musso will just follow suit, p.d.q. Your wife will be interned, but that’s no cause for alarm. After a while she’ll be exchanged. The Italians are civilized people. I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
“Captain Tully, my wife’s Jewish.”
The squadron commander looked surprised, and turned a bit red. He avoided Byron’s eye. “Well now, that I didn’t know.”
“My captain knows. I’ve told him. The Italians—and what’s more to the point, the Germans—will class my baby son as Jewish, too.”
Blowing out a long audible breath, Tully said, “Okay. That’s a problem. I still don’t see what you can do about it. Our submarine operations in the Atlantic will be minor for a long, long time. Here’s where we need you.” He looked up at the ensign, who stood at attention, blank-faced. “However, Byron, I’m going to send a dispatch, recommending your transfer to Submarine Force Atlantic—as and when the Devilfish gets a replacement for you. Not before.”
Byron Henry showed no sign of the relief that filled him. “Thank you, Captain Tully.”
The squadron commander opened a desk drawer. “One more thing. Your commanding officer concurs in this, so congratulations.”
He laid on the desk before Byron a gold pin, the dolphins of a submariner.
War with the United States
(from WORLD EMPIRE LOST)
Hitler’s Blowup
On December 11, the final calamity occurred. Adolf Hitler—after pausing for four days in which History herself must have held her breath—summoned the Reichstag and declared war upon the United States.
Franklin Roosevelt, in his war speech to Congress on December 8, had not so much as mentioned Germany. And with good reason! The surge of war spirit in his country was directed one hundred percent against “infamous” Japan. As usual, the wily President did not stick his neck out one inch beyond the stretch of public opinion.
For four anxious days it appeared to some of our staff that the Pearl Harbor attack might prove the great break of the war for us. Conceivably America might turn its back entirely on Europe to cope with Japan; the hysterical war pressure built up by Roosevelt would all vent itself into the Pacific Ocean, drying up Lend-Lease; and we would at last have the breathing space in which to strangle England and knock out the Soviet Union, after which we could deal with the USA in our own time and fashion.
However, the Führer was under violent Japanese pressure to “honor” the so-called Tripartite Pact.
A Pact Becomes a Trap
This pact was mainly a propaganda sham, like the Pact of Steel between Germany and Italy. Japan joined the Pact of Steel in 1940, and so it became the Tripartite Pact, and the chimera of the worldwide “Axis” was born. It was a hollow bluff. Italy of course was a zero. Japan wanted to threaten the Americans with Germany, and Hitler wanted to threaten them with Japan. By uniting in a pact, the two poor nations hoped to paralyze into inactivity the rich nation that lay between them.
But the earth is round, and another powerful nation lay between them in the other direction—the Soviet Union. This was a different matter! Germany and Russia were linked by Ribbentrop’s nonaggression pact. Therefore our diplomats had written a clause into the Tripartite Pact, saying that relations with the Soviet Union would not be affected by the new treaty.
When we began operations against Russia, the Japanese found this clause of ours a very lucky escape hatch. They politely cited it and the neutrality pact they had meantime signed with Russia, and declined to march. They might do so later when conditions permitted, they said—meaning, when Germany had done all the fighting and bleeding, and the winnings were about to be raked in. But with Pearl Harbor, global conditions suddenly reversed; and now Japan demanded that Germany come to her aid against America, though she had failed Germany against Russia!
It is self-evident that Adolf Hitler owed the Japanese nothing. The pact obliged the partners to assist each other only if one was attacked by a third party. To call Pearl Harbor an “attack” by America on Japan was stretching language, even in Oriental rhetoric. Hitler certainly had the right to demand at least that Japan should now as a quid pro quo declare war on the Soviet Union. The news of such a Japanese act would have raised the spirits of our snowbound troops in Russia beyond all measure. It might have changed the whole picture.
But Hitler never made the demand. He allowed Japan to stay on neutral terms with Russia, while he plunged the German people into war with America. With this one mystifying blowup, the Führer threw away his historic gains and the future of the Reich.
Why?
I myself was on an inspection tour by air of the Moscow front when the Führer journeyed to Berlin to declare war.
When I saw him again at Wolf’s Lair in mid-December, he was very unconcerned and airy-fairy about the United States. In dinner table talk one evening when I was present, he called America a mongrel nation, half Jewified and half Negrified, incapable of making serious war. The United States would have its hands full just with Japan, he crowed, and would probably be defeated. There was no chance that it could intervene in Europe. So he said; but I believed then, and still do, that this was cheerful blather for his subordinates, or narcotic self-deception. Unlike the Japanese leaders, Hitler knew at heart the one crucial military fact about America: that nothing must be done to awaken and unite that confused, quarrelsome, luxury-rotted titan. Pearl Harbor had done it.
