LITMIR.BIZ

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together with the revolutionaries. In the North Sea Fleet we have already had some serious insubordination, bordering on mutiny. The admiral jumped on it vigorously, I’m glad to say. I was sent to Wilhelmshaven with the legal team. Do you know who I saw there? Fritz Esser.’

      ‘Fritz? That rogue.’ Pauli laughed. ‘Was he the ringleader? With all his hero-worshipping talk about his precious Karl Liebknecht, I wonder how the navy ever accepted him.’

      ‘If he was the ringleader he was too cunning to be caught. He’s found himself some soft job in the supply branch and is already a petty officer.’

      ‘A petty officer. I thought he was illiterate.’

      ‘Esser? Of course not, Pauli. Can’t you remember all those books and pamphlets he’d read about the coming revolution?’

      ‘Yes, you’re right.’

      ‘You thought the world of him.’

      ‘We both did,’ said Pauli, ‘but we laughed at him too.’

      ‘I’m not laughing now, Pauli. Esser and his ilk are dangerous men. Make no mistake, Germany has many such uneducated, treacherous fools, who will sell out their country if they get the chance.’

      ‘Sell out their country? To what?’

      ‘I don’t know…they don’t know, either …some fantasy about a world revolution and the brotherhood of mankind. They want power, Pauli. I saw these people at close hand when we were preparing the court-martial evidence in Wilhelmshaven. Many of them were simple men – stokers mostly – but among them were some trained agitators, well equipped to argue their crackpot political theory with lawyers, or anyone else.’

      ‘It’s all finished now?’

      Peter glanced round nervously. ‘No, it’s not finished, I’m afraid. We put a few troublemakers behind bars, but there are too many Essers at large. Back home, civilians are working regular twelve-hour days and food is very short, thanks to the British naval blockade. So many tired and hungry workers provide opportunities for rabble-rousers. Unless conditions improve soon, I’m afraid we’ll see more and more trouble from servicemen and civilians.’

      ‘I’ve never heard anything of this before, Peter.’

      ‘I didn’t intend to talk about it.’

      ‘We don’t hear anything at the front.’

      ‘This revolution in Russia will give Liebknecht and the Rosa Luxemburg woman encouragement to renew their efforts. The radicals will bide their time, and when they make their bid for power they’ll be ready to spill blood. Not only their own blood, either!’

      The two of them sat for several minutes, looking at each other and drinking the delicious coffee that was available to these lucky men who fought their war behind desks. Then there were loud voices in the corridor, the sort of anxious exchanges seldom heard in these quiet corridors. Suddenly the door opened and the staff captain came in, looking agitated. With no more than a nod to the two officers, he grabbed papers from a tray on his desk and retrieved others from the top of a cabinet. ‘The Americans have declared war,’ he said over his shoulder as he sorted through his papers.

      ‘Are you sure?’ asked Peter. It was impossible to take in. America was thousands of miles away, and their army was negligible. Even if their army was enlarged, the U boats would make sure the Americans never got to Europe.

      ‘The American Congress ratified it yesterday. What a thing to happen at Eastertime!’ He threw papers into a file. ‘Do you realize what it means?’

      ‘Will they send armies to Europe?’ said Pauli. Already they were stretched to the limit to hold the front.

      The captain said, ‘We must disengage from the Russians and crush the French with one quick, massive offensive before the Americans arrive.’ It sounded like something he’d been told.

      ‘Is such a thing possible?’ said Peter.

      ‘We will discover in good time,’ said the captain. He dropped a handful of papers against the desktop to get them straightened. ‘If we haven’t won the war by Christmas, it will be the end of the Fatherland. The end of everything we’re fighting for.’ Peter looked at the staff officer and was disturbed by his demeanour. Perhaps the Americans would make a difference. There were so many of them, and their resources were limitless.

      As the captain went out through the door, Pauli could see, at the top of the grand staircase, the general who commanded the division and two aides. They were magnificently attired: swords, Pickelhauben, gleaming boots, and chestfuls of orders and decorations. He got only the briefest glimpse of the three men, but all his life Pauli remembered the scene in every small detail, even the way in which the general was holding his Turkish cigarette in a jade holder.

      The two brothers had not resumed their conversation when they heard the distant explosion of an enemy shell. The rumble of gunfire had been a background to their talk, but this one was nearer, about three miles away. They went to the window in time to see the plume of brown smoke that marked its fall. By that time another shellburst shook the glass. The second round landed only slightly closer.

      Peter said, ‘It’s the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of it.’

      ‘A heavy-calibre gun,’ said Pauli. ‘Somewhere up there a couple of men in an observation plane are trying to locate us. I don’t know why they find it so difficult: a big mansion like this with two big spires.’

      ‘It’s not so easy when you are up there,’ said Peter. ‘In this sort of poor light, through the overcast, it all looks grey. In evening or morning sunlight the shadows make it easier.’

      ‘Then why do they always come over in such bad weather?’ said Pauli.

      Peter gave a grim smile. It seemed so safe and simple to those who stayed on the ground. ‘The poor devils want to disappear into the clouds if our fighters get near them or the anti-aircraft fire does.’ As he said it, small black puffs of flak appeared in the sky to the south, but they could see no sign of the artillery-spotting plane.

      ‘The fliers won’t hang around long,’ said Pauli. ‘And these long-range guns can fire only a few rounds at a time. Then the barrels are worn out. War is a damned expensive business, as the taxpayers are discovering.’

      ‘When we win, the French will pay reparations, as they did last time.’

      ‘Ah! When we win,’ said Pauli.

      They stood in silence, looking at the shattered landscape. The grounds of the château had been beautifully cultivated for a couple of hundred years, but now the whole place had been ravaged by the soldiers. The orchard was no more than tree stumps, the lawn a camp, and everywhere a quagmire. Farther away, the woodland had been scavenged for firewood through three winters of war; and the country roads, built for carts and carriages, were churned by endless divisional horse-drawn traffic and the occasional staff car and truck.

      ‘Was it terrible?’ asked Pauli, still staring out the window. ‘The zeppelin flights, the raids over England, and the crash: was it terrible?’

      ‘The raids were all right. I didn’t realize what danger we were in until, on the final one, I saw an airship burn in the sky.’ Peter’s voice was different now: the voice Pauli remembered from when they’d exchanged confidences in the darkness of the nursery. ‘I was so frightened, Pauli, that my hands were shaking. She was gone…. The whole airship was gone in a few seconds. So many friends…’

      ‘And you crashed.’

      ‘That wasn’t so bad but they operated on my hand three times and I was convinced that I would relive my fears … scream or reveal my cowardice under the anaesthetic.’

      ‘And did you?’

      ‘God knows.’

      ‘Papa told me that most of your crew

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