Chapter 8

"Where are you off to?" her father said. "I told Mom i wouldn't be able to stay through. Mr. Cleveland's back from Quantico. I have to see him." "Will you come to the dance afterward?" Madeline sneezed. 'I'm not sure, Dad." "Take care of that cold. You look fierce.t The two men went inside. Madeline clung to the wooden rail, hastening down the slippery steps. Awaiter %with a sandwich and a double martini on a tray was knocking at the door of Hugh Cleveland's suite when Madeline got there. The rich familiar voice sounded peevish. 'It's open, it's open, come on in." Her employer, wearing an unbecoming purple silk robe, sat with his stocking feet up on an imitation antique desk, talking into a telephone and making pencil notes on a racing form. "What about Hialeah?" he was saying. "Got anything good there for tomorrow?" He waved at her, putting his hand for a moment over the mouthpiece. "Hey Matty! I thought you weren't going to make it. Sign that. Give him a buck." The waiter, a small dull-eyed youngster, hovered in the room, staring with a vacuous grin as Cleveland talked to the bookmaker. "Mr. Cleveland, I just want to tell you I'm a big fan of yours," he blurted when Cleveland hung up. "I really think you're terrific. So does my whole family. We never miss the amateur hour." 'Thanks," Cleveland rumbled with a heavy-lidded look, fingering his sandy hair. 'Want anything, Matty?" 'A drink, thanks. I've got a cold." 'Bring her another double," said Cleveland, with a sudden charming smile at the waiter. 'And get me three Havana cigars. Monte Cristos, if there are any. See how fast you can do it." "Yes, sir, Mr. Cleveland." 'How was Quantico?" Madeline threw her coat on a chair and sat down, blowing her nose. "The stage'll work fine. The commandant's all excited. He thinks it's a wonderful recruiting stunt." Yawning, Cleveland lit a cigar and explained the arrangements for the broadcast that he had made with the commandant. 'He showed me all over the camp. I saw a real combat exercise. Jesus, those marines shoot live ammunition over each other's heads! I'll be deaf for a week," he said, rubbing his ears. "I guess they won't put you through that." "Me? Am I going there?" "Sure. Tomorrow."'What for?" 'Screen the performers, get the personal stuff on them, and all that. They've already got an amateur thing going there, it turns out. They call it the Happy Hour." Madeline said, "The Happy Hour's an old custom all through the service." 'Really? It was news to me. Anyhow, that makes it a cinch." He described the arrangements for her interview at Quantico. The doorbell rang. Blowing her nose, Madeline went to answer it. "I think I've got a fever. I don't want to go and interview a lot of marines." A girl with dyed black hair stood simpering in the doorway, in a yellow coat and yellow snow boots, showing stained teeth in a thickly painted mouth. Her smile faded when Madeline opened the door. "I was looking for Mr. Hugh Cleveland." "Right here, baby," he called. The girl came into the suite with uncertain steps, peering from Cleveland to Madeline. "What is this?" she said. "Wait in there," he said, indicating the bedroom with his thumb. "I'll be along." The girl closed the bedroom door behind her. Ignoring Cleveland's embarrassed grin, Madeline snatched her coat and jerked on one sleeve and the other. 'Good-night. I'll talk to you tomorrow." "You've got a drink coming." "I don't want it. I want to get to bed. I'm shivering." Cleveland came padding to her in stocking feet and put his hand on her forehead. She pushed it away. "You have no fever." "Don't touch me, please." "What's the matter?" "I just don't like to be touched." The waiter knocked at the door and came in. 'Double martini, sir, and the Monte Cristos." "Great. Thanks." Cleveland offered the tray to Madeline when the waiter left. "Here. Takeoff your coat and drink up." Both hands jammed in her coat pockets, Madeline said, "It's not fair to keep a prostitute waiting. All she has to sell is time." Hugh Cleveland slowly grinned, putting down the tray. "Why, Madeline Henry." "I'm sorry. I feel extremely lousy. Good-night." Cleveland strode to the bedroom. A murmur of voices, and the girl, tucking money in a shiny yellow purse, emerged from the room. She gave Madeline a tough unpleasant sad glance, and left the suite. "Sit down and have your drink. Here's all the dope on Quantico" -he flourished a manila envelope-'and who to see, and the list of the Performers. If you're still not feeling well tomorrow just call me, and I'll have Nat or Arnold come down and take over. #$ "Oh, I guess I'll manage." Madeline sat, throwing her coat back on her shoulders, and drank. "How are your folks?" "Fine." "Any interesting guests at dinner?" "Alistair Tudsbury, for one." "Tudsbury! Say, there's genius. There's a man I'd like to meet. He's got style, Tudsbury, and a superb radio voice. But he'd never come on Who's in Town. Who else?" "Air Commodore Burne-Wilke, of the R.A.F." "Is an air commodore somebody?" "From what my father says, he more or less ran the Battle of Britain." Wrinkling his nose, Cleveland put his feet on the desk again. "Hmmm. Not bad. The Battle of Britain's awfully tired, though, isn't it? I don't know if he'd mean anything today, Matty. The audience has had the Battle of Britain, up to here." "I wouldn't dream of asking him." "I would." Hands clasped, two fingers pressed judidously to his chin, Cleveland shook his head. "No. Dated. I say balls to the Battle of Britain." "There was Senator Lacouture." Her employer's thick sandy eyebrows rose. "Now, he's hot. That's right, isn't he an in-law of yours, or something?" 'His daughter married my brother." The one on the submarine?""No. The aviator." 'What do you think? Would Lacouture come to New York?" 'For the chance to attack Lend-Lease, I think he'd go to Seattle." "Well, Lend-Lease is front-page. Not that one person in forty knows what it's all about. Let's get Lacouture. Do you mind talking to him?" "No." Madeline finished her drink and stood. 'Fine. Set him up for Monday if you can. We're kind of blah on Monday." Madeline tapped the envelope in her hand, regarding it absently. The drink was making her feel better. "There are Happy Hours at all the Navy bases, you know," she said. "Practically on every ship. Probably in the Army camps, too. Couldn't you do another show like this every now and then? It's something different." Cleveland shook his head. 