than four battalions … Africa. The diamond mines east of Tanganyika.’
‘ What?’Altmilller leaned forward; he obviously could not help himself.
‘You’re not serious.’
‘Please V Speer would not allow his friend to interrupt. If Leeb had even
conceived of such drastic action, it might have merit. No military man,
knowing the thin line of combat strength -chewed up on the Eastern Front,
under murderous assault by the Allies in Italy – could suggest such an
absurdity unless he had a realistic hope of success. ‘Go ahead, general.’
The Williamson Mines at Mwadui. Between the districts of Tanganyika and
Zanzibar in the central sector. The mines at Mwadui produce over a million
carats of the carbonado diamond annually. Intelligence – the intelligence
that is forwarded regularly to me at my insistence – informs us that there
are supplies going back several months. Our agents in Dar es Salaam are
convinced such an incursion would be successful.’
Franz AltmOller passed a sheet of paper to Speer. On it he had scribbled-
‘He’s lost his senses!’
‘What is the historical precedent to which you refer?’ asked Speer, holding
his hand over AltmiWer’s paper.
‘All of the districts east of Dar es Salaam rightfully belong to the Third
Reich, German West Africa. They were taken from the fatherland after the
Great War. The Fiffirer himself made that clear four years ago.’
There was silence around the table. An embarrassed silence. The eyes of
even his aides avoided the old soldier. Finyall Speer spoke quietly.
44
‘That is justification, not precedent, general. The world cares little for
our justifications, and although I question the logistics of moving
battalions halfway around the globe, you may have raised a valid point.
Where else nearer … in East Africa, perhaps, can the bortz or the
carbonado be foundT
Leeb looked to his aides; Wilhelm Zangen lifted his handkerchief to his
nostrils and bowed his thin head in the direction of the general. He spoke
as if exhaling, his high voice irritating.
‘I’ll answer you, Herr Reichsminister. And then, I believe, you will see
how fruitless this discussion is … Sixty per cent of the world’s
crushing-bortz diamonds are in the Belgian Congo. The two principal
deposits are in the Kasai and the Bakwanga fields, between the Kanshi and
the Bushimaie rivers. The district’s governor-general is Pierre Ryckmans;
he is devoted to the Belgian government in exile in London. I can assure
Leeb that the Congo’s allegiances to Belgium are far greater than ours ever
were in Dar es Salaam.’
Leeb lit a cigarette angrily. Speer leaned back in his chair and addressed
Zangen.
‘All right. Sixty per cent crushing-bortz; what of carbonado and the rest
T
‘French Equatorial: totally allied to de Gaulle’s Free French. Gold Coast
and Sierra Leone: the tightest of British controls. Angola: Portuguese
domination and their neutrality’s inviolate; we know that beyond doubt.
French West Africa: not only under Free French mandate but with Allied
forces manning the outposts…. Here, there was only one possibility and we
lost it a year and a half ago. Vichy abandoned the Ivory Coast…. There is
no access in Africa, Reichsminister. None of a military nature.’
‘I see.’ Speer doodled on top of the paper Altinfiller had passed to him.
‘You are recommending a nonmilitary solution?’
‘There is no other. The question is what.’
Speer turned to Franz AltmUller. His tall, blond associate was staring at
them all. Their faces were blank. Baffled.
45
2
SEPTEMBER 11, 1943
WASHINGTON, D.C
Brigadier General Alan Swanson got out of the taxi and looked up at the huge
oak door of the Georgetown residence. The ride over the cobblestone streets
had seemed like a continuous roll of hammering drums.
Prelude to execution.
Up those steps, inside that door, somewhere within that fivestory
brownstone and brick aristocratic home, was a large room. And inside that
room thousands of executions would be pronounced, unrelated to any around
the table within that room.
Prelude to annihilation.
If the schedules were kept. And it was inconceivable that they would be
altered.
Wholesale murder.
In line with his orders he glanced up and down the street to make sure he
hadn’t been followed. Asinine! CIC had all of them under constant
surveillance. Which of the pedestrians or slowly moving automobiles had him
in their sights? It didn’t matter; the choice of the meeting place was
asinine, too. Did they really believe they could keep the crisis a secret?
