Weltkriegschaft

Chapter III: Part XVI

Chapter III: The Lion’s Den

Part XVI

September 1, 1936

Carnaval Framezelle - Bonbons et Amusement - 16 Septembre

The red-and-blue striped banner with proud gold lettering hung splendidly from the great circus tent that dominated the little seaside town. Two more, just like it but slightly smaller, had been erected to its right and left. On a low hill, scaffolding still surrounded a great ferris wheel that overlooked the water. Near the beach, a fire eater could be seen practicing his act as a multitude of smaller tents were set up. Workers unloaded crates from a truck and began unpacking them -- colorfully painted carousel horses. Behind them, the bare carousel was functional and rotating slowly as lively calliope music drifted out over the pavilions. Stands and stalls were being assembled and painted, and bales of hay stacked many meters high.

Strolling the emerging promenade in a white summer suit, Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg stepped down the walkway that led to the entrance to the largest tent. A workman in overalls pulled aside a small tent-flap and let him in.

He was met by the sight of four huge battleship guns. Although the tent sat on a low hill, the hilltop had been excavated extensively and formed a deep concrete-lined pit which now housed four 406 mm “Dover Guns” -- so named for their ability to deliver accurate fire onto the English port that lay just across the Channel from Framezelle. Scores of workman were now laboring to complete the reinforced steel framework for the single turret that mounted them. Known as the Martin Bormann battery, they would soon be encased in a giant movable steel-and-concrete cupola capable of traversing 30 degrees, or enough to shell along the Kentish coast from Folkestone to Deal. The engineers building the battery had saved the sod from the grassy hill and would lay it back over the cupola when construction was completed. Engineers had run a mockup along the Pomeranian coast and found the disguise quite effective. It was hoped that the battery would be virtually invisible to enemy observers or reconnaissance planes until it opened fire.

von Blomberg stepped back outside, and found Germany’s intelligence chief admiring the tent fabric. Canaris, looking decidedly more at home in his white suit and straw hat, stood puffing a pipe. “I have just returned from batteries Horst Wessel and Field Marshal von Mackensen, and both are coming along quickly.”

The series of batteries had been named after individuals whom the Reich wished to lionize in death: Martin Bormann, Hitler’s secretary who had been killed in the Berghof attack; Horst Wessel, the young stormtrooper martyred by communists; and August von Mackensen. von Mackensen, last of the Kaiser’s field marshals, had died on August ninth at his home in Burghorn after a long illness related to his stroke earlier in the year. Although he had allegedly become less supportive of the Nazis in the wake of the bloody Night of the Long Knives two years before, Hitler wished to co-opt his legacy for the National Socialist government. “He was one of the earliest and truest supporters,” the Völkischer Beobachter had crowed in his obituary a week later. And so, whether the old soldier liked it or not, Batterie Generalfeldmarschall von Mackensen would unleash its three 280 mm naval guns at the time and target of the Führer’s choosing. Batterie Horst Wessel, identical in every way, would do the same.

Hearing no response from von Blomberg, Canaris changed the subject. “You know, that tune is the Washington Post march. The whole carousel set is from Chicago.”

“Good.”

“I had thought that you would have been gladder to be rid of that job.”

“It’s never over. Bayerlein still wants me on until the -- until the big day. Just as a consultant, of course.”

“But surely the weight of ultimate responsibility was a relief once lifted.”

The former War Minister laughed grimly. “You have no idea how I counted the days and hours until 0000 September 1.” It had been at that moment, some ten hours before, that HKK had assumed full control of the Wehrmacht from the War Ministry transition staff. Bayerlein had confided that he expected the invasion of the Netherlands to be a sore test of his new command’s capabilities.

“You know,” Canaris said, “I think we will all come to regard the day of Löwengrube with a certain dread. The demands of secrecy are so great that accomplishing all that must be accomplished may prove impossible.”

von Blomberg grunted agreement as they walked down onto the beach alone.

