To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [82]
Von Hindenburg leaned forward, his thick arms resting on the table. “Quite right, General. It is all we can do, after all. This war has spread far beyond Germany’s capacity to engage every enemy on every front. We require our allies, whether we respect them or not. Whether we have confidence in the Turks, the Bulgarians, or the Austrians is not important. It is not necessary for our allies to claim overwhelming victory in Arabia, or in Italy, or even in Russia. It is only necessary for them not to be defeated. The real war is right here, on the Western Front. If France falls, if Britain retires, make no mistake, General, this war is over. The Turks may claim Mesopotamia if they wish. Bulgaria and Austria may divide the spoils of the Balkans.” He paused, ran a hand across the large expanse at his waist. “General, here on this train, in the privacy of this car, we can make our jokes and dismiss the kaiser for his failings. But let us be clear, General. The kaiser is superior to the king of England or the rulers of France for one very important reason. Britain and France worship their past. The kaiser has his eyes focused firmly on the future, one Europe, under one ruler, and in that, he is correct. In all of history, there is a constancy. Nations either progress or decay. Germany will either assert her place as a world power, or we will be swept under the carpet of history. There are so many examples of this: Turkey, Italy, Greece, Spain. So many empires reduced now to the role of minions, General. Only France and Britain are capable of denying us. If we dominate them, we dominate the world. We are at a crossroads, and it is in our hands, you and me. It is up to us whether Germany realizes her destiny, or collapses into stagnation. Humanity is governed by certain truths, and with all my soul I believe one of those truths to be that war is the natural state of mankind. We will conquer or we will die.”
LA BRAYELLE, FRANCE—JANUARY 10, 1917
HE STOOD AT RIGID ATTENTION, WATCHED AS THE DRIVER EMERGED, the man stepping quickly around the car, opening the rear door. The older man emerged slowly, straightened, stood tall and rigid, a thin man, gaunt face. The man moved toward Richthofen now, said, “I assume you are my host, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, General von Hoeppner. I am Lieutenant Manfred von Richthofen. I am at your service, sir.”
The old man looked past him, seemed to search for something, said, “Is there no one else here, Lieutenant? I had not thought you would man this squadron by yourself.”
“I have ordered the squadron to take one day of recreation.” He glanced up. “The weather is unfortunate. The fog has prevailed. It is my intention to begin an intense period of instruction for the pilots in this command. I do not believe classrooms produce good pilots.” He stopped, had said far more than any lieutenant should volunteer to a general. Von Hoeppner was wide-eyed, seemed to expect more, and Richthofen said, “Forgive me, sir. If you feel classrooms are essential to training, then of course we shall employ classrooms.”
Behind him, there was a burst of barking, the huge dog suddenly pursuing a rabbit across the open field. Behind the dog, a young man scrambled to catch him, shouting vague obscenities Richthofen could not quite hear. He grimaced, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and von Hoeppner laughed, said, “One of your pilots, Lieutenant? Are we recruiting dogs to train our fighters now?”
Richthofen did not expect the smile on the old man’s face.
“No, sir, that is my orderly, Corporal Menzke. Please forgive me, General. He is a free spirit. I have tried to deter him from the habit of chasing rabbits.”
“Your orderly pursues rabbits?”
“Oh, no, sir. My dog. My orderly has been instructed to maintain control of my dog. It has been a difficult task.” Richthofen felt his face reddening, felt a sudden urge to shoot his dog. He tried to put words together, some explanation, but von Hoeppner seemed not to notice. The general glanced back, said to his driver, “Remain here. I will meet with the lieutenant, and we will