'It's a one-shot, Matty. just a novelty. The regular amateurs are the meat and potatoes." "If we get in the war," Madeline said, "they'll start drafting talented people, won't they? There'll be camps all over the country." "Well, could be." With his most engaging smile, he waved a thumb at the bedroom door. "Sorry about her, kid. I thought you weren't coming tonight." "It doesn't make the slightest difference to me, I assure you." 'You really disapprove of me. I know you do. The way my wife does. You've had a good upbringing." 'I hope so." "Well, see, I wasn't that fortunate." "Good-night, Hugh." "Say, listen." With an amused genial squint, Cleveland scratched his head. "There might be something in that Happy Hour thing at that, if we do get in the war. It might be a series in itself. Start a file on Wartime Ideas, Matty. Type up a memo on that and stash it away." "All right." "Your father's an insider. Does he think we'll get in the war?" "He thinks we're in it.the Cleveland stretched and yawned. 'Really? But the war's sort of petering out, isn't it? Nothing's happening, except for the messing around in Greece and Africa." "The Germans are sinking a couple of hundred thousand tons a month in the Atlantic." "Is that a lot? It's all relative, I'd imagine. I guess Hitler's got it won, though." Cleveland yawned again. 'All right, Matty. See you back in New York." When the girl had gone, Cleveland picked up the telephone, yawning and yawning. "Bell captain... Cleveland. Oh, is that you, Eddy? Fine. Listen, Eddy, she looked all right but I was busy. I sent her down to the bar for a while. Blackhair, yellow coat, yellow purse. Thanks, Eddy." The sloiv movement of a Brahms symphony was putting Victor Henry in a doze, when a tap and a whisper roused him, "Captain Henry?" The girl usher appeared excited and awed. "The White House is on the telephone for you." He spoke a few words in his wife's ear and departed. During applause after the symphony, Rhoda said, looking around at his still empty chair, "Pug's evidently gone back to the White House." "Man's life isn't his own, is it?" Kirby said. "When has it ever been?" Pamela said, "Will he rejoin you at the dance?" Rhoda made a helpless gesture. An hour or so later, Victor Henry stood at the entrance to the grand ballroom of the Sboreham, glumly surveying the scene: the brilliantly dressed dancers crowding the floor; the stage festooned with American flags and union jacks; the huge spangled letters, BUNDLISS FOR BIUTAJN, arching over the brassy orchestra; and the long jolly queues at two enormous buffets laden with meats, salads, cheeses, and cakes. The naval aide at the White House had just told him, among other things, of thirty thousand tons sunk in the North Atlantic in the past two days. Alistair Tudsbury came capering past him, with a blonde lady of forty or so quite naked from the bosom up except for a diamond necklace. The correspondent's gold-chained paunch kept the lady at some distance, but her spirits seemed no less hilarious for that. He dragged his had leg a bit as he danced, obviously determined to ignore it. "Ah, there, Pug! You're glaring like Savonarola, dear boy." "I'm looking for Rhoda." "She's down at the other end. You know Irina Balsey?" "Hello, Ifina." The blonde lady giggled, waving fingers at Henry. "Did Pamela come to the dance?" 'She went back to the office. The little prig's doing the overworked patriot." Tudsbury twirled the blonde away with vigor ill-suited to his size and lameness. Crossing the dance floor, Victor Henry saw his wife at a little round side table with Palmer Kirby.
'Hello, dear!" she called. "So you escaped! Get yourself a plate and join us. The veal is Marvelous." "I'll bring you some," said Kirby, hastily rising. "Sit down, Pug." "No, no, Fred. I have to run along." "Oh, dear," Rhoda said. "You're not staying at all?" "No, I just came to tell you I'll be gone overnight, and longer. I'm heading home to pack a bag, and then I'll be off." possibly Palmer Kirby said to him with a stiff smile, "Sorry you can't stay. It's — fine party." 'Make the best of it. You won't find such living in London." "Oh, damn," Rhoda said. Pug bent over his wife and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, darling. Enjoy the dance." The figure in blue disappeared among the dancers. Rhoda and Palmer Kirby sat without speaking. The music jazzily blared. Dancers moved past them, sometimes calling to Rhoda, "Lovely party, dear. Marvellous." She was smiling and waving in response when Kirby pushed aside his half-full plate of cooling food. "Well, I leave for New York at seven tomorrow, myself. I'd better turn in. It was an excellent dinner, and a fine concert. Thanks, Rhoda." 'Talmer, I just have to stay another half hour or so." Kirby's face was set, his large brown eyes distant and melancholy. Rhoda said, "Well, will I see you again before you go to London?" "I'm afraid not." With an alert searching look at him, she deliberately wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'll walk out with you." In the crowded lobby, Rhoda stopped at a full-length mirror. Primping her hair, glancing at Kirby now and then in the glass, she spoke in a tone of the most careless chitchat. "I'm sorry. I meant to tell Pug as soon as he got back. But he had so much to do, with his new job. And he was so relieved to be home. I just couldn't, that's all." Kirby nodded, with a cold expression. She went on, 'All right. Then along came this awful jolt, ByTon marrying this girl in Lisbon. It took both of us days and days to simmer down. And hard upon that Janice arrived, all pregnant and whatnot. I mean, this close prospect of becoming grandparents, for the first timeyou've just got to let me pick my momen dear. It won't be easy at best." "Rhoda, you and Pug have many things that bind you together. I fully realize it." She turned and looked in his eyes, then went back to her primping.
