She couldn't have enrolled any more." "She damn well could have tried." "Anyway, Madeline will be all right. She's a good girl. She's as straitlaced as you." "It's this war," Pug said. "The world's coming apart at the seams by the day. What can that girl do that's worth fifty-five dollars a week? That's what a senior, grade lieutenant makes, after ten years in the service. It's absurd." Rhoda said, "You've always babied Madeline. I think she's showed you up, and that's what really annoys you." "I wish I were back there. I'd have a damn good look around." Rhoda drummed the fingers of both hands on the table. "Do you want me to go home and be with her?" "That would cost a fortune. It's one thing when you travel on government allowance, but-' Pug turned to Byron. "You'll be going back, won't you? Maybe you could find a job in New York." "As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk about that. I got a letter too. From Dr. Jastrow. I'm going to Siena." "You are?" "Yes." 'Who says so?" "I do." Silence. Rhoda said, "That's something we should all discuss, isn't it, Briny'r" "Is that girl there?" Pug said. "No." 'She's gone back to the States?" "No. She's trying to get there from England." 'How do you propose to go?" 'Train. They're running regularly to Nhlan and Florence." 'And what will you use for money'r 'I have enough to get there. I saved nearly all I made." town 'And you'll do what? literary research up in an Italian mountain — with a war on?" "If I get called to active duty, I'll go." nlat's damned bighearted, seeing that if you didn't, the Navy would track you down and put you in the brig for a few years. Well, I'm proud of you, Briny. Do as you please." Victor Henry coughed, rolled up his napkin, and left the table. Byron sat with his head thrust down and forward, his face white, the muscles in his jaw working.
Rhoda saw that talking to her son would be useless. She went upstairs to her dressing room, took out a letter she had put in a drawer beneath her underwear, read it once, then tore it into very small pieces. (from WORLD EMPIRE LOST) The "Phony" War The quiescent half year between the fall of Warsaw and the Norway episode became known in the West as the "phony" war, a phrase attributed to an American Senator. We called it the Sitzkrieg, or "sitting war," a play on Blitzkrieg. On the British and French side the name was perhaps justified. During this lull they in fact cad unbelievably little to improve their military posture, besides sit on their backsides and predict our collapse. Early in this strange twilight period, the Fuhrer delivered his "outstretched hand" peace speech to the Reichstag. Like most of his political moves, it was cleverly concdived. Had the Allies swallowed it, we might have achieved surprise in the west with a November attack, which Hitler had ordered when Warsaw fell, and which we were feverishly planning. But by now the Western statesmen had developed a certain wariness toward our Fuhrer, and their response was disappointing. In the event this did not matter. A combination of bad weather and insoluble supply problems forced one postponement after another on the impatient Fuhrer. The intent to attack France was never Ot issue, but the date and the strategy kept changing. In all, the attack day was postponed twenty-nine times. Meanwhile preparations went forward at an evermounting tempo. Our staff's favorite comic reading as we worked on Fall Gelb-"Cose Yellow," the attack on France-came to be the long, learned articles in French newspapers and military journals, proving that we were about to cave in under economic pressure. In Point of fact, for the first time our economy was really getting moving. Life in Paris, we gathered, was gayer and more relaxed than before the war. The British Prime Minister Chamberlain epitomized the Western frame of mind by stating, "Hitler has missed the bus." In this enforced half-year delay German industrial war production began to rise andespite the neverending confusion and interference in the Fuhrer's headquarters-a new and excellent strategy for the assault on France was at last hammered out. Distraction in Finland The sitzkrieg lull was temporarily enlivened when the Soviet union attacked Finland. Stalin's unvarying policy after signing the Ribbentrop pact was to seize whatever territory he could, while we were at war with the democracies, to strengthen his position for an eventual showdown with us. Hitler had already given him huge concessions in the Baltic states and in Poland, to buy a free hand against the West. But like all Russian rulers, Czarist or Bolshevik, Stalin had a big appetite. This was his chance to take over the Karelian Isthmus and dominate the Gulf of Finland. When his emissaries failed to get these concessions from the proud Finns by threats, Stalin set out to take them by force. The rights of Finland were, as a matter of course, to be trampled upon.
