He presented the German nation with a world-historical goal. World-historical changes are, as Hegel taught, for beyond the petty limits of morality. They are revelations of God's will. Perhaps in the vast effort and the vast tragedy of Germany, Providence had a dark design that will become clear to later generations. The Green Folder was an integral part of that effort. By worldphilosophical considerations, it was the just act of a people seeking to strike out new paths in mankind's endless Faustian journey. In the light of these ideas, the argument that we should have treated the Ukrainians and other Slavs nicely, so that they would help us overthrow their Communist rulers, becomes clearly ridiculous. Germany, a nation as poor as it was powerful, could not continue the war without confiscating the food of southern Russia. Was it to be expected that the Slavs would accept impoverishment, forced labor, and the death of millions by starvation, without a really serious revolt, unless their spirit had been broken from the start, and unless they had seen nothing in prospect but an iron fist and the firing squad if they did not labor and obey? Adolf Hitler said that the only way to administer southern Russia was to shoot anybody who made a wry face. He had a harsh way of putting things sometimes, but what he said in such matters seldom lacked realism. Finally, it must be pointed out that the Green Folder administration scheme never became a reality, since we failed to conquer the Soviet union. it was a hypothetical plan that could not be put into practice. The stress placed on it at the Nuremberg trials therefore seems highly excessive and distorted. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: Roon's philosophical defense of the Green Folder-possibly the cruelest set of administrative plans ever put on paper-will no doubt be indigestible to the average reader in the United States. However, it was when I read this passage that I decided to translate World Empire Lost.-V.H. -A The Turn South Basing themselves largely upon Guderian, many writers further maintain that Hitler lost the war in mid-July, after our amazing three-week advance to Smolensk-two-thirds of the way to Moscow-by ordering Guderion's panzer armies southward to help Rundstedt close the Kiev pocket, instead of allowing him to drive on. The contention is that precious weeks were thereby lost and the armored equipment become excessively worn, so that the punch was taken out of the final assault on the capital. There are several gaping holes in this "Turn South" critique. First of all, the closing of the Kiev pocket east of the Dnieper was the greatest military land victory in the history of mankind. At a blow, Germany killed or captured armed forces and equipment equal to almost half the entire Wehrmacht force with which she began the invasion of the Soviet unioni it is a little hard to dismiss such a mighty triumph as a "tactical diversion."With this victory, we won secure possession of the riches of southern Russia, which alone enabled us to fight on in the years ahead and to come close to winning. We secured the breadbasket, the industrial basin, and the fuel reserve, which Germany had sought for so long, and which was the whole pivot of Adolf Hitler's politics. True, Clausewitz says the destruction of the enemy's armed forces, not the winning of territorial or economic objectives, is the chief aim of warfare. But the much-criticized "Turn South" achieved a big destruction of enemy armed forces. Suppose that vast southern army had escaped and flanked us? Even if we had destroyed the armies in front of Moscow and occupied the capital, would we have been any better off than Napoleon? Napoleon essentially followed a Guderian strategy, striking for the "center of gravity" in Moscow. The trouble was, once he got there, that he could not feed his men or his horses, he was threatened on the left and right flanks, and after a while there was nothing to do but retreat to fathomless catastrophe. We who planned Barbarossa, and watched it unfold, seldom without a copy of Caulaincourt'sMemoirsinhandleIftheWehrmachtheldfast(were) during the frightful winter of 1941, one very good reason was that we did not repeat Napoleon's mistake. We at least seized the south, which supported us and gave us hope to fight another day. When Hitler told Guderian, who came to Wolf's Lair to protest against the "Turn South," that generals know nothing about the economics of war, he spoke the cold truth. They are like pampered athletes who let some other fellow worry about the playing fields, the crowds, and the money; their only interest is in displaying their prowess. Such was Guderion, an opinionated if brilliant prima donna. The contention that the drive through the center was weakened is itself rather weakened by the plain fact that