sure they were right. Here? Here she had no answers at all. She started crying again.
“He’s dead. Good riddance to him,” Jerry Duncan said on the House floor. “And now, God willing, the fanatics in Germany will see that their cause is hopeless. And, I note, this is all happening even though our troops are coming home from Europe. The world hasn’t fallen to pieces. And it won’t fall to pieces, in spite of the doomsayers’ croakings in this very House.”
Congressmen who agreed with him clapped and cheered. Congressmen who didn’t were much less polite. Boos, catcalls, shaken fists…Jerry didn’t seen any upraised middle fingers this time, which was progress of a sort. He did hear several insistent shouts: “Mr. Speaker! Mr. Speaker!
Joe Martin pointed. “The chair recognizes the Representative from California.”
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker,” Helen Gahagan Douglas said.
Maybe Martin had recognized her because her voice stood out among those of the Democrats clamoring for his notice (and well it might-not only was she a woman, but she’d also sung opera, so she had impressive volume when she needed it). Or maybe he’d thought she would be milder than most of her colleagues. If he had, he was unduly optimistic. Now that the wartime consensus lay dead, nobody saw much point to mildness any more.
And Congresswoman Douglas proved as much, saying, “Many years ago, Chancellor Bismarck remarked that God loved children, drunkards, and the United States of America. The way things are these days, I hesitate to speak well of any German, but it seems to me that Bismarck knew what he was talking about. The distinguished gentleman from Indiana wouldn’t be celebrating Reinhard Heydrich’s death today if he’d got his own heart’s desire a few months earlier. If we didn’t have any men on the ground to dig him out once we learned where he hid, he’d still be down there sneering at us.”
People on her side applauded. People on Jerry’s side were at least as rude to Helen Gahagan Douglas as people who agreed with her had been to him. The first thing that ran through his mind was
And she
“Mr. Speaker!” Jerry said.
“You have the floor, Mr. Duncan,” Joe Martin replied.
“Thanks, Mr. Speaker. How many of our young men did the fanatics murder and torture while we lingered in Germany because President Truman couldn’t see we didn’t belong there? Are they a fair trade for Heydrich?” Jerry asked. Attacking the President was easier and more likely to be profitable than swinging directly at Helen Gahagan Douglas.
She didn’t mind swinging right at him. “If someone makes a habit of murdering and torturing our young men- and that’s what the Nazis do, no doubt about it-isn’t it better to make sure he can’t do it any more than to run away from him?” she demanded.
“I would say yes, except the Army has made it much too plain they can’t do that, either,” Jerry answered.
“How do you expect it to, when you’ve been doing everything you could to hamstring it since V-E Day?” Helen Gahagan Douglas said. “You’ve been blaming the administration for Chiang Kai-shek’s losses in China. But when the administration tries to blame this Congress for our losses in Germany, you don’t think that’s fair.”
“It isn’t fair,” Jerry snapped. “Our losses in Germany started long before Republicans gained the majority. We gained it not least because of American losses in Germany. And those losses started almost before the ink dried on the so-called surrender. The Army in Germany had full wartime appropriations in 1945, as I am sure the distinguished Representative from California recalls.” His tone declared he was sure of no such thing. “Even with those full appropriations, even with that flood of manpower, the U.S. Army had no better luck against partisan warfare than the
“Mr. Speaker!” Congresswoman Douglas exclaimed. “It’s outrageous to compare the United States Army to Hitler’s murder machine! Outrageous!”
“I wasn’t comparing them, except to point out that even the
Neither Helen Gahagan Douglas nor any of the other pro-administration Representatives wanted to listen to him. They yelled and fussed and carried on. So did the Congressmen on Jerry’s side. Up on the rostrum, Joe Martin banged his gavel and, not for the first time, looked as if he had no idea why he’d ever wanted to become Speaker of the House.
Flashbulbs burst like artillery shells. Blinking, Lou Weissberg tried to hide a shiver. He knew more about bursting shells-or at least mortar bombs-than he’d ever wanted to find out. Up there on the platform with him stood Bernie Cobb, Shmuel Birnbaum in black fatigues with “DP” armband, and Second Lieutenant Mark Davenport, the young officer who’d stopped Cobb and his buddies from leaving their position, so they’d been there when Heydrich and company came out.
Also on the platform stood General Lucius D. Clay. Lou had figured the only way he’d get to meet the commander of American forces in Germany was by monumentally screwing up. He’d never dreamt he could do something right enough to draw a four-star general’s notice. Life was full of surprises.
Clay stepped over to the microphone. More flashbulbs went off. Reporters got out notebooks and poised themselves to report. A movie camera recorded the event for posterity-and for the newsreel before next week’s two-reeler, or maybe week after next’s.
Looking straight into the camera, General Clay said, “These four brave men with me today are most responsible for ridding the world of Reinhard Heydrich, would-be
Lou translated Clay’s remarks into low-voiced Yiddish for Shmuel Birnbaum. Then Clay called the DP’s name. Lou stepped up to the mike with him to go on interpreting. Clay said, “We offered a million dollars for help leading to Heydrich’s capture or death. Mr. Birnbaum, who was forced to help excavate the Nazi leader’s headquarters and who later narrowly escaped the murder that would have silenced him forever, gave information that led us to him. His share of the reward will be $250,000.”
Reporters and soldiers gave Birnbaum a hand. Shyly, his head bobbed up and down as he acknowledged the applause. “What will you do with the money?” somebody called. Lou translated the question.
“I want to go to Palestine,” the DP answered without hesitation. “Everybody else has a homeland. Jews should have one, too.” After Lou also translated that, the mostly American crowd nodded. Englishmen wouldn’t have; the UK wasn’t having much fun trying to keep its old League of Nations mandate from exploding into civil war. An ordinary Jewish DP would have had a devil of a time even getting British permission to enter Palestine. For the man who’d fingered Reinhard Heydrich, though-and for a man with a quarter of a million smackers in his pocket- many more things were possible.
Birnbaum and Lou stepped back. “Lieutenant Mark Davenport!” Lucius Clay said.
Davenport strode forward and delivered a parade-ground salute. “Sir!” he said. He was skinny and blond, and looked about seventeen.
“For your cool head, for your gallantry on the mountainside, and for your vital role in ensuring that Heydrich could not escape after coming out of his shelter, I am pleased to promote you to first lieutenant, to present you with a Silver Star in recognition of your courage, and to reward you with $250,000. Congratulations!”
“Thank you very much, sir!” Davenport sounded as if he couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Well, if he didn’t, who could blame him? As if to compound the surreal atmosphere, Clay personally pinned the Silver Star on his chest.
“Private Bernard Cobb!” Before Cobb could even salute him, General Clay corrected himself: “
“Thanks, sir.” Bernie Cobb did salute then. Lou had got to know him a little the past few hectic days. Cobb had had as much of the Army as he wanted, and then some. Three stripes on his sleeve wouldn’t impress him.
