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

by Herman Wouk

It was clear to Pug Henry that if Japan entered the war, with her annual steel production of only a few million tons, she could not hold out long if Germany were beaten. But if the Germans knocked out the British and got the fleet, they could go on to conquer whole continents, getting stronger as they went, whatever happened to Japan.

He kept wondering about a form of government which required such deviousness in its chiefs, and such soothing, cajoling fibs to get its legislators to act sensibly. Once the planners, weary after a hammering day, sat in their shirt-sleeves around a radio, listening to General Marshall testify before a Senate committee. They heard this Army Chief of Staff, whose frosty remote uprightness made Henry think of George Washington, assure the senators that no intention existed for America to enter the war, and that at present there was no need for any large buildup of its armed forces. The planners had just been discussing an allocation of troops based on an American army of five million in 1943, a projection of which Marshall was well aware.

Pug had worked up formulas converting any troop movement across water into types and quantities of landing craft, and these formulas threw cold water on many an ambitious and plausible plan. Somebody would usually say, “Pug’s girl Elsie acting up again”; and Burne-Wilke always supported his insistence on this bottleneck.

Pug turned fifty on a Sunday early in March.

The RAF, the air commodore said, was anticipating a new, larger onslaught in the spring and summer. The submarine sinkings, at their present rate, might ground the British planes for lack of fuel. An invasion would then be in the cards.

Pug said, “Anything very new on uranium?” The scientist looked at him with head aslant. “What’s uranium?” “Are you that far along?” Pug grinned. Kirby slowly shook his head, making a discouraged mouth. “Are the Germans going to beat us to it?” The answer was a shrug. “As you know, I’m in War Plans,” Victor Henry said curtly. “I’m pushing you on this because we ought to have the dope, and we can’t get it. If this other thing is really in the works, maybe we’re just playing tic-tac-toe in our shop.” Kirby stuffed his pipe and lit it. “You’re not playing tic-tac-toe. It’s not that close. Not on our side.” “Could we be doing more about it?” “One hell of a lot more. I’m going to England on this. They’re apparently far ahead of us.” “They’ve been ahead on other things,” Pug said. “That’s something nobody mentions in this brainless Lend-Lease dogfight. We have to be goddamned glad we’ve got the British scientists on our side, and we better break our necks to keep them there.” “I tend to agree. But we’re ahead of them in many things too.”

40

What he held in his hands was a summary from Army intelligence sources of a startling German operation order, purportedly slipped to a civilian in the American embassy in Berlin by anti-Nazi Wehrmacht officers. Pug knew the man well, but his intelligence function was a complete surprise.

Hopkins said hoarsely, “Do the contents seem authentic to you?” “I can’t say, sir. I don’t know Russian geography that well, to begin with.” “Our Army people find it plausible,” Hopkins said. “Why would anybody fake a staggering document like that, Captain? A complete operation order for the invasion of the Soviet Union, in such massive detail?” Pug thought it over, and spoke carefully. “Well, sir, for one thing they might be hoping to prod the Soviet Union to mobilize, and so kick off a two-front war. In that case the army might depose or kill Hitler. Then again, it could be a plant by German intelligence, to see how much we pass on to the Russians. The possibilities are many.” “That’s the trouble,” said the President, yawning. “Our ambassador in Russia has begged us not to transmit this thing. He says Moscow is flooded with such stuff. The Russians assume it all emanates from British intelligence to start trouble between Stalin and Hitler, so as to get the Germans off England’s back.”

“The Japanese foreign minister is meeting with Hitler. You’ve read about that. What are they up to? Shall we move the Asiatic fleet from Manila to Singapore, to make them think twice about jumping on the French and Dutch East Indies? That’s the British idea. Or shall we pull everything in the Pacific all the way back to the west coast, for prudence’s sake? That’s what my Chief of Naval Operations wants. I’d like your opinion on that, by the way. Here’s another touchy item—the Azores. Grab them before Hitler invades Portugal and takes them himself? Or if we grab them, will that make him invade Portugal?” The President flipped through more papers as though they were butcher and grocer bills. “Oh yes. Selective Service. This is bad. From Stimson. The authorizing bill will run out in a few months. We have to start new legislation rolling now. But after the Lend-Lease battle, Congress will be in no mood to extend the draft. And if they don’t we’ll be militarily helpless.—Morgenthau. Treasury is bedevilling me to freeze all the funds of Germany and Italy here, but State says no, we’ve got four times as much invested in those countries as they’ve got with us.—Morgenthau again. The British agreed to sell all their investments here to give us their remaining dollars, and Morgenthau told Congress they would, and now the British are dragging their feet. There’s ever so much more. That’s part of one day’s basketful, old chap. I mean, a historian would certainly find a cross section li...