This war was at bottom a chess game with men and nations played between two wills and two world views, which had been competing since 1933—between Adolf Hitler and Franklin D. Roosevelt. Hitler started with a handicap of rook and two pawns, as it were, in industrial plant, population, allies, and natural resources. These odds compelled his flamboyant and desperate style. The man in the wheelchair could afford a slow, cautious game, waiting for his opponent to defeat himself by unsound gambles
.
Hitler appeared to outplay Roosevelt brilliantly, year after year. His bloodless victories before 1939, his swift conquest of Poland and western Europe, and his breathtaking seizure of European Russia in 1941, turned the game heavily in his favor. Adolf Hitler was within sight of checkmate, when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. That was the break Roosevelt had been waiting for.
I am well aware of the conventional explanation that Hitler felt we had a de facto war going with America anyway in the Atlantic, and wanted to beat Roosevelt to the punch with his declaration, for reasons of prestige. It is even contended that declaring war on America was a clever move to boost our morale, by taking the public mind off our halts and setbacks on the Eastern Front. But these conjectures ignore the fatal failure to demand Japanese action against Russia, and also the text of the actual war declaration. This unstatesmanlike document is one long scream of despair and rage, all directed against Roosevelt. My judgment will always be that Hitler saw the game unexpectedly go glimmering, and in anger kicked over the board.
Finis Germaniae
Other writers follow Churchill and place the turning point of the war a year later, in the triple cluster of events—Stalingrad, El Alamein, and the North African landings—when the turn became visible in the field. But the true turn was Pearl Harbor.
We scored our greatest successes, without question, and expanded our short-lived German empire to its amazing farthest reach only in 1942, long after Pearl Harbor and the halt at Moscow. Our U-boats almost mastered the Atlantic, sending whole fleets of British and American ships to the bottom. Our armies marched to the Caucasus Mountains, the Caspian Sea, and the Nile. Our energetic ally, Japan, captured her East Asian empire in swift blazing victories.
But one memory haunted me during all those victories: the airplane trip I had made to the Moscow front right after Pearl Harbor. From the air I saw German tanks, trucks, and gun carriages straggled over hundreds of miles of desolate plains, frozen in mud or bogged in snow under the gloomy low Russian sun. I saw dead horses lying in the snow, and our soldiers hacking at their frozen carcasses for meat to eat. We landed often among men and boys shivering in ragged green-gray summer uniforms, building fires under their vehicles to keep the radiators from bursting and the oil from getting too viscous to flow. Endless were the complaints I heard then about the lack of boots, heavy socks, gloves, antifreeze, and the salve that was supposed to free the tanks’ telescopic sights. When the telescopes froze stuck without the salve, the tankists could not see to maneuver and protect themselves. Pathetic were the shivering soldiers wearing ladies’ fur coats and boas, collected by Goebbels and sent to the front.
My trip took me within sight of Moscow’s barrage balloons and antiaircraft flashes. There I tasted the full bitterness of that tantalizing halt, and there I first heard that we were at war again with America. In my heart I knew that spelled, once and for all, finis Germaniae.
Germany after 1941 was like a charging elephant with a bullet in its brain, trampling and killing its tormentors with its last momentum before falling. The bullet was Pearl Harbor.
World Empire Lost
With these comments, I conclude Volume I of my operational analysis of the Second World War, and a word of summary is in order.
General George Marshall, in his 1945 victory report, called Germany, Japan, and Italy “three criminal nations bent on easy loot.” But if we had won, as we almost did, the leaders who would have hung would have been Stalin, Churchill, Roosevelt, and Mr. Marshall. The criminal nations would have been the Allies, who tried to keep their plutocratic loot of previous centuries by murdering German and Japanese women and children from the air. Hitler did not order Hiroshima and Dresden!
There is no morality in world history. There are only tides of change borne on violence and death. The victors write the history, pass the judgments, and hang or shoot the losers. In truth history is an endless chain of hegemony shifts, based on the decay of old political structures and the rise of new ones. Wars are the fever crises of those shifts. Wars are inevitable; there will always be wars; and the one war crime is to lose. That is the reality, and the rest is sentimental nonsense.
We went on following Adolf Hitler to the last, to unbelievable triumphs and unparalleled disasters, from Pearl Harbor to the fall of Berlin, because he was our national destiny. A romantic idealist, an inspiring leader, dreaming grand dreams of new heights and depths of human possibilities, and at the same time an icy calculator with iron willpower, he was the soul of Germany. We are a romantic people, and Hitler was German Romance incarnate. No truthful history of our nation will ever be written which does not face that fact. He had his faults, including a definite taste for cruelty, a certain ingrained petit bourgeois vulgarity, an exaggerated opinion of his military acumen, and the well-known, regrettable tendency to anti-Semitism. Such were the blemishes of this world-historical individual, but no human being is perfect.