But to the world's surprise, the Russian dictator got in trouble, for the attack went badly. The vaunted Red Army covered itself with disgrace, revealing itself in Finland as an ill-equipped, ill-trained, miserably led rabble, unable to crush a small well-drilled foe. Whether this was due to Stalin's purges of his officer force in the late thirties, or to the traditional Russian inefficiency added to the depressant effect of Bolshevism, or to the use of inferior troops, remained unclear. But from November 1939 to March 1940, Finland did bravely fight off the Slav horde. Nor did the Russians ever really defeat them militarily. In the classic manner of Russian combat, the handful of Finnish defenders was finally drowned in a rain of artillery shells and a bath of Slav blood. Thus Stalin's goal was achieved, at ruthless cost, of shaping up the Leningrad front by pushing back our Finnish friends on the Karelian Isthmus. This move, it must be confessed, probably saved Leningrad in 1941. After the Finnish victory during Christmas-the classic battle of Suomussalmi in which nearly thirty thousand Russians were killed or frozen to death, at a cost of about nine hundred Finnish dead-it was impossible to regard the Soviet army as a competent modern adversary. Much later, Hermann Goering was to call the Finnish campaign "the greatest camouflage action in history," implying that the Russians in Finland had pretended to be weak in order to mask their potential. This was just an absurd excuse for the failures of his Luftwaffe in the east. In point of fact, Stalin's Russia in 1939 was militarily feeble. What happened between that time and our final debacle on the eastern front at Russian hands is the subject of a later section, but their performance in Finland certainly misled us in our planning. Sitzkrieg Ends: Norway Much vociferous propaganda went on in the Western democracies about the attack on Finland, and about sending the Finns military aid. In the end they did nothing. However, the opening of the Finnish front did force Hitler to face up to a genuine threat in the north: the British plot to seize Norway. Of this we had hard intelligence. Unlike many of the "plots" and "conspiracies" of which our German armed forces were accused at the Nuremberg trials, this British plot certainly existed. Winston Churchill openly describes it in his memoirs. He acknowledges that the British invasion was laid on for 0 date ahead of ours, and then put off, so that we beat the British into Norway by the merest luck, by a matter of days. The Russo-Finnish war made the problem of Norway acute, because England and France could use "aid to Finland" as a perfect pretext for landing in Norway and driving across Scandinavia. This would have been disastrous for us. The North Sea, bracketed by British bases on both sides, would have been closed to our U-boats, choking off our main thrust at sea. Even more important, the winter route for ships bringing us Swedish iron ore lay along the Norwegiancoast. Deprived of that iron ore, we could not have gone on fighting for long. When the High Command convinced Hitler of these risks, he issued the order for "Weser Exercise," the occupation of Norway, and postponed Case Yellow once again. It is a sad commentary that Admiral Raeder, at the Nuremberg trials, was convicted of "a plot to occupy neutral Norway," when the British who sat in judgment had plotted the same thing themselves. Such paradoxes have enabled me to bear with honor my own experience at Nuremberg, and to regard it as not a disgrace at all, but rather as a political consequence of defeat. Had the war gone the other way, and had we hanged Churchill for plotting to occupy Norway, what would the world have said? Yet what is sauce for the goose should be sauce for the gander. Our occupation of Norway, a surprise overwater move virtually under the guns of a highly superior British fleet, was a great success; not, however, because of Hitler's readership, but in spite of it. We took heavy losses at sea, especially of destroyers that we sorely missed when the invasion of England was later planned. But the price was small compared to the gain. We forestalled the British, opened up a much wider coastline to counter the blockade, and secured the Swedish iron ore supply for the rest of the war. Mistakes in Norway Hitler's amateurishness showed up badly in Norway. It cropped up again cind again in every campaign, tending only to get grosser as time went on. The mark of the amateur in any field is to lose one's head when the going gets hard. What marks the professional is his competence in an emergency, and almost the whole art of the soldier is to make sound judgments in the fog of war. Hitler's propensity to lose his head took two forms: calling a panicky halt to operations when they were gathering momentum, and changing the objective in mid-campaign. Both these failings appeared in Weser Exercise. I give details in my Norway operational analysis, of his hysterical insistence day after day that we abandon Narvik, the real key to the position; his wild sudden scheme to capture the port of Trondheim with the luxury liner Bremen, and so forth. Why then was the occupation of Scandinavia a success? Simply because General Falkenhorst, once in Norway, ignored the Fuhrer's interference, and did a fine professional job with good troops and a sound plan. This interference from above, incidentally, was to haunt operations to the end. Adolf Hitler had used all his political shrewdness over many years to gain control of the armed forces, not stopping at strong-arm methods. There is no question that this man's lust for power was insatiable, and it is certainly regrettable that the German people did not understand his true nature until it was too late. The background of this usurpation will be sketched here, as it significantly affected the whole course of the six-year war.