“Pug, the U-boats keep working westward with this new wolf-pack tactic. The sinkings are outrunning the combined capacity of our yards plus the British yards to build new bottoms. You’re aware of all that.” “I’ve been hearing plenty about it at our conferences, sir.” “You accept the British figures of sinkings?” “Oh, yes, Mr. President.” “So do I. The minute Lend-Lease passes, we’ll be sending out a vast shipment of stuff. Now, none of that stuff must land on the ocean floor instead of in England. That’s terribly important.” Roosevelt’s offhand remark about Lend-Lease surprised Victor Henry, who was deeply worried, as the British were, about the violent debate in the Senate. “You think Lend-Lease will pass, sir?” “Oh, the bill will pass,” said the President absently. “But then what? Seventy ships are standing by now to be loaded. This shipment simply cannot be scattered and sunk by the U-boats, Pug. The British need the stuff. They need even more the morale boost of seeing it arrive. The problem is getting it through as far as Iceland. From there the British can convoy them, but not from here to Iceland. They’re simply stretched to the breaking point. Well? What do we do?” Victor Henry said uncomfortably, under the President’s questioning gaze, “Convoy, sir?” The President heavily shook his head. “You know the answer on that, Pug, as of this moment.” In the Lend-Lease fight, the issue of convoying was red-hot. The Lacouture group was screaming that if Lend-Lease passed, th...

“I’ve been thinking, however. Suppose a squadron of destroyers went out on an exercise? Not convoying, you understand. Not convoying at all. Just practicing convoy procedures. Just professional drill, you might say. The Navy is always drilling, isn’t it? That’s your job. Well, suppose they chose to travel with these vessels—strictly for drill purposes, you understand—just this once? And to avoid difficulties and complications, suppose all this were done highly informally, with no written orders or records? Don’t you suppose the U-boats might be a bit discouraged to see sixteen or so Benson-class United States destroyers out there screening those ships?” “Discouraged, yes. Still, what happens will depend on their instructions, Mr. President.”

“They’ve got instructions not to tangle with our warships,” Roosevelt said, sounding and looking very hard. “That’s obvious.” Victor Henry’s pulse was quickening. “They’ve never encountered our destroyers in a convoy screen, sir. Suppose a U-boat closes and fires a torpedo?” “I don’t believe it will happen,” Roosevelt said shortly. “The ships may never even be sighted by the Germans before the British take over the convoy. The North Atlantic weather’s atrocious now. And most of the U-boat action is still on the other side of Iceland.” He was fitting a cigarette in his holder as he spoke. Victor Henry swiftly snapped his lighter and offered a flame. “Thanks. This is against doctor’s orders, but I need a smoke. Pug, I want this thing done, and I’m thinking you might handle it and go out with the destroyers.”

Captain Henry swallowed his astonishment and said...

“Mr. President, what do we do if a U-boat does attack? I agree it’s unlikely. But suppose it happens?” Roosevelt regarded him through wreathing cigarette smoke. “This is a gamble that it won’t happen.” “I know that, sir.” “You understand that a combat incident destroys the whole purpose,” the President said, “and you know the other implications.” “Yes, sir.” “Now tell me,” said the President, in a much milder manner, “what do you honestly think of the idea? It’s my own. If you think it’s bad, say so, but tell me why.”

“Pug, the best men I have around me keep urging me to declare war. They say it’s inevitable, and that it’s the only way to unite the people and get them to put their backs into the war effort. I suppose you agree with them?” The Navy captain said after a pause, looking at the bulky shadow in blue light, “Yes, Mr. President, I do.”

“It’s a bad thing to go to war,” said the President.

41

The Negative Front

(from WORLD EMPIRE LOST)

Provocation in the Atlantic

Yugoslavia’s Treachery: The Donovan Mission

The Simovic Cabal

“Operation Punishment”

The Mediterranean Strategy

Churchill’s Disastrous Folly

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE:

42

LEND-LEASE passed the Senate by sixty votes to thirty-one.

Two to one, the Senate voted in Lend-Lease, while the country and the press hardly paid attention. The debate had bored them into indifference.

The President at last had the means to put the United States on a war footing, long before the people were ready to fight. The new factories that must now rise to make Lend-Lease planes and guns, would in time arm the American forces that so far existed only on paper.