_________
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE:Armin von Roon properly breaks his two-part operational analysis of the Second World War at Pearl Harbor. In the period covered by World Empire Lost, a European war like World War I raged, with much the same lineup; for that reason Winston Churchill called it a continuation after a truce, and both conflicts together a new Thirty Years’ War. But all that time, the United States was out of it. After Pearl Harbor, we were in it up to our necks, and it became the first global war. That is another story.
Roon’s summaries from his second volume have recently appeared in Germany under the title World Holocaust. Analyzing mainly Germany’s defeats and downfall, it has not been much of a success.
His concluding estimate of Hitler overlooks one or two small points. This able and resolute homicidal maniac, using modern Germany as his murder instrument, directly caused between twenty-five and thirty-five million human deaths; the exact figure will never be known. To stop him cost the world billions, maybe trillions, of dollars. Had the German people shut this strange individual away in an insane asylum, instead of setting him up as their adored leader and throwing their full strength behind him for twelve years, these deaths and this waste would not have occurred.
On the historical record Adolf Hitler was certainly the worst liar, doublecrosser, destroyer, and mass murderer in the world’s annals. Roon might have mentioned these facts among Hitler’s blemishes.—V.H.
63
THE door stood open to Natalie’s bedroom, and Hitler’s screeching woke the baby. In the sitting room Natalie had the radio turned low, but at the Führer’s sudden shriek—“ROOSEVELT!”— she and Aaron looked at each other in alarm, and Louis began sobbing.
“He is a maniac, after all.” Slumped in an armchair in a bathrobe and muffler, his sunken red-shadowed eyes watering, Aaron Jastrow shook his head and lifted a trembling teacup to his mouth, as Hitler went on with his hoarse bellows, sneers, whispers, and yells. “Extremely clever, persuasive, and forceful, but a maniac. I confess I never grasped it before. I thought he playacted.”
With a faintly contemptuous glance at her uncle, Natalie went to the baby.
The Führer’s speech, starting with the usual complaints of injustices endured by Germany and himself, had worked up to the naming of the one supreme war criminal responsible for all the bloodshed and misery that he, the Führer, had worked so hard to avert, the insane hypocrite who had sold out his country and himself to the Jews, thwarted Germany at every turn, and loosed destruction on mankind. After a strangely long pause, came the wild scream that woke the child: “Roo-oo-ss-felt!”
And this bitter hate-filled animal cry somehow woke Aaron Jastrow, too.
In recent years, Jastrow had listened to few Hitler speeches. They bored him. He was a historian, and history’s pages were crowded with such flamboyant tyrants who had strutted their brief seasons, done their damage, built their grandiose monuments, and passed away. So it would be with Hitler, he had once written after a visit to Germany, in a cool meditative essay in Harper’s entitled “Der Führer:
Thoughts Before Midnight.”
In this essay, Jastrow had pigeonholed the Nazi boilup with other brief violent mass upheavals which through the ages had come and gone. Sometimes they changed the order of things, like the Crusades and the French Revolution; sometimes they left only destruction, like the flashflood massacres of Alaric and Tamerlane. Perhaps this weirdly glorified little beggar had something to contribute to the world. His call for a new unified order in Europe made a certain sense. He might start a world war; he might win it or he might lose it; but in any case he would at last die, and the world would wag on.
God—Jastrow used the term with arch irony to denote the blind drift of events—like a good roadside juggler, did his act with whatever objects came to his hand. If Hitler triumphed and brought a tyrannic German unity to Europe, or even to the whole earth, lasting a century or two, perhaps that meant he had been needed at this time on our tiny earth. What happened, after all, was only what had to happen. There were no dice in heaven. The human spirit in its unending quest for freedom would either soften and tame its Teuton masters at last, or would crack the prison of tyranny, as a grass blade cracks a concrete pavement.
Having thus boxed the German dictator away in some neat paragraphs, Aaron Jastrow had mentally shelved the man. Hitler broke from Aaron Jastrow’s mental box on this day, with his scream of Roosevelt’s name.
As the dictator went on with his long, almost raving, yet mordant comparison between Roosevelt and himself—he the poor son of struggling parents, Roosevelt the pampered only child of a millionaire; he the common soldier of the First World War, enduring rain and gunfire and muck for four years, Roosevelt the highborn insider, enjoying a safe cushy desk job in the Navy Department; he the gassed veteran, lying penniless in a hospital, Roosevelt the tricky postwar financial speculator doubling his inherited wealth; he the restorer and rebuilder of a defeated, prostrate nation, Roosevelt the economic tinkerer, the wrecker of a rich country with his crackpot New Deal schemes; he the valiant righter of old wrongs, the messianic unifier of Europe, Roosevelt the master war criminal, seeking to stave off the future and preserve the world hegemony of the Jews—listening to this ferocious, crazed, queerly coherent fantasy, Aaron Jastrow wavered in his philosophic stance, and finally became scared.