"Don't we?" He said, frowning at her image in the mirror, "I've been very uncomfortable tonight. I really want to get married again, Rhoda. I've never felt that more strongly than I did at your dinner table." "Palmer, don't give me an ultimatum, for heaven's sake. I can't be rushed." Rhoda faced him, speaking rapidly, shifting her eyes around the lobby, and smiling at a woman who swished by in trailing orange satin. 'Or rather, do just as you please, dear. Bring back an English wife, why don't you? You'll find dozens of fine women there eager to adore you, and delighted to come to America." "I won't bring home an English wife." He took her hand, glancing up and down her body with a sudden smile. "My God, how pretty you look tonight! And what a fine dinner you put on, and what a grand success this dance is! You're quite a manager. My guess is I won't get back till May. That should be plenty of time, Rhoda. You know it should be. Good-bye." Rhoda went back to the dance, much relieved. That last moment had cleared the air. At least until May, she could go on juggling. Wearing owlish black-rimmed spectacles, Pamela Tudsbury clattered away at a typewriter, in her mauve evening dress and fancy hairdo. A desk lamp lit the machine; the rest of the shabby, windowless little office was in half-darkness. A knock came on the door. "Bless my soul, that was quick!" She opened the door to Victor Henry, in a brown felt hat and brown topcoat, carrying a canvas overnight bag. She walked to a silex steaming on a small table amid piled papers, pamphlets, and technical books. "Black you drink it, with sugar, as I recall. "Good memory." She poured two cups of coffee and settled into the swivel chair by the typewriter. They sipped, regarding each other in the lamplight. "You look absurd," Pug Henry said. 'Oh, I know, but he wants it by eight in the morning." She took off the glasses and rubbed her eyes. "It was either get up at five, or finish it tonight. I wasn't sleepy, and I hadn't the faintest desire either to dance or to stuff myself." 'What are you working on?" She hesitated, then smiled. "I daresay you know a lot more about it than I do. The annex on landing craft." "Oh, yes. That one. Quite a document, eh?" "It seems like sheer fantasy. Can the UnitedStates really develop all those designs and build those thousands of machines by 1943?" 'We can, but I have no reason to think we will. That isn't an operation order. It's a plan." He relished being alone with her in this tiny, dreary, dimly lit office. Pamela's formal half-nudity had a keener if incongruous sweetness here: a bunch of violets, as it were, on a pile of mimeographed memoranda. He said gruffly, "Well, what's the dope on Ted Gallard?" 'I received a letter from his squadron commander only yesterday. It I s quite a long story. The nub of it is that three R.A.F prisoners in his hospital escaped, made their way to the coast, and got picked up and brought home. Teddy was supposed to break out with them. But after your visit he got a room of his own and special surveillance. So he couldn't. They think that by now he's been shipped to Germany and put in a camp for R.A.F prisoners. That's the story. He'll be well treated, simply because we're holding so many Luftwaffe pilots. Still, you can see why I've no particular desire just now to go to posh supper-dances." Victor Henry glanced at the wall clock. "It was my doing, then, that he couldn't get out." "That's ridiculous." 'No, it's a fact. I hesitated before talking to the Luftwaffe about him, you know. I figured it would call attention to him and give him a special status. I wasn't sure whether that would be good or bad. Sometimes it's best to leave things as they fall." "But I asked you to find out what you could about him." "Yes, you did." "You relieved me of a couple of months of agonizing." He said, "Anyway, it's done. And now you know he's still alive. That's something. I'm very glad to hear it, Pam. Well-I guess I'll go along." "Yes, you did." "Where to?" With a surprised grin, he said, "You know better than that." "You can always just shut me up. You're not leaving the country?" He pointed at the small suitcase. "Hardly." 'Because we're finishing up here very soon," she said, (i and in that case I might not see you for a long while." Pug leaned forward, elbows on knees, clasping his hands. He felt little hesitation in confiding to her things he never told his wife. Pamela was, after all, almost as much of an insider as he was. 'The President's had a bad sinus condition for weeks, Pam. Lately he's been running a fever.
This Lend-Lease hubbub isn't helping any. He's taking the train to Hyde Park to rest up for a few days, strictly on the q.t. I'm to ride with him. It's a big surprise. I thought, and sort of hoped, he'd forgotten me." She laughed. 'You're not very forgettable. You're a legend in Bomber Command, you know. The American naval officer who rode a Wellington into the Berlin flak for the fun of it." 'rhat's a laugh," said Pug. 'I was crouching on the deck the whole time with my eyes tight shut and my fingers in my ears. I still shudder to think what would have happened if I'd been shot down and survived. The U.S. naval attache to Berlin, riding over Germany in a British bomber! Lord almighty, you were angry at me for going." 'I certainly was." Pug stood, buttoning his coat. "Thanks for the coffee. I've been yearning for coffee ever since I had to skip it to put on my monkey suit." 'It was a splendid dinner. Your wife's wonderful, Victor. She manages things so well. The way she picked that bowl out of the air, like a conjurer! And she's so beautiful." "Rhoda's all right. Nobody has to sell Rhoda to me." Pamela put on her glasses and ran a sheet of paper into the typewriter. 'Good-bye, then," Pug said, adding awkwardly, "and maybe I'll see you before you go back home." 'That would be nice." She was peering at scribbled papers beside the typewriter. "I've missed you terribly, you know. More so here than in London." Pamela slipped these words out in the quiet manner peculiar to her. Victor Henry had his hand on the doorknob. He paused, and cleared his throat. "Well-that's Rhoda's complaint. I get buried in what I'm doing." 'Oh, I realize that." She looked up at him with eyes glistening roundly through the lenses. "Well? You don't want to keep the President waiting, Captain Henry." N the dark quiet railroad station, two Secret Service men lifted the President from the limousine and set him on his feet. He towered over them in a velvet-collared coat, his big-brimmed soft gray hat pulled low on his head and flapping in the icy wind. Holding one man's arm, leaning on a cane, he lurched and hobbled toward a railed ramp, where be drew on gloves and hauled himself up into the rear car, jerking his legs along. Victor Henry, many yards away, could see the huge shoulders heaving under the overcoat. A tall woman with a nodding brown feather in her hat and a fluttering paper in her hand scampered up and touched Victor Henry's arm. 'You're to go in the President's car, Captain." Climbing the ramp, Pug realized why the President had put on gloves. The steel rails were so cold, the skin of his hands stuck to them. A steward led Victor Henry past a pantry where another steward was rattling ice in a cocktailshaker. "You be stayin' in heah, suh. When you ready, de President innite you join him." The room was an ordinary Pullman sleeper compartment. The strong train smell was the same. The green upholstery was dusty and worn. Victor Henry hung coat and cap in a tiny closet, brushed his hair, cleaned his nails, and gave a flick of a paper towel to his highly polished shoes. The train started in a slow glide, with no jolt and no noise. 