after finishing his assigned duties in the south, Guderian returned north and jumped off for our spectacular September and October victories. There was nothing particularly enfeebled in that performance! I have not hesitated to point out Adolf Hitler's amateurish errors in other situations; some of these were disastrous, but the turn south was a sound, necessary, and successful move. To the Towers of the Kremlin The remnants of the Red Army in the north and center, beaten and broken once again, went staggering back into the enormous spaces of Russia. Hordes were captured, but more hordes abandoned tanks and guns to slip through our encirclements in the night. In the north all our objectives were achieved except the actual taking of Leningrad. The city was laid under siege which lasted nine hundred days, in which it withered into helplessness and almost perished. The Baltic coast was ours, so that we could supply our northern forces by sea. We were in operational touch with our Finnish allies. In the south we invested the Crimea and were racing for the Caucasus oil fields. And in the center, giant armored pincers closed on Moscow from north and south, actually penetrating the suburbs. Bock's indomitable infantry, marching up the road from Smolensk with amazing speed, was smashing forward in a frontal thrust toward the Bolshevik capital. Panic seized Moscow. October 16 is known to this day in Russian warliterature as the date of the "Great Skedoddle," when the foreign diplomats, many government departments, and a large number of Soviet big shots, together with a huge throng of civilians, abandoned the city and scuttled east for the safety of the Urals. Stalin stayed behind in Moscow, making desperate speeches, and ordering women and children out to dig trenches in the path of our oncoming armies. On the central Russian plain it was just beginning to snow. The Rasputitza had already begun in September-the autumn mud time. God knows it was hard to advance under such conditions, but we advanced. Never has an armed force shown greater energy and spirit under greater difficulties. A remarkable 61an glowed alike in the highest general and the humblest foot soldier. The end of the long road, the incredible nine-year march of the German nation under the Fuhrer, was in view across muddy, snowy wild plains, on the misty Russian horizon lit by a low cold red sun. Our advance patrols saw the towers of the Kremlin. World empire at last lay within the German grasp. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: General von Roon is tolerant throughout of Hitler's Barborossa Performance, perhaps because he took part in the planning and was in Hitler's favor at the time. Other historians contend that the armies caught in the Kiev pocket were rabble. The hard nut of Russian resistance lay around Moscow, they saY, and destruction of these forces in October would have ended the war. The land campaigns in the Soviet union are not in my field of competence, though I spent time there. The full truth about that front may never be known.
V.H. sum dark-haired girl walked out on the stage of the open-air theAatre at the Pearl Harbor Naval Base, taking off sunglasses and blinking in the white glare of morning sun. The swish of her ice-cream pink dress, displaying silk-sheathed legs, brought glad whistles from the soldiers and sailors who filled every seat in the theatre and most of the folding chairs before the stage. Directly up front sat the governor of Hawaii, the admirals, the generals, and their ladies, and photographers were still blinking feeble blue flashes at them. It was just before eleven o'clock, somewhat early for staged fun, but this first Happy Hour broadcast was being aimed at the big night-time audiences along the Atlantic seaboard. Beyond the low stage, where the Navy band sat with brass instruments glinting in the sun, several moored battleships were visible towering in a gray double row. At the microphone, the girl stood smiling till the good-humored commotion subsided. Then she held up a varnished board lettered in black: APPLAUsis. The audience responded with a heavy round of handclapping. "Thank you, and hello. I'm Mr. Cleveland's assistant, Madeline Henry." A lone piercing wolf whistle sliced do" from the topmost row, and laughter swept the stands. She wagged a finger. "And you watch yourself up there! I have two brothers sitting out here, a naval aviator and a submariner, and they're both big and strong." This brought more laughter and applause. The audience was in a lively expectant mood. This debut of a major new radio program at the naval base had been stirring the somnolent territory for days. The island's good white families, a bored lotus-eating little clique, had been vying to entertain Hugh Cleveland, and people had flown in from other islands to Oahu just to