“So! You’re prepared to get the United States of America into this war all by yourself, are you, Captain?” said Ernest King at last, with frigid sarcasm. “Well, that’s one way for an obscure person to go down in history.”

“Hell, we’re in this war, anyway. It doesn’t matter too much when or how the whistle blows. The Japanese are going to kick off against us when it suits them and the Germans. Probably when it least suits us. I agree with Mr. Roosevelt that it very likely won’t happen now. But how about the battle cruisers? Hey? Thought about them? The Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau? They’ve picked off more than a hundred thousand tons in the past month.” “Yes, sir. I hope the Catalinas will warn us if they’re around, so we can evade.”

“Hello? Admiral, I’m sending to your office”—King glanced at a scrap of paper on his desk—“Captain Victor Henry, a special observer from War Plans. Captain Henry will visit Desron Eight and conduct surprise drills, inspections, and maneuvers, to test combat readiness. He is to be regarded as my assistant chief of staff, with appropriate authority…. Affirmative. He will be in your office within the hour. Thank you.”

“Captain, I desire that you now form out of Desron Eight an antisubmarine screen, and proceed to sea to conduct realistic tests and drills. This includes forming up screens on cooperative merchant vessels which you may encounter. You will of course avoid provoking belligerent vessels that may sight you. I desire you to keep security at a maximum and paperwork at a minimum. For that reason my instructions are verbal. You’ll conduct yourself similarly.” “Understood, Admiral.”

Whether U-boats saw the convoy and laid low because of the American destroyers fanned ahead of it, or whether it got through undetected, Victor Henry never knew. They arrived at Point Baker, a dot of latitude and longitude on the wide empty sea, without a single episode of alarm.

When the Plunkett tied up in the Norfolk Navy Yard, Victor Henry went straight to flag quarters on the Texas. Admiral King listened to his report with the face of a scrawny sandstone pharaoh, showing a human reaction only when Pug mentioned the poor performance of the destroyers. The pharaoh face then became slightly more unpleasant. “I am aware of the low level of preparedness in the fleet, and have instituted corrective programs. Now then. On what basis, Captain, did the President choose you for this mission?” “When I was naval attaché in Germany, sir, he happened to use me on jobs involving high security. I suppose this fell in that category.”

“I suppose while out at sea you’ve gotten the news? You know that the Germans blitzed Yugoslavia in one week? That Greece has surrendered”—the admiral ran a bony finger along Adriatic and Mediterranean coastlines hatched in angry fresh red ink—“that this fellow Rommel has knocked the British clear back into Egypt, and is massing to drive on the Suez Canal? That the big British force trapped in Greece will be lucky to pull off another Dunkirk? That the Arabs are rising to throw the British out of the Middle East? That Iraq’s already ordered them out and asked the Germans in?” “Yes, sir. We got most of that. It’s been a bad few weeks.” “Depends on the viewpoint. For the Germans it’s been a fine few weeks. In a month or so, they’ve tipped the world balance. My considered judgment is that this war’s almost over. There seems to be very little awareness of that here. When the Germans take the canal, master the Middle East, and close the Mediterranean, the British Empire lines will be severed. That’s the ball game. There will be no viable military force left in all of Asia between Hitler and the Japs. India and China will fall to them.” Admiral King swept bony fingers across the Eurasian land-mass. “Solid dictator-ruled, from Antwerp to Tokyo, and from the Arctic Circle to the equator. Did you hear about that neutrality deal between the Soviets and the Japs?” “No, sir. I missed that one.” “Well, they signed a pact—oh, a couple of weeks ago, this was—agreeing to lay off each other...

“She’s pregnant!” Byron catapulted into the little wardroom, arresting himself by grabbing the doorway. “Natalie’s pregnant, Dad.” He brandished torn-open letters. “How about that? Hey, Lady, how about that? Boy, I feel strange.” “Fast work,” said Aster. “You better get that gal home for sure, now. Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Excuse me.” The executive officer slid out from behind the table with his mail basket. “Any news on her coming home?” Victor Henry asked. “She says Leslie Slote really built a fire under the consuls this time. She and Jastrow should be on their way by—well, maybe by now! She’d better be, or I’ll desert and go fetch her, Dad. My kid’s going to be born in the United States.”

Rhoda came back to Washington committed in the strongest terms to leave her husband and to marry Kirby.