'Sit down, sit down, Pug!" The President waved from a lounge chair. "What'll you have? Whiskey sours are on the menu, because Harry drinks them all night long, but we can fix up almost anything." "Whiskey sour will be fine, Mr. President. Thank you." Harry Hopkins, slouching on a green sofa, said, "Hello, Captain." Though Roosevelt was supposed to be ill, Hopkins looked the worse of the two: lean, sunken-chested, gray of skin. The President's color was high, perhaps feverish, his black-rimmed eyes were very bright, and a perky red bow tie went well with the gay relaxed look of his massive face. He bulked huge in the chair, though his legs showed so pitiftffly skeletal through the trousers. It crossed Pug's mind that Washington and Lincoln too had been oversized men. "How are you on poetry, Pug?" said the President, in the cultured accents that always sounded a bit affected to the Navy man. "Do you know that poem that ends, 'There isn't a train I wouldn't take, no matter where it's going'? Golly, that's the way I feel. just getting on this train has made me feel one hundred percent better." The President put the back of his hand to his mouth, and harshly coughed. "Well, ninety percent. If this were a ship, it would be one hundred percent." "I prefer a ship too, sir." "The old grievance, eh, sailor?" "No, sir, truly not. I'm quite happy in War Plans." "Are you? Well, I'm glad to hear it. Of course, I haven't the faintest notion of what you're cooking up with those British fellows." 'So I understand, sir." Eyebrows mischievously arched, the President went on, 'No, not the foggiest. When your draft that the Secretary of War got yesterday bounces back to Lord Burne-Wilke, and he sees corrections in what looks like my handwriting, that will be an accidental resemblance." "I'll remember that.""Yes, indeed. On the very first page of the forwarding letter, if you recall, there's a sentence that begins, When the United States enters the war." Somebody, with a handwriting just like mine, has crossed out that perfectly terrible clause, and written instead, 'In the event that the United States is compelled to enter the war." Small but important change!" A steward passed'a tray of drinks. The President took a tall glass of orange.. "Doctor's orders. Lots and lots of fruit juice. Harry, do you have that ituce. thing with you?" "Right here, Mr. President." "Well, let's get at it. I want to have a snack, and then try to sleep a little-How do you sleep on trains, Pug?" "Fine, sir, if I can just get the heat right. Usually I roast or freeze." The President threw his head back. "Ha, ha! By George, I'll tell you a state secret-the President of the United States has the same trouble! They're building a special armored car for me now. I told them, I said, I don't care about anything else, but that heating system had better work! Harry, let's get in our order for a snack." He glanced at his watch. "Are you hungry, Pug? I am. I'll tell you another state secret. The food at the White House leaves something to be desired. Tell them I want sturgeon and eggs, Harry. I've been thinking of sturgeon and eggs for days." Hopkins went forward. The President's car, so far as Pug could tell, was a regular Pullman lounge car, rearranged to look like a living room. He had expected something more imposing. Roosevelt leaned one elbow on the chair arm, and rested a hand on his knee, looking out of the window in a calm majestic manner. 'I really am feeling better by the minute. I can't tell you how I love being away from the telephone. How are your boys? The naval aviator, and that young submariner?" Victor Henry knew that Roosevelt liked to display his memory, but it still surprised and impressed him. "They're fine, sir, but how do you remember?" The President said with almost boyish gratification, "Oh, a politician has to borrow the virtues of the elephant, Pug. The memory, the thick hide, and of course that long inquisitive nose! Ha ha ha!" Hopkins returned to the sofa, stooping with fatigue, zipped open his portfolio, and handed Captain Henry a document three pages long, with one dark facsin-,ile page attached. "Take a look at this." Pug read the first page with skepticism that shifted to amazement, while the train wheels gently clack-clacked. He leafed through the sheets and looked from Hopkins to the President, not inclined to speak first. 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 acomplete surprise. Franklin Roosevelt said, "Think it's genuine?" "Well, sir, that photostat of the first page does look like the German military documents I've seen. The headings are right, the look of the typece, the paragraphing, and so forth." What about the content?" "Well, if that's genuine, Mr. President, it's one incredible intelligence break." The President smiled, with fatigued tolerance for a minor person's naivete. "If is the longest two-letter word in the language." 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. 'y 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 President coughed heavily for almost a minute. He sat back in his chair, catching his breath, looking out at streetlamps of a small town sliding past. He suddenly appeared very bored. Harry Hopkins leaned forward, balancing the drink in both hands. "There's a question about giving this document to the Russian ambassador here in Washington, Pug. Any comment?" Pug hesitated; a political problem like this was not in his reach. President Roosevelt said, with a trace of annoyance, "Come on, Pug." "I'm for doing it." 'Why?" said Hopkins. "What's there to lose, sir? If this thing turns out to be the McCoy, we'll have scored a big point with the Russkis. If it's a phony, well, so what? They can't be any more suspicious of us than they are." The weary tension of Harry Hopkins's face dissolved in a warm, gentle smile. "I think that's a remarkably astute answer," he said, "since it's what I said myself." He took the document from Pug and zipped it into the briefcase. "I'm more than ready to eat that sturgeon and eggs," said Franklin Roosevelt, "if it's cooked.""Let me go and check, Mr. President." Hopkins jumped to his feet. Tossing on the narrow bunk, Pug sweated and froze in the compartment for an hour or so, fiddling with the heat controls in vain. He settled down to freeze, since he slept better in cold air. The slow, even motion of the train began to lull him. Rap, rap. 