“Even this assortment of tents took more planning and care than some would have lavished on the whole operation.” From what he had told von Blomberg, Canaris had indeed planned the deception magnificently. Over the summer, seven carnivals had been held throughout France, intended to lower suspicion when one showed up in Framezelle in late August. This particular carnival had run first as Carnavale L’Estaque near Marseille in July, then spent August in the capital as Carnavale Paris. Any inquirer curious about the sudden appearance of a carnival near Calais would find that Parisian dust still lingered in the tent fabric after an event that had drawn thousands of verifiable attendees.

They had then made such a conspicuous fuss about constructing Carnavale Framezelle that it was thought that the British couldn’t possibly think that anything secret was going on. All through the day and night, the lively sounds of the camp and the uninhibited racket of construction were exactingly simulated. And if the British did become suspicious, there was a further mask. At the same time, construction had been taking place during the dead of night on a second ring of antiaircraft batteries on nearby Cap Gris-Nez -- with the aim both of distracting British intelligence scrutiny and making the carnival seem like only a cover for their installation. The Abwehr had taken pains to let the occasional light become visible or strange sound be heard before being muffled. German observers had clearly seen the glint of telescopes near Dover inspecting the finished work in the morning light. The British had bought the illusion.

All they needed was another two weeks, and a few days before the carnival was set to open, the Abwehr would set part of the site on fire in what would be made to look like an act of sabotage by French partisans. It would be all too natural, then, for the occupation authorities to cancel the festivities and hope that the British forgot about them.

von Blomberg sighed. “I heard...”

“What?”

“I heard that Bayerlein received the operational plan this morning from the Führer.”

“That’s not true.”

Canaris had said it so bluntly that the former War Minister was taken aback. “How do you know?”

“I wrote the order myself, and it’s still far from an operational plan.”

“Then what is it?” A distant siren made both men jump, but they knew that this was a drill. The British had stopped daylight air raids on the French coast more than a month before.

“All it is is a brief outline -- a menu, almost -- of general courses of action, which Hitler agreed to in principle.”

“Ah. Is there a date yet?”

“The order has given for the invasion a preliminary start date of March first, 1937. That, of course, can and probably will change.”

von Blomberg pursed his lips. He was a land soldier through and through, but in his time as War Minister had forced himself to gain a certain familiarity with those things which concerned the navy as well. “How will the weather be then?”

“Strictly speaking, July and August are the best months for an invasion, with reasonably good weather thereafter that noticeably worsens by the end of October. Although periods of fair weather persist until almost Christmas, they are few and far between. January and February are certainly the worst months, with March and April generally good, while May and June are calm but prone to rain and fog.”

“Speaking as an admiral, will the Kriegsmarine be up to the task?”

“‘Will’ is a demonic little word, you know. But I do know that these batteries and the rail guns that will follow will go a long way towards owning the Channel when the time comes.”

“But, I mean, logistically... We are already to almost four fifths the required shipping, at least on paper, but have we been missing something?”

Here Canaris demurred. He took several paces ahead, his leather shoes leaving deep prints in the wet sand. von Blomberg managed to catch up.

“What of Italian assets? Has Mussolini offered anything?”

“He hasn’t even heard of the invasion -- and Hitler probably won’t tell him until it’s very nearly off. You know that.”

“I suppose so.”


Europe and North Africa, September 1, 1936. Pact of Steel nations gray, Allied nations blue, Comintern nations red.


“But what I’m trying to say is that I have enough knowledge of the sea to know that I am out of my depth, so to speak. Bayerlein is a foot soldier from Bavaria -- no better off at all.”

“Well,” Canaris said, “the more the Royal Navy focuses on the Mediterranean, even if they slaughter the Italians there, frankly the better for us here. In that sense, it is not complex. In addition the Home Fleet is down one carrier for some time.” He smiled softly.

In June, von Blomberg knew, the HMS Eagle had suffered a terrible accident in Hong Kong. According to the British press, one of her planes had crashed through the deck, starting a large fire which soon set off secondary explosions in her hangars. The stern third of the ship had been gutted and the boilers wrecked. After preliminary repairs in Singapore, she had been towed to Scotland for more extensive repairs at the John Brown and Company dockyards, to be replaced on station in the Far East by the much-inferior HMS Argus. The Eagle would not see service for many months, though, perhaps long enough to be of no effect during the invasion. It was truly a stroke of Providence.

