The Winds of War

after my speech.”

“Convoying would be a Navy job, sir. We’re all ready.”

“If we get into war,” said the President through a broad smile and a wave at schoolchildren cheering him “- and convoying just might do it — Hitler will at once walk into French West Africa. He’ll have the Luftwaffe at Dakar, where they can jump over to Brazil. He’ll put new submarine pens there, too. The Azores will be in his palm. The people who are screaming for convoy now just ignore these things. Also the brute fact the eighty-two percent, eighty-two percent of our people don’t want to go to war. Eighty-two percent.

The navy veteran was sitting up now, blinking, and working his bony jaws and loose sunken mouth. “My, this is a fine parade. I still remember marching past President Lincoln,” he said reedily. “There he stood, the President himself, all in black.” The old man peered at the President. “And you’re all in white. And you’re sitting, hee hee.”

Victor Henry shrank with embarrassment. Roosevelt laughed gaily, “Well, there you are. Every President does things a little differently.” He lit a cigarette in his long holder, and puffed. Boy Scouts in a brown mass went stepping by, with heads and bright eyes turned toward the President. He waved his hat at them. “So far this year, Pug, we’ve produced twenty percent more automobiles than we made last year. And Congress wouldn’t dream of giving me the power to stop it. Well? What about London? You didn’t suggest anybody.”

Victor Henry diffidently named three well-known rear admirals.

“I know them,” the President nodded. The fact is, I was thinking of you.”

“It wouldn’t work, Mr. President. Our man’s opposite number in the Royal Navy will have flag rank.”

“Oh, that could be fixed up. We could make you an admiral temporarily.”

From the surprise, and perhaps a little form the beating sun overhead, Pug felt dizzy. “Mr. President, as you know, I just go where I’m ordered.”

“Now, Pug, none of that. Frankly, I like you right where you are. Deciding who gets what weapons and supplies is a big job. I’m glad you’re working on it, because you have sense. But think about London.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Pug returned the veteran to his nursing home, and went back to a piled-up desk. He got through a high heap of work and walked home, to give himself a chance to think. The city lay in holiday quiet. Connecticut Avenue was almost empty, the evening air was sweet and clear.

Think about London!

Young couples on the benches in Dupont Circle turned and laughed, looking after the stocky man in Navy whites, striding along and humming a tune that had been popular before some of them were born.

“Hey, what the Sam Hill?” Pug exclaimed, as he entered the living room. “Champagne? And why are you gussied up like that? Whose birthday is it?”

“Whose birthday, you old fool?” Rhoda stood, splendid in a pink silk frock, her eyes glittering with tears. “Don’t you know? Can’t you guess?”

I suppose I’m fouled up on my dates.”

“It’s Victor Henry’s birthday, that’s whose birthday it is.”

“Are you potted? Mine’s in March.”

“Oh, God, how dense the man is. Pug, at four o’clock this afternoon, Janice had a boy! You’re a grandfather, you poor man, and his name is Victor Henry. And I’m a doddering old grandmother. And I love it. I love it! Oh, Pug!”

Rhoda threw herself in his arms.

They talked about the great event over the champagne, downing a whole bottle much too fast. Janice and her baby were in fine shape. The little elephant weighed nine and a half whole pounds! Rhoda had raced up to the naval hospital for a look at him in the glass cage. “He’s the image of you, Pug,” she said. “A small pink copy.”

“Poor kid,” said Pug. “He’ll have no luck with the women.”

“I like that!” exclaimed Rhoda, archly giggling. “Didn’t you have marvellous luck? Anyway, Janice and the baby are coming to stay with us. She doesn’t want to take him back to Hawaii for a while. So that makes the house decision urgent. Now, Pug, just today I got that old lady in Foxhall Road to come down another five thousand! I say let’s grab it. That glorious lawn, those fine old elms! Sweetie, let’s enjoy these coming years, let’s wither in style, side by side, Grandma and Grandpa Henry. And let’s always have lots of spare room for the grandchildren. Don’t you think so?”

Victor Henry stared at his wife for such a long time that she began to feel odd. He heaved a deep sigh and made a curious upward gesture with both palms.

“Well, I’ll tell you, Grandma. I couldn’t agree with you more. The time has come. Let’s go to Foxhall road by all means. And there we’ll wither, side by side. Well said.”

“Oh, how marvellous! I love you. I’ll call the Charleroi Agency in the morning. Now let me see what’s happened to the dinner.” She hurried out, slim silky hips swaying.

Pug Henry upended the champagne bottle over his glass, but only a drop or two ran out, as he sang softly:

But yes, we have no bananas,
We have no bananas today.

* * *

Three weeks later the Germans invaded the Soviet Union.

PART THREE — The Winds Rise

Chapter 44 — Barbarossa (from WORLD EMPIRE LOST)

TRANSLATORS NOTE: The world still wonders, a quarter of a century later, why Adolf Hitler turned east in June 1941, when he had England hanging on the ropes from disastrous defeats in Africa and the Balkans, and from losses to U-boats, and when the United States was impotent to stop the knockout. It appeared then that Hitler had the Second World War all but won. With England mopped up, he could have proceeded to take on the Soviet Union in a one-front war, after digesting his amazing gains. Instead, sparing England, he turned east, unloosed the biggest and longest bloodbath in history, left his rear open to the Normandy landing, and destroyed himself and Germany.

Why?

On this question, it seems to me that General von Roon, from the other side of the hill, sheds a lot of light. Since the American reader is more interested in operations in the west, I have greatly abridged this material. But I have tried to preserve the main thread of Roon’s analysis. — V.H.

The Turn East

Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union is widely regarded as his great blunder, and perhaps the greatest