'Suh? The President like to speak to you. You want a robe, suh? The President say not to bother dressing. just come to his room." "Thanks, I have one." Pug passed shivering from his cold compartment to the President's bedroom, which was far too hot. The famous big-chinned face of Franklin Roosevelt, with the pince-nez glasses and jaunty cigarette holder, looked very strange a slumped large body in blue pajamas and coffeestained gray sweater. The President'st(on) hin hair was rumpled, his eyes bleary. He looked like so many old men look in bed: defenseless, shabby, and sad, his personality and dignity stripped from him. There was a smell of medicine in the room. The picture disturbed Victor Henry because the President appeared so vulnerable, unwell, and unimportant; and also because he was only seven, or eight years older than Pug, yet seemed decrepit. The blue blanket was piled with papers. He was making pencil notes on a sheaf in his hand. "Pug, did I break in on your beauty rest?" "Not at all, sir." "Sit down for a moment, old top." The President removed his glasses with a pinch of two fingers, and vigorously massaged his eyes. On the bedside table several medicine bottles tinkled as the train clacked over a bumpy rail. "Lord, how my eyes itch," he said. "Do yours? Nothing seems to help. And it's always worse when I get these sinus attacks." He clipped papers and dropped them on the blanket. "Something I'promised myself to do-if I find the time, Pug-is to write out memorandumof(ve) thethingsthatcometomeinjusto(ever) ne day. Any day at random, any twenty-(a) fgur-hour period. You'd be amazed." He slapped at the papers. "It would be a valuable sidelight on history, wouldn't it? For instance. just take tonight's laundry that I've been doing. Vichy France seems about to sign a full alliance with Hitler. Threaten to cut off their food and starve them out? That's what the British advise. Give them even more food, bribe them to hold out against Hitler? Our ambassador's idea. But when we send the French more food, the Germans simply swallow up more of what the French produce. So where are you?-Now. Here." He picked lip a clipped document. "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 like that interesting, wouldn't he? I had a check made on the papers of Wilson and Lincoln. Nothing like it ever turned up. I am definitely going to do it one day." Roosevelt coughed long and hard, closing his eyes, wincing, and putting a hand to his back. The gesture threw him off balance in the swaying train, and the large body began to topple over like a tipped barrel. Victor Henry jumped to steady his shoulder, but the President's long powerful arm had caught an edge of the bed. -Thanks, Pug. This train isn't supPOsed to go more than thirty-five miles an hour. They're shading it up there." He rubbed his back. 'I get a stabbing pain when I cough, but Doc McIntyre assures me it's a pulled muscle. just so it isn't pleurisy! I really can't afford pleurisy right now. I'd better have more of that cough medicine. Would you hand me that spoon and that bottle with the red stuff? Thank you, old fellow." The President took a spoonful of the medicine, making a face. Tilting his large head to one side in the way all the nightclub clowns imitated, Roosevelt fixed the Navy captain with a sharp look from bloodshot eyes. '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 buildnew 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 caimot 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 problen, 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, the warmongers would next demand to convoy the ships that carried the supplies, and that convoy meant immediate war with Germany. The President was publicly insisting that American policy would not change in the Atlantic: neutrality patrol," not convoy. Roosevelt's grim flushed face creased in the sly mischievous look that was becoming familiar to Pug. "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 vesselsstrictly 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, "Aye aye, sir." 'It's very much like that airplane transfer, which you handled so well. Everything depends on doing it in the calmest, quietest, most unobtrusive way. The point is to make no records, and above all no history, but simply to get those ships silent and safe as far as Iceland. Can it be done?" The Navy captain sat hunched for perhaps a minute, looking at the President. "Yes, sir." "With an absolute minimum of people in the know? I haven't even discussed this thing with Harry Hopkins." "Admiral Stark and Admiral King would have to know, of course, sir. And Commander, Support Force, and the officer in tactical command of the screen. Everybody else in the exercise will just obey orders." Roosevelt laughed and puffed at his cigarette. "Well! If you can keep it down to three admirals and one other officer, that will be swell. But a lot of personnel will take part in this exercise. There'll be talk." Victor Henry said stonily, "Not very much." Franklin Roosevelt raised his busby eyebrows. "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." Sitting forward hunched, elbows on his knees, ticking off points with an index finger against his other hand, Victor Henry said, "Well, sirto begin with, those U-boat fellows may never see us, as you say. If they do, they'll be surprised. They'll radio for instructions. We may run into a trigger-happy, type, but I doubt it. I know those German submariners. They're excellent professional officers. This is a policy decision that will have to go up to Hitler. That'll take time. I think the ships will get through without incident, Mr. President." "Grand!" "But it'll only work once. It's a policy surprise. It's too risky to repeat." Roosevelt sighed and nodded. "That's it. The whole situation is terrible, and some kind of risk has to be taken. The British say that before the next big convoy goes, they'll have many damaged destroyers back in action. We're also giving the Canadians some coast guard cutters-in confidence, Pug-to help close this gap to Iceland. It's this first Lend-Lease shipment that is crucial." The President gathered up the papers stacked around on his blanket. 'Would you put these in that case?" As Victor Henry was closing the dispatch case the President said through a yawn, using both arms to ease himself down into the bed, "How have those conferences with the British been going?" "Excellently, on the whole, Mr. President." The President yawned again. "It was so important to start this pattern of joint staff work. I'm very happy about it." He snapped off his bed lamp, leaving the room dimly lit by recessed lights in the walls. "They've been giving you some trouble about Singapore, haven't they?" "Actually we just put that issue aside, sir. There was no resolving it." "You can Turn out the lights, Pug. The button's by the door." 