Faked Passports (20 page)

“That's easier said than done. As I've already told you, I dare not enter into secret negotiation with the Finnish Government and from all I've heard it looks as if they'll give in rather than fight.”

Gregory emptied his second goblet of champagne. He was feeling pretty good again now as he said: “I think you'll admit that I've managed to interest you on the subject of Finland, so can I take it that I shall not be handed over to the gentlemen downstairs who beat people with steel rods?”

“Yes. You've won your wager,” Goering nodded, “but don't get any idea that I mean to let you go; you'll still have to face a firing-squad.”

“Have I convinced you that it is in Germany's interests that Finland should resist Russia's demands?”

“Yes, and I admit that your long-term policy for Germany and the world offers the best hope of permanent peace that has ever been devised.”

“Are you, then, prepared to lead Germany on this new and glorious destiny?”

“If I could do so without disloyalty to my
Fuehrer.
”

“Good. Then let us discuss it further.”

“It would be useless to do so. Our talk has clarified my ideas on the subject and many of your views are in line with those that I've held for a long time, but the plan breaks down at its very outset because the Finns dare not resist.”

“If I could produce a method by which you might induce them to do so, would you give me my life?”

“No.” Goering turned away. “I've talked much too freely for that. I'm sorry on personal grounds, but I never allow such things to influence my decisions. Nothing you can say now will save you from a bullet.”

Gregory remained quite silent for a moment, studying the heavy, forceful face in front of him. It was serene but implacable. There was nothing cruel about it, nothing evil. It was fat with good-living, like those of the later Caesars and, like the best of them, still handsome in its rugged strength. The eyes, too, were quick with understanding and intelligence.

Hours earlier that evening when Gregory had first entered the great, silent apartment in which they stood he had believed that if he could once intrigue Goering with the story of his adventures his life would be safe. He had done so and they had dined together like the best of friends, yet he had lost that round.

Afterwards he had still believed that he might save his neck if he proved clever enough to clarify the Marshal's ideas upon the European situation by putting forward possibilities with a bluntness that few Germans would have dared to use. He had done so; and to such a degree that he might, perhaps, even have altered the whole course of events in Europe for the next fifty years by influencing Goering's decisions through the ambitious plans he had laid before him. But he had lost that round as well.

What was there left? An appeal to sentiment was utterly useless. Goering moved through life as a super-battleship ploughs the seas; he allowed nothing to deflect him from his course once he had set it, and all lesser vessels were forced to give way before his relentless progress. Having once decided that Gregory knew too much to be allowed to live, what possible argument could make him go back on his decision? He liked brave people and if he would not spare Gregory when he had shown himself to be a man of courage he would only treat him with contempt if he started to beg for mercy.

Gregory knew that he was up against the toughest proposition
that he had ever encountered; but he felt no malice. Goering was an opponent worthy of his steel. If the sands of his life were really running out at last he could console himself with the thought that he had failed only because he had tried to move a mountain. It was no disgrace to have broken oneself against the implacable ‘Iron Hermann'.

With a little shrug he said: “Well, I suppose we might as well finish the magnum.”

“Certainly.” Goering refilled the champagne goblets for the third time and replaced the big bottle in its ice-bucket. “I don't feel in a mood for company this evening so I shan't go down and join my guests now. I shall set to work on this Russian business; but there's no immediate hurry, as I never go to bed before two in the morning.”

“Good. In that case I may be able to help you.”

Goering grinned. “I was thinking of my interview with the Soviet Ambassador tomorrow; and although you're a very clever fellow, Sallust, I don't see how you can help me to bring pressure to bear on the Kremlin.”

“No. Nobody can help you there. I meant my scheme for persuading the Finns to resist Russia's demand.”

“But you ask your life for that, and as I don't think it possible, I'm not playing.”

“You can't say whether it's possible or not until you've heard it.”

“In my view, whatever your scheme might be, the general situation would make it impossible of application; because we are no better placed to exert pressure on the Finns than we are on the Russians.”

“I don't agree; and since you won't pay me for it I'll give it to you for nothing.”

“Why should you?”

“Oh, I owe you something for having made the last evening of my life such an interesting one; and when I get to Hell I'll make even Satan's mouth water by a description of that bottle of Marcobrunner Cabinet 1900 you gave me for dinner.”

“All right, go ahead if you wish.”

“Tell me first what you know about the U.S.S.R. The German Secret Service is pretty good and a précis of all essential reports come to you. Russia is a closed book to most of us. Some people believe her to be the same old Russia of the Tsarist days; slow-moving, inefficient, with bribery and corruption rife everywhere; almost unlimited man-power still, of course, but
not the organisation to operate one-tenth of it effectively. Other people believe that Russia has undergone a real rebirth; that her soldiers are now educated men, clean, efficient, proud of their country; and that Voroshilov has forged a weapon in the Soviet armies and air force which is the most powerful fighting-machine in the world. Few people can know the real truth but you must have a very shrewd idea of it.”

“The first is the case.” Goering lit a cigarette and drew heavily upon it. “Russia remains unchanged in all essentials. Their attitude is very much ‘
Nichevo, nichevo
!'—never do today what you can put off till tomorrow—just as they used to say in the past. Their Air Force
is
big—very big. That is why if the Soviet had tied up with the Democracies it might have done considerable damage in Berlin during the first few weeks of the war. Numbers cannot possibly be ignored in such matters and the Soviet pilots are brave men, as they proved in Spain. But aircraft types get out of date more quickly than any other arm. The Soviet Air Force reached its peak as a weapon three years ago and plane for plane the Russians wouldn't stand a dog's chance against any of the more modern types that we or the Western Powers now have.”

Gregory nodded. “I thought as much. How about the army?”

