The Winds of War (The Henry Family, #1)

by Herman Wouk

The American party, sitting in a restaurant full of people on their feet, was getting hostile glares.

Byron at last wrote the report on his adventures in Poland. Victor Henry, suppressing his annoyance over the five vapid pages, spent an afternoon dictating to his yeoman everything he remembered of Byron’s tale. His son read the seventeen-page result next day with astonishment. “Ye gods, Dad, what a memory you have.”

Victor Henry forwarded the patched report to the Office of Naval Intelligence, but forgot his idea of sending a copy to the President.

When the Führer made his Reichstag speech offering peace to England and France, early in October, the propaganda ministry set aside a large block of seats in the Kroll Opera House for foreign diplomats, and Pug took his son along. Living through the siege of Warsaw, and then reading Mein Kampf, Byron had come to think of Adolf Hitler as a historic monster—a Caligula, a Genghis Khan, an Ivan the Terrible—and Hitler standing at the podium surprised him: just a medium-size pudgy individual in a plain gray coat and black trousers, carrying a red portfolio. The man seemed to Byron a diminutive actor, weakly impersonating the grandiose and gruesome history-maker.

Hitler spoke this time in a reasonable, pedestrian tone, like an elderly politician. In this sober style, the German leader began to utter such grotesque and laughable lies that Byron kept looking around for some amused reactions. But the Germans sat listening with serious faces. Even the diplomats gave way only here and there to a mouth twitch that might have been ironic.

A powerful Poland had attacked Germany, the little man in the gray coat said, and had attempted to destroy her. The brave Wehrmacht had not been caught unawares and had justly punished this insolent aggression. A campaign strictly limited to attack of military targets had brought quick total victory. The civilian population of Poland, on his personal orders, had not been molested, and had suffered no loss or injury, except in Warsaw. There again on his orders, the German commanders had pleaded with the authorities to evacuate their c...

To Byron, the brazenness of this assertion was stupefying. All the neutral diplomats had made desperate efforts for weeks to negotiate the evacuation of Warsaw’s women an...

“Surely if forty-six million Englishmen can claim to rule over forty million square kilometers of the earth, then it cannot be wrong,” Hitler said in a docile, placating tone, holding up both hands, palms outward, “for eighty-two million Germans to ask to be allowed to till in peace eight hundred thousand kilometers of soil that are historically their own.” He was talking about his new order in central Europe, and the expanded Third Reich. The British and the French could have peace simply by accepting things as they now were, he said, adding a hint that it might be well if they also gave Germany back her old colonies.

That night Pug Henry wrote in his intelligence report: … Hitler looks very well. He obviously has first-rate powers of recuperation. Maybe licking Poland toned up his system a bit. Anyway, the haggardness is gone, his color is excellent, he isn’t stooping, his voice is clear, not harsh, and—at least in this speech—very pleasant, and his walk is springy and quick. It would be a grave mistake to hope for a physical breakdown in this man. The speech was a lot of the same old stuff, with some remarkable whoppers, even for the Führer, about who started the Polish war and about the sterling conduct of the Germans toward civilians. This tommy-rot was certainly for internal consumption. His German listeners appeared to be swallowing it, though it’s very hard to discern what Germans really think. The radio tonight is making a great to-do about the “outstretched hand” peace proposal. We’ll evidently be hearing “outstretched hand” from now on, possibly to the end of the war, even if it’s ten years hence. The offer may have been authentic. If the Allies accept, Germany gets her half of Poland for the price of a quick cheap campaign, and also her pre–World War colonies, no doubt as a reward for the faultless chivalry of her armed forces. Hitler has never been bashful about making the most outrageous proposals. They’ve been accepted, too. So why not try another one? At the very least, if he gets the truce and the conference he suggests, the British and French publics will undoubtedly re...

Pug told Byron to write down his impressions of the speech. Byron handed him half a typewritten page: My outstanding impression was the way Adolf Hitler follows out what he wrote in Mein Kampf. He says there, in his section on war propaganda, that the masses are “feminine,” acting on feeling and sentiment, and that whatever you tell them must be addressed to the dullest ignoramus among them, in order to reach and convince the broadest possible audience. This speech was full of lies that ought to annoy a half-educated German boy of ten, and the peace proposals amounted to a total German grab. Maybe Hitler judges other countries by his own; otherwise I can’t understand the speech. I realized only today what utter contempt Hitler has for the Germans. He regards them as bottomlessly naïve and stupid. They follow him and love him. Who am I to say he’s wrong? His father thought this was not bad, and included it in quotation marks as the comment of a youthful American spectator.