'Yes, sir." One blue light, and the President's cigarette end, still glowed in the darkness. His voice came weary and muffled from the bed. "We'll run into that time and again. They want to hold on to their Empire, naturally. But the job is to beat Hitler. Those are different undertakings. They'll insist to the end that they're one and the same. Well-we'll chat again about that exercise in the morning, Pug." The President used his tricky word with sardonic relish. "Aye aye, sir."'And when you come back from that little sea jaunt-which you ought to enjoy, for a change-I want you and your wife and family to come to dinner with us. just a little quiet dinner. Mrs. Roosevelt often speaks of you." "Thank you, Mr. President. I'm very honored." "Good-night, old top." The red cigarette end went out in an ashtray. As Victor Henry put his hand on the doorknob, the President suddenly said, "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 know." It's a bad thing to go to war," said the President. "A very bad thing. If the moment is coming, it isn't here. Meantime I shall just have to go on being called a warmonger, a coward, and a shillyshallyer, all rolled in one. that's how I earn my salary. Get a good rest, Pug." (from WORLD EMPIRE LOST) Provocation in the Atlantic As our U-boat campaign in 1941 began to show better results, Franklin Roosevelt stepped up his countermoves,. Each month brought a new story, undramatic to the newspaper reader but ominous to our staff, of bolder and bolder moves by Roosevelt to deny us freedom of the seas. He occupied Greenland, putting the United States Navy astride the convoy routes in the gap between Canadian escorting and British escorting, just where our U-boats were making their best scores. The American admiral, King, arrogantly declared that the "Western hemisphere began at the twenty-sixth line of western longitude." This line took in all the best hunting grounds of the U-boats, including the Bahamas, the Caribbean, and the Azores. The American Navy, in addition to its "neutrality patrol," did some surreptitious convoying, relying on German forbearance and congressional ignorance to get away with such flagrant acts of war. Finally in May the President proclaimed "an unlimited national emergency," coming out with sly hints that if things kept going so badly, his countrymen might actually i have to shed a little blood. This was his public justification for the ever increasing interfererce on +he side of Englnnd. But long before that, in January, full-scale military staff conferences of the British and United States forces, exceeding in scope anything between Germany and Italy, had already taken place in Washington, in great secrecy. There it agreed that when global war broke out, "Germanyfirst"wouldbethepolicy.SuchwasA(was) merican neutrality in 1941, and such was Roosevelt's candor with his countrymen. All that time he kept flooding them with assurances that they would not have to fight, if only England received enough help. Churchill abetted this deception with the famous speech ending, "Give us the tools, and we will finish the job," a completely empty and fatuous boast, as he well knew.
The American President's worst interference at this time, however, was in the Balkans. The Balkan campaign of 1941 need never have occurred. Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt fanned a manageable political problem into a cruel armed conflict. Yugoslavia's Treachery: The Donovan Mission it is well known that Roosevelt often used informal emissaries to bypass established diplomatic channels and regular government structures. In this way he could perform machinations without responsibility if they miscarried, and without leaving a trail of records. He could also make probes and inquiries wthout committing himself. The most celebrated of these emissaries was, of course, Harry Hopkins, who helped to form the fateful policy of all-out aid to the Bolsheviks. Lesser known was Colonel William Donovan, who later in the war created the notorious OSS spy ring. In March 1941, Donovan paid a visit to Yugoslavia that brought disaster to that country. For an American President to meddle in Balkan politics when war was flaming in Greece, in order to pull other countries into the conflict against Germany, was nothing but a war crime. Yet that was Donovan's mission, and it was successful. The war in Greece was not of our doing; it was a miscarried adventure of our cardboard ally, Benito Mussolini. During the summer of 1940, Mussolini had ordered his Libyan troops to invade Egypt, for England was fighting for her life at empire cheaply. home, and he thought ltoly could grab off her Mediterranean In October he had also laid on an invasion of Greece, and with typical theatricolity he scheduled it for a day when he met with Adolf Hitler in Florence. He told Hitler nothing about this in advance. Mussolini itched to show the Fuhrer that he was not just a hanger-on, but another daring military conqueror. Unfortunately for him, within a few weeks the small Greek army routed the Italians, chased them into Albania, and captured their army base at Port Edda. With this politico-military disaster, Hitler's fellow dictator stood exposed as an incompetent loudmouthed fool. The English in Egypt took heart and also fought back, and at the first hint of British pluck, Mussolini's "indomitable legions" either ran away with unbelievable speed, or surrendered in the finest of holiday spirits. It was a disgraceful display seldom seen in modern warfare. The Italian army plainly had no heart for the war and counted for nothing. Most of the Italian navy had already been knocked out at anchor in Taranto, back in November. (This fine surprise attack by torpedo planes from British aircraft carriers was successfully imitated later by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor.) Our southern flank therefore stood exposed. Hitler was deeply loyal to Mussolini, his one real ally, and for political reasons he felt the Italian had to be shored up. Also, with our invasion of the Soviet union imminent, the neutralizing of the Balkans on our southern flank was important. The Fuhrer embarked on skillful political moves to keep the conflagration in Greece localized, planning to snuff it out with a few good German divisions. He wisely seized the Rumanian oil fields and lo,ceti