Dennis Wheatley: The Secret War

The Secret War

by Dennis Wheatley

For

ANTHONY

1...

`War,' declared Christopher Penn, 'is the most terrible of all evils. Pestilence and Famine are natural ills which civilisation is gradually bringing under its control, Fire and Tempest, Earthquake and Flood they at least are short lived localized horrors which it's impossible to prevent. But war is man made, It's a willful, inexcusable act of barbarity. It entails the committal of mass murder, mass mutilation and every other crime in the calendar, by one set of normally peace loving people against another, Nothing nothing, I say, is too terrible a punishment for those who set it in motion.'

The two other men at the table fair, fat, red faced Billy Van Der Meer, and grey haired Hythe Cassel were silent for a moment; they were a little taken aback by this unusual vehemence in the slim, frail looking young man opposite them. His pale face was ascetically handsome, with features as clear cut as a cameo, and its natural pallor was in striking contrast to the jet black hair above his high forehead.

Van Der Meer shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Well, I don't see what you can do about it, Penn. There always has been war in the world and it louts as if there always will be.'

'Nonsense!' expostulated Cassel. `Two hundred years ago people said the same about duelling, but public opinion condemned it, so duelling, or private war, was stamped out, Nowadays, public opinion has advanced to a stage where it condemns national war, so why shouldn't that be stamped out too? This

Italian invasion of Abyssinia is sheer unprovoked aggression.'

The war in North East Africa had already been raging for six months. Ever since the Wal Wal incident Mussolini had been massing men and material in Eritrea and Italian Somaliland. All through the previous summer he had parleyed with the bickering League, outmaneuvering the anxious diplomats at every turn. In the autumn he had withdrawn Italy's representatives from the Assembly and, contemptuous of world opinion, marched into Abyssinia without even a formal declaration of hostilities. He was `adjusting his frontiers' he said, and quite a lot of people were exceedingly worried as to where he would ultimately decide that the frontiers of Italy's African possessions should be. Some thought that the modern Caesar would not be satisfied until the whole of North Africa was again a Roman province; others, experienced in hill fighting against hardy tribesmen in hideously difficult country that he had burnt his fingers and would never reach Magdala, let alone Addis Ababa. Yet by the spring he had avenged Adowa, captured the sacred city of Aksum, and his legions were steadily advancing into the interior, building solid motor roads for their supporting artillery and supply columns behind them as they went. The problem still uppermost in the minds of most thinking people was what would be the final issue of the campaign and would the dilatory League come to the assistance of the Abyssinian Emperor in some really practical manner.

Thin faced, grey haired Hythe Cassel; castigating the Italians for their attack upon a free people, as he sat with his friends, young Christopher Penn and red faced Billy Van Der Meer, had voiced the opinion of many.

As he spoke, a newcomer entered the room in the Union Club where the three were talking, a tall, soldierly figure, brown haired, his temples just touched with grey, brown eyed, thin nosed, with a small up combed moustache making a dark line above his tight mouth and long chin. He was an Englishman and only honorary member of the club for the short period of his stay in New York. He did not know many of the men who were sitting or standing about the big room, but he was aware that they were not of the type who make spectacular money overnight and drop it again next morning. Most of them came from families who had governed the destinies of the United States for several generations, and approximated very closely to the landed gentry of Great Britain. Quiet, exclusive. travelled, very sure of themselves, they were of the class that makes its spirit felt, at any crisis, in the best interest of their nation.

Christopher Penn caught sight of the newcomer and beckoned. 'Come and join us, Lovelace. We're talking Abyssinia and you know the country.'

'Thanks.' Sir Anthony Lovelace had met the young American, casually, on only two previous occasions, but Penn’s strangely beautiful face had aroused his interest. He was introduced to the other two, and sat dawn stretching out his long legs. `Don't know,' he went of, that I can "tell you much about Abyssinia, though. I wasn’t there for long. Only on a visit to see the Emperor’s coronation in 1930,'

'I was just saying,' Cassel began, 'that the League of Nations ought to enforce sanctions to their fullest possible extent, so as to put an end to this senseless slaughter.'

'The League!' Van Der Meer's plump face held an expression of disgust. `What's the good of the League, anyhow There are seven major powers the United States, Great Britain, France. Germany, Russia, Italy and Japan. For all practical purposes in this dispute only three of them, Britain, France and Russia, are in the League, All talk of collective security is just hot air so long as four of the seven big boys remain outside the ring.'

`You're wrong!' Cassel was protesting hotly. `Even a weak League is better than no League at all. It's still the only international instrument for the maintenance of peace. Even with ourselves, Germany and Japan outside it, the League is strong enough to smash Mussolini and restore peace if it really wanted to.'

`That'd mean revolution in Italy, though,' Lovelace said slowly, `and there are a lot of people who would hate to see a Bolshevik state in the middle of the Mediterranean.'

'Hi! Steward!' Cassel caught the attention of a passing waiter. `What will you drink, Sir Anthony?'

`A dry sherry, please.' Lovelace hunched his lean figure in the chair and pulled out an ancient pipe.

Cassel gave the order. `I've nothing against Mussolini personally,' he said, `and no one wants revolution anywhere, but such considerations should not be allowed to affect the high purpose of the League. The tragedy is that members of the League betray it whenever it suits their own ends best to do so, France wants to keep Mussolini in power, and so she's put every difficulty in the way of applying sanctions that she possibly could.'

`Well, you can't say that of Britain, although it wouldn't suit us to have Italy go Red.'

`On the contrary, Britain's playing her own hand every bit as much. She's only backing the League this time because she doesn't want Italy to have Abyssinia.'

Lovelace began to fill his pipe with deliberation. `I don't think you have any real justification for saying that. We've all the territory we need without trying to grab this last chunk of Africa.'

`Still, the fact remains that the League has world opinion solidly behind it, and if only Britain and France would act together, with real determination, they could stop this war, and make a new landmark in the history of humanity.'

`You don't think it might be in the interest of er humanity if the Italians were allowed to occupy Abyssinia?' There was just the suggestion of a twinkle in Lovelace's brown eyes.

What!' Cassel sat up with a jerk. `You can't be speaking seriously?'

`Not altogether, but the place is a bit of a mess. The Emperor is quite enlightened, I believe, and probably he does his best, but he's almost single handed, and conditions there are well quite medieval.'

`They're building schools; you know, now, hospitals and modern prisons as well.'

'Perhaps, but that's only since Italy threatened to take the country over and it became vital that Abyssinia should win the sympathy of civilized nations by showing that she meant to mend her manners. They only abolished slavery as the prices of admission to the League, and nine tenths of the population are still completely barbarous savages.'