Chapter III: Part XXXV
Chapter III: The Lion’s Den
Part XXXV
November 17, 1936
Two inches of evening snow had fallen in Berlin, the last sighing gasp of a North Sea storm that had fiercely lashed Britain and the Netherlands over the previous two days. Reports had reached the Reichschancellery early in the morning that the invasion shipping gathering in the Scheldt and Meuse estuaries had been particularly hard hit. OKM placed a direct call to the Führer, informing him that a number of the barges and ammunition lighters had been sunk, and several fast troopships run aground on sandbars. The meteorological forecast, he was told, was very bad. The weather window was not to remain open long enough for an invasion before it closed for good. And so, Adolf Hitler had set his hand to an order indefinitely postponing the invasion.
Troop movements to the depots in France, Belgium and Holland had already been slowed by the time HKK’s deputy chiefs could find Bayerlein, who had been on a tour of naval facilities in Kiel. He had gotten into contact with his own meteorologists in Berlin, who now projected much more favorable conditions, and had no idea where OKM’s report had come from. Livid, the former lieutenant-colonel had telephoned Canaris and Göring, summoning them to an urgent conference with the Führer. He had cut his tour short and flown immediately back to Tempelhof, but it was after dinner before Hitler became available. By then, matériel had ceased being loaded onto ships, railways had backed up, and U-boats had been recalled to their bases.
In the Reichschancellery.
“This is disastrous, Mein Führer,” Bayerlein said in Hitler’s private chancellery office, as Cristoph Scholl transcribed, “simply disastrous. Even if we reinstate the invasion tonight, that will necessarily push the date back to the first of December, which is the latest possible date that we could carry it off.”
“You’ve told me that the window will not close until ten days into the month...”
“That is the weather window, Führer,” Canaris said, “not the invasion window. We’ll need at least ten days of reasonably clear weather in order to get across the first two waves of the invasion and a reserve of supplies.”
“What’s more,” said Bayerlein, “if the weather grounds our planes too soon after the invasion, we will have a hard time pressing safely on toward London.”
Göring, his nose beet red, emerged from his handkerchief. “Bayerleid’s right. I cad’t guaradtee regular sorties as we get closer to Christmas.” He scowled. “Add we’ll hab a hard tibe stoppig them from booving idterceptors dowd from the north, wudce the storm season is fully udderway.” He blew his nose powerfully. “Even during the most recent storm, it appears that they have brought adother motorized battalion dowd into Kent while our bombers were groudded.”
“Yes, yes, I see.” Hitler sighed deeply. “But it seems that the weather has already turned.”
“I don’t know where you got that,” Bayerlein grated. “Or, rather, I don’t know who gave that to you, Mein Führer, but I doubt it’s true.”
“Who,” entered Canaris, “physically spoke to you? Who called you from OKM?”
“I don’t know,” the Führer said, “it was... Conrad or Collwitz or one of those types. The damage report is what did it.”
“No such report went through me,” Canaris said, “nor did it go through Raeder. All the latest forecasts look good for the first week of December. Nothing stating otherwise has come to my attention -- and it would have. As for the damage, Generalmajor Bayerlein has contacted OKM just this afternoon, and it’s not as bad as they thought this morning. We did lose a few light craft, but all but one of the transports were promptly set right as soon as the river was calm enough.”
Bayerlein folded his hands on the lip of Hitler’s great desk. “This is it, Mein Führer. We have favorable conditions ahead, and a decision must be reached tonight. This is why we have come to you with such urgency. If Löwengrube is not reinstated, we will be forced to wait until spring, and we will be forced to face all the disadvantages that you decided were unacceptable four days ago. If the invasion is not ordered ahead tonight, all the Luftwaffe’s gains will be wasted. Do it. Make the decision now, so that --”
The telephone on Hitler’s desk rang. “One moment. Fräulein Wolf? Yes, I -- yes. Very well. Put him through.” The Führer held the receiver for several seconds. “Good Heinrich, what is it?”
Canaris eyed his two counterparts darkly.
“I could, yes, Heinrich ... They would not mind at all. Where are you?” A moment’s pause, and the Warlord’s eyes brightened. “Naturally, come right over.” He replaced the receiver.
“Is Herr Hoffmann in the neighborhood, Führer?” Canaris asked evenly.
“That was Himmler.”
Bayerlein looked flustered. “We should certainly conclude with our decision, then, so as not to disrupt your meeting with him.”
“No need,” Hitler said, his black eyes glittering. “He’s across the street and will be with us presently.”
“I --”
“What the Generalmajor is trying to say,” Canaris said warningly, “is that we are all expecting that you will not retreat from the bold decision you have made for the Reich. Although Herr Himmler has expressed a differing view, you are the Führer, and your word stands. We would not want to depart under one impression, only to find that the situation has changed after your conversation with him. No, we are happy to discuss the matter with him late into the night, as long as we leave here with your irrevocable decision.”