Into this confusing noise came an electric shock of news. A U-boat had sneaked into the British fleet anchorage in Scapa Flow at the northern tip of Scotland, had sunk the battleship Royal Oak, and had returned home safe!

Goebbels’s broadcasters said the sinking of the Royal Oak would prove a great boon to peace, since the Führer’s “outstretched hand” proposal would now receive more serious consideration.

Now I’m not a Nazi, I’ve never said the Führer is a thousand percent right. But he’s a winner, damn it all. He gets things done, like Roosevelt. And you want us to get rid of him?

Spoken like a Trump supporter.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” Pug remarked to Byron, as they drove back to the hotel in dark rain from a long tiring visit to the Krupp works in Essen. “It’s interesting. Much more so than the cathedrals and the schlosses and the folk costumes,” Byron said. “This is the Germany to worry about.” Pug nodded. “Right. The German industrial plant is the pistol Hitler is pointing at the world’s head. It bears study.”

We’ve got the biggest industrial plant in the world, no doubt of that, but Hitler isn’t giving us a second thought right about now, because there’s no national will to use it as a pistol. Germany with her industrial setup can run the world, if nobody argues. The means and the will exist. Macedonia wasn’t very big when Alexander conquered the world. Brazil may be four times as big and have ten times the potential of Germany, but the payoff is on present capacity and will. On paper, as I keep insisting, the French and the British combined still have these people licked. But on paper Primo Camera had Joe Louis licked.

“It’s this war,” Pug said. “The world’s coming apart at the seams by the day. What can that girl do that’s worth fifty-five dollars a week? That’s what a senior grade lieutenant makes, after ten years in the service. It’s absurd.” Rhoda said, “You’ve always babied Madeline. I think she’s showed you up, and that’s what really annoys you.”

Rhoda saw that talking to her son would be useless. She went upstairs to her dressing room, took out a letter she had put in a drawer beneath her underwear, read it once, then tore it into very small pieces.

Gitzfrieg (from WORLD EMPIRE LOST)

The “Phony” War

In all, the attack day was postponed twenty-nine times. Meanwhile preparations went forward at an ever-mounting tempo.

In this enforced half-year delay German industrial war production began to rise and—despite the never-ending confusion and interference in the Führer’s headquarters—a new and excellent strategy for the assault on France was at last hammered out.

Distraction in Finland

Hitler had already given him huge concessions in the Baltic states and in Poland, to buy a free hand against the West. But like all Russian rulers, Czarist or Bolshevik, Stalin had a big appetite. This was his chance to take over the Karelian Isthmus and dominate the Gulf of Finland. When his emissaries failed to get these concessions from the proud Finns by threats, Stalin set out to take them by force.

But to the world’s surprise, the Russian dictator got in trouble, for the attack went badly.

In point of fact, Stalin’s Russia in 1939 was militarily feeble.

Sitzkrieg Ends: Norway

Our occupation of Norway, a surprise overwater move virtually under the guns of a highly superior British fleet, was a great success; not, however, because of Hitler’s leadership, but in spite of it.

Mistakes in Norway

There is no question that this man’s lust for power was insatiable, and it is certainly regrettable that the German people did not understand his true nature until it was too late.

How Hitler Usurped Control of the Army

Hitler was incapable of listening to anybody. This undid him and ruined Germany. Grand strategy and incredibly petty detail were equally his preoccupations. The overruling axiom of our war effort was that Hitler gave the orders. In a brutal speech to our staff in November 1939, prompted by our efforts to discourage a premature attack on France, he warned us that he would ruthlessly crush any of us who opposed his will. Like so many of his other threats, he made this one good. By the end of the war most of our staff had been dismissed in disgrace. Many had been shot. All of us would have been shot sooner or later, had he not lost his nerve and shot himself first.

Hitler and Churchill: A Comparison

Churchill was a Hitler restrained by democracy.