“Might we,” von Blomberg asked, “be able to dilute the Home Fleet any further?”

“According to the order, it is also to be considered highly desirable if the British can be made to deploy troops to Northern Ireland. There are a number of potential operations outlined whereby religious or nationalist tensions may be inflamed there, and the more men that can be tied down, the better. Further, any such operation would divert more Royal Navy units to the Irish Sea.

“Will the U-boat arm at last be deployed?”

“No. Our submarines are much weaker than they were in the last war, relative to enemy destroyers. As such, they will continue to be held in defensive reserve. Furthermore, the Führer has judged that sinking too many ships in these waters will only draw British ships out of the Mediterranean, which is the last thing we want. So the submarines wait and the cruisers wait and the pocket battleships wait. We all wait.”

“The pocket battleships still wait?” von Blomberg had sincerely hoped that this latest order might have finally freed that restriction.

“Yes.”

“But as you well know -- better than I do -- both Abwehr and Kriegsmarine intelligence have heard the rumblings about a full British blockade by winter. Captain Patzig is desperate to sortie by then. He has told me as much in person.”

“Me too. And quite sensibly, Raeder will have none of it. He knows that the threat implied by Graf Spee is crucial to the success of Löwengrube. It ties down four or five times its own strength in British naval units.”

“Of course, of course. Merchant raiders?”

“Perhaps after the invasion, depending on how things turn out. Right now, there is not a single eligible ship not being converted into either a transport or a minelayer.”

They had come to the line that was patrolled by inconspicuously-attired guards, and turned back, walking up the beach in the other direction. “Still... What do you judge the odds of blockade?”

“Fair to Good.” Thus far, the Royal Navy had adopted a policy of limited interdiction. Neutral vessels found not to be carrying contraband were still being allowed through to German ports. It seemed that the British feared provoking the Kriegsmarine into initiating unrestricted submarine warfare. “But in any event, not for awhile. They are presently following Admiral Chatfield’s plan to decisively win the Mediterranean before the battleships Conte di Cavour and Giulio Cesare can come back into service sometime early next year.”

“So where in this is your grand magician’s hand-wave to fatally deceive them?”

“The essence, insofar as it concerns you and HKK, is to simply maintain the Mediterranean as a priority. The deception carries itself out based on Britain’s peculiar biases and hoped-for reality. I am only pained that Operation Gewürz will attract so much attention northward, but it is being timed to coincide with a major Italian thrust toward Cairo. I am confident that the British would sooner preserve the latter interest than that of a country which has snubbed them for the past twenty years.”

“Egypt... Are the enemy reports about Alexandria completely true?”

The Spymaster’s face was unreadable. “Hitler is convinced that Britain’s weakness lies in her Empire. Hence our ongoing efforts to sow unrest in the Near East, and soon in India as well. Professor Heidegger has edited a report at our request which suggests some interesting avenues for inciting tensions between Mohammedans and Hindus in India. The enemy has every incentive to counteract our efforts with deceptions of their own.”

They had surmounted a bluff that looked out across the Channel toward Dover. The long line of famous white cliffs was visible above the horizon. von Blomberg’s task was far from over. Hitler intended to conduct operations throughout the winter to secure the capitulation of Denmark and possibly Norway as well, with the intent of obtaining secure naval bases from which to penetrate the North Sea and into the Atlantic. Hopefully, Bayerlein would grant him a significant role in that campaign. It would provide HKK with invaluable experience in complex sea-based operations and amphibious warfare. Would he be given command? It had almost seemed that the inscrutable admiral knew something about him which he wasn’t saying.

He looked intently at the man. To all appearances, he was an elderly beachgoer, staring admiringly into the azure sea. von Blomberg opened his mouth as if to ask Wilhelm Canaris whether it was he who had saved him from the Sicherheitsdienst, but the question caught in his throat. Without a word, the Admiral turned toward the grand, many-colored circus tent and the two men started up the sandy path that would take them back to Berlin.