How Hitler Usurped Control of the Army In 1938, he and his Nazi minions did not scruple to frame grave charges of sexual misconduct against revered generals of the top command. Also, they took advantage of a few actual unfortunate lapses of this nature; the details need not be raked over in this account. Suffice it that the Nazis managed to topple the professional leadership in a bold underhanded coup based on such accusations. Hitler with sudden stunning arrogance then assumed supreme command himself! And he exacted an oath of loyalty to himself throughout the Wehrmacht, from foot soldier to general. In this act he showed his knowledge of the German character, which is the soul of honor, and takes such an oath as binding to the death. Our staff, muted and disorganized by the disgusting revelations and pseudorevelations abovt honored leaders, offered no coherent resistance to this usurpation. So the strict inde(our) pendence of the German army from German politics, which for generations had kept the Wehrmacht a strong stabilizing force in the Fatherland, came to an end; and the drive wheel of the world's strongest military machine was grasped by an Austrian street agitator. In itself this was not a catastrophic turn. Hitler was far from a military ignoramus. He had had four years in the field as a foot soldier, and there are worse ways to learn war. He was a voracious reader of history and of military writings. His memory for technical facts was unusual. Above all, he did have the ability to get to the root of a large problem. He had almost a woman's intuition for the nub of a matter. This is a fine leadership trait in war, always providing that the politician listens to the soldiers for the execution of his ideas. The combination of a bold political adventurer, a Charles XII personality risen from the streets to weld Germany into a solid driving force, and our General Staff, the world's best military leadership, might well have brought us ultimate success. But Hitler was incapable of listening to anybody. This undid him and ruined Germany. Grand strategy and incredibly petty detail were equally his preoccupations. The overruling axiom of our war effort was that Hitler gave the orders. In a brutal speech to our staff in November 1939, prompted by our efforts to discourage a premature attack on France, he warned us that he would ruthlessly crush any of us who opposed his will. Like so many of his other threats, he made this one good. By the end of the war most of our staff had been dismissed in disgrace. Many had been shot. All of us would have been shot sooner or later, had he not lost his nerve and shot himself first. Thus it happened that the strength of the great German people, and the valor of the peerless German soldier, became passive tools in Hitler's amateur hands. Hitler and Churchill: A Comparison Winston Churchill, in a revealing passage of his memoirs on the functioning of his chiefs ofstaff, expresses his envy of Hitler, who could get his decisions acted upon without submitting them to the discouragement and pulling apart of hidebound professional soldiers. In fact, this was what saved England and won the war. Churchill was exactly the kind of brilliant amateur meddler in military affairs that Hitler was. Both rose to power from the depths of political rejection. Both relied chiefly on oratory to sway the multitude. Both somehow expressed the spirit of their peoples, and so won loyalty that outlasted any number of mistakes, defeats, and disasters. Both thought in grandiose terms, knew little about economic and logistical realities, and cared less. Both were iron men In defeat. Above all, both men had overwhelming personalities that could silence rational OPPosition while they talked. Of this strange phenomenon, I had ample and bitter experience with Hitler. The crucial difference was that in the end Churchill had to listen to the professionals, whereas the German people had committed itself to the fatcil Fuhrerprinzip. Had Churchill possessed the power Adolf Hitler managed to arrogate to himself, the Allied armies would have bled to death in 1944, invading the "soft underbelly of the Axis," as Churchill called the fearful mountains and water obstacles of the Balkan peninsula. There we would have slaughtered them. The Italian campaign proved that. Only on the flat plains of Normandy did the Ford-production style of American warfare, using immense masses of inferior, cheaply made machinery, have a chance of working. The Balkans would have been a colossal Thermopylae, won by the defenders. It would have been a Churchill defeat compared to which Gailipoli would have been a schoolboy picnic. With a Fuhrer's authority, Churchill would also have frittered away the Allied landing craft, always a critical supply problem, in witless attempts to recapture the Greek islands and to storm Rhodes. In 1944 he nagged Eisenhower and Roosevelt to commit these wild follies until they both stopped talking to him. Churchill was a Hitler restrained by democracy. If the German nation ever rises again, let it remember the different ends of these two men. I am not arguing for the goose gobble of parliamentarians. By conviction I have always been a conservative monarchist. But whatever the civilian structure, let our people hereafter entrust military affairs to its trained generals, and insist that politicians keep hands off the war machine. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: This very jarring and distorted comparison of Hitler and Churchill omits the crucial difference, of course. By the common verdict of historians, even most German ones, Hitler was a ruthless adventurer bent on conquest and plunder, while Churchill was a great defender of human liberty, dignity, and law. it is true that Churchill tended to interfere in military matters. Politicians find that temptation hard to resist.