attend the parties. The Navy had even postponed afleet drill simulating an enemy surprise attack, since it conflicted with the broadcast time. Front-page headlines in Honolulu papers about the show quite overshadowed the news of the German encirclement of several Russian armies around Kiev. In an awkward, halting manner that had a certain shy charm, Madeline described the rules of the new show. Only genuine fighting men could take part in the amateur contest. Every participant would receive a five-hundred-dollar defense bond. The performer winning the most applause would get an extra prize: the sponsor would fly in his girl or his parents to visit him for a week. "Mr. Cleveland just hopes there won't be too many winners with girls in Cape Town or Calcutta," she said, drawing a laugh. "Well, I guess that's about it. Now here's the man you're all waiting forthe star of the famous Amateur Hour and now of our new Happy Hourmy nice boss, Mr. Hugh Cleveland." Walking to a seat near the band she demurely sat down, tucking her skirt close to her legs. Cheers greeted Cleveland as he walked to the microphone. "Okeybe-bedokey," he drawled. This phrase, delivered in a cowboy twang, had become a sort of trademark for him, and it brought applause. 'Maybe I ought to just let Madeline Henry keep going. I've got the job, but she's sure got the lines." He wagged his eyebrows, and the audience laughed. "I'd better introduce her brothers, so you'll see just how big and strong they are. The naval aviator is Lieutenant Warren Henry of the Enterprise. Where are you, Warren?" "Oh, Christ," Warren said. "No. No." He cringed down in his chair in a midcue row. 'Stand up, you fool," Janice hissed. Warren got grimly to his feet, a long lean figure in white, and dropped at oncp, sinking far down. (Welcome, Warren. And now here's Byron Henry, of the Devilfish." Byron half rose, then sat down with an unpleasant mutter. "Hi, Byron! Their father's a battleship man, folks, so the family's pretty well got the sea covered-the surface, the air, and the deeps. That's the Henry family, and one reason our country remains strong and safe is that we have plenty of Henry families." The governor and the admirals joined heartily in the handclapping. Slumped low, Byron made a gagging sound in his throat. The first Happy Hour delighted the audience, and promised great popular success. Cleveland had been all over the United States; he could make folksy knowledgeable jokes about out-ofthe-way places.
Working without a script, holding prepared gags in his memory, he created the illusion of an easy, bright, small-town wit. What emerged above all was the reticent homesickness of the soldiers and sailors who performed. Their little acts resembled church social entertainment; the band played patriotic marches; it was an hour of sentimental Americana. Madeline's awkioshing, fitted the wartiness, as she introduced the acts and took some e homey atmosphere. Byron was not amused. He sat through the show in a slouch, his arms folded, looking vacantly at his shoe tips. Once Janice nudged her husband, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head at Byron. Warren pantomimed the bulge of a pregnant woman's stomach. After the show the stage was so crowded with the governor, his entourage, and the high brass, all ringing Cleveland, that the Henrys couldn't mount the steps. 'Wouldn't you know," Byron said, "Branch Hoban's right in there." The handsome sidpper of his submarine, standing between two admirals, was shaking Cleveland's hand, talking to him like an old friend. "You having trouble with Branch Hoban?" Warren said. "He's an okay guy, Briny." "He's having trouble with me." 'Hey, the big strong brothers! Come on up." Cleveland saw them and beckoned, laughing. "Gad, Madeline's one girl whose honor is safe, hey? Janice, the governor here has just invited me to lunch, and I've just turned him down. Told him you're expecting me." Janice gasped, "No, please,.you mustn't do that." The governor smiled at her. 'It's all right. Hugh's coming to Washington Place later. I didn't realize Senator Lacouture's daughter was lurking in our midst. We must have you to dinner soon." Janice took a bold chance. 'Won't you join us for lunch, Governor? We're just having steaks and beer on the lawn, nothing much, but we'd love to have you." "Say, steaks and beer on the lawn sounds pretty good. Let me find my lady." Warren and Branch Hoban were exchanging cheerful insults about their nonexistent paunches, and about how old and married they both looked. Byron stood by with blank face and dull eyes. He broke in, "Excuse me, Captain. My sister-in-law's invited me to lunch. May I go?" Warren said, "Hey! Don't tell me junior's in hack." "Oh, Briny and I have had a leede disagreement. Sure, Briny, you have your lunch with Janice and Warren. Report aboard at fifteen hundred." "Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir." At Byron's uncivil tone, Warren slightly shook his head.
