Fall of Giants

But Otto wanted to have it both ways. “No, but now that we have expended so much effort and money, and the lives of so many fine young Germans, we must have something in return.”

It was a weak argument, but Walter knew better than to try to change his father’s mind. Anyway, he had made the point that Germany’s war aims had been achieved. Now he changed tack. “Are you quite sure that total victory is attainable?”

“Yes!”

“Back in February we launched an all-out assault on the French fortress of Verdun. We failed to take it. The Russians attacked us in the east, and the British threw everything into their offensive at the river Somme. These huge efforts by both sides have failed to end the stalemate.” He waited for a response.

Grudgingly, Otto said: “So far, yes.”

“Indeed, our own high command has acknowledged this. Since August, when von Falkenhayn was fired and Ludendorff became chief of staff, we have changed our tactics from attack to defense in depth. How do you imagine defense in depth will lead to total victory?”

“Unrestricted submarine warfare!” Otto said. “The Allies are being sustained by supplies from America, while our ports are blockaded by the British navy.We have to cut off their lifeline-then they’ll give in.”

Walter had not wanted to get into this, but now that he had begun he had to go on. Gritting his teeth, he said as mildly as he could: “That would certainly draw America into the war.”

“Do you know how many men there are in the United States Army?”

“It’s only about a hundred thousand, but-”

“Correct. They can’t even pacify Mexico! They’re no threat to us.”

Otto had never been to America. Few men of his generation had. They just did not know what they were talking about. “The United States is a big country with great wealth,” Walter said, seething with frustration but keeping his tone conversational, trying to maintain the pretense of an amiable discussion. “They can build up their army.”

“But not quickly. It will take them at least a year. By that time, the British and French will have surrendered.”

Walter nodded. “We’ve had this discussion before, Father,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “So has everyone connected with war strategy. There are arguments on both sides.”

Otto could hardly deny that, so he just grunted disapprovingly.

Walter said: “Anyway, I’m sure it’s not for me to decide Germany’s response to this informal approach from Washington.”

Otto took the hint. “Nor for me, of course.”

“Wilson says that if Germany will write formally to the Allies proposing peace talks, he will publicly support the proposal. I suppose it’s our duty to pass this message on to our sovereign.”

“Indeed,” said Otto. “The kaiser must decide.”

{IV}

Walter wrote a letter to Maud on a plain sheet of white paper with no letterhead.

My dearest darling,

It is winter in Germany and in my heart.

He wrote in English. He did not put his address at the top, nor did he use her name.

I cannot tell you how much I love you and how badly I miss you.

It was hard to know what to say. The letter might be read by inquisitive policemen, and he had to make sure neither Maud nor he could be identified.

I am one of a million men separated from the women we love, and the north wind blows through all our souls.

His idea was that this might be a letter from any soldier living away from his family because of the war.

It is a cold, bleak world for me, as it must be for you, but the hardest part to bear is our separation.

He wished he could tell her about his work in battlefield intelligence, about his mother trying to make him marry Monika, about the scarcity of food in Berlin, even about the book he was reading, a family saga called Buddenbrooks. But he was afraid that any specifics would put him or her in danger.

I cannot say much, but I want you to know that I am faithful to you-

He broke off, thinking guiltily of the urge he had felt to kiss Monika. But he had not yielded.

– and to the sacred promises we made to each other the last time we were together.

It was as near as he could get to mentioning their marriage. He did not want to risk someone at her end reading it and learning the truth.

I think every day of the moment when we will meet again, and look into one another’s eyes and say: “Hello, my beloved.”

Until then, remember me.

He did not sign his name.

He put the letter in an envelope and slipped it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

There was no postal service between Germany and England.

He left his room, went downstairs, put on a hat and a heavy overcoat with a fur collar, and went out into the shivering streets of Berlin.

He met Gus Dewar in the bar of the Adlon. The hotel maintained a shadow of its prewar dignity, with waiters in evening dress and a string quartet, but there were no imported drinks-no Scotch, no brandy, no English gin-so they ordered schnapps.

“Well?” said Gus eagerly. “How was my message received?”