“There are two armies in Russia. The Army proper is very big in numbers but is composed mainly of conscripts who are ill-armed, ill-officered and ill-fed. They're not even up to the standard of the reserve battalions of Moujiks which the Tsar sent against us in 1915. None of these units is equipped with the most modern weapons—apart from tanks—because the Kremlin has always been afraid of an Army
Putsch.
Stalin has deliberately starved the Army proper of equipment, to ensure his own political battalions having at least a great superiority of weapon-power over the ordinary troops if it ever came to a show-down with the Generals.

“Those political battalions form an army in themselves but a much smaller one, numbering some 300,000 men. Every man in them is a Communist Party member admitted only after the severest tests—in the same way as our S.S. men here. They have the best of everything—food, quarters, women—and would fight tooth and nail to protect the Government that ensures them these privileges. They are commanded by Budenny, who is
Voroshilov's most trusted man, and both are completely loyal to the Kremlin.”

Gregory swallowed another couple of mouthfuls of the iced champagne. “I take it, then, that the Kremlin would not risk sending its political battalions against the Finns but would use the main army which you say is in such poor condition?”

“Naturally. They will rely on sheer weight of numbers to smash the Mannerheim Line because it doesn't matter how many of their conscripts they kill; whereas large losses among their crack political troops would leave the Kremlin Government exposed to the danger of an internal revolution.”

“Do you think such mass attacks by inferior troops will be sufficient to overcome the Finnish resistance within—say—a month?”

“I doubt it; because it is not only the troops that are of such poor quality; they will be worse led than any other army in Europe.”

“Do you mean because Stalin has bumped off so many of his best officers in these constant purges since the Tukachevsky conspiracy of 1937?”

Goering nodded. “It's been infinitely worse than most people suppose. There's no doubt that Stalin nipped the Tukaschevsky conspiracy only just in time. Nearly every officer of importance was involved in it and the Ogpu have been tracing them up ever since. During the last two years he has liquidated 75 out of 80 members of the Supreme War Council, 13 out of 19 Army commanders and 195 Divisional commanders. Altogether they have murdered 350 odd generals, but even that is not the worst of it. Over 30,000 officers of all ranks have been slaughtered.”

“Thirty thousand!” Gregory exclaimed.

“Yes. That means that hardly an officer above the rank of major has been spared and practically all their qualified staff officers have been eliminated. Men who were captains last year are now commanding divisions and sergeants have become company commanders overnight. The Navy and the Air Force have suffered equally in proportion. The result is bound to be absolute chaos when the Soviet forces are called on to undertake a full-scale campaign.”

“You have, of course, irrefutable proof of this in your Secret Service files?” Gregory asked.

“Certainly. We have far too many agents operating in Russia for them all to be mistaken.”

“How much of this do you think the Finns know?”

“A little, perhaps; but not very much compared with ourselves. Finland is a small country and her resources are limited. For every agent the Finns have working in Russia we probably have a hundred.”

“Good. Now, what you've told me more than confirms my own suspicions, and this is the plan I had in mind. Get the facts from Berlin and sit up all night compiling a full report upon the Soviet Army and Air Force, backed by all the available evidence.”

A quick smile lit Goering's eyes. “I see the idea! You're suggesting that I should tip off the Finnish Government that the main Red Army is only cardboard.”

“Exactly. There can be no doubt that Marshal Mannerheim would rather fight than give in and from what we know of the Finnish War of Independence I'm certain that most of the Finns are with him. But the Government is the snag. Politicians are not soldiers; the thought of their cities lying in ruins and their women and children being bombed to Hell makes them prepared to go to almost any lengths rather than go to war. If only you can convince the Finnish Cabinet that their country will not be overrun immediately and that in spite of Russia's numerical superiority there's a good chance of their being able to hold out until other countries and the February snows come to their assistance, you'll have done the trick—you'll have saved Finland as a possible base for future German operations when the present war is over.”

Goering shook his head. “I believe it could be done; but one thing makes such a course impossible. To convince them that the reports are genuine I should have to send a personal emissary with full authority to let the Finns know that, whatever Germany's ostensible attitude may be, I am behind them. That would mean going behind the
Fuehrer's
back. Himmler's agents are everywhere, even in the highest offices of the Government. There are very few people indeed that even I can absolutely trust, and those few are marked men. If one of them disappeared Himmler would send out a general call through his Foreign Department, U.A.-1. Every Gestapo agent outside Germany would be turned on to hunt for my man; his presence in Helsinki would be discovered and reported, and that alone would be sufficient to give away the fact that I had been trying to double-cross von Ribbentrop. I'm not frightened of him—I can take care of myself and I'm a much bigger man than he is—
but there would be hell to pay, and I'm not ready for a showdown with him yet.”

“I feared the problem of a suitable emissary would prove a knotty one,” Gregory nodded; “because anyone you send on such a mission must be a man of some standing, otherwise the Finns might become suspicious and get it into their heads that he was not sent by you at all. But surely you can find some aristocrat—an Army man for preference—who is outside politics—someone important enough to impress the Finns and at the same time a man whom you could completely trust—someone, for example, like our late friend, Colonel-Baron von Lutz?”

In spite of its size the room was now blue with the smoke of innumerable cigarettes, yet Goering lit another and puffed upon it. “Yes, someone like that,” he murmured. “Von Lutz would have been just the man, but he's dead; and unfortunately, where a month ago I could have found a dozen like him who would have done equally well, they were all either killed or have gone into hiding as a result of the Army
Putsch.
”

Gregory smiled. “Then it seems there's nothing else for it. If you're to pull this job off—and you must, for the sake of your own future and that of Germany—you'll just have to send me.”