Janice rode home in the governor's limousine; Madeline and Bymn went in Warren's old station wagon. The double lei of pink and yellow flowers around the sister's neck perfumed the air in the car. She said, gaily, "Well, well, just the three of us. When did this last happen?" "Listen, Briny," Warren said, "Branch Hoban's an old pal of iiiinc. What's the beep Maybe I can help." "I drew a sketch of an air compressor for my officers' course book. He didn't like it. He wants me to do it over. I won't. I'm in hack until I do." "that's ridiculous." "I think so myself." "I mean you're being ridiculous." 'Warren, on our way from San Francisco, an air compressor conked out because the oil pump froze. The chief was sick. I stripped down that compressor and got it going." 'Three cheers, but did you draw a good sketch?" "It was a lousy sketch, but I fixed that compressor." "That's beside the point." "It's the whole point." "No, the whole point is that Branch Hoban decides whether or not to recommend you for your dolphins." "I don't care about getting dolphins." "The hell you don't," Warren said. "Look, Warren, I was shanghaied aboard the Devilfish. I had orders to new construction, the Tuna, but my exec and Hoban pulled a fast one at ComSubPac. Moreover, it wasn't my idea to go to submarine school in the first place. Dad shoved me in, mostly to keep me from marrying Natalie. That's why she went to Italy. That's why she's still stuck there. My life is snafued beyond all measure because I went to sub school. God knows when I'll see my wife again. And my baby, if I've got one. She's baying it on the other side of the world. That's what's on my mind, not dolphins." "You're in the Navy now. Do you want to get beached?" 'Why not? The hours are better and the mail is more reliable." "Oh, horseshit. Pardon me, M4d." 'Shucks, this is like old times. Anyhow, you should hear Hugh talk. Yikes!" she squealed, as Warren bounced off the highway onto grass, avoiding a rusty oldgreen Buick cutting in front of him. Warren said calmly, "These Kanaka drivers give you gray hairs." "There's another fellow who leaves me cold, that Cleveland," Byton said. "How did you get mixed up with him, Matty?"I'm not mixed up with him," Madeline rapped out. "I work for him." Byron gave her an affectionate smile. "I know, sis." "He does a good job," Warren said. "That show goes over." Byron said, "what? Why, the whole thing is so phony! He doesn't make up those jokes, he's got them memorized." "You're dead right about that," Madeline laughed. "It's obvious. He just puts on a big smooth empty act. He reminds me of Branch Hoban." 'Branch is no phony," said Warren. "He has a remarkable record, Briny. And you'd better make up your mind that he's boss man on that submarine." 'Sure he's boss man, and sure he's got a great record, and sure I'm in hack, but hell will freeze over before he gets another sketch of that air compressor. When I found out that Natalie had gone back to Italy to have her baby, I put in a request for transfer to the Atlantic. Our subs operate in and out of the Med, and I might have a chance to see her, and maybe even to get her out. I told him all this. He lectured me about subordinating my personal life to the Navy! Well, I said I was putting the request in anyhow. He forwarded it-he had to forward it-not recommending approval." Warren said, his eyes on the road, "You've been aboard that boat three months. The usual tour is two years." "The usual ensign doesn't have a pregnant wife stuck n Italy." "Don't get me wrong, but that's not the Navy's fault." "I'm not blaming the Navy. I'm telling you why I'm not on fire to please Branch Hoban." Madeline struck into this curt exchange with a laugh. "Say, do you guys know that Dad is studying Russian again, of all things?" "Russian!" Warren exclaimed. 'rmat for?" "He's going there. I don't know when or how." Madeline laughed. "Mom's fit to be tied. He's taking a crash course, ten hours a day. She never sees him. She sits around that big new house by herself, except when somebody shows up to play tennis with her or go to a movie." "Dad had better step on it," Warren said, 'if he wants to beat the Germans into Moscow."Byron took Madeline's lei and put it around his neck. "Boy, these are strong frangipani. God knows when we three will ever be together again like this. I'm in a rotten mood, but I love you both. How's the booze situation at your house, Warren?" "Ninety-seven percent. We just topped off." "Great. I intend to burn you down to fifty percent." "By all means." Byron came on the latest airmail Time at Warren's house, and read it in a deck chair among the multiple roots of a banyan tree, while Warren, Janice, and their