But whatever the civilian structure, let our people hereafter entrust military affairs to its trained generals, and insist that politicians keep hands off the war machine.

By the common verdict of historians, even most German ones, Hitler was a ruthless adventurer bent on conquest and plunder, while Churchill was a great defender of human liberty, dignity, and law. It is true that Churchill tended to interfere in military matters. Politicians find that temptation hard to resist.

The purpose of a British landing would have been to defend Norway, not to occupy and dominate it.

In a war, both sides may well try to take the same neutral objective for strategic reasons, which does not prove that both sides are equally guilty of aggression. That is the fallacy in Roon’s argument.

“I’m thinking how this war’s blown our family apart. I mean, we used to scatter here and there,” Warren said. “We’re a service family and we’re used to that, but it’s different now. I don’t feel there’s a base any more. And we’re all changing. I don’t know if we’ll ever pull back together again.”

“Sooner or later all families change and scatter,” said Janice Lacouture, “and out of the pieces new families start up. That’s how it goes, and a very lovely arrangement it is, too.”

Jastrow put him back to work, and within a few days the old routines were restored. It was as though the Polish experience had never occurred, as though neither of them had left the hilltop. The traces of the war in these quiet hills were few. Only sporadic shortages of gasoline created any difficulty. The Milan and Florence newspapers that reached them played down the war. Even on the BBC broadcasts there was little combat news. The Russian attack on Finland seemed as remote as a Chinese earthquake.

The Germans were the bad children of Europe, Jastrow argued: egotistic, willful, romantic, always poised to break up faltering patterns of order. Arminius had set the ax to the Pax Romana; Martin Luther had broken the back of the universal Church; now Hitler was challenging Europe’s unsteady regime of liberal capitalism, based on an obsolete patchwork structure of nations.

As for Hitler, the villain of the melodrama, he would either be hunted down and bloodily destroyed like Macbeth, or he would have his triumph and then he would fall or die. The stars would remain, so would the earth, so would the human quest for freedom, understanding, and love among brothers.

“I’m going to tell you. It’s a proposal of marriage from a gentleman named Leslie Manson Slote, Rhodes Scholar, rising diplomat, and elusive bachelor. And what do you think of that, Byron Henry?” “Congratulations,” Byron said.

Natalie Jastrow was the one person he had ever met who meant as much to him as his father did.

His mother he took for granted, a warm presence, cloying in her affection, annoying in her kittenish changeability. His father was terrific, and in that way Natalie was terrific, entirely aside from being a tall dark girl whom he had hopelessly craved to seize in his arms since the first hour they had met.

“Look, physical courage isn’t something you can help. It isn’t even important nowadays. You can be a world leader and a cringing sneak. That’s what Hitler probably is. Still, it happened. It happened. I’m not saying I won’t marry Leslie Slote because shellfire made him panic. After all, he behaved well enough at the railroad station. But I do say that’s why he’s proposing to me. This is his way of apologizing and being a man. It’s not quite the answer to my maidenly prayers.”

She stared at him. “Don’t you know what it is, Briny? Haven’t you any idea? Not the faintest inkling? Come on now. Stop it.” He said or rather stammered, because the sudden penetrating sexuality in Natalie Jastrow’s glance made him drunk, “I don’t think I do.” “All right then, I’ll tell you. You’ve done it, you devil, and you know it. You’ve done what you’ve wanted to do from the first day you came here. I’m in love with you.” She peered at him, her eyes shining and enormous. “Ye gods, what a dumb stunned face. Don’t you believe me?” Very hoarsely he said, “I just hope it’s true.”

“Listen—would you think of marrying me?” Byron said.

“Look, Natalie, A.J. had a windfall late in life and got carried away and bought himself a big Italian villa for a song, in a lonesome mountain town. All right. Suppose he walks away now? If he offers it for sale he’ll get something for it. Otherwise he can return after the war and put it back in shape. Or he can just forget it, and let it fall down. Easy come, easy go.” “You see things so simply,” she said.

Natalie happened to glance up and there stood the gardener Giuseppe outside the glass, leaning on a wheelbarrow full of cuttings, watching. With a squinting inebriated leer, he wiped a sleeve of his sweater across his knobbed nose, and obscenely winked.