Роберт Харрис: Munich

Chamberlain put down the telegram and took a sip of water. Legat’s pen ran rapidly across the heavy paper: PM — latest from Berlin — breakdown of talks — violent reaction by Herr Hitler — ‘Next week we will be at war’ —

‘I shall of course continue my efforts to find a peaceful solution if one exists — although it’s hard at the moment to see what more can be done. But in the meantime, I fear we must prepare for the worst.’

Gort looked at each of his colleagues. ‘Prime Minister, we have drawn up a memorandum. It summarises our collective view of the military situation. Perhaps I might read out our conclusion?’

Chamberlain nodded.

‘“It is our opinion that no pressure that Great Britain and France can bring to bear, either by sea, on land, or in the air, could prevent Germany from overrunning Bohemia and from inflicting a decisive defeat on Czechoslovakia. The restoration of Czechoslovakia’s lost integrity could only be achieved by the defeat of Germany and as the outcome of a prolonged struggle, which from the outset must assume the character of an unlimited war.”’

Nobody spoke. Legat was acutely conscious of the scratching of his nib. Suddenly it sounded absurdly loud.

Eventually Chamberlain said, ‘This is the nightmare I have always dreaded. It’s as if we’ve learned nothing from the last war and we are reliving August 1914. One by one the countries of the world will be dragged in — and for what? We’ve already told the Czechs that once we’ve won, their nation in its present form cannot continue to exist. The three and a half million Sudeten Germans must have the right of self-determination. Therefore the separation of the Sudetenland from Germany will not even be an allied war aim. So for what would we be fighting?’

‘For the rule of law?’ suggested Gort.

‘For the rule of law. Indeed. And if it comes to it, we shall. But by God, I wish we could find some other way of upholding it!’ The Prime Minister briefly touched his hand to his forehead. His old-fashioned winged collar drew attention to his sinewy neck. His face was grey with exhaustion. But with an effort he recovered his usual businesslike manner. ‘What practical steps now need to be taken?’

Gort said, ‘We shall send two divisions to France immediately, as we have already agreed, to demonstrate our solidarity. They can be in position within three weeks and ready to fight eighteen days after that. But General Gamelin has made it quite clear the French have no intention of mounting anything more than token raids on Germany until next summer. Frankly, I doubt they’ll even do that. They’ll stay behind the Maginot Line.’

Newall added, ‘They’re waiting until we arrive in greater strength.’

‘And is the Air Force ready?’

Newall was sitting up very straight — a thin-faced man, skeletal almost, with a small grey moustache. ‘I have to say this comes at the worst possible time for us, Prime Minister. On paper, we have twenty-six squadrons available for home defence, but only six have modern aircraft. One has Spitfires. The other five have Hurricanes.’

‘But they are ready to fight?’

‘Some are.’

‘Some?’

‘I’m afraid there is a technical problem with the guns on the Hurricanes, Prime Minister — they freeze above fifteen thousand feet.’

‘What’s that you’re saying?’ Chamberlain leaned forwards as if he had not heard correctly.

‘We’re working on a solution, but it may take some time.’

‘No, what you are actually saying , Air Marshal, is that we have spent one and a half thousand million pounds on rearmament, the bulk of it on the air, and when it comes to it our warplanes don’t work.’

‘Our planning has always been predicated on there being no conflict with Germany before 1939 at the earliest.’

The Prime Minister turned his attention back to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff. ‘Lord Gort? Can’t the Army shoot down most of the attacking aircraft from the ground?’

‘I’m afraid we’re in a similar position to the Air Chief Marshal, Prime Minister. We only have about a third of the number of guns we believe are necessary to defend London, and most of those are obsolete relics from the last war. We are equally short of searchlights. We have no ranging or communication equipment... We were also counting on another year to prepare.’

Halfway through his answer Chamberlain seemed to have stopped listening. He had put on his spectacles again and was sorting through his papers. The atmosphere in the room had become uncomfortable.

Legat continued writing calmly, smoothing the awkward facts into bureaucratic prose — PM expressed concern at adequacy of home air defence — but the orderly mechanism of his mind was disturbed. Once again, he couldn’t escape the image of his children in gas masks.

Chamberlain had found what he was looking for. ‘The Joint Intelligence Committee estimates there will be one hundred and fifty thousand casualties in London by the end of the first week of bombing. Six hundred thousand by the end of two months.’

‘That’s unlikely to happen immediately. We assume that to begin with, the Germans will direct their principal bombing force against the Czechs.’

‘And when the Czechs have been defeated — then what?’

‘Then we don’t know. We should certainly use the time available to take precautions, and start evacuating London tomorrow.’

‘And how prepared is the Navy?’

The First Sea Lord was a striking presence, a good head taller than anyone else in the room. His grizzled skull was bald, his face deeply scoured, as if it had been exposed to the elements too long. ‘We have some shortages of escort vessels and minesweepers. Our capital ships require fuelling and arming; some of the crews are on leave. We shall need to announce mobilisation as quickly as possible.’

‘When would you need to do that, to be operational by the first of October?’

‘Today.’

Chamberlain sat back in his chair. His forefingers tapped the table. ‘Of course that would mean we would mobilise before the Germans.’

‘Partially mobilise, Prime Minister. And there is something else to be said for it: it would have the effect of showing Hitler we aren’t bluffing — that if it comes to it, we are prepared to fight. It might even make him think twice.’

‘It might. Or it might push him into war. Remember, I have stared into that man’s eyes on two occasions now, and in my judgement, if there is one thing he cannot tolerate, it is losing face.’

‘But surely if we’re going to fight it’s important he should be left in no doubt of that fact? It would be a tragedy if he interpreted your courageous visits and your sincere efforts for peace as a sign of weakness. Wasn’t that the mistake the Germans made in 1914? They thought we weren’t serious.’

Chamberlain folded his arms and stared at the table. Legat couldn’t tell whether the gesture meant he had rejected the suggestion or was considering it. Shrewd of Backhouse to flatter him, he thought. The PM had few obvious weaknesses but strangely for such a shy man his besetting vice was vanity. The seconds ticked by. Finally, he looked up at Backhouse and nodded. ‘Very well. Mobilise.’

The First Sea Lord stubbed out his cigarette and stuffed his papers into his briefcase. ‘I’d better get back to the Admiralty.’

The others rose with him, grateful to escape.

Chamberlain called up to them, ‘I would like you to hold yourselves in readiness to brief senior ministers later today. In the meantime, we should avoid doing or saying anything that contributes to a mood of public panic, or forces Hitler into a position from which he cannot back down, even at the eleventh hour.’