Did they think that holding conferences in secluded Georgetown houses would
help?
Assesl
He was oblivious to the rain; it came down steadily, in straight lines. An
autumn rainstorm in Washington. His raincoat was
46
open, the jacket of his uniform damp and wrinkled. He didn’t give a damn
about such things; he couldn’t think about them.
The only thing he could think about was packaged in a metal casing no more
than seven inches wide, five high, and perhaps a foot long. It was designed
for those dimensions; it had the appearance of sophisticated technology; it
was tooled to operate on the fundamental properties of inertia and
precision.
And it wasn’t functional; it didn’t work.
It faded test after test.
Ten thousand high-altitude B-17 bomber aircraft were emerging from
production lines across the country. Without highaltitude, radio-beam
gyroscopes to guide them, they might as well stay on the ground!
And without those aircraft, Operation Overlord was in serious jeopardy. The
invasion of Europe would extract a price so great as to be obscene.
Yet to send the aircraft up on massive, round-the-clock, night and day
bombing strikes throughout Germany without the cover of higher altitudes
was to consign the majority to destruction, their crews to death. Examples
‘were constant reminders . : . whenever the big planes soared too high. The
labels of pilot error, enemy fire and instrument fatigue were not so. It
was the higher altitudes…. Only twenty-four hours ago a squadron of
bombers on the Bremerhaven run had scrambled out of the strike, exacting
the maximum from their aircraft and regrouped far above oxygen levels. From
what could be determined, the guidance systems went crazy; the squadron
ended up in the Dunbar sector near the Scottish border. All but one plane
crashed into the sea. Three survivors were picked up by coastal patrols.
Three out of God knows how many that had made it out of Bremerhaven. The
one aircraft that attempted a ground landing had blown up on the outskirts
of a town…. No survivors.
Germany was in the curve of inevitable defeat, but it would not die easily.
It was ready for counterstrike. The Russian lesson had been learned;
Hitler’s generals were prepared. They realized that ultimately their only
hope for any surrender other than unconditional lay in their ability to
make the cost of an Allied victory so high it would stagger imagination and
sicken the conscience of humanity.
Accommodation would then be reached.
And that was unacceptable to the Allies. Unconditional
47
surrender was now a tripartite policy; the absolute had been so inculcated
that it dared not be tampered with. The fever of total victory had swept the
lands; the leaders had shaped that, too. And at this pitch of frenzy, the
leaders stared into blank walls seeing nothing others could see and said
heroically that losses would be tolerated.
Swanson walked up the steps of the Georgetown house. As if on cue, the door
opened, a major saluted and Swanson was admitted quickly. Inside the
hallway were four noncommissioned officers in paratroop leggings standing
at ready-at-ease; Swanson recognized the shoulder patches of the Ranger
battalions. The War Department had set the scene effectively.
A sergeant ushered Swanson into a small, brass-grilled elevator. Two
stories up the elevator stopped and Swanson stepped out into the corridor.
He recognized the face of the colonel who stood by a closed door at the end
of the short hallway. He could not recall his name, however. The man worked
in Clandestine Operations and was never much in evidence. The colonel
stepped forward, saluting.
.’General Swanson? Colonel Pace.’
Swanson nodded his salute, offering his hand instead. ‘Oh, yes. Ed Pace,
rightT
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So they pulled you out of the cellars. I didn’t know this was your
territory.’
‘It’s not, sir. Just that I’ve had occasion to meet the men you’re seeing.
Security clearances.’
‘And with you here they know we’re serious.’ Swanson smiled.
‘I’m sure we are, but I don’t know what we’re serious about.’
‘You’re lucky. Who’s insideT
‘Howard Oliver from Meridian. Jonathan Craft from Packard. And the lab man,
Spinelli, from ATCO.’
‘They’ll make my day; I can’t wait. Who’s presiding? Christ, there should
be one person on our side.’
‘Vandamm.’
Swanson’s lips formed a quiet whistle; the colonel nodded in agreement.
Frederic Vandamm was undersecretary of state and rumored to be Cordell
Hull’s closest associate. If one wanted to reach Roosevelt, the best way
was through Hull; if that avenue was closed, one pursued Vandamm.
48
‘That’s impressive artillery,’ Swanson said.