Kurt_Steiner - Wait until this AAR really gets going .

Enewald - dublish answered very well.

dublish - You do a right fine job of it, too!

Slaughts - You are in good company in having doubts. I don't think Raeder is getting very much sleep these days . I can say factually, though, that supply by Ju-52 hasn't even been seriously considered; the number in service is just too small, and the logistics too great an obstacle.

Just a quick update: III:XVII is coming along nicely, but I'm working in parallel (2 parallel runs of "Update 1936" at 8 IC each) on III:XVIII, which is taking a bit longer to complete. Expect the first up in two or three days, and the second in five or six, I'd say.

Oops! I now realize what Enewald's question referred to. The map, as originally released, had crete colored blue. On the original map that I was working with, crete was the blue that I eyedroppered out to make the Allies' color. I failed to notice that it was still there when I posted the map.

The map should show crete as white, which is Greek-controlled and thus neutral. I have corrected the error and the map now reads correctly.

SeleucidRex - Indeed! I wonder if the forum supports animations like that...

volksmarschall - Thank you most kindly!

kanil - Thank you! I'm glad the map helped -- I'll try to include more as fronts start to shift.

Slaughts (1) - I hope so too .

dublish - I'm sure a little juicy panzer action will bring you around .

Slaughts (2) - At present (early September of '36), no. They are being built, and have so far done brilliantly in performance tests, but have not yet been operationally deployed. RLM estimates given to HKK at the end of August project that they will see combat in large numbers by Summer '37.

Chapter III: Part XVII

Chapter III: The Lion’s Den

Part XVII

September 9, 1936

“Monsieur Laval.”

“Herr Friedmann, a pleasure.” The ousted French Prime Minister shook the German diplomat’s hand warmly.

“Please, come in.” Walter Friedmann gestured to one of two elegantly appointed armchairs at the far end of the small room. A young fire was burning in the fireplace, doing its best to fend off the chilly morning outside the room’s two large windows.

Pierre Laval peered out one of them on the way to his seat. “You would never know from those streets that half the world’s surface is at war.”


The Bellevue Palace hotel.


Joining him, Friedmann had to agree. Two stories below, the old quarter of Bern, Switzerland bustled with diplomats and international bon vivants. Through the windowpane, he could hear the eager honking of many automobiles. The sound seemed strange after months of gasoline rationing throughout Europe. After some minutes in silence, the two men drifted to their seats by the fire. Friedmann offered the Frenchman a cigar, which he accepted gratefully. The German opened the drawer of a small table next to him and withdrew a lighter engraved Bellevue Palace, the name of the luxurious hotel in which they were meeting.

Flick.

As Laval sat drawing in the first smoke of the cigar, Friedmann eyed him appraisingly. He was rather short and stockily built, with large ears and thick dark lips. He had a swarthy complexion and shrewd dark eyes. Since the one previous time that the two had met, Laval had shaven the thick mustache that had been the trademark of his public image during his premiership. He also noticed considerably more gray in his hair, but Friedmann knew that he had gained his share as well.


Pierre Laval, former Prime Minister of France.


“They want you to again lead France, Monsieur Laval.”

“Yes they do,” he said, exhaling a silky curl of bluish smoke. “You know the situation. It’s only natural.”

The previous year, Laval had been instrumental in concluding Anglo-French policy in regard to the Abyssinian Crisis. What came to be called the Hoare-Laval Pact was widely denounced as a base appeasement of Italian aggression. The political fallout had been so serious that at the beginning of 1936, he had been forced to resign. As fate would have it, he had been replaced by Sarraut as prime minister just eighteen hours before the first guns crackled atop Eben-Emael. In the months since, many in the German government had concluded that the distraction and confusion reigning in both Allied governments during these few days -- in London over the death of King George V, and in Paris over the fall of Laval’s government -- prevented them from taking immediate action against Germany. Most believed that had France and Britain declared war then, rather than after the Maginot Line had been rendered useless by the German occupation of Belgium, Germany would certainly have been defeated. There were those in France who had come to dearly wish that Pierre Laval had never been forced from power.