guests grew gay on hors doeuvres and rum drinks. At sea for two weeks, he had heard only fragmentary news. when the party reached the, Stage of hijla dancing to the guitar riiusic of the grinning houseboy Warren began broiling steaks in billows of fra ant smoke. Meantime Hugh Cleveland and Madeline d:id a baregr foot hula while the Navy people and islanders clapped and laughed, and a photographer from the society page snapped pictures. Byron sourly watched his sister's white feet writhe in the grass, and her pink-sheathed bottom gyrate; and he wondered who was mad-he or this playful group. According to Time, the Germans were rolling through Russia exactly as they had through Poland two years before. it was the -same month, September. The cheery German claims, backed by combat photographs, were, most convincing. The pictures showed villages afire, skies aswarm with Luftwaffe, roads through cornfields jammed with refugees, and unshaven Russian prisoners behind barbed wire in sullen hordes. The scenes brought vividly back to Byron's mind the days when he and Natalie had drawn together: the flight in the old automobile from Cracow to Warsaw, his wound, the child on the road crying over her mother's smashed face, the orange flares, the whistling bombs, Natalie in the malodorous jammed hospital, the song of grasshoppers in no-man's-land. Carrying two plates of sliced steak and french fries, Warren came and sat down beside him on the grass. 'Eat hearty, my lad." Byron said, 'Thanks. Pretty grim issue of Time "Hell, Briny, you knew the Germans would take the Russkis, didn't You? The Russian's a hardy soldier, but that Bolshevik government's just a mess of crackpot politicians. Stalin shot half his officers in '38, including all the profmion s leal it from the Czarist days. You can't fight a war without career officers. That's where the Germans have us all licked. That General Staff of theirs has been going for a hundred years. The day they lost the last war, why, they just started collecting maps and dope for fighting this one. That's a savvy outfit. How about some wine? California Burgundy gets here in pretty fair shape."'Sure." Returning with a big purple bottle, Warren said, "Well, there's one good thing. If Hitler does take Moscow, the japs will jump north to grab their end of Siberia. That'll give us a breather. Otherwise they're a cinch to come Soon. Everybody thinks they're getting lower on oil. We're sur as hell not ready for them. We need a year just to harden the Philippines to where we can hold." Byron slapped the copy of Time. "Incidentally, did you read about r father-in-law's latest speech? He wants us to explore making a deal you with the Germans." 'I know. Well, he's way off base on that. Hitler's not making any deals, not while he's winning so big. But eventually, Briny, the Krauts may be easier to come to terms with than the japs. They're white people." "True, except for starters we'd have to shoot our Jews." Warren slowly turned his bronzed face at his brother. An embarrassed smile played on his thin lips. 'Even the Germans aren't shooting their Jews, guy. I think their policy is disgusting, but-""You don't know what they're doing. I run into a stone wall when I try to tell people here what the Germans are like. Branch Hoban thinks this war is Saxon civilization against the rising tide of Asia, and the Russians count as Asia, and we and the British should wise up and mall. common cause with the Nazis in a hurry, because they're fighting our battle, and its the white race's last chance. He gets all this out of books by a nut called Homer Lea. He reads those books to pieces. The Valor of Ignorance is the main one, and The Day of the Saxon." 'I've read Homer Lea," said Warren, looking at his watch. "He's a screwball, but pretty interesting-well, our friend Vic's due for a bottle, but it's a cinch Jan's not going to abandon the governor." "I'll feed the baby." "Do you like babies, or something?" "I like this one." NWIE Victor lay on His uncle's lap drinking milk, Byron drank California Burgundy. Each finished his bottle at about the same time. He tucked the baby away in his side-porch crib, and returned to the lawn. The breeze had ched, and it was very hot. The scent from the lemon trees filled Byron with melancholy. He lay face down under the banyan tree and fell asleep. When he woke, Lieutenant Aster, drink in hand, was shaking him. "Blazes," Byron said, sitting up, a stale taste of wine in his mouth, l was supposed to report inat three, wasn't I? Are you here to take me back in irons?" "Amnesty. You're out of back," Aster grinned, "and you've got twenty-four hours' leave. This just came in on the harbor circuit from Rome, forwarded via Lisbon, Washington, and San Francisco." He handed a dispatch to Byron, who read it sitting cross-legged on the grass. ENSIGN BYRON HENRY, USS DEVILVISH X CAN YOU TH OVA GOOD NAME FOR A SEVEN-POUND BOY X BOTH FINE BOTH LOVE YOU X NATALIE AND WHOSIS HENRY Byron bowed his head and put a hand over his face. Like his father, he had a simple religious streak; he muttered a prayer of thanks for the rmracle of a boy, born from the wild lovemaking in Lisbon that had briefly joined two bodies, now almost as far apart as they could be on the planet. After a moment he looked up with a slow smile, his eyes glistening. 