an accommodation with Hungary. He also dictated friendly pacts with Bulgaria and Yugoslavia,and despite Russian complaints, he moved troops into Bulgaria for the Greek action. All was in readiness for the pacification of the Balkans, when Roosevelt's emissary came to Belgrade. The Simovic Cabal Winston Churchill had a farfetched vision of drawing neutral Yugoslavia and Turkey into the Greek mess, thus creating a major Balkan front against us, where as usual other people would fight and die for England. Donovan had tried in January to interest the Yuo ,oslav government in Churchill's scheme, but the Prince Regent Paul had shrugged off the American meddler. Donovan had managed, however, to make contact with a conspiracy of Serbian military men, led by an air force general, one Simovic. A patchwork creation of the Versailles settlement, Yugoslavia was torn by antagonism between the groats, who were friendly to the Reich, and the Serbians, our fierce enemies. These Serbion of ricers were quite receptive to the harebrained Churchill plan; it was Serbion hotheads, it will be recalled, who touched off the First World War at Sarajevo. On his visit in March, Donovan found the British scheme in collapse; for, under severe pressure from the Fuhrer, vugoslovia was joining the Axis. Roosevelt now sent a stiff message to the Yugoslav government, which history records: "The United States is looking not merely to the present but to the future, and any nation which tamely submits on the grounds of being quickly overrun would receive less sympathy from the world than a nation which resists, even if this resistance continues for on/y a few weeks." Here, in effect, was a command to Yugoslavia from the American President, almost five thousand miles away, to embroil itself in war with Germany, on pain of being punished at some future peace treaty if it did not! There are few instances of more callous effrontery in the chronicles of mankind. The government returned a noble negative reply to the American ambassador, through Prince Paul: "You big notions are hard. You talk of our honor, but You are far away." Now came the turn of the Simovic cabal, provoked and encouraged by American promises. It ramified throughout the Yugoslav armed forces like a cancer, and in an overnight bloodless revolution the conspirators deposed the government, seized control of the state, and repudiated the pact with the Axis. Joyous street demonstrations of Serbians followed, and there was much satisfaction and praise for the "heroic Yugoslavs" in the Western newspapers. "Operation Punishment But all this was short-lived. Adolf Hitler ordered the swift and merciless destruction of Yugoslavia. He could do no less. Successful defiance of the Reich by a Balkan cabal would have led to bloody revolts throughout our tranquil New Order in Europe. A ri,erce bombardment, "Operation Punishment," levelled Belgrade on April 6. The Wehrmacht conquered Yugoslavia in eleven days, at the same time commencing operations in Greece. Hitler partitioned Yugoslavia up among Germany, Italy, and the Balkan allies, and the countryas such ceased to exist (though a Bolshevik partisan movement in the mountains remained a nuisance). The unfortunate Yugoslov people thus paid with wholesale deaths, a surrendered army, and notional destruction, for the scheming of Churchill and Roosevelt. From a technical viewpoint, the Yugoslavia campaign was admirable. Quick victories always look easy; but the terrain is mountainous, and the Yugoslavs had an army of over a million tough men. The Wehrmacht triumphed through the decisiveness of the Fuhrer and the swiftness of the blow. The campaign had to be worked up in Wehrmacht Supreme Headquarters in a single sleepless night, for, unlike our previous land operations, no planned attack on Yugoslavia lay ready in our files. Still, it was executed to perfection; and incredibly, our casualties were less than six hundred soldiers. Possibly the most banal cliche about the Second World War is that Hitler lost it by giving vent to personal rage against Yugoslavia, thus delaying the attack against the Soviet union for three to five precious weeks, in order to wreak vengeance on a small harmless neighbor. In point of fact, Hitler's decision was absolutely forced. In planning an attack on Russia, a hostile front in the Balkans on the southern flank, so close to the Rumanian oil fields, could not be tolerated. As for his anger, it was the fuhrer's way of making his generals exert themselves. Though it was uncomfortable to be a target of such displays, the technique worked. The argument about lost time is nugatory, since weather and ground conditions governed our timetable against Russia. Germany would have been better off, it must be conceded, had Italy never entered the war. There are advantages in keeping one's flanks secured by belts of neutral countries. All Mussolini did was add the two huge Italian and Balkan peninsulas to our negative front. In the end, the decision was fought out on the classical battleground of Europe, the great northern plain between the Volga and the English Channel, where we fatally missed all the vast strength we dissipated southward. The Mediterranean Strategy Still, since the flame of war had despite us jumped south, some of our highest leaders, including Hermann Goering and Admiral Roeder, urged the Fuhrer early in 1941 to strike at England in the Mediterranean by seizing Gibraltar, North Africa, and the Suez Canal. The British were helpless to stop such an attack in force; they were stretched too thin. In this way we could have sealed the southern flank with the impenetrable Sahara Desert. The British sea lines to Africa and Asia would have been cut. The shock to the British morale and supply system might well have brought on the fall of Churchill, and the peace that both we and the British needpd. Hitler was tempted. But when the Spanish dictator Franco treacherously refused to join us inattacking the British-after Germany had won his civil war for him-the Fuhrer lost interest. His heart was in the invasion of Russia. He acted however, with energy and dispatch as events confronted him in North Africa" Yugoslavia, and Greece, while the crucial assault on the Soviet union was being marshalled. Our armed forces triumphed in short order wherever they went, and the history of the time records nothing but glorious German victories, one after the other. Churchill's Disastrous Folly Winston Churchill helped our cause with a display of strategic ineptness equal to Mussolini's. When we entered Greece, the British in Africa were sweeping through Libya, Er;tea, and