Roon's assertion about the British plan to land in Norway is correct. His conclusions, again, are a different matter, showing how slippery the issues at Nuremberg were. England was the sole protector and hope of small neutral countries like Norway and Denmark. The purpose of a British landing would have been to defend Norway, not to occupy and dominate it. In a war, both sides may well try to take the same neutral objective for strategic reasons, which does not prove that both sides are equally guilty of aggression. That is the fallacy in Roon's argument. I would not recommend trying to persuade a German staff officer of this.-V.H. N HENRY and his fiancee Janice were set straight about WRussia's invasion of Finland by an unexpected person: Madeline's new boyfriend, a trombone player and student of public affairs named Sewell Bozeman. Early in December the engaged couple came to New York and visited Madeline in her new apartment. Finding the boyfriend there was a surprise. The news of her move to her own apartment had enraged Pug Henry, but had he known her reason, he would have been pleased. Madeline had come to despise the two girls with whom she had shared a flat. Both were having affairs-one with a joke writer, the other with an actor working as a bellhop. Madeline had found herself being asked to skulk around, stay out late, or remain in her room while one or another pair copulated. The walls in the shabby apartment were thin. She had no way of even pretending unawareness. She was disgusted. Both girls had good jobs, both dressed with taste, both were college graduates. Yet they behaved like sluts, as Madeline understood the word. She was a Henry, with her father's outlook. Give or take a few details of Methodist doctrine, Madeline believed in what she had learned at home and at church. Unmarried girls of good character didn't sleep with men; to her, that was almost a law of nature. Men had more leeway; she knew, for instance, that Warren had been something of a hellion before his engagement. She liked Byron better because he seemed, in this respect, more like her upright father. To Madeline sex was a derightful matter of playing with fire, but enjoying the blaze from a safe distance, until she could leap into the hallowed white conflagration of a bridal night. She was a middle-class good girl, and not in the least ashamed of it. She thought her room-mates were gross fools. As soon as hugh Cleveland gave her a raise, she got out. "I don't know," she said, stirring a pot over a tiny stove behind a screen, "maybe this dinner was a mistake. We all could have gone to a restaurant." She was addressing the boyfriend, Sewell Bozeman, called Bozey by y in September. Bozey was a thin, long, the world. They had met at a part hair and thoughtful brown pale, tractable fellow with thick straight brown s that bulged behind rimless glasses. He always dressed in brown, to eye ties, and even brown shirts; he was always reading brown shoes, brown economics and politics and had a generally enormous brown books on doomed society, brown outlook on life, believing that America was a rapidly going under. Madeline found him a piquant and intriguing talking her small dining table, wearing novelty. At the moment, he was seti over his brown array the pink apron he had put on to peel onionsfor the stew. e said. "You can save the stew for another (Well, it's not too late,h night, and we can take your brother and his girl to Julio's." tNo, I told Warren I was cooking the dinner. That girls rolling in idn't like an Italian dive. And they have to rush off to the money, she would theatre." Madeline came out, patting her hot face with a handkerchief, "That's fine. Thanks, Bozey. I'm going to change." the table. and took out and looked at g white paint She opened a closet door crusted with yellowin -sided bay and the small room. With a three a dress and slip, glancing arou as the whole window looking out on back yards and drying laundry, it w f blue the kitchenette and a tiny bath. Large pieces of apartment, exce for van under yellow PaPer Patterns-'Dam it. Cloth jay on the threadbare finish cutting that t. Maybe I'll have time to That divan is such a rat's nes dress, if I hurry. "I can finish cutting it," Bozey said. a dress. Don't try." A doorbell "Nonsense, Bomey, you can't cut ready. That's good." She went to wheezily rang. iwell, the wine's here al seti the tall POPopen the door. Warren and Janice walked in and surpri his pink apron, holding shears in one hand and a sleeve eyed man in ew, and Madeline pattern in the other. What with the smell of the hot toast was a strikingly in a housecoat with a dress and a lacy slip on her arm, it domestic scene. "My gosh, Warren, you're tan!" Madeline was "oh, hi. You're early. M cur to her to be embarrassed. so sure of her own rectitude that it didn't oc ozeman, a friend of mine." "This is Sewell B ; he was embarrassed, and in Bozey waved the shears feebly at them his fluster be started to cut a ragged blue rayon sleeve. Madeline said, "Bozey, will you stop cutting that dress!" She turned to Janice. "Imagine, he actually thinks he can do it." "it'more than I can," Janice Lacouture said, staring incredulously at Bozeman. Bozey drop(s) ped the shears and took off his apron with a giggle. Warren said just to say something and cover his stupefaction, "Your dinner smells great, Madeline." After completing introductions, Madeline went off into what she called her boudoir, a grimy toilet about four feet square. "If you'd like to freshen up first-" she said to Janice as she opened the door, gesturing at the few cubic feet of yellow space crammed with rusty plumbing. "It's a bit cosy in there for two." "Oh, no, no I'm just fine," Janice exclaimed. 'Go ahead." A halting conversation ensued while Bozey donned his jacket and tie. Soon Madeline put out her head and one naked shoulder and arm.