'How about that, Lady?" 'Congratulations, Briny." Byron got to his feet, looking around dazedly at the party. The radio was pouring out "Lovely Hula Hands," Janice was Niggling barefoot with the captain of the Enterprise, the go ta' e vemor was dancing with Madeline, evincing pop-eyed pleasure at the play of her hips, and Hugh Cleveland was singing an obscene parody that brought barks of male laughter and delighted shrieks from the women. "I guess I'll tell my brother and sister." Aster strolled beside him, rattling the ice in his glass. "Quite a wingding here. Isn't that the governor? Your sister-in-law is sure nice. I hardly had my foot inside the door when she handed me a planter's punch." "Janice is okay." "Is that her name, Janice? Pretty name. She's about the best-looking white woman I've seen on this godforsaken island. "Easy, Lady." 'y, Briny, I admire her like a sunset, or the Washin ton Monument." "Say, Madeline-" Hurrying past him toward the house behind Cleveland and the Hawaiian houseboy, Madeline flipped a hand at him. "Long-distance call from New York, honey. Our sponsor. Imagine! Byron told the news to Warren and Janice. Before he could stop her, Janice made a delighted announcement. The guests ringed him with alcoholic jokesp congratulations, and questions, exclaiming over the odd fact that his wife was away off in Italy. The society columnist of the Honolulu Star, a bony hawk-faced blonde named Petsy Peters, stood at Bryon's elbow, scribbling notes.
He went into the house after Madeline. He wanted to be the first to tell her. The telephone lay in its rack on a table in the hall. He heard a chuckle, and glancing down the zigzagging halls to the side porch where the baby lay asleep, he saw Hugh Cleveland embracing Madeline, out of sight of the lawn. Cleveland was holding Byron's Sister with both hands by the rump. Her pink skirt was pulled up in back, exposing her thighs and underwear. She was clinging to him with obscene intimacy. Byron walked out of the house into the sunlight. "I guess I'll get back to the Devilfish," he said to Warren. "Why? I thought Branch gave you a twenty-four." "I want to write Natalie and the folks. Maybe shoot off a cable or two." "Briny, the governor's just invited the whole crowd over to Washington Place for cocktails with Cleveland." "Cleveland's in the house there kissing Madeline. I mean kissing her, and she's going right along with it." 'Is she?" the aviator said with a crooked grin. "I guess their sponsor liked the broadcast." Madeline came hurrying out of the house, her face alight, her hair disorderly, and ran to her brothers. Behind her Cleveland emerged, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "Hey, guess what, fellows?" Madeline chirruped. 'He talked to me, too. He said I sounded fine! But that's 2 ts nothing. We had a spot check rating Of 3-5. That's only four poin less than Fred Allen-and on our very first show!" Byron took the dispatch from his breast pocket and showed it to his sister. 'Oh my! More good news! Say, Hugh, what do you know? Briny's wife had her baby." "Hey! Congrats, papa!" He put out a hand that Byron ignored, but he took no offense. "Come on, Madeline, let's tell the governor what Chet Fenton said." Byron, arms folded, glowered at their departing backs. 'Look, Briny his brother said, "you're not going to make trouble, are you? You'll embarrass Janice." 'The grinning son of a bitch," muttered Byron. 'Come off it. She's over twenty-one." 'He's a married man. I'll talk to Madeline, if you won't. Depending on what she says, I may tell the bastard to keep his distance from her, if he doesn't want the shit beaten out of him." Warren sized up his brother with amusement. "He's got the weight on you, and he looks in good shape." "That's just fine," Byron said. The radio began blaring the news signal. It was four O'clock, and the governor had turned up the volume of the little portable sitting on the outdoor bar. 