“I cannot promise more than is reasonable, Admiral.”
“It is a matter of timing,” said Canaris, “and despite even the favor Providence has shown you, you do not yet control the flow of sand through Time’s hourglass.”
Göring swallowed thickly. “Huddreds of pilots hab died to segure this advadtage! It mustd’t be thrown away while we still hab good weather! You caddot allow it!”
“I postponed the operation,” Hitler said, “only because it appears that we won’t have anything like the sort of weather I was promised.”
“We’ve had better weather than we could have hoped for all through the autumn,” argued Bayerlein. “This is almost December and the first real winter storm. But after that it’s to be mostly clear for the next two or three weeks. That’s our chance, and that’s when Britain will be most vulnerable.”
“I cannot retract my decision without full consultation of the HKK and the appropriate parties, von Küchler namely.”
“If you do that,” Bayerlein said, “you force the German soldiers to risk the weather closing on them. Imagine if we delayed too long and the winter gales left a whole army stranded in Britain with hardly any food and ammunition.”
Hitler seemed to be wavering. “I must consult Rundstedt!”
“Führer,” said Canaris, “for all von Rundstedt’s talk of Napoleon he should recognize the most critical lesson of his Russian campaign. Napoleon allowed himself to be held up by delaying actions, until even his victory at Borodino only weakened him. By the time he began his retreat from Moscow, he had wasted too much time, and there was no way to get out before the winter weather set in and crippled his army.”
“We have them beaten,” Bayerlein joined. “We now only have to exploit our success to bring victory before the British can recover. General Göring’s right -- his pilots have simply made too much progress to let up now for any reason at all.”
“Not to mention the Kriegsmarine,” Canaris said. “We must use reason! Just these past days we’ve sunk another four destroyers. Boldness now can finish them.”
There was a knock at the door. A greatcoated Himmler strode in. “I should have known that the good Admiral would take upon himself a mission like this.”
“Please, Heinrich, take a seat.”
“No, Führer, I’ll not be long.” Himmler brushed past the others and dropped a folder on the Warlord’s desk without comment.
“What is it?” Bayerlein asked.
“A pair of Basque brothers lost their way while hiking in the Pyrenees yesterday.” Himmler paused for several seconds, watching Canaris through his round eyeglasses, savoring, or possibly appraising, the Admiral’s ignorance.
Göring frowned. “Yes, so?”
Hitler was reading the report. “Paul Eibar and Miguel Eibar were found on a country road 17 kilometers from the frontier near Bayonne, and were interviewed by the Gestapo there. They admitted to being agents of the SIS, and claim that Britain is well aware of German plans to conduct landings in Britain during the first two weeks of December.”
There was a lengthy silence, during which the grandfather clock at the other side of the office ticked thunderously.
Scholl tried to gauge whether Himmler had struck a fatal blow, but Hitler’s pale face was unreadable. At last, the Spymaster spoke: “Because the Gestapo did not find it necessary to share this information with the Wehrmacht, I cannot dispute the alleged facts, so I will not try to. The Gestapo has uncovered a troubling fact, a fact which places the initiative temporarily in the enemy’s hands. With that initiative, he can turn the Reich onto the defensive. Herr Himmler, I can fairly say, would like to see the invasion postponed. Bayerlein, Göring and I would would like to see it go forward before the delay of winter. My argument to you, Mein Führer, is that that report makes no difference. Boldness is our only refuge and our only weapon.”
Canaris gestured toward the large portrait of Frederick the Great which hung overlooking Hitler’s desk. “His greatest moment, at Leuthen, came because he acted boldly in the face of setbacks and in the face of overwhelming odds. Charles could not have anticipated such boldness, and was beaten decisively. We have already argued this point many hours on many different days, and it is now the time for action. Cast the die now and for good, Mein Führer.”
Hitler was deep in thought. Scholl imagined what was racing through his mind. He was a conqueror on land, the Führer had confided in recent days, but a coward at sea. The vagaries of storms and oceans -- of that narrow strip of water dividing Dover from Calais -- had denied him almost all sleep in the days since ordering the invasion ahead. The reports from OKM and the Scheldt, Scholl believed, had merely given the Führer a pretext to end his private terror. Yet now he stared at Frederick the Great on his wall, searching those cold blue eyes for an answer. The portrait offered him the same distant regard as ever. Time had run out. “You are hard to argue with, Admiral, despite my own misgivings. Yet your worries worry me, Heinrich. And so, Bayerlein, I hereby order Löwengrube forward for December first. Yet we shall have a conference on the thirtieth to reassess the weather situation to give ourselves a final chance to call it off in time if need be.”
“Führer!” Canaris and Himmler broke in simultaneously.
“You have my decision,” Hitler said. “First of December. I have no desire to speak of it further this evening.”