‘The French have more tanks than the Poles, a lot more. And they are better tanks.’
Theo examined the map. The little markers, each one a division, represented thousands of men soon to be propelled headlong at each other in Flanders. ‘So what is your request?’
‘I told you I played the role of General Gamelin?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a difficult task,’ Liss said. ‘The difficulty isn’t working out what the French should do, but rather what they will do.’
‘Shouldn’t you just assume they pursue the best strategy?’ Theo asked.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s not what the French do.’ Liss smiled. ‘When we invaded Poland we left only thirty-five divisions of reservists along our western border. The French had seventy-five divisions facing us and three thousand two hundred tanks. We had none. Not one. If the French had ordered an immediate armoured offensive, they would have smashed through the Siegfried Line within a fortnight. We would have lost the war.’
It sounded extraordinary, but Theo believed Liss. He knew the results of a similar war game held in 1938, just before the impending invasion of Czechoslovakia. The Czechs held up the German army long enough for the French armour to roll through the Rhineland. Germany lost the war within months. That was why General Beck and the others had been so desperate to topple Hitler back then.
‘So why didn’t the French generals just do that in September?’
‘It would never have entered their heads. More importantly, it would never enter the heads of the French politicians. Or the British. They have their Maginot Line, and their plans are to sit there and wait for us to attack them. I don’t think they realize even now how they could have won the war.’
‘All right,’ said Theo.
‘So what I need to know’, said Liss, ‘is what the French plan to do if and when we invade Belgium. We can see from their dispositions it’s clearly something they are expecting. In particular, what will the 7th Army do? That’s what I want you to find out. Then, next time we play this war game I can play Gamelin’s role more accurately. Can you do that?’
‘I can try,’ said Theo.
‘Thank you, Hertenberg,’ said Liss.
Theo was about to leave, when he paused. ‘What about here?’ he said, pointing to the French border with Belgium along the Meuse. ‘The information I received was that the 2nd Army guarding this section is very weak.’
Liss smiled. ‘Yes. Of course the hills and forests of the Ardennes would slow up any armoured assault. But that is something we discussed. The Führer was particularly intrigued.’
Despite himself, Theo couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride that the Führer himself was interested in the information he had provided.
As he drove back to Berlin, Theo marvelled at his own inconsistency. On the one hand he prayed for Hitler to be removed. He dreaded a German victory over France and Britain, almost as much as the stalemate that Liss was predicting. On the other, he was helping Liss and the general staff craft a strategy that would smash the Allied armies. Both attitudes made sense. It was his bounden duty as an army officer to do all he could to help his country win a battle. It was also his duty as a good German and patriot to stop an evil madman destroying his country.
But those two conceptions of his duty were contradictory. And Theo wasn’t sure how long he could deny that contradiction.
That troubled him. It troubled him deeply.
The Hague
‘Zijn deze plaatsen nog vrij?’
Millie looked up at two Dutchmen, both about thirty, both good-looking. She and Constance were having a cup of coffee in the Passage, an elegant shopping arcade just opposite the Binnenhof parliamentary citadel.
‘We do not speak Dutch. We are English,’ she replied in that language.
The shorter of the two men smiled. ‘No matter. I can speak English and I can translate for Jan.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Millie smiled politely. ‘We are waiting for someone. He will be here any moment.’
‘I understand,’ said the English speaker, his face regretful. ‘I apologize for troubling you.’ They withdrew and found themselves a seat in the opposite corner of the café.
‘Pity,’ said Constance. ‘They looked rather nice.’
‘Better than some of the oafs that have approached us over the last couple of days,’ said Millie.
It was hardly surprising that she and Constance had drawn attention. Constance was an attractive woman, and Millie was used to dealing with strange men wanting to start conversations with her. Actually, Constance had proved to be a more amusing travel companion than Millie had expected. She and Millie were very different, but Constance had a general zest for life that was catching. They had spent a couple of days wandering around The Hague, and Constance had been bowled over by the paintings in the Mauritshuis. Millie had the impression that Constance’s enthusiasm for the Rembrandts and Vermeers was all the more rapturous because this was the first time she had ever ventured into an art gallery.
They had talked a lot, but Constance’s background remained sketchy. She had grown up in Cheshire and then moved to London with her mother to stay with relatives after her father had died, but beyond that Constance had revealed little. She gushed about her handsome husband, a naval officer, but then she also gushed about handsome Dutchmen they bumped into in The Hague.
‘So who is this man we are meeting?’ asked Millie.
‘Otto Langebrück,’ said Constance. ‘Works for Herr von Ribbentrop, who is an old friend of Henry’s.’
‘And Foreign Minister, isn’t he?’ said Millie.
‘That’s right.’
Millie frowned. ‘Should we be negotiating with the enemy’s government? I mean, shouldn’t that come through official channels?’
‘Official channels?’ Constance snorted. ‘You know what Chamberlain is like. He’s too stubborn to negotiate with anyone. That’s why we are here, Millie. That’s why Sir Henry and your father sent us.’
‘Yes, but Chamberlain is Prime Minister, isn’t he? I’m not sure we should be going behind his back.’ Millie realized she was beginning to sound like her brother.
‘I loathe Chamberlain,’ said Constance, her eyes alight. ‘He’s the one who got us into this stupid war. Have you read Rogue Male?’
‘I’ve heard of it. Came out in the summer, didn’t it?’
‘You should read it. It’s brilliant. There’s just one problem. The hero at the beginning is trying to shoot a European dictator who is obviously supposed to be Hitler. He should have been trying to shoot Chamberlain. Now that would have been worth doing.’
‘You are not serious?’ Millie said.
‘I certainly am,’ said Constance. ‘I’d do it. Especially if it would stop this war.’
Millie glanced at her companion. She didn’t seem exactly fanatical, more matter-of-fact. An odd girl, Constance.
‘I think this must be him,’ whispered Constance as a well-dressed man of about thirty approached them.
‘Mrs Scott-Dunton? Miss de Lancey? Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Otto Langebrück. May I join you?’
‘Please do, Mr Langebrück,’ said Millie.
The man oozed charm as he took the third chair around the table. His English was very good. ‘Herr von Ribbentrop sends his compliments to you and to Sir Henry.’
‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Sadly, not. I do not have much time. I believe you have a message for Herr von Ribbentrop?’