"Bozey, I don't want that beef stew to boil over. Turn down the gas." "Sure thing." As he went behind the screen, Janice Lacouture and Warren exchanged appalled looks. "Do you play with the New York Philharmonic, Mr. Bozeman?" Janice raised her voice. 'No, I'm with Ziggy Frechtel's orchestra. We play the Feenamint Hour," he called back. 'I'm working on getting up my own band." He returned and sat in an armchair, or rather lay in it, with his head propped against the back and the rest of him projecting forward and down, sloping to the floor. Warren, something of a sloucher himself, regarded this spectacular slouch by the limp long brown bulging-eyed trombonist with incredulity. In a way the strangest feature was his costume. Warren had never in his life seen a brown tic on a brown irt. a the issued from the bathroom smoothing her dress. "Oh, come on, Bozey, mix some drinks," she carolled. Bozey hauled himself erect and made drinks, talking on about the problems of assembling a band. A shy, awkward fellow, he honestly believed that the best way to put other people at their ease was to keep talking, and the one subject that usually occurred to him was himself. He disclosed that he was the son of a minister in Montana; that the local doctor had cured him of religion at sixteen, by feeding him the works of IngersoU and Haeckel while treating him less successfully for thyroid trouble; and that in rebellion against his father he had taken up the trombone. Soon he was on the topic of the war, which, he explained, was nothing but an imperialist struggle for markets. This was apropos of a remark by Warren that he was a naval fighter pilot in training. Bozey proceeded to set forth the Marxist analysis of war, beginning with the labor theory of value. Madeline meanwhile, finishing angi with d serving up the dinner, was glad to let him entertain her company. She knew Bozey was talkative, but she found him interesting and she thought Warren and Janice might, too. They seemed oddly silent. Perhaps, she thought, they had just had a little spat. Under capitalism, Bozey pointed out, workers never were paid what they really earned. The capitalist merely gave them the lowest wages possible. Since he owned the means of production, he had them at his mercy. Profit was the difference between what the worker produced and what he got. This had to lead to war sooner or later. In each country the capitalists piled up big surpluses because the workers weren't paid enough to buy back what they produced. The capitalists, to realize their profits, had to sell off those surpluses in other countries. This struggle for foreign markets, when it got hot enough, inevitably turned into war. That was what was happening now. "But Hitler has no surpluses," Janice Lacouture mildly observed.