Abyssinia, with the Itcilians everywhere fleeing or giving up. Here was England's chance to wrap up North Africa and secure her Mediterranean lifeline before we could mount an attack. Churchill, however, writes that, though he knew that the British lacked the strength to oppose Germany for long on the Greek peninsula, he felt "honor bound" to help the Greeks. He pulled vital troops out of his triumphant African forces, killing the momentum of their drive, and threw them into Crete and Greece, whence he soon had to withdraw them, crushed and bloodied, in a "little Dunkirk," for here they were not fighting Italians. The survivors who got back to Africa found themselves once more confronting Germans, since meantime Rommel had consolidated a landing in Tripoli with his famous Afrika Korps. That spelled the end of the merry British romping in Africa. The Americans had to bail them out there, as everywhere else "Honor" had nothing to do with Churchill's maladroit move. He had an obsession about the Balkans, deriving from his foscoat Gollipoli ;n World War I. Later in the war this obsession was to estrange him from Roosevelt and reduce him to a pathetic hanger-on at the war conferences, fussing vainly at the Russians and Americans about the Balkans, while they coldly went ahead with plans to finish the war on sound strategic lines in the plains of the north. Had Churchill left the Balkans alone and allowed his generals to finish off their African campaign early in 1941, the destruction of Yugoslavia, and the subsequent Allied landings in Morocco, Sicily, and Italy, might all have been unnecessary. The war might have been shortened by two years, sparing both sides much horror and bloodshed. But it was not to be. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE-Roon puts an unlikely construction on Colonel Donovan's visits to Yugoslavia. The Simovic revolution was a popular one. Most Yugoslovs were willing to risk Hitler's anger, they paid the price, and they earned the respect of the United States and all the world. Communist Yugoslavia's unique friendly relationship with America today stems from that gallant stand in 1941. But even if Roon's assertions about Donovan were factual, it seems unusually obtuse to blame the destruction of Yugoslavia on Roosevelt and Churchill, while overlooking the little fact that it was the Germans who fire-bombed Belgrade to ashes, invaded the land, and killed thepeople. it is true that President Roosevelt made occasional use of informal emissaries, but their importance is overrated in melodramatic films and books, as well as in some military history. These men usually performed minor donkeywork, which for reasons of speed or security could not be done as well through regular channels. To class Harry Hopkins or even Colonel Donovan with these anonymous smallbore persons is inaccurate.-V.H. Lend-Lease passed the Senate by sixty votes to thirty-one. Few Americans followed the debate more keenly than Pug Henry. In the visitors' gallery of the Senate, hand cupped to his ear because of the bad acoustics, he absorbed a new knowledge of how his own government worked. More and more he admired Franklin Roosevelt's ability to drive this balky team. After weeks of wild controversy, the vote itself went smooth as oil. The last excitement lay in the crushing of trick amendments-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. Yet this vote struck Pug Henry as the key world event since Hitler's smash into Poland. Here in the yeas of sixty elderly voices the tide might be starting to Turn. 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. That same day he was ordered to fly down to the Norfolk Navy Yard and report to Admiral Ernest King-a dragon he had not met before. King had his flag in the Texas. Texas was the first battleship to which Pug had ever reported, shortly after the World War, on just such a raw and blowy March day as this, in this same Navy Yard, and possibly atthis same pier. With one stack gone, and tripod instead of basket mast, Texas looked much different than in the old coal-burning days. Pug noted in the paint and bright work topside an and sepulchral cleanliness. The gangway watch, and the sailors working around the old gun turrets, were starched and scrubbed as surgeons. Outside the four-starred door to flag quarters a glittery-eyed marine presented arms like a clock striking. King sat behind a desk, showing blue sleeves stiff to the elbow with gold. The bare office was warmed only by a framed picture of Admiral Mayo on the bulkhead. King had a long, thin, deeply scored red face with high cheekbones, a narrow shiny pate, and a sharp nose. Behind him hung a chart of the Atlantic, with bold black letters in one corner, COMMANDIER-rNrEF, ATL"MC FLEET. He motioned Victor Henry to a seat, tilted back his chin, and eyed him. 'I received a telephone call from the chief of Naval Operations yesterday," he commenced in a sandy voice, "that one Captain Victor Henry of War Plans would report to me directly from thePresident of the United States." Henry bobbed his head as though he were an ensign. Silence, and the hum of ventilators. "Well? State your business." The captain told Admiral King what Franklin Roosevelt desired. The admiral calmly smoked a cigarette in a holder, eyes boring at Henry. Then Pug described his plan for executing the President's desires. He talked for six or seven minutes. King's long, weathered face remained immobile and faintly incredulous. "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 gid sarcasm. "Well, that's one way for an obscure person to go down in history." 'Admiral, it's the President's judgment that this exercise will go off without incident." 'So you said. Well, suppose his judgment's wrong? Suppose a U-boat fires a fish at you? What then?" "If we're fired on, sir, why, I propose to fire back. That won't start a war unless Hitler wants war." Ernest King nodded peevishly. '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." Admiral King said, "That's a big ocean out there. The air patrol can easily miss them." "Well, then, the cruisers can miss us too, Admiral." After another pause, looking Victor Henry over like a dog he was considering buying, King picked up the telephone. "Get me Admiral Bristol.-Henry, you have nothing in writing?" "No, sir." "Very well. You will discontinue all references to the President." "Aye aye, sir." "Hello? Admiral, I'm sending to your office"-King glanced at scrap of paper on his desk-"Captain Victor Henry, a special observer from War Plans. C(a) aptain 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.