'Berlin. German Supreme Headquarters announces the capture of Kiev and coms the greatest victory in the war, and perhaps in the history of the world. According to German sources, four entire Russian armies, numbering almost a million men, have been surrounded and cut topieces, and with the fall of Kiev all organized resistance in the vast pocket has come to an end. Radio Berlin proclainwd at midnight that, quote, 'The Soviet union no longer has a military capability, and the end of hostilities on the eastern front is in sight." More news in a moment. Now a word about Pepsi-Cola." The governor said, swishing his rum drink as merry girlish voices burst into a jingle, "Well, well. The Russkis would really seem to be on the run, hey?" "Where is Kiev, Governor?" said Petsy Peters. "Is that where caviar comes from? I hope this doesn't mean no more cawy. There's always the Persian, but that's so expensive." "Kiev is in the north, I think," the governor said. "Frankly my Russian geography is not so hot." The Pepsi-Cola commercial ended. The announcer came on with drama in his voice "We interrupt this newscast for an urgent announcement by the Ioint Army-Navy Command of the Hawaiian Islands. SURPRISE ENEMY ATTACK ON HAWAIII This is a DRILL. A hostile fleet of battleships and aircraft cas has been lorated approximately four hundred and fifty miles northwest of Oahu. This is a DRILL." 'Oh no!" Petsy Peters said. 'Not again. Four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon! What a misery! Are they going to keep us off the streets again for hours and hours?" The governor put his finger to his lips. "All leaves and liberties are cancelled, and all military personnel will return to their units at once. This is a DRILL. We repeat, this is a DRILL. Surprise enemy attack on Hawaiii All military personnel return to their units at once. Special permission is granted to the players of the baseball game between the Air Comnand and the Battleship Force to complete the ninth running, and for spectators to remain at the game until then. Restrictions on civilian travel are not, repeat, not in force." "Well, thank goodness for that, at least," said Petsy Peters. "All ships in the area will report to force commanders readiness to sortie, but u;,ill not, repeat not, leave anchorages or nworings unless ordered. At 1830 target planes towing sleeves will simu attack on Pearl Harbor. All ships and shore batteries will Conduct tracking and aiming exercises but will not, repeat not, fire ammunition. Vessels in dry dock or alongside for repairs will proceed with maintenance work and are excused from this exercise. We repeat. Surprise attack on Hawaii. This is a DRILL. This announcement will be repeated." The governor snapped off the radio. "I wasn't sure they'd still try to get it in today. It was originally scheduled for ten this morning, Hugh, but The Happy Hour conflicted." "Yes, sir, that was a real courtesy. My sponsor is writing letters of appreciation to the Army and the Navy.""That's a fine idea." The general invitation for cocktails at Washington Place, the goveror's mansion, was called off. The party rapidly broke up. Soon only Cleveland, Madeline, Janice, and the two submariners remained on the lawn amid the party debris, with the governor and his wife. Aster and Byron were in no hurry to leave because the Devilfish was in dry dock. "Why not join us at Washington Place for a drink, Janice?" said the governor. "Hugh and Madeline are coming along." -Oh, not without a man, thank you, Governor," Janice said. "There's an old Navy rule against sucking one's neck out, Janice," Lieutenant Aster spoke up, with a fetching grin. 'But I don't know when I'll get another chance to see the inside of that mansion. I volunteer." Janice laughed. "Why, you're on, lieutenant. Give me three minutes, Governor." Byron separated Madeline from the others, saying he wanted to talk to her and would take her to Washington Place in Warren's car. "It's wonderful news about your baby, Briny," Madeline remarked, as they drove off. Byron said, looking straight ahead at the road, "I went into the house before, looking for you. I saw you and Cleveland." After a pause filled with engine noise he glanced at her. Her brows were contracted over wide dark eyes in a scowl, and she looked lovely, but tough. She very much resembled their father. "Is this why you offered to drive me to the governor's place? To lecture me? Thanks, dear." "That's a married man, Madeline. Mom and Dad would be damned upset at what I saw." "Don't talk to me about upsetting Mom and Dad. I have yet to marry a Jew. Those were the last words spoken in the car until it drew up at Washington Place. Madeline opened the door. "I'm sorry, Briny. That was nasty. But didn't you deserve it, accusing me of God knows what? I have nothing against Natalie. I like her." Byron reached across her legs and slammed the door shut. The glare on his white face was frightening. "One minute. You tell Hugh Cleveland -you be sure to tell him, Madeline-that if I ever find out he's done anything to you, I'll come after him and I'll put him in a hospital." The girl's eyes filled with tears. 