“I’m sure it is a strangely bitter feeling, no? You are driven out, only to have your replacement lose the whole game the next morning...”

Laval chuckled grimly.

“At least you shall not be blamed by future generations of your countrymen. In fact, considering the course Italy has now taken, I daresay your sense of realism will be vindicated.

“I appreciate your candor, Herr Friedmann. The truth is -- I am on the fence about who to side with.”

“Yes, I know,” Friedmann said, laughing, “and that is why I flew down to meet you here.”

“In my position you would be just as cautious as I am.”

“Yes, I, well, yes I would.” Friedmann was galled by the degree to which Laval was deliberately exploiting the circumstances.

Laval tapped cigar ash into the tray nearest him and crossed his legs. “Then it would be well that you convinced me.”

“It will,” Friedmann countered skillfully, “be not me but world events that must convince you. The tide in the Mediterranean is turning, and as both sides escalate the war down there to massive scale it will become more and more clear who will emerge with control of North Africa. With France, Algeria and Corsica -- you cannot honestly think it will not fall by the end of the year -- in Pact hands, there will be virtually nowhere left from which to even fight. Surely you do not believe that Albert Lebrun is going to win the war from Saigon?”

“I shall make myself plainer, then. France is out of the picture, militarily. I am not blind to that, as you suggest. But Britain is yet strong, and only growing stronger, as more and more ships cross Gibraltar every single day.”

“Yes, but --”

“To be explicit then: there are two possible outcomes. Germany and Italy win the war after a long a bloody struggle, in which case it would be better for France to make a separate peace immediately. Or, Britain ultimately wins the war, in which case it would be preferable to continue to honor the alliance and share in the final victory after France is liberated. If I pick the wrong side in the former case, I will join the Free Government and serve honorably until the end. If I pick the wrong side in the latter, I shall be vilified after the war as a collaborator and die before a firing squad.”

“No, I fully understand your position, Monsieur Laval. But again I must turn you to world events to point out the respective likelihoods of those two outcomes. Already the movement to fight on from Algeria is collapsing. Whole divisions yielding in Tripoli now, without even firing a shot!”

Laval drew thoughtfully from the cigar. The week before, in excess of 60,000 French soldiers had stood down in Tunisia, crossing Italian lines in good order before being disarmed and allowed to stay at their posts until the end of hostilities. The British were deeply alarmed at this tangible sign of a weakening alliance, and proved unable to plug the gap before the Italians drove 200 kilometers into the desert around their flanks. Only an Allied victory to the south at Illizi had forced a check to the Italian advance.

“What of the naval situation? The Royal Navy has cut Mussolini’s flow of reinforcements to Libya.”

“Most of them have already landed.”

“But looking to the future, Herr Friedmann you must admit that it looks very grim for the Italians. Their battleships are all out of action and the rest of their navy will be hunted across the Mediterranean like dogs.”

“Do not fool yourself. It is the armies that will decide this whole affair. If the Italians take Alexandria and the Suez Canal, the game will be over.”

Laval was giving nothing. “That is a very big ‘if’, Herr Friedmann. And it still leaves the question of what Frenchmen expect of me.”

Gagging on the naked opportunism, Friedmann mustered: “Despite the defiance of the relatively small number of foggy idealists, the overwhelming number of your people will call upon you to join the realists.”

President Lebrun, his government in chaos since its flight from Bordeaux, had been doing his best to rally his people to reject German calls for surrender. Along with his prime minister, Albert Sarraut, he was holed up in the French naval base on Corsica, along with the thirty thousand or so refugees with the luck or wealth to be able to slip off the Côte D’Azur before the narrow waterway had been closed by Italian warships. By all accounts, Sarraut emphatically shared his president’s resolve to fight on from Algeria even after the fall of Metropolitan France. They firmly believed that Great Britain would ultimately prevail against even Germany and Italy combined. If the price of ending France’s war prematurely was the nation’s future, if averting any more spilt blood would cost the Third Republic her independence, then the Sarraut government wanted none of it.