With such thoughts Rhoda Henry was working herself up to tell Pug that she had fallen in love with another man. But she did not look forward with dewy pleasure to this, and she teetered, ready to be pushed either way.

It took him a long time to fall asleep. He kept thinking of the callous happy-go-lucky mood he had found in the capital, the sense that by passing the Lend-Lease Bill, America had done its bit to stamp out Nazism. Nobody appeared to care how much stuff was actually being produced and shipped. The figures at War Plans had appalled him. Conflicting boards and agencies, contradictory directives, overlapping demands by the Air Corps, the Navy, the Army, and the British had overwhelmed the program. Under an amazing welter of meetings, talk, and mimeographed releases, Lend-Lease was paralyzed.

Pug cheered up later in the week, as most people did, when Hitler’s deputy Führer, the black-browed fanatic Rudolf Hess, made a solo flight to Scotland, landed by parachute, and demanded to see Winston Churchill. For a day or two it seemed that Germany might be cracking. But the Nazis at once announced that Hess, through heroic overwork, had gone off his head. The British said little publicly.

This outpouring of military energy to all points of the compass, this lava flow of violence, was awesome. In the face of it, Vichy France was folding up and negotiating a deal with the Nazis that would hand over North Africa to them, and perhaps the strong French fleet too. This was a brutal bloody nose for American diplomats trying to hold France neutral, and keep the Germans out of the African bulge at French Dakar, which dominated the whole south Atlantic.

It soon became clear that Hitler was doing a new thing in Crete, taking a strong island from the air without sea power, in fact in the teeth of sea power. This was threatening news for England. Aside from the heavy defeat itself, Crete began to look like a dress rehearsal for the end.

Then came the scarifying news that the Bismarck, a new German battleship, had blown up England’s mighty war vessel, the Hood, off Greenland, with a single salvo at thirteen miles, and vanished into the north Atlantic mists!

Byron crouched on a stool, watching his father dress. “I got two more letters from Natalie yesterday. She’s stuck, after all.” Pug frowned at the mirror over his bureau. “Now what?” “Same thing, Dad, this balled-up foolishness about when her uncle’s father was naturalized. He just can’t get that passport renewed. One official makes promises, and the next one fudges on them. The thing goes round and round.” “Tell your wife to come home, and let him sweat it out.” “Let me finish, Dad.” Byron waved both hands. “It was all set, they’d even bought steamship tickets. Some formality of approval from Washington just never came through. Natalie had to turn back the boat tickets. Dad, they’re ringed by Germans now. Germans in France, Yugoslavia, Greece, North Africa, and for that matter all through Italy. They’re a couple of Jews.”

“Well, I had a good day!” the President exclaimed as they sat down, with the obvious intent of putting everybody at ease. “The Ford Company finally promised Bill Knudsen to make Liberators in their huge new plant. We’ve been sweating over that one. The business people seem to be waking up at last.” He started on his soup, and everyone else began to eat. “We want to put out five hundred heavy bombers a month by next fall, and this will do it. Mr. Maugham, there’s good news to pass on! By next fall, we’ll be making five hundred heavy bombers a month. That’s hard intelligence.”

“You know, Willie,” said the President, “a lot of folks here don’t believe the story that Rudolf Hess is crazy. They say that he was sent over to advise your people of the coming attack on Russia, and to get a hands-off agreement, in return for a promise to help you keep the Empire.” “That very plan is in Mein Kampf.” Mrs. Roosevelt spoke out like a schoolteacher.

“But it all boils down to Hitler’s impulses nowadays,” said the President. “Pity we must live in the same century with that strange creature. Say, we have here two men who talked at length face to face with the fellow. Let’s take a Gallup poll. Sumner, do you think Hitler is a madman?” “I looked hard for such evidence, Mr. President. But as I reported, I found him a cool, very knowledgeable, very skilled advocate, with great dignity and—I’m afraid—considerable charm.” “How about you, Pug?” “Mr. President, don’t misunderstand me. But to me, so far, all heads of state are more alike than they are different.” Roosevelt looked taken aback, then he threw his head back and guffawed, and so the others laughed. “Well! That’s something! At my own table, I’ve been compared to Hitler! Pug, you’d better talk your way out of that one fast.” “But it’s the truth. He has a very powerful presence, sir, face to face—though I hate to admit it—with an incredible memory, and a remarkable ability to marshal a lot of facts as he talks. In his public speeches he often raves like a complete nut. But I think when he does that, he’s just giving the Germans what they want. That impressed me, too. His ability to act such different parts.”