'Oh, how dare you? You're cruel, and you have a dirty mind. Do you actually think I'd play around with a married man? Why, The Happy Hour was my idea. I was so excited when Mr. Fenton told us about the rating, I'd have kissed anybody who was handy. You're being horrible, Byron." She took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes. "All right. I didn't want to make you cry.""Don't you believe me?" Madeline spoke in soft and wistful tones, tearfully sing. "My God, I thought we knew each other so well. We used to. I admit Hugh would sleep with me if he could. He'll sleep with anybody, and I find that disgusting. He's nothing but a whoremaster, and his wife's the most miserable woman alive. I appreciate your concern for my honor. You're very old-fashioned and sweet, like Dad. But don't you worry about Madeline. Forgive me for that mean crack, darling. I'm awfully happy about the baby." She kissed his cheek. He felt the tears on her skin. She got out of the car, twinkled her fingers at him, and ran into Washington Place. When Byron got back to the naval base, target planes were coming in high over the harbor, towing long fluttery red sleeves, and on all the ships the gun crews were shouting, and slanting their weapons skyward; but there were no sounds of firing, and the excitement seemed forced and silly. The Devilfish, sitting high and dry on blocks, was deserted except for yard workmen and the watch. Byron took out of his desk drawer a writing pad, and the record of the fado song that he and Natalie had heard together in Lisbon. He put the record on the wardroom phonograph, and started to write: My darling, The news about the baby just came andThe hissing of the bad needle gave way to the guitar chords that opened the song. He put his head down on his arms. He wanted to picture his wife and the new baby, a boy who perhaps looked like Victor. But when he closed his eyes, what he saw was his sister's uncovered thighs and garters. Byron stopped the record and spent the next hour drawing a sketch of an air compressor. Working from memory, using different colored crayons and inks, he produced a picture accurate and clear enough to be printed in a manual. To this he clipped a letter he typed in the abandoned mildewy-smelling yeoman's cubicle, formally requesting transfer to Atlantic duty. He added a scrawled pencil note on a chit: Captain-I deeply appreciate the amnesty and the leave. The only thing I want in the world now is to see my wife and baby, and try to get them out of Europe. I'm sure you will understand. Next morning Branch Hoban congratulated Byron on his sketch, explained with regret that he couldn't spare an officer from the watch list, declared his conviction that Natalie and her baby were quite safe in Rome, and said he would forward the request, not recommending approval. ODA was startled by the bulk of the wax-sealed envelope from the RHState Department. Inside she found another fat envelope with pale blue Russian printing on the flap. The eleven-page typewritten letter it contained was much struck-over with pen and ink. Clipped to it, on a small sheet headed memommum FROM ALISTAM TUDSBURY, was a redpencilled note in Pug's firm slanted hand: 3 Oct Moscow (and still can't believe it!" Don't get sed-guess I haven't written a letter this long si you"t'e known nw-haven't had man experiences like this. Krin banquet was another incredible business-that's for next letter, this one has to go off prontoRegards from Tudsburys. I've used his typewriter and stationery. Letter explains. He's fatter than ever, daughter's a wraithLove PugHotel National, Moscow OCt. 2, 1941 Dearest RhodaThree hours from now I'll be dining in the Kremlin. How about that? It's God's truth. And the rest of this trip has been every bit as fantastic. Now that we've got ourselves two grandsons (and how about that, Granny?) I'm beginning to feel I should record some of these things I'm going through, while they're fresh in my mind. I'm no writer, but just the bare record of the facts should interest those infants one day. So don't think I'm becoming a garrulous old fud if I start sending you occasional batches of these pages. After you've read them, tuck them away for the babies. I'm somewhat punchy; haven't had a real night's sleep since I left London. The trip to Archangel in a British destroyer could have been restful, but for night conferences, and GQ alarms all day long. That is a hot run; you're in Luftwaffe range almost all the way. The convoys on this route take quite a shellacking. Luckily we had fog covering us about half the time. I'm making all these typing mistakes because Tudsbury's typewriter is cranky, and there's nobody in the Soviet union who can fix a British typewriter-or who wants to, you're never sure which. I've been cadging embassy typewriters for my work, but they're swamped today getting out the final conference documents. The Tudsburys occupy the best ............