Many in the streets called it heartless. What right, they asked, did Albert Lebrun have to order the war pointlessly on from the safety of Corsica? Opinion in many parts of France was instead sympathetic toward the members of the government who had chosen to stay behind in France and share the fate of the people. 210 members of the legislature out of 598 had remained in Bordeaux, hoping to negotiate a peace with the Third Reich. Although they numbered well below half, only 208 had assembled in Ajaccio’s citadel at the end of June. The remainder were either under house arrest by the occupation authorities, in hiding, or in the process of resigning. Following Lebrun’s repeated refusals of German demands for capitulation, this “Still Parliament” or “Popular Parliament” had decided to act. Led by a prominent Popular Front politician, moderate socialist Léon Blum, the deputies had voted to appoint friendly replacements for all the men who had been unable to join one of the two parliaments. This naturally gave the Bordeaux assembly 390 deputies, who considered themselves a majority of the valid legislature, and began to act as the legitimate parliament. Soon, it was believed, they would move to reconstruct the French Senate and elect a president of their own. The fact that the Still Parliament could be dissolved at the whim of the German military governor of Bordeaux, and that it exercised no material authority whatsoever, seemed not to dampen its popular support.

“True, true.” The end of Laval’s cigar glowed brightly. “Yet it is the ‘idealists’ -- the Lebrunists, you see -- who believe themselves to be the most calculating. Do not think that if they truly believed they were on the losing side of things they would still have anything to do with the British, who, I should remind you, abandoned France during the critical months despite all the promises in their lungs. Hah!” Laval laughed joylessly. “Lebrun is a smart man. A smart man indeed.”

Friedmann pursed his lips, composing the best rejoinder. From Corsica, Lebrun and Sarraut remained defiant. Quite simply, they reasoned much like Laval and remained confident that England was the horse to bet on, and that necessitated maintaining the alliance to the end. But the means to do so were rapidly evaporating. French commanders had been dismayed to find the remnants of their army -- the strongest on the Continent just a year before -- woefully disorganized as they assembled in Algeria. Most tracked vehicles and heavy equipment had been lost in what was in reality far closer to an evacuation than the strategic withdrawal that the Allied press touted. According to the Abwehr, recriminations were flying hotly among the French generals, each of whom claimed to have been certain back in May that the country was far from lost and that a successful defense could have been mounted from the Loire and Rhône valleys or even from the French Pyrenees. As the bitter struggle in the Black Forest showed, French regular army units were at least the equal of their German counterparts where they actually stood their ground and fought. But there were to be no second chances, and the generals were now faced with the fruits of their decision to abandon France: a demoralized and bedraggled hodgepodge of parts of fifty different divisions, now totaling no more than a quarter of a million men, perhaps half of whom were actually in units capable of fighting.

He told as much to Laval.

As he finished he noticed a flicker of indecision on the Frenchman’s dark and smoke-obscured face, which he took to represent genuine consideration. Laval certainly wasn’t just putting him on -- Friedmann was certain that he was genuinely seeking out his best arguments.

Then: “The Armée de l’Air has fared better, Herr Friedmann. Its considerable remaining strength is enough to even be divided between Algeria and England. It seems from this that the alliance is still very much to British benefit, and they will give much to secure continued French aid.”

“Think on this. Despite the overwhelming tradition of a rightward slant in French Army politics, officers have begun to openly question which chamber to serve: the Bordeaux parliament, which possesses a legal majority, or Lebrun, Sarraut and the Ajaccio parliament, who insist that the Still Parliament is illegitimate simply because it does not agree with them. Were I one of the officers it would be an increasingly clear choice -- one which more and more are making.”

“Oh, no! With the admittedly disastrous exception of the 60,000 in Tunisia -- and that is a number I might dispute anyway -- the army in Algeria remains steadfastly Lebrunist.”