An economics student, she knew these Marxist bromides, but was willing to let the boyfriend, or lover-she wasn't yet sure which-of Warren's sister run on for a while. "Germany's a land of shortages." 'The war is a struggle for foreign markets, all the same," Bozey insisted serenely, back in his deep slouch. 'How about cameras, just at random? Germany still exports cameras. Warren said, 'As I understand you, then, the Germans invaded Poland to sell Leicas." "Making jokes about economic laws is easy, but irrelevant." Bozey smiled. "I'm fairly serious," Warren said. "Obviously Hitler's reason for attacking Poland was conquest and loot, as in most wars." "Hitler is a figurehead," said Bozey comfortably. "Have you ever heard of Fritz Thyssen? He and the Krupps and a few other German capitalists put him in power. They could put someone else in tomorrow if they chose, by making a few telephone calls. Of course there's no reason why they should, He's a usem and obedient lackey in their struggle for foreign markets." 'I"at you're saying is the straight Conununist line, you know," Janice said. "Oh, Bozey's a Communist," Madeline said, emerging from behind the screen with a wooden bowl of salad. "Dinner's ready. Will you dress the salad, Bozey?" "Sure thing." Bozey took the bowl to a rickety little side table, and made expert motions with oil, vinegar, and condiments. "I'm not sure I've ever met a Communist before," Warren said, peering at the long brown man. "My gosh, you haven't?" said Madeline. "Why, the radio business swarms with them." "That's a slight xaggerafion," Bozey saidy rubbing garlic on the salad bowl, and filling the close, warm flat with the pungent aroma. "Oh, come on, Bozey. Who isn't a Communist in our crowd?") "Well, Peter isn't. I don't think Myra is. Anyway, that's just our gang.-He added to Warren, "It dates from the Spanish Civil War days. We Put on all kinds of shows for the benefit of the LoYalists." Bozey brought the salad bowl to the table, where the others were already seated. "Of course there', just a few of us left now. A lot of the crowd dropped away after Stalin made the pact with Hitler. They had no fundamental convictions." "Didn't that pact bother YOu?" Warren said. "Bother me? Why? It was a move. The capitalist powers wantto snuff out socii in the S ' sen oviet union. If they bleed themselves white beforehand, fighting each other, the final a(a) ttack on socialism will be that much weaker. Stalin's peace policy is very wise." Warren said, "Suppose Hitler polishes off England and France in a one-front war, and the tun n ms and smashes Russia? That may well happen. Stalin could have made a deal with the Allies, and all of them together would have had a far better chance of stopping the Nazis." "But don't you see, there's no reason for a socialist country to take part in an imperialist struggle for foreign markets," 'Socialism doesn't need foreign Plained to the benighted naval aviator. Bozey patiently e,markets, since the worker gets all he creates." "Bozey, will you bring the stew?" Madeline said. 'Sure thing." JaWce Lacouture said, speaking louder as he went behind the screen, "B,t surely you know that a Russian worker gets less than a worker in any capitalist country." "Of course-There are two reasons for that. Socialism triumphed first in a feudal country," Bozey said, reappearing with the stew, 'and had a big industrial gap to close. Also, because of the imperialist threat, socialmn had to divert a lot of Production to arms. When socialism triumphs everywhere, arms will become useless, and they'll all be thrown in the sea. "But even if that happens, which I doubt, it seems to me," said Janice, "that when the state owns the means Of Production, the workers will get less than if capitalists own them. You know how inefficient and tyannical government bureaucracies are." "Yes," interjected Madeline, ('but as soon as socialism triumphs everybody will need a central rywhere the state will wither away, because nobod e wine Then the workers will get it all. Pass the government any more, around) Bozey."-"Sure thing-2) mowing his eyes at her, "Do you believe Warren said to his sister, na that? "Me?" Madeline said, giggling. "Well, that's how the argument goes ds with Communists? For "Wouldn't Dad die if he knew I'd made frien heaven's sake don't write and tell him-' "that about Finland?" "Have no fear." Warren turned to Bozey. country was then about a The Russian invasion of the tiny northern week old, and already looking like a disaster. "Okay. What about it?" "Well, you know Russia claims that Finland attacked her, the way Hitler claimed Poland attacked Germany. Do you believe that?" "It's ridiculous to think that Poland attacked Germany," Bozey said calmly, "but it's highlylikely that Finland attacked the Soviet union. It was probably a provocation engineered by others to embroil socialism the imperialist war." in "The Soviet union is fifty times as big as Finland," Janice Lacou ture said. "I'm not saying the Finns did something wise," said Bozey-'They were egged on into making a bad mistake. Anyway, Finland just used to be a duchy of Czarist Russia. It's not an invasion exactly, it's a rectification." "Oh, come on, Bozey, Madeline said. "Stalin's simply making hay while the sun shines, slamming his way in there to improve his strategic position against Germany. "Of course " , Warren said and that's a damned prudent move in his situation, whatever the morality of it may be." Bozey smiled cunningly, his eyes starting from his head. "Well, it's lift their hands in holy horror when a socialist government does something realistic. They think that's their exclusive privilege." quite true he wasn't born yesterday. The imperialists liny do you suppose the invasion's flopping on its face?" Warren said. "Oh, do you believe the capitalist newspapers?" said Bozey, with a broad wink "Yuu think the Russians are really winning?" "Why, all this nonsense about the Finnish sid troops in white unifomis makes me ill," Bozey said. "Don't you suppose the Russians have I - m Lskis and white uniforms too? But catch the New York Times saying so." "This is a lovely stew," Janice sai............