“Correction,” Friedmann countered politely. “With the admittedly disastrous exception of the 60,000 in Tunisia, the army in Algeria remains tentatively Lebrunist.” He knew that one man was doing a frightfully good job of edging the adjective from Friedmann’s to Laval’s. Joseph Paul-Boncour, the Permanent Delegate to the League of Nations in Sarraut’s cabinet, was at that very moment traveling up and down French North Africa trying to solidify the loyalty of the generals. Friedmann had heard that these activities had earned him several unsuccessful Abwehr attempts to have him assassinated. He wryly wondered whether Lebrunist agents in colonial caps were skulking around Switzerland trying to kill him.

“What’s funny, Herr Friedmann?”

The German did his best to mask his loss of focus. “It is simply an interesting trend. When five hundred men outside Djibouti did this months ago, the French insisted that it was a dangerous and defeatist trend which must be aggressively stamped out. Now a whole army does the same thing in Tunisia and that is met with barely a shrug of the shoulders. No, Monsieur Laval, this seems to me and to many in both our countries to be not an aberration but a portent of things to come. The French Army does not want to be on the losing side of this and slaughtered for no reason to preserve the empire of an unfaithful ally.”

“They consider posterity and -- and the moral -- the moral advantage, if you will, to be on the side of Lebrun and Sarraut.”

“Frankly, Monsieur Laval, the questions are getting larger and larger about the legitimacy of the Ajaccio government. My whole contention here to you is that soon, French power in Algeria will unravel and Bordeaux will be seen as the most legitimate entity to negotiate with Germany and Italy how France’s future will look. If you assume a role of leadership in that government, you will have the opportunity to shape a sensible policy.”

“Well, now. With the Swastika flying over all of Metropolitan France, I wouldn’t be in very much of a position to dictate terms, now would I?”

“Look...” Friedmann clasped his hands together. “I’m sure you can understand that it will be very hard to get my government to be very generous here. Almost a hundred thousand Germans have died for French soil, and there would be an outcry if it was all just given back as though nothing ever happened. Speaking candidly, there are some fanatics in our army and in the SS who would see the entire French state disappear and be swallowed up by Germany. But I think we can agree that that is not in the interest of anyone. I can tell you that Germany will continue to administer France until hostilities with the legitimate government are over. By lending your influence to Bordeaux, you can lend it that crucial legitimacy and drive a fatal nail in the coffin of the movement that wishes to prolong the war.”

“But still, what peace could France secure that would be any better than if the war goes on for years to come?”

“Peace, Monsieur Laval. Peace is its own reward, and a reward to the mothers and widows of the thousands of Frenchmen who will die. I must reiterate that if Corsica continues to be seen as the most legitimate government, their obstinacy in North Africa would mean that Paris and all of Metropolitan France will be treated as nothing more than behind-the-lines occupied territory for years to come. The sooner France chooses to end its fight, the sooner Great Britain will be forced to seek peace as well and the sooner the whole war will end, and with it the misery of the French people.”

“Tell me, Herr Friedmann. Does your government intend to partition France, carving it up as it will?”


He sighed. “As you know, Germany plans to administer just three Reichsgaue from the frontier, but otherwise no. If you go to Bordeaux and end this nightmare, I personally promise you that there will be one France.”

“That is truly reassuring, Herr Friedmann.” Laval began to cough and choke, his head wreathed in smoke. In a moment there was a knock on the door. “Enter,” Laval called.

A butler in morning dress flounced in with tea on a silver platter and set it down on the small table between them.

“I couldn’t possibly --” Laval checked his pocket watch. “Herr Friedmann, thank you. I must be going, but I shall sincerely consider the points you have made in making my decision.”

“I appreciate it, Monsieur Laval. Good luck.” Friedmann walked him to the door, and after further pleasantries, Laval disappeared down the brown-carpeted corridor.

Waiting under the doorframe, Friedmann heard several seconds of footsteps, then a door opening at the other end of the hall.

“Pierre. Pierre Laval. Delighted.” It was a familiar voice.

“A pleasure to see you too, Sir Samuel.”

Welcome back TheExecuter! Great to hear from you again.

Yes there is certainly ample reason for a cautious Laval to have pause. Yet at the same time, Friedmann may have met his match in shrewdness, and Laval is unlikely to say anything that betrays too much.